Chapter Text
Before, when he had been small, Thomas understood what happiness was meant to be. Not a twisted, morphed version of it; true, genuine happiness, and centuries later, he considered himself to be extremely blessed for it.
Before, when he was a boy with bright blue eyes and a wide smile, he had laughed, allowing the sound to be carried through the winds into the soul of his childhood home. Into the souls of his family, effortlessly allowing his innocent charm to whisk them away into headstrong adoration for their youngest.
Before, when he had baked biscuits with his father, frowning when they came out too burnt to be comfortably edible. His brothers had grimaced, but they ate them anyway, sending looks of reassurance to him while glaring at their father, who laughed at the antics.
Before, when he ran through the butterfly fields, light on his feet as his brother chased from behind, giggling as the children they were. And when he had been tackled, his brother laughed while tiny hands swatted at him.
Before, when living was a gift bestowed upon four mortals, beautifully wrapped with sparkling promises and undying love.
Before.
—-------
Thomas remembers his first experience with death, though he almost wishes he didn’t.
He and his family had just gotten back from the markets, various baskets in hand, carrying clothing that were suited to fit their growing bodies and resources for food they would cook with delicate hands. They had been bickering the entire way home over something ridiculous, and he couldn’t quite name the root of it.
“But Father,” William had whined, glaring at his younger brother with a look too fond to be intimidating, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t stay longer.”
Phil spared him a glance, shaking his head. “Oh, Will, I’ve told you countless times. Thomas looks exhausted, and we need to hurry home if you want supper before it’s time for you to sleep.”
William nodded in dull acknowledgment, but said nothing more.
The markets had been close to their cottage. If it had been any further, Phil surely would’ve called for their horses and traveled that way, but they’d been resting after a trip they’d taken a few days prior. That left the family here, making the short trip home on tired feet.
Thomas saw the corners of the house peek over on top of the hill, and he felt the way his shoulders relaxed in contentment. His father was right; he had been exhausted. Of course, he adored the rush and excitement of the market, but they’d been there for a large chunk of the day and he was more than ready for David to read him to sleep, tales of mystical creatures Thomas couldn’t begin to imagine filling his ears with wonder.
And it was then, while he was lost in his childish thoughts, that the booming began.
At first, it was a dull rumble, shaking their feet and causing Thomas to grip the bottom of his father’s shirt to steady himself. He looked up at him, confused, but Phil’s shaken expression did nothing but worsen his fears.
“What is this?” David had spoken for all of them, whirling around and frantic.
Their father shook his head, eyes wide and fearful. “I haven’t a clue.”
Then, without warning, recognition dawned in his gaze, and he picked Thomas up in one swift motion. He grabbed William and David with his other hands, pulling them along and changing his pace from a walk, to a jog, until it became a dead sprint to their home. “Hurry. We- there isn’t much time.”
The rumbling got louder, and a ring of pops followed, creating a chorus of excruciatingly terrifying sounds that caused Thomas to burrow his head into his father’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen it, but his brothers shared equal looks; they glanced between one another, something discussed, unspoken.
They increased the pace, and the booms got louder, resembling explosions that almost knocked Phil off of his feet. He gripped the boys’ hands tighter, continuing forward until they finally reached the house. Once they’d arrived, he put him down, looking all three boys in the eye as they sat in the middle of the place he grew up in.
Thomas wished he hadn’t.
The look in his gaze was pure mortification. He looked between the three, an unmistakable amount of love and grief behind it, and he sat down beside them. Phil pulled them in a hug, burying all three of their faces in the fabric of his coat.
“I love you all so much,” he whispered, holding them closer, “I will always love you. No matter what happens, I will love you with every part of me, my beautiful boys.”
Thomas gripped his father tighter, and he cried, for he didn’t understand the gravity of what was going on, but he had a clue.
William laid a hand on his brothers' shoulders, pulling them closer, before he leaned into the touch of his father. He didn’t understand the gravity of what was going on, but he had a clue.
David closed his eyes, whispering promises to his family that none of them would ever hear. His family surrounded him, and he didn’t understand the gravity of what was going on, but he had a clue.
