Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy hates Phil. Tommy hates Wilbur. Tommy hates Techno. He hates all of them.

How dare they? How dare they lie to him. The house was too stifling, too warm - so Tommy is sat on their front wall, legs swinging out in front of him as his bag rested below his feet. He couldn't stand to be in that house anymore, the pity smiles from Wilbur, the lack of eye contact from Techno, those looks from Phil. Fuck he hated them. He hated all of them.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted laugh. He wanted to smile. Tommy didn't know what he wanted, not anymore, and that was the problem. It was too much, everything was way too much. The emotions he was barely containing hurt. The absolute fire he was feeling, searing his insides - lava thick anger seeping through his veins, burning him alive - as he waited for Sally on their front wall. The gaping hole inside him as his heart beat a painful rhythm of a reminder of what he was loosing. It was too much. Everything was too much.

Tommy wanted to yell, and scream. He wanted to cry and shake. He wanted to shout and throw things at them, at the wall, at anything that would give him some release for how tired and upset he was feeling, to show him just how angry he was at them. But he hadn't because Tommy was a good child - beaten into shape by years of being fostered. He hadn't because it would have only made the Watson's want him gone more, and as much as he pretended he didn't, he wanted them to want him. He just wanted someone, anyone, to want him.

They had fucking lied and it was a stab in the heart.

Sure it wasn't the first time someone had lied, and Tommy can guarantee it for sure won't be the last either, but it was the fact it was them. The fact he had trusted, laughed, cried with them. That he had spent some of the best 14 months he had ever lived with them for them to leave him like that. It was betrayal only foster children knew, and it was a pain that Tommy knew too well.

He just wanted someone - anyone - to finally keep a goddamn promise they had made to him. It's audacity really, to be able to look Tommy in the eye and promise they 'love' him or they 'want' him or that 'everything that yours is yours' or that he was always 'welcome' in their home, and then go back on their words, just like that, so easily done that he almost marvels at how well they did it. He wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to scream, he wanted to smile. Tommy didn't know what he wanted - not anymore.

The Watson's had been the best. They had given him his own room, his own goddamn room, that he had decorated with sticky notes and drawings and polaroids and revision, he had picked the colour of the walls, the bed sheets, the lights, the desk, the clothes in the cupboard, he had picked it all. They had taken him to school, Phil had fought for him, Phil had come to his parent's evening, his gcse drama performance done last March. Phil had hung drawings he had done of the fridge, had taken him to restaurants and on holiday and to his friends. He had Christmas with him and 2 birthdays.

He had people who actually cared about him, who took time to talk to him. Wilbur would play the guitar for him and he would allow him in his bed at night, and Techno would tell him everything about Greek mythology, they'd play minecraft and sit silently in each others presence. They had had movie nights, games nights, dressing up nights, on-your-own-that's-perfectly-okay-nights. Tommy had enjoyed it so much, and it was gone. He was so angry, justifiably angry and it was all their fault.

His bags were packed last night, he had eaten breakfast and cleaned his room - there had been nothing left for him to do. And so, to make it less awkward he wanted to sit here where it was quiet and peaceful, where he could think about what had just happened and not be interrupted. Tommy had forgotten how stressful moving day could be and so to just be out here alone, the winter breeze keeping him awake, was actually quite a nice thing.

And now here he was, outside on their wall, having lost everything. He could feel their eyes baring into him from where they were standing at the living room window, he chose not to look at them. He sat there, anger and emptiness fighting over who should have control. He wasn't sure why this one was hurting more than other ones, why this one had left a gaping wound in his heart that was pulsing angry and hot.

He wanted to stay, why couldn't he stay? It was his home, not really but he called it that, and from now on he would only call it that. He wanted to stay, to make them want him. Why did they leave him? Was he not good enough for them too? They were joining the long list of people who he had stayed with and he hated they were, that this wasn't forever and in 20 years they'll be foggy people from the past.

He sat on the wall, the winter breeze turning his nose red and his hands blue. Tears were rolling down his face, icy droplets drying in the winter's breeze. He refused to sit inside while he waited for Sally, he could hear her car now, pulling up in front of him. The car engine stopped, a car door slammed and then Sally was running to him and he blindly ran to her, arms spread wide waiting for the hug he desperately needed.

They crashed together on the pavement Tommy's shoulder's shaking , arms gripping her to him so she wouldn't leave him too. They collapsed on the ground, he was crying into her jumper - she didn't seem to mind, she never did. They stayed like that, Tommy crying and soon ugly raw sobs racked through him, fingers white from clutching her jacket so tightly.

Finally, finally, he could release these emotions, that they didn't mind how he did it. Sally never minded, always making sure he was okay - a consistency in his inconsistent life. She hugged him back just as ferociously as he did. Hands rubbing up and down his back, her heart beating in his ear that kept him grounded. He cried from pain and betrayal and how goddamn hopeless he was.

"Please Sally please.. I. can't.. i- sally- pl -" he was choking on incoherent words, begging for things that they both knew couldn't happen. But Tommy was so tired, so so tired. The thought of meeting new strangers, living in a home that wasn't his, working out how to live beside random people - it was so draining, too tiring for a boy this devastated. He couldn't face it, the forced smiles he would have to put on, being so so so polite as he worked out the limits he could be himself. He wanted to stay here in a house with food and warmth and a bed and kind people, he's not sure he would make the next house.

Sally whispered to him back, her soft murmurs floating through his ears. They stayed collapsed on the ground even after he had finished crying, gasps pushing out his mouth as he tried his best the breathe - to calm down and not think about what was happening in the future.

He remembers what she had said to him all that time ago when he was first in the system and hyperventilating in a corridor, "think about 1 minute, just one, don't think about too much. We'll take this minute by minute, okay? Second by second, whatever it takes." The determination she had said it with had never left him, a reminder that he was going to be okay.

Tommy had to be okay.

Chapter Text

9 years ago

There is a young boy crying. This young boy is eight, his back is against a corridor wall, and is crying softly into his folded arms. There is a young boy who is curled upon himself, into a small ball that is radiating sadness and pain. There is a young boy with spiky blond hair that has been pulled into every direction, with scratches down his arms - red, angry and long- done by bitten nails on hands that are now curled into balls. His face is red and blotchy, tears streaming down his face, eyes showing pain through their cracked shields.

There is an eight year old boy who just wants his mother, but he can't have her. He knows, Tommy knows he can't have his mother - he saw her grave the other day, tracing the gold writing of her name across the cold smooth marble - but he wants her, longs for her. She was a terrible mother, with a terrible addiction, Tommy knows that, but that didn't mean she was all bad.

Because sure there had been times when she hadn't come home for days and Tommy had barely eaten any food because he didn't know how to cook. But he knew how to cook now, so it was fine. And those times when she had hit him and kicked him were just when she had had a bad day, she didn't usually do that - only a couple of times. But she hadn't done it recently so it was fine, he loved her really and he knew she loved him too. She definitely loved him.

He remembers them dancing around the kitchen with the Beatles blaring in the background, shouts of laughter erupting from him as sugar and flour danced in the sun lit air. It was as if it was magic, sparkles joining in with him and his mum dancing through the air. He remembers 6 year old him, clutching his stomach from the pain of laughing too hard, he remembers his cheeks hurting. He wants to go back there, live in that memory for eternity, the happiness surrounding, smothering him in a warm blanket that he could stay in forever.

He remembers them curled up in his bed, a book on his knees - held up right by the mother behind him - reading over his shoulder. Her words were gentle and soft, his eye lids drooping. He remembers forcing his eyes open every couple of seconds, forcing the heavy lids open - his mother was reading to him!! He couldn't fall asleep now. Tommy doesn't remember the book she was reading, he doesn't remember how long she read nor why she had ended up reading to him in the first place but he remembers the happiness curling in his stomach, content in his mother's arms - safe and warm. His mother hadn't hugged him often, too busy going out with strange men or lying curled up on the sofa - so reading to him showed she loved him, that she didn't want him to go, that the harsh words she sometimes said were false.

He remembers his mother ruffling his hair after his year 3 parent evening. It was the first one she had remembered to go to (and the last one a voice unhelpfully supplies) and the teachers had given him a glowing report. She had held his hand all the way through, telling him that she was "So proud of you Tommy, darling. What a smart child I have, mhmm. I can't believe you were top in your class for English." He had smiled all the way home, imprinting those words into his head. They had gotten take away pizza and fizzy drinks, consuming them while watching Tommy's pick of movie (Up in case you wondered) and Tommy had loved every second.

But here he was now, curled upon the floor. He was alone, in such a big world, his mum had left him. He was told that she had taken too much, too much what? Tommy had no idea but it had left her dead. It must have been an accident though, his mum wouldn't have taken too much of something deliberately. He had told the doctors that over and over again, they had only given him a small sad smile in return, and agreed. He had cried a whole week before ending up here in a grey office with lament flooring and people rushing about.

Every now and then, an adult would sit next to him and try to talk to him, but he ignored them. He didn't mean to, not really. He tried to listen, but the words would go in and were all jumbled and quiet, and Tommy, poor little Tommy, did not have the energy to try and unscramble them. It was too much right now, he was alone. He was alone in this world. He wanted his mum, why couldn't he have his mum? What was going to happen to him? What was going.... where was he going to.... how was he going to.....

It was all too much, he didn't realise he was hyperventilating until there was a woman sitting next to him, his hand being pushed against her chest. When did that happen? But he could feel the steady beats of her heart, the gentle rhythm that he was desperately trying to match. His throat felt constricted and small, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't, Tommy couldn't breathe, and the more he panicked the worse it got.

But that woman was there, grasping one hand to her chest, as her other was tapping out 4 then 7 then 8 against his knee, and she just repeated it: 4, 7,8 , 4 ,7,8 . Her breathing matched the numbers, and gradually he did the same. So slowly more and more air flooded though his teeth. It was slow and steady - but the beating of her heart and steady tapping of her fingers on his knee kept him going.

And finally, he could breathe and it felt like heaven - each breathe steadily calming his pounding heart. He opened his eyes, remembering where he was - the grey walls were still grey and the lament orange floor was still horribly orange, but this time there was a woman. She had long flowing red hair, waves upon waves. She had a gently smile on her face, eyes glazed with a soft look, she had damp patches on her t-shirt but she didn't seem to mind. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hello, Tommy. That was quite a big panic attack you had there," it was a soft lilting voice when she spoke, and although Tommy had no idea what a panic attack was, it didn't matter because she felt so so safe. For the first time since his mother died he slowly started to relax, melting against the wall. "Why don't we go somewhere else, away from all the loud people, I bet I could find some hot chocolate powder somewhere and we can go from there."

And in eight year old Tommy's head there could have been no better suggestion which how he ended up sitting on a table, although the lady had tried many times to convince him to sit on a chair, with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand. There was two marshmallows swimming around. Tommy grinned, he had never had marshmallows in his hot chocolate before.

The lady lent against a wall and observed him from a distance. About half way through his mug of hot chocolate she spoke. "My name's Sally Tommy. I don't think I ever told you it." Tommy shook his head as he carried on happily sipping. "It's my job to try and find someone to look after you for a while, how does that sound?"

Tommy stopped sipping and looked at her. He didn't want someone to look after him, he wanted his mum. "Why can't my mum look after me?" He knew it was a silly question, he knew, he knew, the fact was still sitting heavy in his heart.

"Tommy, you and I both know that your mum can no longer look after you. I'm so sorry but it's the truth." Tommy's face fell, tears beginning to swell in his eyes again. He wanted his mum, what did she mean other people? He didn't want other people, he wanted to go back before, before all this happened and he was at home. He didn't want another person. Not now and not ever.

Once again, Tommy hadn't realised he was crying until Sally was standing in front of him, this time she just hugged him. Gathered him up in her arms and pressed him close to her. It was comforting, the first hug he had received in ages.

He didn't cry as much this time. His breathing settled down as the tears stopped flowing. "What's the matter Tommy?" He didn't know, just that everything was too much and too scary. Every thought sent panic and sadness flooding through his veins. He didn't know. Why didn't they understand that? He doesn't know?

"I don't know."

It came out more angrily than he expected, but he needed Sally to just stop asking. But instead of being angry back she just said,

"Okay Tommy." And so they stayed like that a bit, Tommy sitting on a table with Sally holding him in her arms.

"Lets not worry about the future okay? It must seem so big and scary." She had dealt with enough children to know what was the matter, or at least hazard a guess. So when she felt her nod against him she carried on speaking. "Lets stop thinking about that, because it's scary and I don't want you to be scared. Lets take today, and tomorrow, and however many days it takes to stop worrying about the future a minute at a time. Think about 1 minute, just one, and don't think about too much. We'll take this minute by minute, okay? Second by second, whatever it takes to make you stop worrying. So lets start with that shall we?

"In this minute, you are going to dry you eyes and carry on doing that steady breathing. I am going to put some more milk in a pan for some more hot chocolate, and that's it. Okay? Just think about that." And so they did, and by the time the milk had boiled Tommy was calm, or as calm as you could be in his situation.

And then he got sat in a chair with lots of cushions and rugs and teddy bears, and Sally and him discussed what was going to happen. This time they took it day by day. So today he was going to go to pack all his bags and go to a nice lady that had a bedroom for him. The lady's name is Puffy and she is going to look after him for a little bit. Tommy didn't really know what that meant but it was going to be fine because Tommy could always contact Sally if he needed to. It was a like a sleepover she said, just at a house he'd never been to before. Tommy smiled at that, he had never been to a sleepover before.

"It's going to be fine Tommy, okay? Puffy is a nice lady, it's all going to be just fine."

Chapter Text

Tommy hates the fact that this room is not his. Not really. The big white walls, the window looking out onto a garden he's not been into, the bed that he's sleeping in but that doesn't make it his.

He hates the fact it's a stranger's house, a lady he doesn't know, telling him to do things that he doesn't want to do. Who was she to make him do things? She wasn't his mother, and he hated that she was trying to be his.

The food was not his. The furniture was not his. The carpet under his feet was not his. This was not his house, he didn't want to call it home or ever call it home. He had a house already. One that was hours and hours away, one that held memories in it, it had his clothes, his bed, his garden, his teddies, not this strange big house with a random lady.

He hated it, he hated it all. Everything reminded him of what he had lost, and what he was never going to get back. It was a painful reminder, lemon juice in an open cut - the stinging never stopping. It was a painful reminder of what had happened. Everything mocked him, the voice in his head painfully teasing him when he forgot for a few minutes.

Tommy had cried on the first day when Puffy had put his things in the washing machine. Sure they were cleaner than they had ever been, and felt soft when he put them on, but the smell of his mother was lost. Gone forever, with nothing to help him get it back. They smelt too clean, too fresh, there was no longer a hint of floral perfume mixing with cigarette smoke and something else that was unnameable. It lost the sense of familiarity and safety, something that Tommy desperately craved. And it was gone. Gone in an action so thoughtless, it stung.

It sounds silly but Tommy had just sat on the floor, clothes spilling around him, crying. Desperate, heaving sobs choking out of him. Everything around him was collapsing, falling down and Tommy was watching it, unable to stop the tragedy unfolding only left to deal with the after effects of the disaster spinning through his life.

But other than that it was going great. Haha.

In fairness, the house was the most gorgeous Tommy had ever seen. It was like one out of fairy tales, roses climbed up the front wall of the house creating an archway over the door - the red standing so prettily out against the cream of the painted house. The door was a dark wood with a big iron door nob, that twisted into a rough circle. Flowers lined the path to the house, bright purples and yellows popping out from everywhere.

Tommy had never seen so much nature in his life, it was peaceful. Some days he spent all day just watching the different bugs in the garden. Butterflies delicately resting on the floors, the fat bumbles bees lazily flying round the garden and the lady birds content on big green leaves. Tommy had never seen anything like.

And the house had a thatched roof. A roof made of straw, the idea was preposterous.

"But how does the rain not get in?"

"Well Tommy, the straw is very thickly layered so it can't get through."

"But in the three little pigs the straw house gets blown down so how does it not happen here?"

Puffy had just laughed, and explained. Tommy did not let this conversation rest and after he had found out asked at least one question a day about the roof and how it was made of straw. He was always very pleased when Puffy explained it to him, finding different examples and things for him when he didn't get it the first time. He liked Puffy she was very nice.

For example, she brought him books, and they read it together every night. Every. Night. Tommy couldn't believe his luck, his mum had never done that for him. But Puffy did it every night, taking time to some him some illustrations if there were any, and putting on silly voices for the different characters. Tommy didn't know people did that and found it highly entertaining.

Or they would find different Disney movies and then rate them, Up could never be beaten apparently. But there were some good contenders too - Aladdin was wonderful, he liked the genie a, and Lion King was great. Tommy learnt all the lyrics to the Lion King's songs, and made Puffy learn it too.

They fell into a steady safe rhythm over time, that Tommy enjoyed. She was always there, and was so good at explaining things. She never cared about his questions or the mud that got brought into the house from playing in the garden. He found her safe, warm and comforting. He loved the house and after a while started to like her too.

Mainly Tommy followed Sally's advice and took each day as it came. Some days were the best in his life, laughing until everything hurt, the day causing him to feel like he was floating through the sky. Other days were more rough, the gaping hole in his heart where his mother had once taken residence and never really left - sometimes he could forget about it - sometimes it consumed him, and he could barely breathe. But for the main part life was easier taking one day at a time, not letting himself think too far into the future and too far into the past. Life became pleasurable, and Tommy liked the fact it was.

However, there was one evening where it went slightly wrong. Tommy hadn't meant to. He was tired and snappy. Everything was irritating him, the tags on his clothes were scratching against his skin and no matter what he did he could feel them. His skin burned, wanting to rip it up and scratch it, he was desperate to and no matter how much he scratched it didn't go away. The noise of the electricity in the plugs was at a frequency he couldn't ignore, too high pitch and quiet, all he could focus on was that. And to tie in all this mess he was miserable, he was tired and upset, and really right now he wanted his mother. His actual mother, the comfort of her, just her. Her smell, the way she walked, her laugh, her routine - he missed it all and today for whatever reason it had hit him with a truck.

So when Puffy for the fourth time today told him that he needed to tidy his room, and then come down so she could teach him maths, the anger and frustration that had been bubbling away, rising steadily in a pot, spilled over and Tommy hit the absolute roof.

"You aren't my mother. Stop acting like it. I hate it when you pretend to be my mother, you can't replace her. Stop pretending like you can. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Stop telling me what to do and how to live my life, stop pretending to be something that you aren't. I don't bloody know you and you for sure don't know me. Now leave, I don't want to be here anymore, I can't stand you. I can't stand the way you talk, and the way you act towards me. I hate it, I hate it. I. Hate. It."

Tommy had yelled at her, words spitting from his mouth that weren't even registering. He watched as each one landed, the way Puffy tried to open her mouth and then shut it promptly. There was a devastating silence after Tommy had finished yelling. Puffy looked down at the floor, as if thinking over the words, before looking back at him and quietly dipping her head into a nod. She turned around and shut the door silently.

Tommy realised he messed up. Really he did. He had no idea where that came from or why he even said it, but nonetheless he had, and now he had upset Puffy. He didn't want to have upset Puffy he wanted to stay, he didn't hate her, not really. He loved the way she read to him, the way she answered questions and the way she always remembered special things about him.

He liked her, and Tommy - typical Tommy - had gone and messed it all up.

Sally came and collected him the next morning. Tommy politely thanked Puffy, giving her a small smile that she returned although it didn't meet her eyes.

And then, he endured a very very awkward car ride home.

Chapter Text

6 years ago

6 years ago
There is a boy who is taking each day as it comes. There have been a lot of days now, since he had first heard that said. 1095 days to be exact. 3 years is a long time. Some days had been great, he had met some great kids and far less greater adults. There had been some days where he had laughed until he couldn't breathe, where each day felt like it was blessed in sunshine, everything painted a yellow-gold in the memories he replayed every night for a while. But there had been a lot more crappier days. After all, there had been some really really terrible people he had met. There had been days where everything was dark and grey, where tears had almost been hanging in his eyes every day. There was a feeling, in those days, that came on - a feeling of longing and wanting for a home. A place of refuge and safety, a place where he imagined was full of love. He longed for a place to call home, a home that doesn't exist. To put it bluntly, that feeling hurt more than anything an adult had done to him.

Because it was a steady reminder to what he had lost.

So Tommy had taken each day as they came, not letting himself think more than 2 days in the future - and it was useful, although Tommy would never tell Sally that. If he did, she would look at him with that fond look in her eye and ruffle his hair, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. So he never mentioned it.