And finally, Phil held his family closer, grasping for any semblance of peace he could find in their home. Right here, in his fragile hands, were his children. He remembered when they first came into the world, all three crying, all three perfect. He had held them just as he did now; delicate, soft, tender. These three boys were his world, his sons, and now he had to hold him as they left it. He fully understood the gravity of what was going on, and as he listened to their cries, he mourned the lives they would never get to live.
Carefully, he kissed each one of their heads, and they sat in silence, listening to the world crumble around them.
There was one final explosion that graced their ears. It grew hot, uncomfortably so, and the family held onto one another as they faced the inevitable.
Thomas took a breath. Another.
Suddenly, there was quiet everywhere. Frightening quiet. There was not a thing out of place, and the family was encased in the last perfect picture of their lives.
Then there was a deafening crash, and his world fell apart.
Lava flooded his home in one sudden and swift motion, and as it overtook his body, spreading across his lungs and heart and him, he died a nine-year-old boy, the screams of the only people he’d ever loved filling his ears.
And, for the centuries to come, he would never remember their faces.
—-------
It would be a dramatic understatement to say anything other than that this social worker fucking sucked.
Now, he’d met his fair share of horrendous human beings, but this one was bound to top it off. Not for how bad a person she was. There were plenty of assholes he’d met, and even though she was one, she hadn’t murdered anyone or some shit. No, her problem was her ability to be the most annoying person on the fucking planet.
For one, her voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard, adding to how much the things she said drove him mad. Complaints about how he was a ‘problem for the kind people that continued to take him in’ or how he ‘couldn’t adjust anywhere for the life of him’. He wasn’t outright denying the things she said, but it got relatively annoying when it was all she ever said to him.
Two, her downright narcissism. He didn’t have much room to speak, of course, as he’d used to lean towards self-preservation, but this woman was so obsessed with her that she probably sang herself personal lullabies just so she could praise her singing voice a few minutes later.
Three, and foremost, Tommy just didn’t like her face.
“These people are kind, Thomas,” She insisted, keeping her eyes on the road. “Please don’t ruin it for yourself.”
The ‘don’t ruin it for me’ went unspoken.
He looked out the window and promptly ignored her. He heard her sigh, but in all honesty, he didn’t feel very guilty.
A partial problem with being eternally fifteen; he never could escape the foster system. He spent plenty of time alone, and he’d even held his own apartment, for a bit, but there’d been a mishap and the police found out how he’d forged the papers. It wasn’t always a talent, even after he’d spent so much time trying to perfect it.
So, here he was, two unsuccessful houses under his belt this year.
The drive to the Allens’ was uncomfortably long. He’d heard the way Kathy described them, but it was common for all of the families to sound the same. It was easy to forge a personality on paper. For one, they could be serial killers, and Tommy’s escape from murder would be made more difficult after being so far out. The second, more plausible option, was that Tommy’s escape after running away would be made more difficult.
Either way, it was a lose-lose situation, so when they pulled up to the driveway, he moped his entire way up like the teenager he should’ve been.
When he finally looked at it, however, he realized how unnecessarily large it was. These people must’ve been fuckin’ loaded. The exterior was a soft tan color, configured of bricks and too-many windows. There were two structures in the front that formed a sort of arch, encircling the door inside of it. The air around it felt oddly unpolluted, and when he took a deep breath, the lack of nasty shit in the air was more of a relief than he’d like to admit. It was a given, he supposed.
All in all, it looked like a home, but for two neurosurgeons or some shit.
When Kathy rang the doorbell, the man that answered the door did not look like a neurosurgeon.
It was so much worse.
He had to take a step back, eyes widening, and he tried to hide his reaction as much as possible. Something about him, this man with bright-pink hair and too wide a physique, felt familiar. It wasn’t like recognition- it was too far away, too out of reach. But his presence felt oddly calming, and it was freaking Tommy the fuck out.
The man looked right at Tommy, something indiscernible on his face. Then he turned around, ignored the two of them, and yelled back into his home, “Dad, why is there a boy scout at our door?”
Oh, this guy was a public menace.
Tommy crossed his arms, still standing outside the door. “Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine? Really hit it out of the ballpark, you did, with that steller word-choice.”
Kathy gave him a glare, but he ignored it.
Pink-hair dude turned back around, and if there was a look of remorse there, Tommy didn’t see it. Fuckin’ pretentious asshole. Moment you get a dad, your kindness goes out the window. What a relief he didn’t have one anymore. “Sorry. He just hasn’t done this in a while. I didn’t know.”
Another man showed up in the doorway, and if Tommy got this sense of deja-vu one more time he was going to fucking lose it. His hair was blonde, almost curly, and it reached his shoulders. His eyes were a shade of blue that seemed almost too bright, but Tommy didn’t say anything. “Please ignore my son. He just-” The man sighed, cutting himself off, before shoeing pink-hair guy away. “-he isn’t very good with kids. I’m Phil. Nice to meet you, mate.”
Tommy snorted. “He seems shit with kids, actually. It’s Tommy, by the way. Nice to meet you, too.”
Phil, apparently (the name felt odd), just laughed and smiled.
What the fuck was up with these people?
He stood to the side, gesturing for Tommy and Kathy to enter. Tommy gave him a skeptical look, but he entered behind his social worker anyways.
If the outside of the house said something about the family, the inside said the polar opposite. The lights were a soft yellow, and there were various colors of rugs scattered throughout. On the walls, there were different kinds of paintings, obviously abstract but pretty all the same.
If not for the size of the house, Tommy would’ve said it was pretty homey.
Phil gestured for the kitchen, pulling out chairs at the bar for the adults to sit at. “Techno?” (What the fuck kind of name was that?) “Do you mind showing Tommy his room? I don’t think he wants to listen to all this formal stuff.”
Phil was actually right about that. He didn’t want to hear any of it.
Techno, apparently, looked down at Tommy, before looking back at his father. “Okay.”
He didn’t seem too pleased about it.
Regardless, Techno gestured towards the stairs, and Tommy had no choice but to follow. He hadn’t been wrong about his initial read on the house; it did feel like a home. It did nothing to soothe Tommy’s worries, however, despite the bravado. If these people felt like a family already, Tommy really did not wanna fuck it up. Foster siblings tended to have a certain grudge against kids who barged into their homes and made it their own.
Techno seemed like one of those people, but he didn’t mention it again. Once they made it to the top of the stairs, he started listing off the bedrooms. “The farthest down is Phil’s. Next is mine, then Wilbur’s, and yours is right-” he paused, gesturing behind him, “-here. The bathroom is between me and Wilbur’s, but be warned, if there’s something you need to get in there to do better beat Wil in there. He takes ages.”
Tommy nodded. Wilbur must be another brother. Absolutely fuckin’ fabulous.
Despite that, however, he wouldn’t have to worry about the bathroom. School, on the other hand- that sounded like a bottle of shit had just been smacked on his head, and he really didn’t want to consider the implications. So he didn’t.
And before Techno could get another word in, Tommy turned on his heel and walked into the bedroom. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it definitely wasn’t small, and it took him a minute to realize he hadn’t gotten some shit guest bedroom. The ceiling was tall, and the bed in the corner was probably a queen. The room was shaped normally, like a square, and there was an open closet with two doors on the wall.
He supposed it could be worse.
—-------
It got worse.
Not like they got worse. But apparently, they were one for family dinners, and that made it entirely worse. Wilbur had gotten home; apparently, he had an after-school club that none of them would elaborate on. The moment he first saw the guy, he got the same goddamn feeling as before, and it had taken all of his willpower to not punch a hole in the wall.
Now he was here, sitting with the rest of the Allens family at their too-big dining table, and it was really fucking awkward.
Phil had had plates sat out already, and he reassured Tommy that he was welcome to go get seconds if he needed. Tommy nodded, knowing full well he would not be getting seconds. No, pushing his luck didn’t seem like such a great choice so early on.
One of the first things Tommy learned once sitting down was that Wilbur liked talking. A lot. After he introduced himself to Tommy, he got straight into stories of whatever the fuck went on at his school. That had started a whole train of thought, actually, because apparently, both Wilbur and Technoblade were still in high school.
It was unsettling, to say the least, but he wasn’t about to say that to their faces. After so many years, he at least had the self-awareness to learn human decency.