And recently, how was Tommy doing? Well Tommy was doing great. Really really well. He was currently living in a group home, it was full and loud and Tommy felt safe. The house was loud, sure Tommy wasn't going to lie, but he felt content listening to laughing, happy children - it was nicer to some of the sounds he's heard. There was always food on the table and he had his own room, a luxury in itself, and he could shower and didn't have to do many chores. No in Tommy's opinion, a slight controversial one, group homes were the best. He had been here for about 2 months since his last house, and he felt great.

And the best thing? The best thing was that Tommy had a friend here. Tommy was great at making friends because most people found him protective and safe - a sun shining in a miserable life - but this friend he really liked. It wasn't a small child who was clinging to him because they felt unsafe nor was it an older child who was helping him keep as many bruises off him as possible nor was it someone he found annoying and just had to put up with. No. This was a friend, one of the first people he would consider his first best friend.
Tommy's friend is Ranboo. They are the same age, although Ranboo will turn 12 before he will, Tommy is very annoyed about that, and it doesn't mean Tommy is a child. Tommy is not a child, he is a big man - a very big man - with a big friend too. Ranboo had a very dry sense of humour, something that Tommy found really easy to bounce off. They were a great pair, two spindly children with a great sense of humour and a slightly wild air about them.

Ranboo's room was next to him, something that Tommy was currently in. Something that Tommy was definitely not supposed to be in - according to the house rules anyway. But realistically, who reads those rules? Not Tommy, and Ranboo has only to find loopholes in them. It is currently 3 o'clock in the morning, and both Tommy and Ranboo are lying on Ranboo's bed, feet pressed up on the wall in front of them, stretching above their heads.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Ranboo?" Yes, Tommy was starting off deep and fast - it was past midnight and therefore only serious topics were discussed. "Alive?" Ranboo said, voice going up at the end because he so knew what Tommy meant.

"No you bitch. What job?" An exasperated sigh leaving his mouth," And please don't die on me Ranboo, I don't want to face the world alone without you." His tone turned serious as he twisted his head to look at Ranboo, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression. Ranboo turned his head so Tommy couldn't see his expression.

"I don't know really, I don't really think about that much." Ranboo spoke quietly, and they lapsed into silence, the words settling between them. Their legs pressed against the wall from where their feet were above their head - were casting big stretching shadows across the wall from where street lights shone in from the crack in the curtains. Tommy was glad he was with Ranboo, never wanting to not be A Big Man but he was terrified of darkness, scared shitless of it. The way the shadows stretched and contorted into figures and creatures usually left Tommy frozen at night.

"Tommy, we will still be friends right?" Ranboo's voice sounds strained, as if he was waiting for an answer. An emotion Tommy couldn't name rose inside him, "Friends? Friends?" Tommy said indignantly,``Boss man if you aren't my roommate and we are eating popcorn while criticising movies every other night, you and I will have a problem." Tommy shook his head, unsure how he was friends with someone who had the self confidence of a scared mouse. Honestly, friends? What kind of question was that? Ranboo had let out a content hum after hearing Tommy's answer and moved even more closer to him, their sides touching. Eventually, their legs flopped down as they fell asleep. They stayed cuddled together until the morning.

As usual, the night before was not mentioned, however Tommy thought he
noticed a spring in Ranboo's step as he walked into the kitchen the next morning. He smiled into his cereal bowl, glad his friend was feeling good.
It was Saturday today. A great day to do oh-so many things. It was a day of some form of relaxation and every now and then mischief. On today's agenda? Photoing someone's room. There had been a recent development Tommy had heard of, of a Mr Quackity having a crush on a Mr Karl, and Tommy was about to take full advantage of this newly come by news.
It was a simple plan really, Tommy thinks smugly, as he crept into Quackity's room with a bunch of printed out photos and a hell-of-a-lot blue tac. At school, he had photo shopped the two boys together with red love hearts around the outside and the word 'love' written in between the two boys, Tommy was rather proud of his handiwork, and had then printed out 100 copies of it. Now he was just going to sneak into Quackity's room and stick them everywhere.

Ranboo of course, had many disagreements with the plan, but Tommy had merely waved them off. It was a fool proof plan, that nothing - and that means nothing - can go wrong. And when Tommy meant stick them everywhere, it was legitimately everywhere. On every surface was a picture - the bed, the desk, the wardrobe, across the windows, on the walls (Tommy for once was glad how small the room was), the floor - and then Tommy took the much needed liberty of putting them inside things as well. This was a little bit trickier mind you as blue tac does not take well to clothing, so please appreciate the effort Tommy was putting in for this. And so in 20 minutes, the room was absolutely covered. With a final nod of mischief, he shut the door and left. Ranboo did not look so happy.
It was a couple of hours when Quackity and Karl came back, after doing god knows what. Tommy knew Quackity had come back from a few things really: firstly, he had heard the front door slam and Quackity's ungracious ascent of the stairs, how can someone walk up stairs so loudly? Tommy does not know. Secondly, there was an angry shout.

"TOMMY, get your ass down here." Tommy looked at Ranboo who was sitting at the desk in his room, feet curled up under him. Ranboo offered no support, a mere shrug and continued reading. What. A. Bitch. Very slowly Tommy descended the stairs, to the landing where Quackity's room was.

Quackity did not look too happy. Tommy gulped. Karl on the other hand collapsed on the floor, tears streaming down his face, clutching his stomach. If all else fails Tommy will use Karl as a shield.

"Hello, Big Q, my number one geezer, my bestie, the biggest of men not including me, how are you doing on this fine afternoon?" Quackity only looked at him. This was going to be an issue. "A conversation requires two people, boss man. I can't monologue all day." Karl hands hit the floor, air squeaking out of him as if he was a collapsing balloon.

"Tommy, what did you do to my room?" There was an edge to Quackity's voice, Tommy noted warily, he would have to tread very carefully. "You call that piece of shit your room? Damn, I thought you had higher standards." This was not treading carefully.

Quackity took a step forwards, eyes narrowing.

"I don't, I don't know, please big Q it wasn't me, it was Ranboo, I have no idea what you are talking about, please don't hurt me." It is not a good day for the Tommy Innit community.

"Are you sure Tommy? Because this isn't something Ranboo would do."

"I have absolutely no idea what that boy has done. He does many things, including eating cereal with his hands - you may have to be more specific." Quackity rolled his eyes as he walked towards the door. "Fine, Tommy, if you say so."

"RANBOO." Quackity yelled. It was not going for the Ranboo community too.

Chapter Text

4 years ago

A small smile hung on his mouth as he remembered Ranboo running from a very angry Quackity, the look Ranboo had given him as he ran past him still makes him laugh, the sheer terror and betrayal is indescribable, Quackity him mixing between threatening him in English and Spanish.

"I will turn you into an omelet you string boy I swear to God." There had then been a thud and a squeak. Tommy had not wanted to know what had just happened.

Tommy for the life of him can't really remember how the whole situation ends, although that's probably because he was sitting on the stairs with Karl as they listened to angry yells and terrified squeals echo off walls. He was not laughing at his friend (he promises, it was something else they were laughing at. Honestly.)Memories like this is what keeps Tommy going, recently, it had been a bad half a year for the Tommy Innit community and yet these memories that are pure sugar happiness, the ones that make you feel like you are floating, still able to feel the stretch of the grin across your face, the burning of the stomach. Tommy gazes out the window, content for now.

You could say there had not been many good points for the Tommy Innit in a while. And while Tommy was a Big Man, the very best there is, he was starting to grow tired of, well.. life in general. In the last six months, the longest he had lived in a house was a week and a half - it was not poggers, in fact very much the opposite of poggers. It was emergency home after emergency home after emergency home, and even the Biggest Man in the world was starting to have issues with the fact he had no permanent place to call home.

Every person needed a home, and Tommy was in desperate need of one. Tommy was also in need of a friend, and his ego was suffering because of it.

He had not spoken to Ranboo in months and hadn't seen him in even longer. That is the trouble, Tommy thought bitterly as he moved his legs to try and get comfortable in the car he was sitting in, when your only friend is also a foster child, that staying in touch in incredibly difficult. So here he was, sat in Sally's car, friendless, not quite homeless but close enough and an ego that was severely damaged.

"This house will be more a permanent house Tommy, I promise."

Tommy rolled his eyes and scoffed, he had heard that one before. And while he knew that Sally was just trying her best, it was frustrating for him too. He didn't answer her, and just continued gazing out the window as streetlights zoomed by.

"It will be Tommy, he's called Sam and is a mechanic." Tommy pretended he wasn't paying attention but was taking a mental note of the information she told him.

"He's fostered children for a while, I've met him several times myself, and he is a lovely man. He usually lets the children staying with him help out in his shop."

"I'm thirteen, i'm not a child anymore." Tommy cut in, not commenting on anything else she had said. The smile on her face was obvious when she said,

"Okay Tommy, he let's his guests help him. And I promise this time it will be longer than a month."

Inwardly, Tommy started to relax, shoulders relaxing a bit with that knowledge, he wasn't sure how much longer he could have taken moving so often. The clothes in the plastic bag he had been given had never been moved from them, apart from the occasional time an adult offered to wash them. It would be nice to have a place that is not so temporary.

They didn't talk much after that, and Tommy was content with the silence, Ed Sheeran playing softly from the radio that was playing quietly in the background. However the minute 'Shape of You' started playing Tommy decided he had to intervene, he was not about to listen to the red haired singer for more than 5 minutes.

"Sally, we'd better change the radio station before loose my absolute hand bag from listening to this ginger sing another word about his wife. Like I am all for women, don't get me wrong, but not his one, he just never shuts up about her and quite frankly that is insulting." Sally smiled slightly, glad that he was talking a bit more, and changed the radio station. Tommy hummed contently, glad that they had changed it in time for his ears to not bleed - they were very close to.

It was past midnight by the time he arrived at Sam's house and he was drained. For the life of Tommy, he could not remember anything other than knocking on the door and then walking up a staircase to bed. It was probably a bad thing because it meant that he didn't have time to look around the house and see what it looked like. He liked to know where all the exits were, just in case.

He awoke in the morning, annoyed. Tommy thinks he should receive a refund because he feels just as tired as he was last night. That sleep had no reason to be that useless. Once again, Tommy was in a room he doesn't really remember, in a house he has only a vague idea of how he got to, and he had absolutely no idea who the owner of the house is. Tommy got up, going to change the last fact - he really should know who he was staying with. Someone called Simon? No. Samuel? Tommy can't remember what Sally said his name was.

This was about to be a very awkward breakfast.

He made his way downstairs, memorizing which ones creaked and which ones didn't. Just in case. There was a man with dyed green hair.

"I like your hair boss man, it's a very......" there was an awkward pause as suddenly words did not exist in Tommy's mind," mossy?" Tommy cringed, it was not a good start. Thankfully Sam did not seem to mind it too much, a small smile appeared.

"Thank you Thomas, I app-"

"Tommy, it's Tommy."

Shit. That was rather blunt. This is why sleep is important, Tommy thought angrily, so my brain actually processes what i am saying. But no, it was as if he had no sleep, what fun, I love me, what a great time -

"Sorry Tommy, I didn't realise. Let's get you some breakfast." And just like that the conversation moved on.

-------------------------------

Okay, Sally wasn't lying when she said this was less temporary and more permanent. For the first week, Tommy kept his clothes in his bin bag, waiting for Sally to come back. It then dawned on him, a week and a half in that Sally was not actually coming back. One point for the Tommy community - a place to call home for now.Over the next coming weeks, Tommy started to know a lot about cars. Don't get Tommy wrong, he likes to know this but could there not be another conversation topic to talk about. It was car parts this, engine thingys that, angry customers on the phone at silly o'clock and motor sports continuously.

Not that he would ever let Sam know this because he is thirteen and therefore a Big Man - but watching motor sports became the highlight of his day. At around 4 o'clock, Sam ditches everything and calls out loudly,

"Tommy, it's starting."

Tommy then gets the popcorn into a big bowl as Sam gets all the rugs so they can snuggle up and watch Formula One. The first couple of times Tommy had no idea what was going on, but it didn't matter because it was pretty cool anyway. And how fast they were going? Tommy had never seen anything go that speed. Over the next few weekends, he watched loads, with Sam during the week explaining the rules and what everything meant.

A routine started to develop after a while, Tommy hadn't had those in a while. Tommy would wake up at around 9, eating breakfast, meet Sam in his mechanics shop down the road, help him out, they would come back from dinner and then Sam would go back to the shop or they would watch a film about, you guessed it, cars or something based around that. Of course if it was the weekend and Formula One was on, then everything would stop as they watched it.

Tommy didn't realise how much Sam meant when he said everything stops for the races, literally anything they were doing would stop. Tommy remembers vividly last weekend Sam had received a phone call which he had taken while watching the race. It had not gone as well as the customer had wanted it to go. Tommy had never seen an adult just lie, like pure lies to a customer no less. Tommy could only hear Sam's side and it went something like this:

"Hello Sam speaking."

Of course, Sam was doing the normal thing that everyone does on the phone which is pace around and do the most random things - right now he was individually dunking popcorn into oil and then sprinkling salt on them. Why? What a good question.

"Your car needs to come in, sure no problem.

....

Yeah we don't really mind what time.

Yep anytime.

Oh no not in twenty minutes, actually." Sam looks at the TV with mild desperation, he was frowning. Tommy mean while was grinning.

"My bad. You can come in any time after,"

Sam checked what time the race finished,

"Actually you may as well come in tomorrow when we are a lot less busy. Would that be okay."

There was a stretch of silence.

"What am I doing now? What do you mean what am I doing now?

...

I am doing very important things on someone else's care that won't be done until 7 o'clock this evening. Is that good for you? What do you mean do that one tomorrow? You car is not top of my priorities, ma'am.

....

I do not care, i have very important things to be doing.

....

Good I'm glad we sorted that out, see you tomorrow." And with that he had hung up. Sam had walked over to the sofa, smiling at how much Tommy had enjoyed that.

"Honestly Tommy, some people just can't seem to mind their own business. Like I am trying to watch a race and they are doing this? Absolutely not. Some people just needed to get a life you know what I'm saying?"

"Totally agree boss man." Tommy had no idea what Sam was talking about, but it is always fun to pretend.

Tommy had nodded along to the rest of the rant and then they got back to watching the race. It was a good race, a great race. Tommy still had no idea what was actually happening, but there were fast cars and he knew the basics.

Small steps for Tommy, small steps.

--------

"Tommy can you pass the wrench." Tommy does not know what a wrench is. He guess is, feebly handing Sam some sort of tool. He is pretty sure that -

"Tommy this is not a wrench"

Okay, almost positively sure that what he had given Sam was not a wrench.

He looked around desperately for whatever a wrench could be. Eventually, Sam sensing Tommy's panic, directed him to where wrenches were. Tommy now knows what a wrench is, he also knows that he had just given Sam an electric drill - close enough.

Tommy spent a lot of time, nearly everyday, at Sam's garage. He wears overalls that Sam had given him, they were blue all in ones, stained with oil and other stains, and Tommy loves them. He feels wanted and needed. He feels grown up - not many 13 year olds got to work with a mechanic foster parent.

Every time Sam asked him to do something or to help him with something, he felt wanted. It was a nice feeling to have - something warm and smooth would slide into his stomach, because it meant he was useful, that Sam actually wanted him there and wasn't annoyed with his presence. There was something so simply delightful about being wanted, about someone specifically asking for your presence, Tommy learnt.So everyday without fail he would go to the garage with Sam and help him out. Sometimes he would do small mundane things like holding torches for him, passing him tools or retrieving things for him; other times Tommy got to answer the phone (although not for very long, may Mrs Fletcher and her car rest in peace), help write in forms, be in charge of the car keys and many important things like that.

The best thing he got to do what drive the cars sometimes, a certain importance he felt when doing that. Sure the first time he nearly ran over Sam's foot, but he is better at that now after Sam's very controlled teaching and quick intervention. And now he gets to drive the cars to designated areas or pull them round the front for the customers. He loved it. Sam loved that he loved it. It was a great time for everyone.

Tommy felt wanted, loved and special and nothing ever changed about that.

--------

Life with Sam was comfortable and safe. Nothing ever really deviated from the norm and that was great for Tommy. He was getting better and better at dealing with cars, he started to look forward to going to the garage with Sam too.

He enjoyed his time with Sam very much. Sure every now and then the pain of missing a life he couldn't live, and being with people in places he didn't know, would sometimes hurt a lot but actually Sam was really good at dealing with a sad and angry Tommy.

He wasn't like Mr Peters who would lock him up nor was he like Mrs Shears who would hit him if he cried, they would just sit on the sofa as Sam hugged him. They would either talk about it or not, it was Tommy's decision, and Tommy loved that. He had the control and for what ever reason that made him feel even more safe.

He had stayed with him for 5 months, and when Sally came to get him, he was fine. It was totally fine, ( he definitely did not cry, Sam's roof must be leaking, it was not Tommy's eyes leaking). They stood by the front door hugging, and you want to know something? That was the first time he had hugged a foster parent goodbye.

Big wins all round basically.

"I'm going to miss you Sam."

"Me too Tommy, me too."

"Thank you for being so kind, you really helped me Big S. Thank you." Tommy's voice shook as he said that.

"No problem Tommy, thank you for being such a great mechanic with me."

Sam ruffled his hair, Tommy whined trying to escape the hand. It was useless, but Tommy already knew that. Eventually Sam let him go, Tommy had tear tracks down his face and Sam's eyes were watering every so slightly. He was going to miss Sam, which was surprising because he rarely cared about foster parents. He gave a watery smile as he waved to Sam, he got in the car and collapsed sobbing. It was going to be fine, Tommy only takes one day at a time, it worked before and it will work now.

Chapter Text

3 years ago

Something Tommy would never have guessed he likes doing is reading, and yet here he is. Right now his bedroom had an oak bookcase that stretched the entire length of his bedroom, a contrast to his cream walls, and every shelf had a book on it. He loves it. The escapism is so nice, his personal favourite character trope is thieves that remain in shadows and can throw knives, they are the best type of characters and no one, and Tommy means no one, would be able to change his mind. There's something so freeing about that character life style - he wants that type of freedom with every fiber of his being.

But that doesn't mean those are the only books he reads, hell no, there is a huge variety on the book case. You of course have the classics: Harry Potter, Maze Runner, Hunger Games and Alex Rider but he also has others that stem from magical to sci-fi, he has biographies, factual books, murder mystery, fantasy, action, spy books - you name it Tommy's got it. Apart from Romance, Tommy would rather die than read about people in love. Nope, never ever, cross his heart and hope to die.

Niki, is the best foster parent he has ever had.

--------------
(a few weeks before)

They are in a book shop. He really doesn't want to be here, but was too scared to tell Niki that. So here he was, surrounded by books and colours and people. He was drifting after Niki, not really paying attention to what was going on, just trying to make it out of here without panicking. Niki on the other hand, doesn't seem to want to be quick.

She is in front of him, crouched by the floor, reading blurbs on books, one in each hand and two spread out on the floor. Tommy had never really been interested in reading- not that in the last few years he could have, most foster parents do not want to spend lots of money on child that aren't theirs. Tommy can read, he can, but it's difficult and words are a funny thing. So he never read, and has no intention of reading.

He hung back from Niki, about a metre, just staring into space. He had never been with a foster parent like Niki and was still wary of her. The fear of the unknown is something Tommy has learnt to deal with, or mask, throughout the years, easier to keep your head down and not say anything then do something against unspoken rules or boundaries. Tommy was so busy thinking he didn't notice Niki calling his name.

"Why don't you go and find a book. I don't mind buying it for you." Shock registered through him, not sure quite what to say. He really didn't want a book to read and was more than fine with just staring into space, but the fear of not listening to her was stronger. He gulped and then nodded, trying to breathe as steadily as possible, and made his way over to the bookshelves for young adults.

On the way there was a blue cow. It was nothing special - and yet something about it caught his eye. It looked so soft, the fur and light blue, and the mouth was sewn with an upwards tilt. It looked so happy. You have to remember that Tommy was a big man, the biggest man around, so if Tommy liked the sheep and, let's say, desperately wanted it, that was for no one to know. He had stopped registering people all around him, had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing, his gaze so fixed on the cow and just how pretty it was.He must have been staring at it for too long because suddenly there was a voice behind him.

"Tommy did you find a book?" He jumped, spinning around to see Niki just behind him.

"I, uh, no not yet." She had this fond look in her eye, a look he couldn't quite place. Mumbling and looking at her with a bit of fear he waited for what she was going to do. He had not listened to her, disobeying her and had got distracted. In some of his earlier homes he would have definitely been beaten, Mrs Shears he knows for sure would have taken away his dinner for a couple of days and Mr Jonathan would have locked him in his room. He shuddered at the memories plaguing him and waited.

"Well, go and pick one out then." It was so soft they way she said it, a contrast to so many others. He nodded, mumbled and practically over to the shelves. Desperately he looked on the tables and shelves of books trying to find one that looked at least a bit interesting, grabbing one with a black cover and some sort of yellow bird? he stumbled back over to Niki, handing it to her.

"Oh the Hunger Games, good choice Tommy." He smiled, she liked it? Thank God.

They paid and left the shop, Niki carrying the shopping. They walked in silence, Niki broke the silence once again.

"I have something for you." She set down the bags with books in them and opened another one. From inside she pulled out the blue cow. Tommy looked confused.

"That's for me? Why did you do that? Wait no, I didn't mean it like that, sorry sorry so-"

"I saw you looking at it." She shrugged and handed it to him. "It's yours take it." And so with shaking hands, he took the cow. The cow is so so soft, just like he imagined it would be. The fur ruffles under his fingertips and all he can do is stare at it, unable to believe that this now belong to him. And if Niki saw the tears in his eyes and the sad, soft smile, she didn't mention it.

"What are you going to call it?"

"What?" He snapped out of his trance.

"What are you going to call the cow?" Tommy looked back down at the cow, thinking for a moment.

"Henry. Henry the cow."

"Yeah."

"Yes, Henry is the best name ever and if you disagree you are just wrong." Niki laughed, and for some reason. Tommy found himself laughing with her, it was a confusing afternoon.

------------

Niki likes to bake, and that is her job too. According to Tommy, that is the best job of all time, ever. Surrounded by cake? Yes please. And she is great at it too, of course Tommy is her taste-tester, a very important job for Tommy to have. Niki simply would not be able to bake if he was not there.

Every day, he wakes up to beautiful smells, she makes bread and cake and cup cakes and pastries and biscuits and everything, Tommy is living in heaven. What a fantastic place to live, if Tommy says so.

She is also the sweetest person in existence. Something Tommy has big issues with is people pretending to be his mother, because quite simply, they are not his mother. There are lots of women in the foster system who seem to have this audacious opinion that he should want them to be his mother, that he should be grateful for the fact they exist. Tommy of course laughed in their faces and then caused them hell on earth. Some people just need to be put in their place and 14 year old Tommy is more than fine to have that job. But Niki was the complete opposite, she was more like an older sister rather than an old hag who he was forced to live with.

She is soft and caring, and has that voice that shows that she is not one to be messed with. She can be strict, but there is this safe aura around her - this sense that you are completely and utterly safe and nothing bad can happen. Tommy has never ever felt so safe in someone's presence - there is a reason this is his longest placement ever.

He is currently still in bed, sun streaming through his translucent curtains - painting the cream walls into a lighter white. His room is big and matches the rest of the house. In all honestly, the house feels magical, everything just the right size with potted plants draping corners of rooms and everything a light, warm colour.

Sometimes Tommy thinks this is a dream, that one day all this goodness will go.

"Tommy you should be up by now, do not make me come and get you."

See stern but loving.

He rolls out the bed - literally because he lands with a thump on the floor. Moments later he is dressed and in the kitchen. Thick smooth coffee is in a cup in front of his and banana bread is on a plate, half eaten and delicious.

"I need to go to the book store again today, you want to come."

His "yes please" is muffled through his mouth full of bread.

"Tommy, please do not speak with your mouth full."

"Whatever bitch" is even more muffled as more bread is shoved into his mouth.

"Okay, well i'm taking it you want to come. We'll leave at 11 if that's okay."

It certainly was.

Has Tommy mentioned he loves the smell of books? They are the best smell in the world. Tommy would rather die than never be able to smell books again. It's a warm smell that comes from the very essence of the pages, it's uplifting and highly addicting.

Which is why the first thing he did when he walked into the book store just sniff. Like a dog, perhaps. Did he look a little weird just sniffing in the middle of the door? Yes. Did he care? Absolutely not, only a fool would be self consciousness of their actions like that, and he is not a fool.

"Come on Tommy, we don't have all day." Tommy took an extra sniff, and then trotted after Niki. How does a woman so small walk so fast? Tommy does not know, he is 6ft and running after a woman no taller than 5ft 5, why is he running? Tommy is bemused.

"We need to get a birthday present for my boss, my mother and Shelby, so first we are going to -"

"And for me"

"No not for you, you have more than enough. First we are going to go to the fantasy sect-"

"But Niki I want a book, I haven't had a new one in," Tommy paused trying to think of a good number that would make Niki feel bad for him, " 3 days." Niki scoffed. That was obviously the wrong answer then.

" Tommy some children get books once a year, and you are complaining you haven't had one in 3 days."

"But Niki, I neeeeeed one." Tommy did not need one, but he wanted one desperately and he was going to make sure that Niki at least knew about it.

"No Tommy, first we are going to the fantasy section, then the factual section for my mum and then the comedy section for Shelby."

"And then we are going to the Young Adults section for me." Tommy added only happily, skipping ahead of her. He missed the glare she shot at him.

"No we aren't, then we are going to Lidl to get baking ingredients, then we need to get you some shampoo."

"So no book?" Tommy turned around looking forlorn, he really wanted a new book. He even did puppy eyes. Puppy eyes do not work on Niki.

"No, no book today. You are running me out of house and home with the amount of money I spend on books. You can help me bake cupcakes later though." She smiled as Tommy's face instantly light up with that idea.

And so, that is how Niki's kitchen looked more like a bomb site than a kitchen and Tommy's hair was more white than blond - neither of them know how that much flour got in it.

"Have you added the butter yet?"

"Yes, all 1200 grams." He was busy stirring to see Niki's look of horror.

"1200 grams? Tommy, please do not tell me you added 1200 grams of butter."

"Of course I did you bitch," don't worry Tommy says 'bitch' like a term of endearment, Niki is fine with it, "that is what the recipe said to do. I wouldn't have added it if it didn't say too, would I?" He rolled his eyes, a slight cloud of flour flew out from his hair. It was ridiculous.

"Tommy, Tommy look at me." Tommy stopped stirring the suspiciously buttery mixture. Tommy is a fool.

"Tommy you didn't actually do that did you." He nodded, looking at the mixture and then back at Niki's mortified face. Niki watched the realisation dawn on him as he looked back at the batter in front of him a look of fear appearing on his face.

"Tommy the recipe says to add 120 grams not 1200."

There was a drawn out beat of silence. Tommy started to laugh, each time he laughed puffs of flour sprang from his hair. He looked like a cloud. Niki started to laugh with him. They laughed for an unreasonable amount of time, with Tommy collapsing onto the floor after a while - his legs unable to hold his weight from his convulsing.

Tommy now had flour all down his back because of the explosion of flour on the floor. He was getting whiter and whiter by the second.

So several yogurt spills later (Niki does not understand how Tommy did that more than once, there isn't even yogurt in the recipe?), and a more precise measure of butter - Niki and Tommy had made a cake. It looked wonderful, Tommy was sure it would taste even better.

But no, he had to wait because it was Niki's mother's birthday and she had to be there first. But her mother wasn't even coming until the next day. Thankfully, he still had a book to read, no thanks to Niki, and so he spent the rest of the day curled up on the sofa, coffee on the table in front of him, blanket making a cocoon and a book balanced on one knee.

---------

The door bell rang and Tommy went to answer it. He was in slightly more formal attire than his usual jeans and hoodie. He was actually wearing a shirt. Tommy Innit was looking very swanky, if he does say so himself.

In fairness, this was of his own choosing, call Tommy stupid but he wanted to make a good impression to Niki's parents. Tommy had never really attended a birthday party for a fosters parent's parent before, so he didn't really know what to expect. In all honesty? Tommy felt sick, he was nervous, really really nervous. His hands were sticky with sweat, everything felt too warm and the cake Niki had baked now looked sickening. Niki had noticed that he was pacing a lot, that he was unable to sit still.

"It's going to be okay Tommy. I'm sure they'll like you." Tommy had only given a tentative smile back, while he words were appreciated they did nothing to help his nausea.

Finally, the door bell rung. Niki gave one last comforting smile to Tommy before going to open the door. There stood in the doorway were two rather elderly people, the woman was wearing a blazer and a long dress, the man next to her was wearing a suit with a tie. Tommy glanced down at his outfit, this was okay right? Niki hadn't said anything so he trusted her, but still. What happens if they didn't like it? What happens if they thought he was rude? What happens if -

"Tommy, come here. This is Hannah my mother and this is Dylan my father. Mum and Dad this is Tommy, he's staying with me for a bit."

"Yes we know Niki." It was a brisk, blunt answer. Tommy shivered. He smiled at them, they didn't not smile back. Shit.

"Well let's head into the sitting room shall we." Niki said after realising that her mother was not going to elaborate. They moved to the sitting room, Tommy's hands beginning to shake. He was desperately trying to remain in the moment, only thinking about the next minute - anything more than that was too much right now, and he would end up having a panic attack.

Thankfully, the large majority of the visit went okay. Her parents mainly focusing on her than them, and although that was probably them trying to be mean, Tommy was thankful, able to sit there and listen without much input.

He learnt that her mother was a painter and had sold many works - currently working on another. Tommy assumed they were very rich. Her father was a banker but now retired. He heard about Niki's cousins and how they were doing, that one of them was pregnant and another engaged. He learnt that someone had tried to push in front of them when they went to the theatre, "but Dylan here, was so good and told them that there was a line and they had pushed in. And oh, Niki, it was so funny, dear. He said, ' do you want to borrow my glasses to help you see' and that was so so funny, honestly you should have seen their faces." Tommy was amazed they didn't see Niki's because she looked mortified, glancing between her mother and father before looking at Tommy who was looking equally confused.

Niki, it seemed did not like her parents that much. Tommy had been confused when she had spoken of them with a rather harsh tone, like she was offended by their existence, he could know see why. Tommy mainly tuned them out, staring at the carpet, making all the correct noises in all the right places. It was going well, hopefully soon they'll go and him and Niki will watch a movie or something. He carried on staring at the carpet for a while as they talked about yet another person he didn't know, it was tiring being a foster kid really. There was always mentions of people unknown and who will remain unknown, although Tommy took great joy in working out who liked who and how well people knew each other.

Lonely. It's really lonely.

Unfortunately, Tommy did not realise that Niki had gone to get cups of tea for everyone, well he didn't realise until it was too late and he was left alone, the atmosphere tense and uncomfortable.

"So Thomas -"

"It's Tommy." He interrupted without realising what he was doing. His eyes widened, and snapped his mouth shut. Niki's mother's eyes went wide.

"Sorry, Tommy, why is Niki looking after you?" Well that's rude, Tommy thought. Niki's mother is blunt and straight to the point.

"I would prefer not to say actually, but she is doing a wonderful job. Honestly, she is so king and caring -"

"I know how my daughter is, thank you very much. Now I'm going to ask you again, why are you here?"

Tommy's blood ran cold, he froze, mind running blank. He knew better than to tell them, knew better than to start divulging precious secrets. So he didn't, he held his ground. Unfortunately, like many other times Tommy has done this, it didn't go well.

"I'm sorry, maybe you didn't hear me Miss. I said I didn't want to tell you, it is none of you business, so do not try and get me to answer that." It was rude, Tommy knows that, in fairness to him, she was rude first.

"Well, you ill-mannered little boy," her eyes were like ice, cold and cutting. Tommy doesn't know how this had escalated so quickly, but with a sinking heart knew it was not about to go well. "You are staying with my daughter and I have every right to know. Why don't you want me to know? Are you scared? You aren't one of those are you, one of those little bastards you steal and fight and argue?"

Tommy shook his head, sinking back into his seat. He wanted Niki to come back, why wasn't Niki coming back? Why was she taking so long? He needed her, it was going to go badly, and he didn't know how to answer these questions. He was panicking, well and truly panicking - the temperature in the air felt like it was dropping several degrees. Meanwhile, Hannah was still talking, vile, piercing words echoing around the room.

"Stop, please just stop. I am not a thief or a liar nor do I fight. My mother fucking died when I was 8 okay, is that good enough for you? Is that what you wanted to know? That I have no mother, that I watched her die, you stupid bitch."

Oh.

Tommy really shouldn't have said that.

Chapter Text

The wall was flat against his back, chest heaving where it was tucked behind his knees. The vibrations of shouting knock around his head, words indistinguishable but loud and echoing. Not that Tommy needed to hear what was being said, it was easy enough to guess after all. He knows the conversation that's going on, and while he loved Niki, he knew what was happening, you didn't need a genius to figure it out.

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, eyes glazed and glassy. Left alone with the weight of pure disappointment, the heavy price to pay for what he had said.

He remembers very little of what happens, not that he needed to - it's all the same after a while. At some point, he remembers Hannah and Dylan storming out, wounding words spat sharply before the door slammed shut behind them, Niki might have run out after them, but he wasn't sure, lost in the blurry, indistinct world the argument had sent him into. The corridor walls stared back at him, and he didn't back down - not that he was actually staring at them, but they were a good blank space to look at as he dealt with the screaming thoughts in his head.

It's funny, Tommy ends up in a lot of corridors - tears streaming down his face.

At some point he ended up in the kitchen, a cup of hot chocolate in front of him. The air was heavy with awkwardness, and Tommy was not going to be the one to break the silence. Quite frankly? Tommy had given up, if you know what that means, because he was gone now, an argument - sharp words, a lack of self control and it was gone, everything was gone. So he allowed the silence to settle, something he usually hated but right now he could careless.
Out the corner of his eye, he could see Niki open her mouth and then shut it several times. Just like him, she didn't know what to say but she didn't need to say it, not to Tommy. It was a mutual understanding - an agreement that at some point (probably tonight) Sally would turn up and that would be it. Some of his happiest days, gone - lost in memories and a blurred sense of nostalgia.

The kitchen lights were dimmed, the silence obvious, and right now Tommy was grateful in a way, knowing that if Niki tried to be pitying or sympathetic or sorry, Tommy might be sick - the silence allowed his thoughts to settle, for his body to get over the disappointment. Well, not really get over it, more allow his body be accustomed to the pain he was feeling. Eventually, Tommy doesn't know how long nor does he care, his hot chocolate had a layer of skin on it and was not very hot anymore, Niki had managed to find the words she wanted to say.

"I'm really sorry Tommy." He didn't react, not even looking at her, "but I think it would be best for both of us if you went, okay?" She was lucky Tommy liked her because otherwise he might have blown up in that moment, but he didn't and instead looked at her. She winced, he looked away.

"Okay." He said after a moment, it hurt. He took his cup, placed it by the sink and walked up stairs. She didn't stop him and he didn't want her to.

Tommy got his bag out and started packing his things- clothes, stationary, books, ornaments - but only things that belonged to him. Anything that Niki had brought him stayed behind. Tommy had made that a rule from when he was about 8 and a half, because he used to take everything including gifts and bought things for him, but then this woman (Tommy can barely remember her) threw a hissy fit about taking a jacket she had bought him. He had been properly yelled at, as if being sent away wasn't bad enough, and from that day he had stopped taking things.

He's sure that somethings are reused, toys and clothes given out to new children that come and go - something 'new' for when the next child comes. He hopes that some of the things he leaves behind bring joy to the new placement, that they appreciate the things he leaves. He hopes other things serve as a reminder, a mocking symbol that he was there, that he didn't need the gifts and presents and other things they bought him. And sometimes he hoped it hurt the adults when they walk into the room he vacated and see the clothes they brought him or the toys they had shown him, a hopeful look in their eye. He hopes it hurts them as they work out what to do with the objects he left behind.

And so the books on the shelves in his room stay, the clothes she had bought him stay hanging up and the stationary don't move. He doesn't tidy anything he leaves, a reminiscent of him - that they had made him leave. Tommy packed a bag and went to sleep, he didn't say 'goodnight' to Niki, although at one point he's sure he hears her call out to him.

The sleep is not a restful one, he tosses and turns, and if Tommy cries a little bit, well that's between him and the pillows. Because that the thing when you like a house you stay in, Tommy doesn't want to leave, he wants to wake up and pretend that nothing happened, that it was a bad dream that only played out in his head.When he awoke, and when downstairs to eat breakfast, he knew he looked a mess. He didn't bother brush his hair, or pick out a good out fit. He probably looked exhausted and defeated - 'good' the petty voice in his head said 'let her know how much it hurts you'. He didn't respond to the conversations she tried to start nor did he look at her, he sat there and ate in silence. It hurt deep down, that it ended like this, that it wasn't because he aged out or because of a situation out of his hands, this was very much because of his actions, a lesson he must learn.

He tried to take each day as they came, and he thought it was going so well, it was. It was. Well, he thought it was. If he had the energy to laugh he would've.

And so at some point Sally knocked on the door, he crouched down to get his bag, and turned around, hugging Niki very hard. He didn't mention she was crying, and she didn't mention the tears on his face either.

"Thank you for having me, I really enjoyed my stay." It was quiet, not sitting right in his numb, flat tone but he hopes that she knows he means it sincerely, that he wasn't angry just defeated, that he had really enjoyed his stay even though it had gone so wrong. She must of understood what he meant because she hugged him back equally hard, and then that was it, he and Sally walked out of the house and Sally lead him down the path, and they got in the car. He looked back at the house, as they drove by, Niki waving her hands so hard, as tears streamed down her face. He waved back, and then they turned at the top of the road - and that was the last time he saw her. Well at least for a while. He turned and looked out the window, content in just staring for a while.

Niki POV:

She watched the car drive off up the street, waited until she couldn't see them at all before closing the door. It was a deep sigh she let out as she made her way upstairs, heart sitting heavy in her chest as she tried her best to wipe off the tears on her face and get rid of the smudge mascara. The stairs felt extra difficult today, legs heavy and weighted, she was tired quite frankly.

She knows that she will never forget that look on Tommy's face, the haunting look of pure betrayal and disappointment, sitting so readily on his face. Children leaving never really gets much easier, especially under the circumstances Tommy left under. The memory replays of the hurt laced in Tommy's voice at what her mother had said, her mother. Her mother had been so nice to her when she was younger, and vaguely Niki wonders when it had all changed.

She makes it to the landing, wanting to just be in bed and asleep, knowing that in the morning she'll be able to process what the hell had just happened. She walks past Tommy's room, old room, and pokes her head through.

She sighs again, part of her expected to see all those books still there lining the shelves adamantly, but another part cried for Tommy - she knew how much he loved them, to give them up said a lot. It hurt looking at the covers of the books, even from the doorway she could seen how worn and loved some were, she wished Tommy had taken at least one but she knows what foster children are like as well. A lot of them will usually leave things behind either too upset, angry or used to having to give things up.

It's why she wasn't surprised when she walked further into the room and opened the cupboard doors. Clothes, all that she had bought, stared back at her. She closed the door quickly, too mentally exhausted to cope with what she had just seen. And as she turned to leave, something on the neatly made bed caught her eye, both which started filling with tears once again. She made her way over to the bed, heart crushed at the sight.

There in the middle of the bed, surrounded by the covers was the fluffy, very distinct shape of a cow. Specifically the one she had bought Tommy. Henry, if she remembers correctly. Niki has no idea why this broke her in the way that it did, but the sight of it: something Tommy had loved so dearly, eyes sparkling with unfiltered happiness and delight, always tucked under his arm as he read late into the evening - hurt in a way that nothing else did. Because he had loved it so much, and she had loved that he liked it so much too. The reward of seeing his face, was the reminder of why she fostered children.

And the pain that she knows Tommy felt at leaving that behind; that he was so upset with her he couldn't bare to take it with him or he thought he had to leave it there. She didn't know which one was worse. So she cried, loud ripping sobs, and somewhere out there too, a young blond boy cried in a car - desperately trying to remember the days he had taken at a time, each one filled with happiness, and joy treasured deeply in his heart.

Chapter Text

2 years ago

His neck prickled with an uncomfortable warmth as he followed Sally, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. They followed the blond haired man into the sitting room. It wasn’t furnished properly, as if things were placed for looks rather than a purpose, if you get Tommy’s drift. The pictures were placed at awkward height on the wall, and littered randomly on shelves, as if they were to prove a point rather than because the man liked the people in the frames.

It didn’t help when the blond haired man turned to him and smiled. Hair stood on the back of Tommy’s neck, eyes wanting to avert the cutting gaze of the man. There was something funny about his smile, his lips curling over his teeth, sharp and glinting - it just looked slightly wrong. Sally apparently had not noticed all of this, she was smiling, creases folding around her eyes and she looked comfortable - Tommy shook himself, maybe he was just imagining it all.