Techno, on the other hand, wasn’t as bad as Tommy had first made him out to be. The longer the dinner went on, the more he realized the Techno was just a really awkward guy. Tommy sort of felt bad, so he didn’t hold much of a grudge. He just found it odd that a guy with pink hair was socially-awkward. Again, he didn’t question it, because he wasn’t an asshole.
“So,” Phil began, smiling at Tommy, “mind if I go over all the basic shit? I promise it’s not much. I’d just rather get it out of the way.
Despite the pit forming in his stomach, he responded, “Sure.”
Phil nodded. “I don’t have too many rules. Curfew is at eight on school nights, ten on weekends. I get you’re a teenager, and you probably wanna go do things, so just message any of us where you’re going and get back on time,” He paused, seemingly thinking about something. “Do you have a phone?”
Tommy shook his head.
“I’ll have to get you one then.”
He ignored the smile that tugged at his lips, and looked right at Phil. “Thank you.”
“No problem, mate,” Phil smiled back. He seemed to do that a lot. “So, besides curfew, all I think I’ll need you to do is trade out washing the dishes with the twins.” Twins? They were twins? “Maybe laundry sometimes, but not often. Just basic respect. We respect you, you respect us, all that shit. Is there anything I need to know?”
Tommy shook his head once more.
Phil took a sip of his drink, before setting it down and looking at all the boys. “We’ve got it covered, then. Thanks, Tommy.”
He didn’t know what he was being thanked for, but he murmured, “You’re welcome,” regardless.
Phil cleared his throat, seemingly trying to change the topic of conversation. “How was the trip here? I understand it’s far out, and you didn’t seem exactly fond of Kathy.”
Tommy shrugged, picking at the food on his plate with a fork. “Well, the drive wasn’t too bad. Don’t worry about being far out. It’s not like it’s your fault, or anything. Do you like Kathy?”
“Will you tell her if I say I don’t?”
Tommy snorted. “No fuckin’ way.”
He knew he was testing his luck with the language, but Phil didn’t seem as pissed as he expected it to be, so he let himself relax a bit. Instead, Phil did the polar opposite, and he laughed, the sound full and light.
Techno nodded, something small. “She seemed like a bitch, honestly. How’d you manage?”
Phil murmured a “Techno!” but he was laughing too hard for it to be taken seriously.
“Spite. I swear, that’s literally the only thing I’ve got left.” Tommy answered easily, shoving a piece of lettuce in his mouth.
Techno smirked, the corners of his lips turning up. “Valid.”
Tommy saw Wilbur quirk an eyebrow, resting his elbows on the table. “Who the fuck is Kathy?”
“Tommy’s social worker,” Phil responded, finally calming down. “She just- her face.”
He nodded eagerly, eyes widening. “Exactly! It’s so punchable!”
Techno took a drink of water, before recognition clouded his eyes and he clapped once. “That’s it. That’s the word I was looking for.”
“You’re an anarchist, Techno, and just punching a woman is illegal,” Wilbur mused, keeping a straight face towards his brother. “It’s different.”
“Tommy wanted to punch her. It’s obviously a universal opinion.”
“Maybe he’s an anarchist, too!”
Techno looked at him. “Tommy, are you an anarchist?”
He shrugged. “When I feel like it.”
Wilbur snorted, almost spitting out his water. “See! I fuckin’ told you.”
“Good,” Techno ignored his brother, nodding at Tommy.
The mark on his shoulder burned.
The conversation continued, and eventually, it lost its tense atmosphere. The more they talked, the more it felt almost comfortable, and that was something Tommy didn’t really understand. It was obvious they felt perfectly content with the way their family was already. But, for some reason Tommy couldn’t begin to fathom, they let him talk, laughing at his short quips like friends usually did.
Friends. It wasn’t the most familiar term, but it left an odd feeling in his chest that he couldn’t seem to hate no matter how much he felt he should've. He just met these people. For all he knew, they could've been assholes, but something inside him said that wasn't the case.
People were shit. But maybe, just maybe, he’d give these people a bit of a chance, and he hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
They didn't have his trust. That was something he didn't know how to give, and he surely didn't know how people were supposed to earn it. For some reason, however, he didn't feel like he distrusted them right away.
And that, to him, was something terrifying.