“Hello Tommy, my name is Dream. How are you doing?” The man’s voice was smooth like honey, dripping out his throat and into Tommy’s ears. The man - Dream apparently - smiled again, Tommy shifted uncomfortably, smiling quickly before turning away. The room was stilted and awkward.

Sally looked over at him, and when she realised he wasn’t going to answer but rather stand there awkwardly she jumped in,
“Sorry about that. Tommy is just a bit nervous today, he’s usually talkative.” Dream smiled, Tommy thinks it was supposed to be reassuring but it more looked like a sneer. “Ah no worries, he’ll talk eventually I’m sure.” The room was cold, hairs on Tommy’s arms standing on edge. It wasn’t only him that found the wording of the sentence weird right? Right? A glance at Sally told him it was. He shifted his bag from his shoulder to his feet.

“Why don’t you go to your room Tommy while Dream and I fill out the rest of the paperwork?” It wasn’t a question, but rather a way to get Tommy out of the room. He leapt at it in an instance, wanting to get out of the stay room as Dream.
“Sure,” he muttered, “Where is it?”
“Up the stairs, first door on your right.” He gave a brief nod, and practically sprinted out of the room.

He placed his bag on the bed and sat down next to it, once again the room looked slightly wrong. That everything was placed for all the wrong reasons, nothing was warm - it all had this cold, impersonal feel about it - picture an Ikea home front but a lot less fancy and a lot worse.

Tommy was tense, nothing in this home felt right, all out of place, all slightly wrong. Tommy really hoped it was just because he was tired.

----------------

So a fun fact is that Tommy is always right. It was subtle so so subtle to begin with.

They were sitting down for dinner, Dream was getting the plates. The first couple of days had been alright. Dream had mainly left him to his own devices, which Tommy was grateful for - still not entirely comfortable in Dream’s presence. But Dream had said they had to eat dinner together and so here they were, the trouble was the amount of food that was placed in front of him was the portion for a small child.

“Is that it?” Tommy asked incredulously, and the glint appeared in Dream’s eyes again. An awkward silence fell on the table, sure okay that was a bit rude from Tommy but he’s a growing man, how is he supposed to be the Biggest Man Ever when he has food for a large toddler.
“I think, Tommy, you should take what you are given and not ask for more. Be grateful, okay?” There was a threat laced through those words, almost daring Tommy to argue back. Or maybe not, Dream might just be a stickler for manners, after all Tommy had just been a bit rude there. Yeah no, it wasn’t a threat, he had just misunderstood it that was all. It was fine, it was all good. Tommy nodded and he ate the food, he was still starving after he finished. He did not mention it to Dream. Tommy watched as Dream ate his second and then third portion before requesting help with the dishes. They did so silently.

Tommy went upstairs, a few moments later Dream came up too. He poked his head around the door with a frown on his face. Tommy looked up from where he was sitting on the bed looking out of the window.

“I didn’t say this room.” What? Tommy was almost certainly sure it was this room Dream told him to go to. ‘Up the stairs, first door on your right’ was that not what he had said? No Tommy was so sure that it was this room, really sure. Why was Dream pretending that wasn’t what he said?
“I- what?” Tommy answered, a frown matching Dream’s appearing.
“Did you not hear me Tommy? I said to the second door on the right, this room isn’t yours.” It was said kindly, perhaps stilted but still…kindly. Second door? Tommy must have been really tired right? Maybe Dream did say the second door, had he actually? In all honesty Tommy doesn't know.
“I,” Tommy paused unsure of what to do,” I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to. I must be really tired.”
“I bet you are, let’s go to the right room shall we. You can get an early night.” Tommy followed completely confused and baffled by the whole ordeal.

------------

From then on it did not get much better.

Tommy is not an idiot, he’s been in care long enough to see tricks and manipulation when he sees it - but Tommy is also alone, with no means of contact, in a strangers house who has made it clear that something will go badly wrong if Tommy questions anything. So when Dream over the next coming days gradually added more and more chores to the list he expected Tommy to do, Tommy did nothing.

When he once did open his mouth to say something, Dream looked at him - eyes dark and glinting, the smile creeping onto his face. Tommy shut his mouth and took. He really did not want to. But he did not want to see what would happen if he disagreed with Dream, he had no intent of seeing any of the threats come to life. Okay, doing the chores were tiring and annoying but then again, being punished was probably worse. It was fine, Tommy could make this work. He had to make this work.

He took each day of chores and thinly veiled threats in the hopes that maybe it would only be that and nothing wrong.

-------------

Bruises swirl under the clothes hanging off his even thinner frame, the centres dark blue and purple mixing together into an array of pain while the edges are tinged with swirling greens and mustard yellows, they are more painful than they look. Scratches scatter his face, small ones litter the left side while the right side has one long gash down it. His eyes are a dull grey, the startling blue long gone by now.

Each cut and bruise was because of mistakes - Tommy didn’t mean too he promised but with a lack of food it wasn’t going well. It didn’t help that Tommy was on the constant edge of exhaustion - this wasn’t Dream’s fault actually. Nightmares plagued his dreams, sharp words, even sharper hits and smacks followed his dreams, every now and then razor hot words would funnel down leaving him gasping awake, miserable and hungry, a hole in his chest that by the looks of it was not going to be filled any time soon.

He trusts Dream doesn’t want to punish him, after all it was his fault that food had gone off because he forgot to shut the fridge properly after cleaning it, or that pictures had smashed after he had finished dusting them, or that some of the white laundry was now a more beige because he had mixed the wrong colours together. Half the time Tommy was so tired he doesn’t even remember doing that, like the other day he was so sure that he had shut the fridge properly, if Tommy was a betting man he would have put a couple of hundred because of how sure he was, but obviously he hadn’t.

And each time Dream did punish him he looked so upset, that hitting Tommy hurt him just as much. So Tommy was desperately trying to be a good child, after all people don’t want to adopt you if you are a spoilt child - that was another good thing about Dream he was so good at telling Tommy what he needed to do for someone to want him. He shouldn’t be too loud or take up too much space or be too demanding or make rude jokes (that’s a big one apparently, it had hurt when Dream had told him that one both figuratively and literally - the cut on his cheek was good reminder that he shouldn’t make bad jokes and the heavy lodge in his chest reminded him of how much his missed it) or that he shouldn't want nice things as bad children don’t deserve money spent on them.

Hopefully soon someone will want Tommy but for now, he was with Dream - good Dream, nice Dream, considerate Dream who only wanted the best for him - and he will learn what to do so that he is a good child.

So they fell into a steady routine, Tommy gets up at 5:30 and starts the chores, he does about 4 hours of those, then a lot of school work that Dream gives him (he has to do it well, because otherwise Dream gets…. Well let’s just say Dream gets a bit upset. Also Tommy wants to do well and if that means he doesn’t get to eat because he didn’t get a good enough grade in maths then so be it) and then more chores, and then he cooks dinner, and then he clears up from dinner, and then… and then if Tommy is good he gets to watch TV! How cool is that!!
When he gets to watch TV anything that happened that day was forgotten, it doesn’t matter if there dried blood on his back or that Dream forgot to give him lunch - he was busy and Tommy gets that - as soon as Dream gives him the half smile Tommy is sprinting to the sofa and grabbing the remote. Dream laughs as he watches Tommy’s antics, and then Tommy laughs.

Usually Tommy gets to pick, which is even better, and Dream will come and sit next to him, they snuggle up together and watch whatever the film is and Tommy is content.

Tonight is one of those nights, Tommy after a lot of begging ( don’t worry he knew where the line was, it was very strategic, if he begged too much Dream would refuse point blank, and if he didn’t beg enough then Dream wouldn’t allow it because after all Dream isn’t a “mind reader” so he toed the very thin line between not enough and too much and now he gets to watch Hamilton.)

Tommy almost wants to explode, he has wanted to watch Hamilton for so long and Dream said yes, it was like a miracle.

“Remember Tommy, what are we not going to do?”
“Sing the songs constantly.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it is very annoying and makes me a bad child.” Tommy spurted the answers easy peasy, he just really wants to watch the movie, like now, he knew the rules they had gone over it before, but like… Hamilton.
“Good, okay Tommy, now -”
“Please Dream, can we just watch it?”

There was silence. Fuck. Tommy has just interrupted Dream. Very slowly he turned to look at Dream.
Welp, that had been a bad idea. Dream’s face was stormy, the usual warmish green now and ice mint, blond eyebrows furrowed, mouth turned down. This was a bad moment for the Tommy Innit community.

The silence dragged out, Tommy could hear the blood in his ears, the racing beat of his heart and the clock all the way on the other side of the house steadily ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Even the furniture was holding their breaths, all in waiting to see what the hell Dream was going to say. He felt like he was doused in ice cold water, hair standing on edge, breath shuddering, blood freezing cold.

“Tommy.” It was deep, threatening. Tommy had taken each day of bruises at a time, he was preparing to take another day.
“What have I said about this.” Uh oh. He wanted Tommy to speak, deep shuddering breaths were taken to control his increasingly rising panic.
“Not to interrupt you?” It was said like a question, both of them knew that was the answer.
“What was that Tommy, it almost sounded like you didn’t know. Do i need to tell you again?”
“No, no no no, I shouldn’t interrupt you, never, I should be a good child, interrupting is something only bad children who don’t want parents do.” It was said rushed, quickly, Tommy desperately trying to back track over what he had said.
“Exactly, and what are we Tommy?”
“Not a bad child.”
“So what do we not do?”
“Interrupt people.” Dream gave a confirming hum, Tommy held his breath really hoping, desperately hoping that they could move on, that he had apologies enough. After all Tommy did just really want to watch Hamilton. Once again they descended into silence, in any other situation Tommy would make a joke about how Dream is a dramaticass who should really learn to speak faster so they stop just sitting there awkwardly, but Tommy doesn’t have any blood on him today and he wants it to remain like that. So they sat there, Tommy staring everywhere but Dream.

Finally, finally, Dream said,” Okay start the movie.” And Tommy? Well Tommy happily obliged.

So extremely bad news, Tommy is not very good at forgetting music songs. Anything he has done today had been accompanied with a vast selection of Hamilton songs, but only the bits he could remember, so maybe not that vast after all.

He had done the chores humming one songs, his school work humming another, more chores doing the 3rd and 4th song of today and now here he was in the middle of the forest getting some wood and berries for Dream singing a mixture of all 4 plus the added bonus of another song to top it all off.

He was having a great time, twirling through the leaves, spinning and dancing to the music in his head. The birds tweeted, he was smiling, there was no way he was stopping now. He jumped on fallen trees, pretending to have a duel with an invisible person, he hid behind trees firing at the imaginary enemy, he had sticks at guns and swords, leaves for distractions and pebbles for bullets. At one point he was shot and he had the fantastic opportunity to pretend he was dying, crying out loudly as he crashed to the floor. Sure, tomorrow his body will be covered in bruises but it always usually is so it's fine.

He worked his way through the forest, his imagination taking him back to the war with cannons and rifles, Tommy singing every step of the way. It was so freeing, laughter uncontrollably bubbling up as he pranced his way through the forest, delighted with the mere fact he existed which was a heavy increase to the last 4 months.

Unfortunately, he had to stop moving so much as the pile of sticks he was carrying became heavier and heavier. Still, a pile of wood would not stop Tommy from humming as he went. Joyously he bounced up the garden, dumping the sticks by the back door. They clattered to the ground, but Tommy was too high off endorphins to care.

The backdoor slid open. He bounced in. He stopped. It was off, everything was off - the room was tinged in a threat, coldness seeping in. He made his way forwards, walking normally this time, stomach sinking like a lead balloon and a pit grew in his stomach.

It wasn’t right, what wasn’t right? He searched, racked his brains. He couldn’t think. What was wrong? Because something desperately was. Something was so so wrong.

Quietly he crept into the living room, there sat Dream. Beer bottles cluttered around him, Tommy wanted to cry. Not today, please not today. He would get on his knees and beg, he would do anything Dream wanted but please please not have to deal with Dream drunk. Sober Dream was a nightmare, drunk Dream was lethal.

“Where were you Tommy?” It was cold, his voice barely human - low and scratching. Warning bells were going off in Tommy’s head. He needed to think, he needed to work out what he was going to say. He caught sight of the clock on the wall, his body froze. That can’t be the time, please, maybe the clock stopped working? Or maybe he misread it? Maybe it was new and needed batteries? He wasn’t gone for 2 and a half hours, that’s wrong. Factually wrong. The Great Tommy Innit would know if he was gone for more than the 45 minutes he was granted. Fuck. Fuck.

Dream’s voice cut through Tommy’s panicked thoughts,

“I said, where were you Tommy?”

“I’m sorry Dream, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the time. It was light and I do have a watch, please i’m sorry it won’t happen again. I didn’t realise, i promise, it was an accident. Just a small accident, i won’t do it again, I- please please -” Tommy was desperate, he didn’t want to be punished, not today. Deep down he knew it was too late, the damage was irreversible, the trust broken but he hoped that maybe Dream would take pity, that he would find a way to -

Dream’s hand smashed into the wall by his head. Tommy screamed. He looked at Dream, properly looked at him. Horror dawned on him, the expression killing any thought that he would somehow manage to leave without marks on his body. It was the expression, unfiltered hatred was plastered on Dream’s face. Malice glinted in his eyes, his mouth snarled and wolf-ish. He wanted to cry, he was alone so very very alone right now.

He had tried, he had tried so much. He had taken each day of punches as they came, endured the punishments, vowed to do better and Tommy, stupid fucking Tommy had gone and messed it up. There was no hope, none of it was left in Tommy. Hope that one day he was going to be free, that he would live in a house with a family that wanted him, was gone. Because the expression Dream had right now told him everything he needed to know. Tommy was probably not going to make it out of here alive tonight. The combination of anger, alcohol and Tommy’s sheer incompetence had pushed Dream over the edge and Tommy was about to deal with the consequences.

And then, in that moment a fist collided with his face. And then another, and then another.

Tommy let out a blood curdling scream. Help. Fucking Help.

Chapter Text

So funny fact - Tommy can’t fight to save his life, as in that man would lose a fight with a paper bag if one ever came at him. This has been completely fine until now, and look, Tommy knows that antagonising a person a lot stronger, a lot more powerful and your carer is a bad idea - but there is something so satisfying watching the person he hates get more and more annoyed with him.
That is very much a problem as Tommy’s body sparks with pain, fire blossoming around the areas Dream hits. Tommy put his arms up, trying to at least block his face but it’s useless and futile - Dream’s powerful swings knock them aside, blows landing repeatedly on him.

There’s a metallic taste in his mouth, and when Tommy spits it out, his saliva is mixed with blood - Tommy’s eyes release the tears steadily forming in them, the warm water mixing with the blood dripping out of his mouth and down his chin. It was horrible to look at, but so so much worse to feel.

“Dream, Dream, please I’m sorry.” He starts to beg, right now Tommy is not a Big Man, he is not the Bestest Man on the planet, he’s scared and in pain and wants it to stop. “Please Dream, I promise it was an accident, I - I won’t do it again. Please- please just stop. Please Dream.”

His words are met with silence, the punches and kicks still raining down on him. What’s worse in when Tommy looks up at Dream’s face and sees the expression he’s wearing. Any hope Tommy had left died out in that instance - the severity of the situation dawning on him. Dream’s face was haunting - an expression filled with delight and determination, it was sadistic. The glint in his eye was wicked, making him look like a ferocious dog.

And the smile - the smile that told Tommy from the beginning that something was hopelessly wrong was so so much worse. It was curled over his teeth, like a wolf’s almost, too sharp, too hard, it made him look manic and crazy… it made Tommy know that this wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Fear settled heavy and cold in his stomach - dread.

Tommy’s heard of other kids in situations like this - he knows how this ends, it would be surprising if he didn’t. But he doesn’t want it to end how it usually does - he doesn’t want to end up in hospital with shattered bones and more bruises than skin. But Tommy cannot fight, he cannot win this - and the knowledge of that really really hurts.

There was a kick to his knees, and he buckled - slumped to the ground and didn’t even bother to try and get back up. Either was he was about to be beaten beyond repair, what was the point of trying to stop it? He curled inwards, desperately trying to stop the kicks from hitting his ribs - it was starting to hurt to breathe.

“Dream, Dream, Dream, Please please please stop. I promise I won’t do it again. It doesn’t have to be like- it doesn’t have to be like this. Please Dream, please.” It was futile and useless, but Tommy just wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop.

But it doesn’t stop.

He zones out, trying to calm his mind as the pain only gets worse. He imagines he’s somewhere else, and gradually he can only watch the punches land rather than feel them, it’s comforting and safe.

It goes on like this for a while, Tommy lying on the floor numbly as Dream lets his anger out.

Take each minute as it comes.

And Tommy promises he’s trying he really is.

Don’t think about too much.

It helps, the peace settling over him a stark contrast to the violence happening around him.

Think about 1 minute, just one.

He is trying, he is trying so much to not panic. But how can you not panic when he’s surely about to die? Tommy doesn’t know, he’s lost - trying to remain calm with the knowledge where this is heading.

Distantly he’s aware that he’s screaming - he knows he is, he’s just trying to focus on the minutes slowly ticking by. He can’t hear the noises coming out of him mouth (Dream apparently can’t even, dumb bitch). He knows his body is still reacting to whatever is going on, he’s just not… aware of it. Every now and then Dream’s mouth moves but Tommy doesn’t register what he is saying, which is good because Tommy really does not want to know what Dream is saying, his opinion was never a good one.

Then, Dream’s face appears - green swirling in fury, spit speckled on his face. His mouth is moving rapidly, and that is bad, isn’t it? How does a day get worse for the Tommy community? Tommy does not know, but he figures he is about to find out. Pain dimly registers as his head is lifted off the floor - Dream’s fingers pulling his head up by his hair - and fuck, Tommy knows what’s about to happen.

Silently, he starts to pray - Tommy is not usually religious but he’ll pray to whatever God is out there right now.

May it be a quick death.

And then with a smug grin from Dream, a twisted, sadistic one - Tommy knows that will haunt him. His head is released and is falling. Tommy shuts his eyes and waits - the numbness will not stop the sheer amount of pain that is about to hit him.

And then the floor is hitting him or he is hitting the floor (fuck it Tommy doesn’t know) and the pain is splitting. A scream tears out of him - he can feel the way it rips its way out of his throat. His head feels like it is actually on fire - nausea hits him like the ocean, wave after wave. Black dots swarms the edge of his vision, lights dancing to the beat of the throbs from his head. The black gradually takes over his vision and Tommy welcomes it.

And it goes dark - everything just stops. It finally stops.

Tommy takes a shuddering breath.

-----------

Pain floods him, something rubs against his arm - it hurts, it really hurts. Someone’s holding him and Tommy prays that it is not Dream, that it is anyone but Dream.

Perhaps Dream is carrying him to be buried - ready to hide Tommy’s death. Tommy is not sure where that thought came from. He really doesn’t want it to be true.

Something causes him to jolt, pain spiking through his left side and Tommy thinks he whimpers - he’s not entirely sure.

His eyes flutter open, it’s so bright, and for what? Tommy’s eyes have a huge problem with the amount of light on them. Stupid eyes, he doesn’t need them anyway.

He blinks them closed, darkness descending back again. It’s comforting in a way, not being able to see - and deep down, Tommy doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to see the carnage of his body, the mottled skin - the scabby blood, that Tommy can just feel without even needing to see. He wonders how badly his body looks. He wonders if he’ll live. That’s a terrifying thought that has no need plaguing Tommy’s thoughts.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Something is pressing directly on his stomach, it’s liquid fire pain - seeping everywhere, exploding everywhere. It’s just pain. Tommy doesn’t want to be in pain. He screams - he know he does, there is no way he can’t. Because there is pressure so much pressure, and it hurts so badly. Feebly he tries to push the hands away, trying to just make it stop - hasn’t he lived through enough pain.

“Please. Please stop.” He chokes out, he’s sure it’s lost in an incoherent slur, air pushed through broken and chipped teeth.

And then, there’s fingers nudging his hand open, bending round his palm and curling, gently, round the gaps in his fingers. The pressure is a contrasting one what the rest of his body is feeling: soft, gentle, reassuring. If Tommy wasn’t nearly unconscious he would almost call it love.

The word doesn’t get that far though before pain beyond Tommy’s comprehension rains open him, ribbons of white trailing round his head, tying knots around his throat, Tommy can’t breathe because of the pain, shuddering breaths trying desperately to fight through only to be lost in the ocean of pain swallowing Tommy whole.

It cause his eyes to snap open, a blonde haired person swims in front of him - blurry and unreal, perhaps their mouth is moving, Tommy doesn’t care. Their hair lights up like a halo would, perhaps this is the Angel of Death. He would laugh at his joke if he could, but the thread of life he is holding just slips out of his grasp.

And then the world goes black again, and the pain just - stops.

------

There are two facts Tommy knows when he awakens.

Number one: there is a man at the bottom of his bed. Tommy knows this is definitely a fact and not an opinion because he is rudely interrupted from his sleep by The Man speaking to someone, how fucking rude? Tommy is trying to sleep here. The depths of darkness just slightly out of Tommy’s reach, he grumbles wanting to just forget about reality right now, but no, apparently his body wanted him to suffer more. Words try to form in a remark to tell them to ‘shut up and just leave him alone’, they die on his tongue, brain too drained to bother.

Number two: he has no idea where the hell he is. The trouble with not being able to open your eyes - he has tried, yes don’t worry - is that it is incredibly hard to know where you are. He assumes he is lying on a mattress, as the floor is not digging into his back and there is some sort of cover over his body, hands dragging it up to his chin enclosing him in a cocoon of heat, but without the ability to open his eyes, Tommy will never know the exact place he is lying in.

The fact he is safe is nice enough, so for now he basks between consciousness and sleep. It’s nice: he is warm and safe.

It’s a good minute to be alive right now.

It’s a good minute to be alive until someone practically falls on him, weight literally crushing him. Pain pores out of him as he cries out, wounds screaming in protest.

“Shit shit shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to, my feet just… and then I… the bed’s wheels..” The man with glasses said, it was pathetic: first he wakes Tommy up and then he can’t even apologise for it. It’s rude.

“Shut the fuck up you bitch and let me sleep, for the absolute love of god do not fall on me again.” There is a sharp intake of breaths, Tommy in his pain hazed, sleep distorted brain takes a minute to process what he said.

Fear, ice-cold and sharp fills him - oh god oh god, please let that not be Dream, if he just swore at Dream it is not going to end well, in fact Tommy might as well just pray because where were his manners? He was behaving like a spoilt brat and he is going to get beaten up again and he really-

Someone laughed. Deep belly and rumbling.

Cautiously opened his eyes. Three men sat at the end of his bed, and Tommy’s not even joking, one of them has pink-waist length hair. Well… Tommy has most certainly died and gone to heaven because there is no way that these people are actually people. Like absolutely not.

“Hi Tommy,” Tommy turns to look over at who said that. It was Sally. The amount of disdain he has for the woman is unexplainable.

“Fuck off you bitch, I do not want to speak to you.”

Chapter Text

Year and a half ago

The man’s name was Phil, Tommy had later learnt, and he had two sons. Wilbur, the most annoying bitch on the planet, and Techno, the best man on the planet. Tommy does not dare to annoy Techno for as much as he had grown accustomed to him, Tommy still remains ever so slightly tense around him. Not that he has done anything wrong, Tommy might add, it’s just when you meet a 6ft 2 man with pink hair who never smiles, it is very intimidating.

They brought him home from the hospital, tenderness in every action. Tommy had hated it, despised every moment he had spent in the car. It was probably not their fault but he was unaccustomed to being treated like someone cared. He tried to hide the flinch the slamming of the car door caused too similar to Dream’s rages or the soft smile Phil gave him that was painfully similar to Niki’s or the laugh Wilbur let out that was identical to Tubbo’s. He tried not to let the past haunt him, he hoped it worked. He tried not to act like a tired 15 year old who just got out of hospital because his foster parent beat him up. He tried not to screw it up - the last 6 months since living with Phil could arguably be the best months he had ever experienced.

So he took each day as it came.
-

He sits at the table, eating cereal with a straw for lunch, beside him sits Wilbur rambling about something to do with ecosystems. Tommy has perfected the art of nodding in all the right places. Every now and then he deliberately disagrees with Wilbur just to hear him ramble even more, Tommy found comfort in hearing someone talk the soft way Wilbur does, he’s grown used to the constant chatter sometimes asking questions that he already knows the answer to just.. because.

“Did you know that squirrels can run up to 20mph,” was what Tommy tuned into as he slurped up the last of his cereal.

“Nah.” Tommy said, concealing the smile that grew as Wilbur squawked with indignation.

“What do you mean ‘nah’ you little shit? You don’t just get to say no to that. It’s true I watched a documentary about squirrels last night.”

“Nah.”

“You gremlin, I see what you are trying to do here.” Tommy let the smirk appear on his face. “You want to watch the documentary with me.”

Tommy blinked.

The smirk fell off his face, head whipping to look at Wilbur. Stomach dropping in panic. He opened his mouth and shut it again - no words appeared. Tommy would rather leave than watch a documentary with Wilbur. He caught Wilbur’s eye who descended into laughter.

“You bastard.” He grumbled, eyes glancing around for a suitable object to throw at him.

“You should have seen your face.” It was interrupted with gasps of breath as Wilbur tried to stop laughing. “I so wanted a picture of that.” Tommy flounced off with feigned annoyance, his middle finger the last thing Wilbur saw.

It was domestic, perhaps even brotherly - okay, maybe that’s a step too far. Wilbur was just so safe, something so comforting about him. It reminded him of all those years ago when Ranboo and Tubbo were friends with him - happiness caused by the sheer knowledge that they existed. He made his way to Techno’s room

-

Techno has yet to tell Tommy that he is a fencer, the family had agreed the night he had been brought home. Techno especially had noticed the way Tommy acted, all flinches and stuttered apologies, he knew those a little too well and so it was decided for the best interest in everyone, but especially Tommy, that they would leave out the fact he was national champion.

On the first night at their house Tommy had flinched so hard as a door slamming he dropped a glass, shards flying across the room. He had apologised so much that Phil was scared he wouldn’t stop, he finally did after Wilbur sat with him in the living room, while he cleaned up, trying to make the younger boy laugh. It was then that they realised it was going to take a little while for them to get used to being around Tommy and visa versa.

They had had a family meeting, similar to one only a few days previously about homing Tommy, where they discussed what they were going to do to make sure the flinching and fear was kept at a minimum. The fencing was one thing, a few others were knocking on doors, respecting space and announcing their presence before talking.

While of course this didn’t eliminate everything, over the next few days they noticed some improvement with Tommy. It was 5 days after Tommy came home with them, that he finally met Phil’s eye when they were speaking to each other. He had almost had an aneurysm from containing his joy as blue met blue. It would take another 3 days for Tommy to laugh.

It had been Wilbur who had got him to laugh, some vaguely inappropriate joke about dicks, that had cracked Tommy’s hard shell and given them a small giggle. Tommy had not noticed Wilbur’s eyes gleam with happiness nor their celebration in the kitchen a few hours later. It consisted of all of them dancing around the kitchen, trying to muffle their laughs - if Tommy had walked in on them it would’ve been a hard situation to explain, Wilbur playing the air guitar as Phil did some phenomenal dad dancing. Techno had given a little shimmy every now and then, a smile resting on his face.

-

Over the last 6 months, Tommy had settled in. Week by week he got louder and more confident. For Tommy it was relief, happiness filling back into cracks, a smile he thought he’d lost regained within a week. He had almost jumped when he had looked into a mirror 2 weeks after staying and saw his shoulders relaxed and his face looked more fuller and vibrant. Tommy was a Big Man, the biggest man of all, and it is very masculine to cry, which is what he did in the bathroom staring at the reflection he could see. Tears fell as he realised, he was getting better, that it was okay, that he might actually return to his usual self, that he might get a family (he kept that thought to himself.)

For Phil and the two boys it was joyous, each day they watched Tommy come out of his shell. Wilbur watched as a young, timid boy became loud and boisterous - a good partner to argue with over dinner, their bickering filling the room. All of them were glad that the blonde was feeling safe enough to become the person he was.

Of course there were bad days, terrible terrible days where he shrunk back into himself. Days where no matter how quietly Wilbur walked up the stairs Tommy flinched at every step, and Phil’s sneezes scared the bejesus out of Tommy, and Techno’s loud, commanding voice triggered memories he really wanted to repress.

There were mornings when Phil would find Tommy snuggled up next to Wilbur on Wil’s bed - light from the morning sun making both of his sons look angelic, cocooned in fluffy blankets stretching across the bed. Tommy usually brought his own blanket from his room as Wilbur was a notorious blanket stealer and most of the time Tommy did not have the energy to fight an unconscious man for a piece of blanket back. Why are people so strong in their sleep?

And as Wilbur protected Tommy’s nighttime demons, Technoblade protected his daytime ones.

On more than one occasion a soft knock on his door would be heard, the creek of his floor boards alerting him to someone waiting outside. It would always be met with a gruff, “come in,” and in would waddle Tommy, usually with a blanket curled around him.

Techno, in Tommy’s humble opinion, was the safest person in estistence. Techno is not entirely sure how he landed the honour of chief protector, Wilbur grumbles about it often, but it was usually Techno Tommy ran to when there was a problem. Usually they would end up sitting in silence, his pen scratching away or the sound of pages being turned sent Tommy to sleep, pressed up beside him like some warm burrito. Techno would try to stay as quiet as possible, checking every now and then that Tommy was alright.

The only reason Tommy doesn’t run to Techno at night is because Techno locks his door, he does not like being snuck up on in his sleep. Which is fair enough, a ghostly child at your door can scare most people, even Wilbur jumps sometimes at Tommy’s silent presence.

But they make it work, and after a very long time, Tommy feels safe.

He does not attend school, Phil had given him the choice after about a month of staying there. Tommy had flat out refused before running to Techno, who had scooped him up in a hug. They later learned Tommy did not want to leave them, scared of the possibilities without them being there.

Wilbur had said, “clingy” under his breath, Tommy chased him around the house with a pillow swearing left, right and centre. Tommy finally caught him and pinned him in the corner, thwacks resounding around the house as the pillow came down again and again. Tommy laughed continuously. Wilbur ate dinner with hair so frizzy he looked like a mad scientist - Phil could not contain his smile after hearing them get along so well.

And so that's how it became, Wilbur, Techno and Tommy. He belonged somewhere.

Tommy felt like he was flying.

------

Currently, after feeling the sour taste of Wilbur’s betrayal, he should have known that Wilbur was joking, they all knew how much Tommy hated documentaries, especially nature ones. Techno has sprinted into Wil’s room on more that one occasion after hearing shouts to find Tommy standing in front of the TV cursing at David Attenborough while Wilbur, tears streaming down his face, laughed silently. They learned to not show Tommy any documentaries with “the sad, old man who is a sadist. Why else would he keep showing videos of dying animals, Wilbur? He probably gets off on it.”

He made his way to Techno’s room, the door half ajar. That was another thing Tommy had had to learn to not be scared of - locked doors. 1 months of near panic attacks and another month of steadily rising fear and nausea at the sight of a locked door was how long it took before Tommy realised that maybe shut doors were a problem that he couldn’t just ignore.

There are now no more locked doors in the house. Yeah, Phil was an amazing foster parent (it would be a while before Tommy said that out loud).

Tommy finds Techno sitting at his desk, bedwars playing on his PC illuminating his face. Tommy still can’t get over the fact that big bad Technoblade, the man who never smiles or laughs, plays minecraft in his spare time.

He reaches to take his headphones off as he pauses the game, chair swivelling so they come face to face.

“Hey Tommy.”

“Hey Big Man, mind if I join you?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as it did, slightly shaky, slightly desperate. Perhaps Techno noticed or perhaps he genuinely wanted Tommy to stay for he gestured to the bed with an easy, half-grin and turned back to the screen.

It was times like this that Tommy found the most peace, the most comfort, the knowledge that someone was there, just the sheer presence kept the panic at bay. Tommy doesn’t know why he finds comfort in this, perhaps it was the contrast between this family and Dream - the continuous fear Tommy felt with Dream compared to the contentedness with family, perhaps it was growing up in foster homes and that there was always other people around, perhaps it was the fear of being 8 again, all alone in the big wide world. Whatever it is, whatever the trigger is, Tommy adores the time he spends with his brothers, foster brothers.

The two of them stay like that a while - Tommy listening to the clicking of keyboard keys and Techno caught up in the world of video games and battles. He drifts off into sleep at some point, blanket so warm, the light intensity just right - a perfect glow, and peace that he hasn’t felt in a while.

When he awakes, the scene has not changed - Techno is still playing bedwars but the clock now says 5:30 instead of 12:00. He awakes restless - fidgety, unable to sit still. But he does not want to break the peacefulness, so he tries to remain as still as he can. Evidently he does not succeed for Techno breaks the silence.

“You wanna play with me, kid.” Immediately Tommy perks up, eyes widening in disbelief. Techno wanted to play with him?

“Sure.” He tries to keep it casual, low-key, internally he is screaming.

He walks over to Techno abandoning the blanket on the bed.

“Where do you want me to sit?”

“Go get the desk chair, you can sit next to me.”

“Awww, I thought I was gonna get to sit on Bad Man Techno’s lap.”

Techno’s lips twitched.

“You wish. Now go get the chair.”

And so Tommy does, pulling the wooden chair alongside Techno’s gaming chair.

“Alright, how much do you know about bedwars?”

“Not much.” Tommy said slightly sheepishly.

“No worries, big brother Techno’s gonna teach you.” Tommy’s world stopped. Brother. No one had called him that before. Brother. Surely he meant it as a joke right? No one wanted him as a brother. He’d only been here 6 months. Brother. I mean, Tommy had said it before, but that was different, he had never said it outloud - always to himself, he couldn’t get his hopes up, not now.

He zoned back into Techno pointing at different keys and explaining what each one did and what that meant in the game. To say he was confused was an understatement, it was probably clear on his face that nothing Techno said was making much sense to him because half way through Techno simply said,

“How about I just start the game and we go from there?”

And so they did.

Tommy, it turns out, is terrible at minecraft. Not that he would accept it, apparently it was the ‘keyboard's fault for being such a bitch’ that Tommy kept dying, not that Tommy was actually shit at the game.

Every now and then Techno would chime in, readjusting his hands or making small comments here and there about Tommy’s tactics but other than that he left Tommy to do his own thing. Gradually Tommy started getting the hang of it, he stayed alive longer, got more kills and ultimately was having a good time - by the time Wilbur entered the room to get them for supper Tommy was outright laughing as he beat teams, Techno giving running commentary into a hairbrush as he pretended to be a commentator,

“And Tommy knocks another person off, my goodness he is getting good. Only 3 teams left, can he do it? That is the question we are all asking ourselves as we watch this new protegee fight to the end.”

Wilbur watched as Tommy stuck his tongue out in determination as he fought with a player.

“And as a person sneaks up behind Tommy the question hangs in the air, is he going to notice?” Techno looks up to Wilbur and winks as Tommy squeaks in surprise and turns to 2 v 1 them (Techno is a good brother sometimes), Tommy does not win. Which is fine because it's about the taking part not winning, Techno reassured him, or in Tommy’s case just spending time with Techno.

A good day, perhaps.

Chapter Text

6 months ago

The radio is on in the background but Tommy zoned out long ago, face almost pressed against the window as he stared at the view in front of him. Now, Tommy has travelled a lot - foster families are rarely in one place - but he has never seen a view like this before. In front of him, fields roll into the distance, yellow, green, orange, trees dotted in rows and hay bales stacked in the distance.

Tommy is a city boy through and through, but seeing this open expanse might change that.

Beside him is Wilbur, head also against the window but for an entirely different reason, his eyes closed, fluttering every now and then. His earphones dangle down, quiet enough that Tommy can’t hear anything playing which is unusual as Wilbur tends to play music so loud that the bass is recognisable from a metre or so away. Tommy continuously jokes that Wilbur will be deaf by the time he is 30. Not only that but on several occasions Tommy has found Wilbur asleep with the volume that loud, how the hell do you fall asleep to that? A miracle if Tommy ever saw one.

If he was more of a gremlin child, Wilbur would currently have a pillow smacked into the side of his head, but Tommy is a nice bro- friend and not a gremlin child so his pillow stays away from Wilbur’s face ( a shame really).

He thinks Techno and Phil are having some sort of debate in the front of the car but he can’t seem to zone back in to know what the debate is about. It happens sometimes, the inability to zone back in. Usually it freaks Tommy out, blurry vision and noise like he is underwater, his therapist calls it a trauma response, Tommy calls it tiredness. Either way, today he is fairly comfortable with it, letting the scenery pass by in a steady blur.

He’s never been on a holiday before, either no one took him or he didn’t stay long enough, so when Phil popped his head into Tommy’s room stating they were going on holiday in a week or so Tommy was ecstatic. (He still is, but you can’t tell anyone that.)

From what Tommy gathered from Techno and Wilbur over the next week was that Phil really enjoys camping but he is shit at it. Did they fill Tommy with hope that this holiday was going to go well? No. But at the end of the day it is what it is. He also learnt that they go to the same place every year (Phil has gotten no better over the last 10 years), there is a lake and it is a relatively quiet campsite.

The night before they left Tommy couldn’t sleep with excitement, bags packed and ready by the door and a nervous flutter in his stomach.

And here he is, 4 hours into a 3 hour journey. Tommy has already pointed out that the maths ain’t mathsing, apparently it has something to do with the traffic and the route Phil took. Nonetheless, he was thoroughly enjoying it. The steady moving of the car and the constant change in scenery was relaxing, the ability to not have to think or do anything was strangely comforting.

When they finally arrived, the sun was setting, a soft pink running through the sky. Getting out of the car, Tommy took a proper look at where he was going to be staying for the week and it was beautiful. A forest created a border to his right, the trees going deep and wide, and to the left was open expense, fields rolling down - evidently they were on top of a hill.

He then spent the next few minutes spinning gradually, allowing himself to take in the view around him.

“Tommy, get your arse over here and help unload the car.” Wilbur yelled out to him, sticking his head around the car to see what Tommy was doing. The blonde only nodded in reply, doing one final spin before walking over to the boot of the car. Most of the bags had already been taken out and were strewn in a various disarray around the car, he walked over and together with Wilbur took out the last few bags.

When all that was done Phil and Techno started to set up the tents - it had been decided (by who Tommy was unsure of, although he had a sneaking suspicion it was Wilbur) that Techno and Phil would share one tent and Tommy and Wilbur the other. Something akin to gratefulness swirled inside of Tommy when he heard the news, it meant that if he did have a nightmare he wouldn’t have to leave a tent in the middle of the night to find Wilbur.

Not that he told Wilbur this but he hopes he communicated it well enough with the smile he shot at the brunet, Wilbur merely winked back at him.

The process of putting up the tents took a bit longer than it was supposed to due to the fact that Tommy and Wilbur took it upon themselves to direct the other two, this wouldn’t have been a problem if they knew what they were doing, the trouble is they didn’t.

Things like:

“- no there Blade, no no the other side -”

“- you need another pole there -”

“- use a hammer, it’s on the floor by Phil’s feet -”

And then arguments, or heated debates Phil prefers them to be called, like:

“- Phil I think you’ve put that pole in the wrong way round -”

“There is no way right way round to put a pole in you little shit -”

“Yes there is, it says so in the manual.”

“Well fuck the manual.”

And Techno and Tommy’s constant disagreements.

“- Tommy for the last time I know what I’m doing -”

“Well you evidently don’t otherwise you would know that the sheet was supposed to be put down first.”

“I did put the sheet down first, you told me I did it wrong.”
“Did I?”

“Yes, like 10 minutes ago.”

“No, I don’t think I did Techno, you are mistaken for I am never wrong.”

“Tommy.”

“Techno.”

“Tommy.”

“Techno…” They were in the middle of a staring contest, blue holding brown. “You’ve still put the sheet in the wrong place.”

“Oh you little shit-.”

But finally 50 minutes later, two tents were constructed, rather haphazardly, and they were all seated around a campfire Wilbur had constructed. Tommy was mesmerised, he had never seen a fire like this, and sat in rapt attention watching the flames dance in front of him.

“Well this is nice isn’t it?” Phil said. Tommy broke his gaze away from the crackling flames to see Phil leaning back in his camp chair, he looked younger and happier. It struck Tommy he had never seen Phil so relaxed. The afternoon was drawing to a close, the last of the pink sky dimming to the dark blue of night, leaving on the fire as their light source. The soft orange lighting up their faces was magical in Tommy’s opinion, he had seen people around campfires before but only ever on pinterest and instagram - he never thought he would get to experience it like this.

There is a bag of marshmallows at his feet, somewhere, Tommy suspects Techno has them, are 3 bags of chocolate. Wilbur has got the packet of crackers. S’mores, Tommy has come to learn, are the best thing on the planet. Ever. Nothing else beats them.

Up until 30 minutes ago Tommy had been blissfully unaware of their existence, and Phil is starting to suspect it was a terrible idea to introduce the two, but the sheer delight on Tommy’s face as he roasts his marshmallow over the campfire, placing the gooey mess between crackers and thick melted chocolate, is one of heaven. It would be cruel to stop him.

There is chocolate all over Tommy: his fingers, his shirt, his mouth, his chin, his forearms and his neck, and he had never been so delighted. Wilbur over the course of the evening has slowly been inching away from the mess of which Tommy sits in, his band t-shirt he’s currently wearing will be ruined if Tommy just breathes in its direction. Ruined t-shirt, ruined holiday - a simple cause and effect. And so Tommy sits in his own mess of sweets, and stares into the fire.

Phil is recounting one of the many times he has nearly died camping. Tommy is unsure why they are currently camping after hearing some of them.
“So basically, this one wasn’t my fault alright.” Techno raises an eyebrow, Wilbur hides a grin,” I promise, I promise. Basically, my mate Dave has got a stick on fire and is waving it around the place. Dave is not sober, nor are the rest of us. And I go, ‘Dave mate, why don’t you put the fire down.” To which Dave responded, “Nah.” So you can see I really did try to stop this one. So he’s prancing around, fire in the air, stick dropping sparks onto the floor. It’s going well right? And then Dave decides he’s had enough of fire and wants to put out the stick. So what does Dave do? He just drops the stick on the ground.”

Phil looks around the three kids, eyes wide, a grin on his face. Techno lets out a mock gasp. Tommy giggles.

“And Dave being a silly bastard just leaves it there, no stomping on it or nothing. And it being summer, the grass was scorched and the ground dry. The whole place goes up in flames. And so we are running, or try to run, away from the fire but we are drunk and well you try running away drunk.” Phil’s gaze sweeps over Tommy, “Actually, don’t try that, just take my word for it. But we all manage to stumble away from the fire and call the fire service. Anyway we had to leave as 4 of our tents set on fire and all of the food burnt.”

“Dad, and I mean this in the most nicest way possible, what the fuck?” Tommy is looking at him wide-eyed, “You guys just set a campsite on fire and then just fucked off? You. As in the old man I am looking at now?”

“Oi you little gremlin, I was an edgy teenager when I was younger.” Phil said, and Tommy huffed, smile splitting his face. Somewhere deep down hurt swirls a bit, as he tunes back out of the conversation, for he will never have stories like Phi does, probably Techno and Wil too, he didn’t have enough friends do things like camping and adventures, he didn’t have parents who allowed him to have fun times, he didn’t have a ‘home’ in a place long enough for things like that to happen. It hurt a little bit, that through no fault of his own he would never have experience like that.

Something flashes in front of him, bringing him out of his thoughts of sadness. He blinks several times to see Wilbur a S’more in his hand that’s waving in front of Tommy’s face, he’s grinning, smile lopsided on his face, and Tommy would think he was happy if he didn’t see the flicker of concern in his eyes. Tommy took the S’more, hands grabbing at it like a toddler would, and smiled. Did he feel sick? Yes. Was he still going to eat it? Absolutely.

This turned out to be a rather bad decision that would go on to haunt him for the rest of the evening. As the clocks hit 11:30 Techno bid goodbye and entered the tent (not to be seen until the late hours of the next morning), and Phil followed shortly afterwards, leaving a slightly sick Tommy and a wide awake Wilbur.

They sit there for a bit, huddled next to each other, the fire reduced to smouldering embers with sparks every now and then. It’s quiet, a peaceful hum lying still in the cooling air. The spot they have is secluded, Tommy can see some figures in the distance but they are too far away to hear anything. They bask in each other’s company, the wind gentle.

“Wanna look at the stars together?” Wilbur said, brown eyes meeting blue - both shadowed in the nighttime light. The blonde gave a small nod, and that is how they ended up lying down, grass a gentle prinkle on their backs, staring at the stars.

“I’ve never seen this many before.” Tommy spoke, head remaining still, eyes dancing as he took in the hundred of speckles in the air.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Where ever I’ve stayed it’s always been in a town, some didn’t even have gardens.”

“I guess that’s the city for you, light pollution ruins the opportunity to see the stars.”

“Yeah.” The silence strung out, only their breathing heard. “I always wanted to be an astronaut.” Wilbur turned to look at him, one side of his face pressed against the grass.

“It just looks so freeing I guess, like once you are up there nothing really matters, you get to see how tiny we are.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe I just wanted to run away from everything in my life.” He huffs out a laugh, it came out more strangled than he hoped. “When I was younger I always wanted the world to freeze, for everything to stop just so I could finally catch up with what was going on in my life, process everything I guess.”

At some point while he was talking his eyes started to become glazed, Wilbur made no move to interrupt him.

“I just remember this feeling of helplessness. I wanted -- had no control over anything -- nothing was truly mine.” He blinks, eyes focusing back up onto the stars above him. It was a truly beautiful sight, the contrast of the speckled light and the dark sea of night, and just the sheer amount of stars. Beautiful.

“Do you still feel like that?” It was a risky question, one that could so easily ruin a wonderful evening they were having.

“No, not really. There are times where I think that it will, that you will wake up one day and decide that’s it, you don’t want me. But no, Phil told me what’s mine is mine and I trust him with that.”

“Good,” Wilbur turns his head away, to look back up to the stars,” Because everything that yours is yours, the room you have, the clothes we give you, the food. Everything. I promise we won’t take that away, no matter what happens we will always want you.”

Perhaps it was hearing that out loud, perhaps it was because someone finally told him outright that they weren’t going to ditch him or maybe it was because he was tired, either way tears formed and with a blink they fell.

He didn’t want Wilbur to notice. Didn’t want to think he had upset him, wanting this peace that had settled between them to last forever. The stars blur as the tears continue, and suddenly a hand is on his far shoulder, rolling him closer to where Wilbur lay. And he let it. Let himself be moved, rolling until his face was pressed against the older’s chest, body pushed along Wilbur’s side. He could hear Will’s heart beating steadily, feel the wind pick up both of their hair, feel the warmth Wilbur radiated and could still see the moon and its crowd of stars. Something settled in his chest, something he had never felt before, not on a scale like this.

He was happy. Like really, really happy. The tears on his face ran down his face, tasting them as they dripped into his mouth, lips in a smile he didn’t know he had.

“I love you.” It came out muffled and small.

“I love you too.”

Tommy snuggled more into his chest.

(A good night for the Tommy Innit community.)

Chapter Text

5 weeks ago

There is a boy standing in the living room, he can see their brown hair through the railings at the top of the stairs.. Tommy is not sure what to do with this information, part of him starts to panic that this is it, that’s he fucked up and that this boy, whoever this boy is, is here because he is leaving. The other other part of him, the rational part knows that this isn’t true, that Phil or Will or Techno would have mentioned it, and that even if he is staying he will never replace him.

He’s pretty certain of that until he takes a few more steps down the stairs. Then he sees the bags. Resting against this boy’s calves are two bags, they are plastic bags, bulging with fullness. Tommy knows what those bags mean, a part of him fills with sympathy, that this boy has his entire life in two bin bags, the other half is filled with coldness. Does this mean whoever this is is actually staying? Surely not, he would have been told, someone would have told him, he’s part of them now, he trusts them… they would have definitely told him.

So with a deep breath and a spark of hope, fingers practically crossed behind his back he walks down the stairs. When he enters the sitting room, he is met with a sight that is painfully familiar - only last time he was new, young and angry, a younger version of him who just wanted to stop being passed around from house to house. Phil, Wilbur and Techno are sitting on the sofa, Phil is in parent mode, eyes determined and voice serious, Wilbur has that soft open smile that strikes a chord deep within Tommy, painfully familiar and Techno has his jaw set and eyes hard.

The boy himself is standing in the centre of the room, eyes trained on the ground, bottom lip between his teeth and hands in his pockets. Their eyes meet when Tommy steps into the room, making his presence known. They are soft brown eyes, slightly hidden behind the huge amount of hair this boy seems to have.

In fact, as he steps into this room, everyone turns to look at him.

“Ah Tommy, you are awake, how are you doing?” Phil’s voice is softer now it’s aimed at him, straying away from that business tone. Tommy tries to let that calm his nerves, it doesn’t quite happen.

He nods, eyes glancing around the room several times.

“I must have not forgotten to tell you.” So Phil had noticed the blonde's confusion. “This is Tubbo, he’s staying here for a bit.” Once again, Tommy just nods, unsure of what to say to that, far too many different ways he could take those last two sentences. He makes eye contact with Wilbur who nods slightly, eyes softening as he reads whatever Tommy’s face is showing, he sends a flicker of a smile his way.

Tommy makes eye contact with Tubbo again who smiles, he briefly smiles back. Then he turns, the conversation he evidently walked in on continues and he makes some tea. As he watches the tea brew in the cup, steam rolling off the top, the only thing he can feel is overwhelming fear.

He stays in his room for a few hours, he is trying not to panic but the tears sliding down his tell a different story. Covered under his duvet away from whatever conversation is going on downstairs, he cries, slightly sobs. Perhaps he is overreacting, that this is fine and that everything will work out, that he’s gained a brother or a new friend at the end of the day. There’s another part of him that is screaming, twisting over and over, worried that this is it, that his time has come to an end.

“I must have forgotten to tell you.” It’s that sentence that hurts, Phil probably didn’t mean it that way, that it came out the wrong way. But forgotten? Does he not matter, that he’s not included in the family discussions that take place in this house. It implies that the others knew that he was the last one, forgotten upstairs to be met with a new boy standing in his living room while the rest of the family were making a very important decision without him.

------

He emerges from where he lay, hidden under his duvet the warmth steady and comforting, when there is a knock on the bedroom door.

“Yes?”

“Can we come in?”

Tommy thinks about if for a moment, on one hand he wants to stay in this warm blanketing silence, hide from the world and whoever that boy is in their sitting room. On the other hand he is now 17 and can’t just sulk when things don’t go his way.

“Sure, boss man.”

The door swings open with Phil at the front. Behind him is The Boy. Tommy sits up straight, duvet discarded, face shuttering. Phil must see this because he shoots Tommy a look, telling him to be polite and behave well, but Tommy isn’t in the mood for listening today, he’s upset and annoyed and quite frankly would rather be doing anything else.

“Tommy, this is Tubbo.” The brunet currently standing behind Phil peaks out and waves. Tommy merely looks.

“And Tubbo, this is Tommy.” Tommy does not wave. He just stares. Maybe he is being horrible, maybe Tommy should just wave and smile and welcome him in , but he can’t, he really can’t. There’s an emotion that’s swirling in his stomach that he can’t name, but it’s loud and overwhelming and telling him to be mean - and it’s so much easier to listen to it.

So the room descends into an awkward silence. Evidently Phil expected a bit more than this interaction, after all Tommy was introduced to him earlier, but neither of the boys spoke. Phil stares at Tommy, a look of disappointment that doesn’t make Tommy feel any better, Tubbo stares awkwardly at the floor and Tommy goes back to hiding under the duvet, having enough of the conversation.

Eventually he hears the door be pulled shut, the gentle murmur of voices as they move away from his bedroom and the heavy footsteps going down stairs. It’s mainly Phil that’s talking and Tommy knows he’s probably having to excuse his behaviour, apologise for the fact that a 17 year old is just upset at the fact there is a stranger in his house. It’s embarrassing and yet he can’t seem to get out of bed to go downstairs and apologise for what he’s done.

It isn’t until he hears the drips hit the bed that he realises he’s crying, hot and wet. And now it’s started he can’t seem to stop, tears just pour down his face. He’s trying to breathe, gasps of air sucked into his mouth but it doesn’t seem to be filling his lungs. Suddenly he’s panicking, room blurring, everything is so hot and he can’t breathe. He hears people down stairs laughing, it’s probably Wilbur, and for some reason that is what causes Tommy to completely break. He’s sobbing, chest heaving as he cries and cries, he can’t see, can’t hear. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. He wants a hug, someone to sit down next to him and tell him that everything is going to be okay.

He doesn’t even know the real problem, Tubbo hasn’t done anything yet, he’s fucked it up, fucked it all up and it’s only been one day. So he’s crying, heaving as he tries to just breathe but it’s not working. He’s getting dizzy now, the lack of oxygen combined with the huge sobs. He’s so so scared, the pit in his stomach only raging louder and louder - everything else a blur. He’s so caught up in the panic, the heat and the thoughts that just won’t shut up he doesn’t realise there is someone sitting next to him, hand on his back, trying to soothe him.

He flinches when the hand goes to touch his face, the hand instantly removes itself but the damage is done and he’s spiralling even more. Dream and his abuse still very fresh in his mind. Perhaps at that point is when he starts begging, he doesn’t know what he is begging for nor why he is, maybe it’s because of Dream, maybe Tubbo, maybe because he is just broken, maybe this house was too good to be true, maybe everything is all too much. It doesn’t matter because he’s begging, pleading for everything to stop, to just slow down so he can catch a break.

And then there are a set of eyes that swim in his vision, blurred by the tears but he can see them. They are wide and worried, he recognises the soft brown, pink also swimming in his view. Hands go up, slow and open, moving always in his field of vision. They slay out in front of him, fingers twitching every now and then, and slowly, painstakingly slowly, Tommy places his hands in Techno’s. They are immediately grasped, fingers tapping rhythms slowly on the back of them.

A steady 4, small gap, a steady 8, gap and then 6. Tommy tries to follow it, breath still all over the place. It takes time and a huge effort, but finally the taps and his breathing match. When the room comes back into view, furniture not blurring anymore and he can actually hear what Techno is saying he collapses forward, seeking the comfort of Techno’s arms.

“Wha’s going on here?” The gentle rumble of Techno’s voice is soothing, and Tommy only presses more against the warm chest.

“Got a bit too much did it?” He nods, Techno hums.

“Which part?” Tommy shrugs, because deep down he doesn’t know himself. He feels a bit silly not being able to explain why he just had a meltdown for no apparent reason.

“Scary when there’s strangers in the house, huh. M’sorry we didn’t tell you. It wasn’t deliberate.” So simple were the words coming out of Techno’s mouth, the fact he apologised, that he wants to make sure that Tommy knows they love him - he sniffles and giggles.

“Thought you were going to replace me. I don’t want to leave.” It was a quiet confession, said to Techno’s t-shirt rather than the man himself.

“Replace you. Tommy, we don't ever want to replace you, I promise.” There are worried and reassuring at the same time, a perfect fit. He makes a noise of acknowledgement.

“Tommy, look at me.” Tommy looks up, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his shirt as pulls back and out of Techno’s grasp. “None of us want you to go, do you understand?” Tommy nods, head pounding. He must look a mess, face swollen, eyes red and wet, face and chest flushed and snot on his nose, but he doesn’t care knowing Techno probably won’t care.

They sit in silence a bit, Tommy finding comfort in his presence - Techno seemed to have some sort of magical presence, calming and secure.

--------

And life goes on a bit like that. Tubbo moves into Tommy’s room, he isn’t a bad roommate and as Tommy takes each minute as it comes, he becomes less and less annoyed by Tubbo’s presence. Sometimes the boy even makes him laugh, staying up at night to share stories. But Tommy never finds complete comfort in the brunet’s presence no matter how funny or sweet he may seem. He wakes up each day with anxiety bubbling in his stomach, and even though he tries to ignore it, it greatly dampens his mood.

It all goes well until the first weekend that Tubbo has been with them. So far they have gone shopping, Wilbur has taken Tubbo around all the local parks and Techno has taken him to get milkshakes (Tommy is not jealous at all, not one bit), and Tommy just wants to hang out with his brothers.

So naturally he finds himself drifting to Techno’s bedroom door, a usual circumstance given any other day, the two of them in a routine of playing minecraft with each other on weekend evenings. But as he pushes open the door, an image greets him that has been burnt into his memory forever.

At Techno’s desk is Tubbo, hands on the keyboard as, quite clearly, he and the pinkette play Minecraft together. And Tommy just stops, right there in the doorway.

“Oh, hullo Tommy.” Techno looks away from where Tubbo is hitting someone off a bridge in Bedwars (terribly may Tommy add).

“Hi, sorry I didn’t realise Tubbo was playing with you…” He trailed off waiting for Techno to correct him, say that Tubbo was just finishing up and that Tommy was more than welcome. The words never came. Techno merely nodded and went back to looking at Tubbo playing.
“I’ll leave you guys to it and shut the door.” (He never hears Techno say that he is more than welcome to stay and Tubbo calling his name. Both look at each other before going back to playing.)

He spends the evening in Wilbur’s room as his brother plays the guitar. It’s fun, enjoyable even (Tommy secretly adores listening to Wilbur play) but it’s off, different. He feels like a piece of him is missing, empty and betrayed. The worst bit is he can’t really be angry, not really, it was never decided that Techno and him play every weekend evening, no one mentioned it to Tubbo, so how was he supposed to know, and he did genuinely enjoy hanging out with Wilbur.

But still, he was angry and upset, and he couldn’t really express it or complain to anyone. As he went to bed that night, slightly hurt and upset, he started to think that he was about to have a lot less days in this house than he thought only a few weeks ago. No matter what Techno said.

Chapter Text

3 and half weeks ago…

It wasn’t his room when HE was in it. And it’s not because he doesn’t get on with Tubbo or that Tubbo is a horrible person, but it was meant to be his room, all for himself, they had promised that “ Because everything that yours is yours..” Wilbur had said that night as they gazed at the stars. And he had believed him, because Wilbur sounded so sure, so adamant about it, that Tommy didn’t even think to question it. He should’ve, maybe he wouldn’t be standing outside his own door too scared to go in it at night, maybe then he wouldn’t feel like a stranger in his own room.

And maybe he is sounding selfish and bratty, but he had spent so long with nothing to call his, and then he came here and everything was his, everything for a year - he didn’t have to worry about people stealing things, hiding food, sharing personal things, it was all his and his alone. And now there’s Tubbo, Tubbo who shares his room and sees his things, Tubbo who steals his brother’s attention, Tubbo who won’t leave him alone. And it is all just so much, too much.

He hopes that he covers it up well, that no one can tell just how upset he is. And that is difficult because he can feel the emotions so close to bubbling over, scalding his skin because they are so hot. There are days where it feels like he needs to scratch his skin off, that he needs to sit in a freezing shower because it hurts and he is losing control and he doesn’t know what to do about it and everything is spiralling and he doesn’t have anyone to turn to. There are days where his stomach twists, curling upon itself so much that he can’t eat, only watches as Tubbo laughs at Wilbur's joke and Techno huffs quietly. (He did not laugh, he’s counting down the days now, letting them rush past him.) There are days where is so close to crying all the damn time, tears almost constantly falling and he has to blink them away.

It reached its worst a week after Tubbo had joined the household. They were in the cafeteria at school and Tommy could already see that Wilbur and Tubbo were eating lunch together without someone pointing it out. But, unfortunately, like the horrible people teenagers are, Jared (a boy in his year) calls out,

“Looks like they’ve replaced you Tommy.” And those words… those words were the final straw for him. It washed over him like ice, stomach sinking so fast that it hurt, physically hurt in a way that he had felt only a few times before. And he was just so sick of feeling sad, so done with feeling upset and hurt by this, that it was anger that controlled him rather than sadness. So when he turned round to face Jared his voice was thick with anger, scathing hot and wounding,

“What did you just say?”

There was a voice in his head telling him to take each minute as it came. To slow down and take a breath, that it was fine and he should just leave before he did anything he would regret. But he ignored it because he was just so done with feeling all these emotions and not showing them, so done with stepping back and taking breaths, he so desperately wanted to release these emotions and Jared was just standing there with a stupid fucking smirk on his face. All his life he had hidden what he felt, and the combination of anger and hurt and jealousy and betrayal spilled over.

“Oh come on now Tommy, look at them” They all turned to watch as Wilbur brought Tubbo in for a huge side huge, soft, happy look on his face. “They’ve replaced you Tommy. Forgotten. Can’t you see it?”

And the problem was that he could see it, blinded by the sadness, all he could focus on was the fact that Tubbo had replaced him. That this was it, that Wilbur had forgotten all about him. He didn’t realise he had swung his fist until it was colliding with bone, knuckles splitting open as they connected with Jared’s cheek.

“Don’t say that, you don’t get to say that.” It wasn’t loud anger,maybe that’s why the canteen went silent, turning to watch as these two boys collided. It was quiet, chilling. A sign that Tommy was past the point of any logical thought, that he was going to go until he couldn’t or was stopped. “How. Fucking. Dare. You. Say. That.” Each word punctuated with a punch.

And then Jared was fighting back, legs swinging, arms flinging out. A leg caught Tommy in the stomach, arm hitting him in the throat. He was on the floor gasping for breath. Another kick. Tommy retaliated with a knee snapping up. Jared gasped, Tommy rolled. He got up as Jared recovered, Tommy could feel his hair skewed and spikey, Jared had blood running from his nose. And then Jared dove at him, and they hit the floor with a thud. He gasped. It wasn’t until Jared’s arms grabbed at his throat that it all went wrong.

Maybe, starting a fight after nearly dying from one a few years previously was a bad idea, that he should’ve known it would happen. Either way, those hands clasped his throat and Tommy was no longer in the room, he was no longer aged 17 at a fight in school. He was 15 on the floor, crying out as Dream punched him. He was alone, scared and helpless. (He was later told that he started begging, pleading for Dream to get off him and to stop hitting. Jared had stopped long ago.)

He remembers little after that. There was someone there holding his hands, one hand gently tapping his knee to a beat to breathe. He was being led down a corridor. Voices swam above his head. Something soft was put under him and he was gone. Blackness descending across his vision.

He awakes to a dark, silent room - Tubbo sleeping peacefully in the corner of the room. The room is only filled by the soft snores of the sleeping boy, and Tommy couldn’t stand to be there, now that he was awake. He was wide awake, with no concept of the time, but a small hope that everyone else was asleep in the house. So he crept out, feet silent on the carpet, door creaking slightly as he opened it.

He is silent on the stairs - he had learnt which stair had creaked long ago, where to tread to walk without making a noise. It was ingrained in him he was pretty sure. He wanted a hot chocolate, something warming and soothing, something to calm the raging beast inside of him that hadn’t left. As he walked he became acutely aware of the throbbing on his face and chest - he won’t check what he looks like until at least 2 later, he knows what he looks like with bruises scattering him, and it wasn’t something he felt the need to see again. It was fine. Everything is fine.

He walked into the kitchen to find Techno sitting at the table, a cup of something steaming in front of him and an open book. And there was that awkward pause, the hover in the doorway as he decides if he wants to face Techno or not, he could just turn and walk up the stairs, pretending he had never seen Techno. But he had to face Techno at some point, had to face all of them - maybe it would be easier like this? Less intimidating. Better.

So he walks in, and Techno looks up - blank facial expression as ever apart from a flicker in the eyes; happiness or pity? Too fleeting to see. Techno does however say,

“Hello.” Short, to the point. There was no breath after it, no tone as if he was going to carry on, to start on a lecture or a classic ‘are you alright?’ question, just a brief gesture, an opening to a conversation.

“Hi.”

The pause is not awkward after that. In fact it was the opposite, it allowed Tommy to collect his thoughts, to breathe.

“I was just getting some hot chocolate.” He shrugs, its whispered, loud in the stillness of the early morning.

“As long as you aren’t going to beat up the milk that should be okay.” Tommy’s eyes jump to Techno, indignance rising in his chest. And then he catches sight of Techno’s small grin.

“I’ll make no promises.”

Tommy does not beat up the milk, nor does he spill it as he pours it into the mug (an achievement, what can you say? Tommy’s got skill). And then it’s the two of them , two cups and Techno’s book.

“You want to talk about it?” It’s open and honest, considerate in a way that Tommy is pretty sure the others would fail at.

“Not really.” Techno nods at that. Something in his stomach collapses, and maybe actually Tommy does want to talk about it. But Techno goes back to reading his book, and Tommy is left, opportunity slipped through his fingers, and all that is left is a lonely child that can’t express his feelings (turns out getting beaten up does not make the anger go away.)

And once the hot chocolate is drunk, the mug washed and the silence stretched to breaking point, turning away from contentedness into an awkward stilt, Tommy goes to leave.

“You aren’t going to do that again, are you?”

“No. No I don’t think I will.”

“Good.” Techno smiles, “Phil understands that, I’ll tell him so anyway.”

Tommy nods.

“Good night, Techno.”

“G'night Tommy.”

---------

The bruises hadn’t faded from the last fight before Tommy is being dragged away from school this time. Although he is conscious this time (he’s calling that a win). Phil is fuming, Tommy can tell. There is a clench in his jaw, the hand that isn’t clasped around his wrist is tightly wound in a fist - and Tommy knows that Phil would never punch him, that it is a way to release the anger and disappointment out, but deep down inside he is getting ready to run.

It wasn’t his fault this time either, Jared and his mates had picked up that Tubbo was a sore spot for Tommy, a discussion point that makes Tommy see red, and apparently are now using that to good use. It was English class and Mr. Eret had left the room to get some print outs for the class when it started this time. And Tommy tried, he really did. He blocked them out, turned his head away from them, thought happy memories and all the other bullshit things people tell you to do when you are being bullied, but you try being next to 5 boys telling you that you are useless and worthless and annoying - it gets a bit tiring after a while.

The one line that got him though, for whatever reason, was, “You looking for new schools yet?” And Tommy, even in the quietness of the car ride home, can’t explain why that got him so annoyed, why for whatever reason that was the trigger for him to turn and punch the nearest one (Collin he believes) straight across the face.

Chairs went flying, children started screaming, Tommy was punching and Jared was kicking. By the time Mr. Eret came back the class was in mayhem and Tommy was slamming his fist into Collin’s chest.

Safe to say, it was a bad decision, he is now on his last warning and he had bruises upon bruises scattered across his back.

“Tommy,” he almost flinches when Phil says his name like that. It’s quiet but filled with carefully controlled anger. “Tommy, look at me.” Reluctantly he turns away from the zooming scenery towards Phil. It takes a second to meet his eyes, a deep breath to remember that whatever happens he won’t get hurt (not physically anyway).

“You understand that this can’t keep happening, right? There are only so many times the school will be understanding before they remove you from their site.” Tommy nods, “You do also understand that if that happens then your social worker will have to come and investigate our house right,” Tommy pretends that he didn’t feel relieved at the word ‘our’, “because they might think something bad is happening here which is the reason you are getting into fights.”
And Tommy can only nod as the swirling in his chest got louder. The disappointment dripping out of Phil’s mouth, how genuinely sad he seemed about something bad happening to Tommy hurt to listen to, but also the fact that Phil thought that something bad wasn’t happening, that Tommy was just getting into fights for the fun of it, that this was just a trait of himself - betrayal and hurt, he thought Phil would be the one to understand.

As they lapsed into quiet silence, the tension in Tommy building, he decided at that moment that he couldn’t tell Phil about Tubbo. It was a quiet decision, backed by determination and willpower- stubbornness in fairness had always been a trait for Tommy. And maybe that decision would be the death of him. Maybe that decision was the beginning to the end - the reason it all fell apart. Or maybe it wasn’t - either way, that decision definitely changed the course of Tommy’s life.

--------

The final straw however came two days after that, and in fairness, Tommy could not blame anyone but himself for this one. It had been a long day… those kind of days where they don’t seem to stop, and nothing about it got better.

It started with him waking up late, the clock next to him showing 8:40 which was 40 minutes after he was meant to be in school. Great. Not only that, but he soon came to the realisation that his phone had not charged overnight, which was why he was late in the first place. Doubly great.

He had forced himself to get out of bed, get dressed and was deciding on if he should bother to have breakfast or not as he walked downstairs when he suddenly realised how quiet the house was.

It was silent. Silent in the way that Tommy knew no one was there without even having to check. It shouldn’t have hurt, not really - before Tubbo, Phil used to work really early in the mornings, but always, without fail, Techno or Wilbur had been with him in the house. Not only that but Wilbur goes to the same damn school as him - they used to walk together.

On the 6th step down, at 9 o’clock in the morning, it struck him that he really had been forgotten about. Evidently, Wilbur had gone with Tubbo to school, neither of them remembering him or bothering to wake him up, and Phil and Techno had left. It was there on the 6th stair, school bag on his shoulder, that he suddenly felt very very alone. Alone in a way that he wasn’t entirely sure how to fix nor how it really happened.

From there it only got worse.

By the time he did arrive at school, starving, disgruntled and generally in a bad mood, it was English, and if there was anything he had learnt from the last few weeks was that Colin and Jared and all of their friends would believe Christmas came early if Tommy walked in looking like he did. They would pounce, claw and hammer at the already large gaping holes in his chest - and Tommy didn’t have the energy or patience for them. So he walked past the classroom - ducking under the glass window of the door- down the corridor and into the library.

It was silent, other than a few students quietly studying at the tables, there was nobody there. Tommy found a small corner, hidden away from view and collapsed into it. He just wanted silence, comfort and to cry (not that he was going to cry in school, he was a Big Man, a Big Man who didn’t want other students to find him crying nor be asked why he looked so sad) so he remained tightly wound, hurt settling in his chest, face on his knees and stared off to space.

It was the bell signalling break that woke him up, legs stiff, neck aching - he went move, and as he lent over to pick up his coat, he heard awfully familiar voices.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I promise he gets better, he isn’t great with emotions.”

Silence.

“Really?” A sniff. He could see the two mops of brown hair just over the books.

“Yeah. I didn’t like him much either. And he didn’t like me. Pretending helps though, it gradually makes you believe the things you are faking.”

Oh. Okay then. That hurts. That really really hurts. Hot tears made his vision swim, and he desperately tried to blink them away. If he started now, he wouldn’t stop, and that was not what he needed.

He zoned back in to Tubbo’s wobbling voice saying,

“You sure?”

“Yeah, change is hard. It gets better, I promise, and when he goes and there’s less of us it will be easier.”

Tommy left, he heard enough. And if the tears fell, it was only him, the bathroom stall and his jumper that knew.

(He didn’t think about Techno, or the fact he was leaving, didn’t think that maybe they weren’t talking about him. He was so tired, so hungry, so painfully anxious, what he heard was enough. Enough to know what they thought anyway.)

He made it through lunch, ignoring Colin’s jabs, because they were true, they were true and he couldn’t even get angry at that. He sat through History, arms resting on the table, pen not even out of his bag. And when the bell went he was gone before the teacher formally dismissed them. He didn’t care, he stopped caring, he needed to go to sleep and just exist.

Which is maybe where the actual problem arose from - emotions bubbling so close to the surface and the inability to tell anyone about them.

It is hard to say who’s fault it was, maybe there was no fault, just a chain of events that led to the disastrous event that happened in the living room when he walked through it after making himself some tea. He had been crying, and while he had washed his face to get rid of the evidence, he was not too happy - turns out crying sometimes makes you feel worse.

He wasn’t fully in the present, half stuck in swirling thoughts, half trying to stop himself slipping into the past. He had made some tea to ground himself, force him into the present - and it was working, slowly, very slowly.

“Come join us Tommy, we are going to watch Toy Story 2,” It was loud and out of nowhere, Tubbo appeared from the doorway, hands outstretched to grab his shoulder. Any other day it would have probably been fine, he would have been able to cope with the sudden appearance, with the loudness, with someone touching him. Tommy was tired, however, so fucking tired. The tired where it aches deep inside your bones, tired that left him with no patience and even less rational.

Hand struck shoulder, gentle, soothing. Fist struck cheek, harsh, angry. Hand shoved shoulder, forceful and painful. Tubbo hit the floor, chest throbbing, nose bleeding. Tommy was screaming, ghastly and angrily, “don’t fucking touch me. Don't’ fucking touch me. I hate you. I hate you. I hate all of you. I want to go home, I want to leave.” His arms were flailing, stopped only by Techno who pinned his arms and slowly carried him away.

As arms encircled the blonde, he froze - all movement stopped, eyes wide and unseeing, lips moving to form silent words. Tubbo lay on the ground too shocked to move. Wilbur stood there, eyes wide and chest rising rapidly, one hand nursing the fist that had accidentally collided with his chin before Techno had got to him - neither knew where this outburst had come from.

Chapter Text

2 days ago

At what point do you accept you are broken - that no one… absolutely no one will come and save you. Not the days after days, taking each one so desperately into shaking hands, hoping that this will be it, that everything he has done will mean fucking something other than a broken, useless pile of shit. He stares at the crack that runs along the ceiling of his room, body sticky with sweat, covers twisted around him in an uncomfortable way. Tommy doesn’t know, he doesn’t know at what point life gets better, because people always say “it gets better. Don’t worry, you’ll find the end of the tunnel.” but Tommy isn’t sure about that, it feels that every time he gets to the end of the tunnel, he catches the sunlight for a second, feels warmth along his skin, understands how this could be his life, before he is swept into a longer, darker tunnel.

It is today that he realises his life is hopeless, that he will never get better- that nothing ever gets fucking better.

He tries not to let the bitter tears fall from his eyes, tries not to feel the twist in his stomach, gap opening to form a hollow chest. He doesn’t want to get out of bed, for as soon as they hear him, he has to leave, and he can’t deal with that- please, please he can’t deal with that. Not now, he is struggling so badly, struggling so much, but he doesn’t want to be torn away now.

He will be though. There is little doubt in his mind. He wants to scream how unfair it is that he has never been taught how to communicate, how he has only ever seen glimpses of healthy relationships, rarely seen people control their anger - how can they expect him to know how to do all that when no one has ever shown him? No one has ever loved him enough to care. It feels as if Life has dealt him a hand of cards that makes it impossible to win with, one miserable card after another - watching as everyone else’s hands are better than his with no distinguishable reason as to why his are worse.

He wants his mother back, wants to hear her life, smell her perfume - he wants a hug, her hug, arms tightly wrapped,a soft laugh. He can remember when he forgot what she looked like, her face draped with blonde hair, and an outline of pale skin. Occasionally it comes back, blue eyes sparkling, lips so red he thinks she wore lipstick a lot. But most of the time he can’t picture her face, he was 11 when that first happened and refused to talk for days, sitting as still as possible, eyes screwed shut desperately trying to remember - it did come back but it’s now inconsistent.

He wants a hug, wants to be told that it is okay, that even though it won’t work out, he wants someone to look him in the eyes and tell him that it will.

So he stays lying there, heart pounding, stomach sick with anxiety, but he doesn’t want to move. And so he doesn’t. He can hear the clatter of plates from the kitchen, the movement on floorboards, murmuring of voices, their conversations indistinguishable. Tommy lies there knowing that in a few weeks, life will return for normal for them, Tommy’s absence closed over and forgotten about - game night will continue, school will continue, evening talks and morning walks won’t change, and all that’ll be left is him, lying in a new person’s room with memories so painful they sear through him.

Tommy stands up, legs wobbling ever so slightly as he opens the door, hoodie skewed from a rushed dressing. He doesn’t look in the mirror, doesn’t want to see his red face from bitter, angry tears, his hair spikey, his thin frame draped in a hoodie that he knows is not his. The floor is cold on his feet, and he lets it be, the pain has started what is a little more?

He creaks down the stairs, ears strained for life in the living room. It’s strangely quiet, the room usually full of life now dead, he can’t work out what’s going on - the door shut, no light under the door. He stares at the door for a minute or two, aware that if they heard him walk down the stairs, they know he is hovering outside the door - but he needs to gather his thoughts, because this is it now, he knows the exact conversation that is about to take place. He thinks it is ironic a bit, that even though he has had this conversation a huge amount of time it doesn’t get easier, he is more nervous than he ever has been. He shakes away the knowledge that that is because he loves them all so much (there he thought it. Loves them. Stupid fucking information. Information that came too late and will now haunt him.) and they are about to get rid of him, tell him to pack his bags and leave.

(Deep down he hopes one of them will stick up for him, Techno or Wilbur, probably not Tubbo, not after what he’s done. He wants to know they love him, it doesn’t even have to be as fiercely as he loves them. Just wants to know that he won’t be written out of history completely, that one of them, any of them, please any of them, will miss him just a tiny bit.)

He breathes in deeply, focusing on the way his chest rises, filling the loose material of his hoodie, and then turns the door handle.

He is glad, in that short second, that Phil oiled all the doors. It was actually because of Tommy that he did it, a few months ago, Phil had noticed that Tommy jumped anytime the doors squeaked open and had made it a Sunday morning mission to fix that. Tommy had helped, albeit he did not do a good job, it was one of the first times that he and Phil had spent a while in just each other’s company. It is a happy memory, one that Tommy will file away in hopes that his sadness will not tarnish it (he tries not to think about that scene from Inside Out, now is not the time for Disney movies to haunt him).

He strides in, arrogant, careless facade slipping over him, like water dripping to form a shield from whatever is about to happen in the next few minutes.

There is an awkward pause as he studies the scene in front of him. He has evidently walked into a family meeting, grimly he realises that he has already been excluded - not part of the family, huh.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realise there was a meeting in here.” It’s cold, sneering. He hopes it hurts, just a little bit, to know that he caught them leaving him out. “I’ll come back whenever you guys are done talking about me.” He goes to leave, walk back out the way he came, cursing himself for coming down in the first place and not waiting for them to come and get him.

“Wait, no Tommy,” Phil clears his throat, voice breaking the stifling silence, “Come in, we were just… - come take a seat.”

Tommy does come back, taking each step deliberately slowly, drawing out the silence that comes with it. He does not take a seat, for one he would not be able to sit still and for another he wants to be out of arm's reach - it appears Phil notices that as he takes the furthest corner of the couch, a slight wince crosses his face. Tommy pretends not to see it, the coldness cloaking him, emotions frozen, eyes shuttered and icy.

“We were just talking.”

“It appears so.” He watches Techno flinch, watches as Wilbur recognises the game Tommy is playing, there is an understanding hanging in the room somewhere, of how this is all about to play out, and from Tommy’s set jaw, he will be going down swinging.

“Now Tommy, I have a difficult decision on my hands, and I’m not sure how to go about it.” Phil smiles, the blonde would have laughed at the tactic Phil was playing if it wasn’t him on the receiving end.

“That doesn’t really seem to be my problem.”

“Well, this is where you and I might disagree, because I think it is your problem in every sense of the word. You understand that I can’t let anyone in the house get hurt right? That my job, solely, is to make sure that everyone comes out as unscathed as possible both emotionally and physically. And that means that I can’t have someone as… I can’t have someone in this house have unpredictable actions.”

What about me, Tommy thought bitterly, what about my emotional being? He understands that the others can’t get hurt, but what about him? Does it matter the pain he will go through at the sacrifice of the others? Don’t let me go, he wants to say, I won’t be predictable, I just want things to stop moving outside of my control. He wants it to stop, everything to just stop. He doesn’t say it outloud though, because like a failure he is, he can’t communicate in his life, so he listens as gold, honey words drip out of Phil’s, watches as Tubbo looks away when Tommy turns his piercing gaze on him, and how Techno coughs awkwardly.

He watches as his family crumbles and does not say a word.

“Will you do that again Tommy?” Phil sounds almost mechanical and Tommy wonders how painful it is for him to go through this. He finds he cares very little, stomach twisting as he deliberately tries to wind up Phil.

“Do what?” He smirks. “What did I do Phil? Come one, it’s okay, you can say it.”

“Will you hit Tubbo again?”

“I don’t know, will Tubbo be a little bitch again? Maybe he just needs to learn boundaries.”

Tubbo goes to open his mouth, Phil gets there first,

“Lets not start being snide. Will you punch someone again, Tommy?”
“I don’t know.”

“Okay, will you carry on getting into fights?”

“I don’t know, will you keep breaking your promises?”

“That’s not an answer, and I haven’t broken any promises.”

“No I guess not, too good to fall into that mistake.” It’s grumbled, too quiet for Phil to hear on the other side of the table, but he watches Techno wince.

“Do you want to be here Tommy?”

It’s a good question, the blonde will have to admit. He wasn’t expecting it. And it stops him dead in his tracks. Did he want to be here?

Yes. So so desperately yes, he wanted the snuggles in bed with Wilbur, he wanted to laugh until his stomach hurt with Techno. He wanted to go to Techno’s fencing matches all the time and scream as he watched him win. The movie night, the stories, the giggles in the car, the promises that were so usually kept, the camping, the radio - all the big things. He wanted the small things too: Wilbur’s rambles, Techno’s twinkling eyes, Phil’s big smile as they took the mick out of him, music bleeding through the floor from Wilbur’s room, the consistency of Techno’s routine (which he now knows off by heart). He wants safety. He wants love. He wants what he had 2 months, three months, 6 months, a year ago - he wanted everything and nothing all at once.

But he couldn’t find himself able to say it.

Not when Wilbur and Tubbo’s faces were mottled purple - too close to Tommy’s own once, something deep down realising that he was like Dream, acted the same way, hurt people the same way. He sees the dark bags under Phil’s eyes, and he knows that the paperwork Tommy was causing him with social services was a nightmare. Wilbur went off with Tubbo for a reason, telling him in ‘secret’ that he hadn’t liked Tommy much to begin with. There was a reason for that. There was a reason that Techno sometimes told him to go away. There was a reason that he was such a fuck up.

(It doesn’t matter that half of this may not be true, the inability to see outside of your own bubble a crippling one. It doesn’t matter. Tommy was never taught love, he was never told what a family meant. Who knows the difference between love and violence sometimes?)

He wanted them not to ask. He wanted them to beg him to stay, not the other way around - he wanted to ensure that they actually wanted him, that he wasn’t just fulfilling their brief of helping young, orphaned children. He wanted them to not ask, because asking meant they didn’t know, that they couldn’t be bothered to make the decision, that they were leaving him to make this decision. Just this once he wanted someone to want him.

“Do you want me?” is all he said, trying to sound harsh - it didn’t, it was a trembling insecure question - probably able to hear the layers of want twisting under those words, hear the poison in his blood and the coldness in his spine.

He watches as Techno opens his mouth to say something, stopped by a glare from Tubbo. Watches as Wilbur says nothing, his eyes saying everything as they stay trained on the floor, watches as Tubbo looks at him with a level of desperation that Tommy can’t really understand, sees Phil eyes become shuttered. No one was coming to his defence, not quick enough to show confidence or like.

“You don’t actually want me, do you?” He says it like a question but it comes across like a statement. “Was I too much work? Too annoying? Too fucked up? You must have known that though, right? When you saw my lying in that hospital bed, face fucked up and bloody. Surely you read my file, and saw that I don’t stay long, known as you sat down today that this is the longest I stayed somewhere for. Don’t take me for a fool Phil, I don’t fucking underestimate you, don’t do the same thing back. If you didn’t want me, fucking spit it out, don’t let me flail around here, trying to guess what you want me to say. I want to stay,” his voice broke, eyes becoming warm, the room becoming blurry, “I really want to stay, but I want you to want me to stay. And if you can’t say that then I will go, I’ll leave, I promise.” Tears started to drip down his face, hot burning his cheeks, faces swimming as his vision blurred. The silence was deafening. “Tell me you want me here. Please. Please tell me, want me. I really want some to want me.”

He broke after that. He wasn’t in that room anymore, thoughts a million miles away. Tears a steady hot stream, as ice filled his veins. They might have said something, asked something, it didn’t matter. At what point do you accept you are broken? This was Tommy’s point. Sitting at a table, surrounded by people he loved so much it hurt. Yet he fucked up so badly, so so badly, that he was gone, lost in the wide ocean of misery. This was his no going back point, this was when he decided that he was unloveable.

“Tommy, I can’t have you here, not when you keep hurting others and yourself.” Phil sounded broken, the pain of it pulling Tommy out of his thoughts. Tears were sliding down Phil’s cheeks, he had never seen him cry before.

“That’s not telling me you want me here. You don’t want me, do you?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Yes you can! Fucking answer it. Do you want me?” A yell, broken, shattering.

“I can’t answer that, Tommy. Not now.”

“I want you Tommy.” It was Techno, quiet and calm. Contrasting the rest of the emotions in the room. “But we can’t have you. Not now. Maybe in the future.”

And that is what broke him, truly. His face froze, eyes hardening as he looked around the room. Maybe it was because it came from Techno, maybe it was the last straw, maybe it was the realisation that nobody, nobody, loved him - that unlike other children there was no unconditional love. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t see, the tears streaming down his face so fast. The room was left stunned. He thought they wanted him, he really really thought they wanted him, this was the happiest he had ever been, that he wasn’t too difficult - he was wrong, well and truly wrong.

He wanted to scream, shout until he voice was raw and scratchy because everything was slipping through his fingers - he was 17, nearly 18, no one would take him, he wouldn't have a family, never truly. He wanted one, he wanted them to be his family. How could he fuck it up so badly? How did it get that bad this quickly? It hurt, pain on another level, betrayal mixing with guilt mixing with desperation and pure unfiltered sadness - it have never hurt this badly before when he left, not on this scale.

“I see.” It was quiet, he knew that. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything else, not sure he could say anything else. “When will Sally be here?”

“In two days, she wanted you to have time to come to terms with everything.”

“I see.” Broken. Sad.

“We are really sorry Tommy, really really sorry. We wanted you, loved you so much -”

“- Obviously not enough, huh. -”

“- We didn’t want you to go Tommy, we really really didn’t. It will get better, I promise it will. We loved having you here and it meant - “

“- replaced me with the first child you found, did you? Knew that once another child came I would leave. It was probably easier that way, knowing that you wouldn’t have to do anything yourself, just watch myself ruin it for everyone else.” It was quiet. Stone cold. It was a blade slicing through the air. Tubbo was wide eyed and crying. Techno couldn’t even look anymore - something more interesting out the window.

“Tommy, that’s so not true. That really isn’t. We wanted you, we loved you, we just don’t think it works currently. Believe me when I say we wanted you so so much -”

“- you are just lying now. Wilbur didn’t even like me. It’s okay you’re kicking me out, we don’t have to lie anymore.”

“Wilbur has nothing to do with this.” Phil said firmly, trusting his son over the foster, things never change, thought Tommy.

“Yeah, ask him. What did you say to Tubbo in the library the other day, Wilbur?” Something cackled inside him when Wilbur paled, head whipping to Tommy, then to Tubbo before settling on Phil. If he was going to go down, he wanted everyone to fall with him.

“You hear that?” It was whispered, as if Wilbur couldn’t bear himself to say it.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t like him much either.” Tommy’s face is blank as he mocks Wilbur’s voice, face devoid of emotions. “Pretending helps though. Isn’t that what you said Wilbur? Come on, lets not lie, Tubbo heard it too.” He watches a Phil winces, can see too many emotions flicker across the mans face. "Tell me I'm lying Wilbur. Didn't you say and when he goes and there’s less of us it will be easier or am I lying, like the annoying, bratty foster kid I am?"

“I didn’t… it wasn’t meant to be like that.. I promise.” Tommy laughed, it wasn’t a true laugh, there was nothing to laugh about. “I mean it Tommy, I mean it. It was about Techno, I was talking about how I didn’t like him when I first moved in… Techno’s going to college… Tommy please please I promise -”

“I don’t believe you, Wilbur. When you are the one kicking me out of your home, you sort of lose that privilege.” Wilbur’s face falls.

“Tommy..” Techno starts. Tommy gets up. “I really really hate you all.”

Taking one day at a time… look how that went, Sally…. Fucking hell.

{And well...we all know what happened after this.}

Chapter Text

Present day:

It is hard to explain the sheer gaping hole that has now made its home in Tommy’s chest, pouring poison into his veins until his body hurts. Just hurts. He can’t bring himself to raise his eyes and look at what once was his family. So he didn’t. Couldn’t. Perhaps they called out to him, he could at least feel their eyes on him from where he sat on the ground, Sally a warm protective shield for him to cling onto. And cling he did.

Tommy didn’t know what it was exactly about her presence being there that made him crumble, the Big Man Tommy personality falling away at the seams. But God it hurt. Hurt so much that for a minute, just a minute, he wanted to die. He had never really tasted betrayal this strong, here it felt like it was layered, building into a fireball that sat half way down his throat, a thing that produced tears in a continuous stream, and stung so much he couldn’t talk.

At one point he hears chatter, a quiet timid voice - a voice that Tommy can’t place, not that it mattered, and Sally answering back. A gentle rumble by his ear, as he listened to her argue, defensive, caring - the one person who Tommy could trust protecting him from the people he thought he could. “Like I said, please back away” followed by indiscernible reasoning, a harsh, “I’m sorry, but he is not under your care anymore. For all I care you could be a stranger on the street. Now please, move back.”

It did nothing to soothe the fire blocking his airway nor the scorching poison in his veins, but it stopped the roaring in his head, just for a little bit. Sitting on the pavement he wasn’t entirely sure he could ever feel better, because he wanted a family he could never have, and he knew he could never have because they just threw him out. He wanted a family that had slipped past his fingers into the air just next to him, and there was nothing he could do about it, other than sit on the pavement and let the pain wash over him again and again, until finally the roaring quietened and poison retracted just a bit.

“That was quite a big cry wasn’t it.” It was the same voice, that quiet lilting tone, from way back when, that Sally spoke to him in. The same voice that had found him in the corridor, shrunk against the wall - it was almost funny how little had changed over the last 9 years, that Sally still found him curled up, crying over something he could never have. He would have laughed if he could, instead he choked up a sob, and nodded.

“Let’s get out of here shall we?” Yes, he wanted to scream, he wanted to leave, to die, to run away, to escape to a world he had never been, to flee to a place where this hurt could not find him in, but he didn’t, he can’t, he’s stuck here in a world that only wants to hurt him so he merely nodded meekly. He grasped her hand, pulling himself from the crumpled mess he had been in, standing on shaking legs.

Tommy walked to the car, bag in hand and didn’t turn once. Tommy left on a coldish morning, with eyes that never once left the floor, and did not even glance at the family that splayed out on the front lawn of the house he had called his. Tommy left because he couldn’t stay, no matter how much his heart called out for him to dig his heels in, he left because betrayal was an easier tasting punishment than an angry 17 year old to a family that had promised him everything and gave him nothing in the end.
Just like 9 years ago during the hazy days after his mother’s death, Tommy found himself looking at a cup of hot chocolate. Instead of sitting on a table, he was sitting at a table, in a small rather indie café about 20 minutes away from his hom- ex house. The café was quite nice, and in a better state of mind, Tommy would have probably loved it - pot plants hanging in the window, green tumbling down and swimming in the light of the sun. The cups were a spottled blue, a beautiful ceramic, and next to the counter was a bakery, its smell filling the air.

Sally was also drinking hot chocolate, but also had a slice of berry crumble. They sat in rather content silence - Tommy wondered what it looked like to the other customers in the café: a child with blonde dishevelled hair, bloodshot eyes and an ill-like pale complexion sitting opposite a put-together 30-something woman, who was clearly a social worker. On second thoughts, Tommy knew exactly what it looked like.

“How do you feel?”

“Sad. Upset.”

“What about the future?”

Tommy only sighed. Empty. Numb.

“That’s okay.” He knew where this was going before she started speaking. “Lets stop thinking about that, because it's scary and I don't want you to be scared. Let's take today, and tomorrow, and however many days it takes to stop worrying about the future a minute at a time. Think about 1 minute, just one, and don't think about too much. We'll take this minute by minute, okay? Second by second, whatever it takes to make you stop worrying. So let's start with that shall we?”

He let the words wash over him, 9 years later in a café with a single rose on the table, he let those words begin to sew up the hole, and stem the flow of poison. Tommy felt his heart begin to beat again, and although he wasn’t happy, a small smile appeared. It wasn’t funny, and Tommy didn’t think Sally meant it to be, but after a few minutes in silence, he began to laugh. Was it hysterically? Perhaps, but sometimes Big Men have to laugh at something. He couldn’t stop though, he laughed and laughed until he slipped into crying.

(It took a minute for him to stop crying.)

“I don’t know why I did that.”

“That’s okay. We don’t always have to know.”

..

“I remember you telling that to me for the first time.” And he did, he truly did.
“It stayed with me, for whatever reason, and when things went wrong, as they usually did -”

“Tommy there is no need to put yourself and your situation down like that. It’s okay, things go wrong and we learn how to fix them.”

“Hmm maybe,” he looked away from her then, “And when they did, you said that always came back to me, so vividly I could almost feel you there in the room with me.” Sally only smiled, and for whatever reason that was enough.

—---

There is silence in the house. They stay out on the front, and not one of them speaks. Tubbo turns away first, recent tears have turned his face red and pale at the same time, he mutters to himself, and bangs the door shut when he gets inside the house. The three of them are left, staring after a car that will not return, that will never return. This time none of them know what to say to each other, there will be no comforting words or soft smiles, they will not laugh and joke for the next 4 days. Not when this is only the beginning.

It is Techno that breaks the silence, monotone voice cutting through the atmosphere that is hanging like a black cloud in front of the house, “I can’t believe we just did that.” He looks at Phil and Wilbur, “That was the worst thing I have ever seen, and I’ve been to fencing matches where people leave bloody and bruised. I have seen awful things, Phil, but I never want to experience that again - never like that, we were never supposed to be like them. We are awful awful people.”

A tear falls.

“I hope you know that.”

He leaves, and no one stops him. Techno silently screams, when he enters the house, he opens his mouth and screams. His hands are shaking and there’s a tremble when he breathes in, he has not felt this way in a very long time. Tommy has made him upset before, when he first came and the bruises litter his small body, when he flinched and apologised, he has made Techno nearly cry when he apologised for doing nothing wrong. But that was on another level, the image of Tommy curled on the ground, crying so hard he shakes, non-responsive and hurt, is something that will never be forgotten.

He hears Tubbo crying upstairs, soft sobs that bounce through the empty, quiet (too too quiet house). Techno begins to climb.

—-

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Sally said it with a grin, and that was the only reason why Tommy wasn’t panicking, or panicking more than he already was. He lent his head against the cool window and watched the landscape rush past him, it was calming, ish, and meant that he didn’t have to think about anything. Just watched the world go by. His eyes began to slip close and he didn’t stop them. And my gosh he slept, letting the tiredness wash over him again and again. He doesn’t remember if he woke up to jolting traffic, doesn’t know how long he slept, not when he was safe and warm - in the presence of someone he knows would protect him.

When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t feel rested, his head hurts and eyes prickle at the edges. Crying is draining, okay? And it doesn’t matter, he’s used to this type of sleep by now.

It is dark outside of the window, and they have parked on a street. A very, very familiar street. A street that he didn’t think he would ever see again. Tommy doesn’t know what to think, so he doesn’t. He just waits.

Outside he can see the dark, shadowy figure of Sally pacing up and down on the phone. When her face catches the streetlights there is a small smile on her face. She isn’t doing much of the talking, just nodding every now and then, and for some reason that fills Tommy with hope? He doesn’t think that is quite the word for it, the pain that has settled in the pit of his stomach will be there for weeks now, but still Sally smiling is a good thing. He trusts her. He only trusts her. (He doesn’t want to think about this anymore.)

He begins to drift, still tired, hurt and not sure what else to do.

“Okay, you ready Tommy?”

Tommy isn’t sure if he will be. He didn’t think he would be ready to see her again, not after how it was left when he was last here. But he finds himself nodding anyway.

“Good. I’ve got someone very happy to see you again.”

—-

Techno gets to the top of the stairs, and takes a deep breath. He isn’t entirely sure why he walked towards Tubbo, there are very little things he will be able to do or say to make this situation any better than it is. He is sure that Tubbo will not want to stay long, not after he watched how they acted, not after he knows how they can act now.

He hopes he does though. He wants someone to stay, needs someone to stay.

He knocks, “Can I come in?”

There is silence. It is painful and awkward. But it isn’t a no. It wasn’t a no.
So Techno pushes his way in. He catches sight of Tubbo and wishes he didn’t. Tubbo’s face is sickening to watch, pain written so freely across it, that it feels like Techno’s chest was punched. It legitimately hurts to breathe for a second or two.

But Techno was built to be a big brother, and so a big brother he will be.

“I’m so so sorry Tubbo. I promise it was never meant to go like this, it was never meant to be this bad.”

His words do not dent Tubbo’s blatant shield of pain. Techno doesn't blame him.

“Would you like a hug?” Techno really wants him to need a hug, he wants, no needs him to, to see if Tubbo still trusts him, if he's fucked up enough to have ruined his relationship with his younger brother.

There is a timid hug and that is all it takes for them to meet. His arms go round the young boys shaking shoulders, and that is when Techno’s emotions swell and begin to tip. He feels the prickles in his eyes, the heat radiating off his face, he feels the water drip down his face and the ice rush through his veins. He can’t close his eyes, Tommy’s broken, closed off face stares back, and Techno can’t deal with that. So he stares ahead, Tubbo’s head pressed against his chest and Techno’s hands carding through it, they stay there until they are too tired, and even then they don’t break apart.

Tubbo cries into the night. Techno feels as if he has broken - he doesn’t know when this will get better, he hasn’t a feeling it won’t.

—-

Tommy stares at Niki. Niki stares back, eyes soft and warm. They glisten from the glare of the streetlights.

Tommy can’t believe she’s there, that Niki is there and that she hasn’t changed a bit since he saw her 3 years ago. Apart from now her hair is split dyed white and black, and she has gathered a few more piercings.

They hover for a moment, Tommy not entirely sure what to do. And then Niki smiles, and he is running, legs running to get to her, to get to her safety, her warmth. They collide, Niki letting out an oof and they meet, but it doesn’t matter because they are together and that’s what matters.

In all honesty, Niki was not the top person on Tommy’s list to see, not because she was mean or horrible, but because they left on a bad note, something that caused his memories to sour and turn prickly. She is one of the ones he remembers though, the distinct happiness he felt with her - something warm, yellow and sweet.

She doesn’t ask how he’s doing, doesn’t comment on today, and for once Tommy can breathe? It’s a strange feeling, he hadn’t realised how much he had missed her, missed this, missed her hugs and her smile and the way her eyes shone. He doesn’t mention the last time he saw her, and he won’t for weeks at least, not when he is here right now, safe and warm and comfortable, and maybe, hopefully, loved?

They stay standing there like that. He can hear Sally sniffle behind him, and then there are tears in his eyes, a pain in his throat.

“I didn’t think you would want me.”

“Tommy, I will always want you.”

“That’s what they said.”

Niki pulls Tommy’s face out of the crook of her neck, face serious, eyes wide.

“I’m not Tommy, I’m not. It’s okay though, we have time now. We have lots and lots of time, I won't make you leave.”

A tear drips down his face, cold against the warm skin. His vision is sort of blurry at the edges.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

….

“I really missed you, Niki.” It was soft, warm, a truth that Tommy hadn’t wanted to admit out loud. He missed all of them- well at least some of them. He missed Sam, and Niki, at times he missed Puffy, he missed Ranboo and Quackity - he was probably never going to see them again, he knew that when he left all of them, but he never admitted out loud that he missed them.

But he did.

He misses all of them.

He is not angry at his mum for dying, he’s not, but if she hadn’t gone he wouldn’t be standing here. He would be safe, maybe, he was loved even if she didn’t show it. She was his mum. She was his mum.

Niki kisses him on the cheek and presses him even closer.

“I missed you too.”

Eventually they walk inside, to a house that hasn’t changed, a building that hasn’t seen what he’s seen, a child that has seen more than this house ever could.

It is sweet, and warm, a soft yellow emitting from every lamp, and books still stacked around the place. There is cake in the kitchen and a flowery tablecloth. If Tommy closes his eyes it was as if nothing had happened for a minute - that he hadn’t left.

He stands there, in the middle of the corridor, and just lets everything that has happened in the last 3 years sink in. And then he’s crying again, and he’s so so sick of crying. But he can’t make it stop, and they won’t stop.

He doesn’t know if Niki knows what happened after he left, he hopes she doesn’t. His stomach twists at that thought, because it wasn’t her fault that he went with Dream. A voice that sounds awfully like Sally’s says it wasn’t his fault either.

It is a comfortable house, and not that he would ever admit out loud, but definitely the nicest house he has ever lived in.

“I have a surprise for you, Tommy.”

In Tommy’s confused, sad, tired brain he cannot think what it is. Not when she’s leading him out the kitchen, not when they are walking, hand in hand towards the bedroom, not when they are getting to a room, a room that used to be his, a room that might be his again?

“What is it?”

Niki only smiles, “I have something for you.”

And there on the bed is something blue, something blue and familiar. Tommy just stands there staring, because no one has ever done something like this for him before.

“You…I.. You kept him?”

“Of course Tommy, I could never get rid of him. It’s yours, I wouldn’t ever just get rid of something yours.” And then she’s guiding him, and he’s moving. One shaky step in front of the other.

“Look he’s smiling, he knows you're here.” And he is, there sits Henry the Cow, all blue and clean and fluffy, and Tommy doesn’t entirely know what to do.

“He’s mine.”

Niki nods, and then he’s picking up Henry. The fluff is the same, the weight still solid, the beads of the eyes still clean and unscratched. He is 17 and nearly crying once again over a cow. A cow. But that doesn’t matter because this is one of the kindest things that someone has ever done for him.

“You did so well. So so well.” Niki is whispering to him and helping him take off his shoes. Tommy sits on the bed holding Henry, unable to move.

He’s tired.

So so tired.

“You have done so well, it’s okay.” He’s blinking tiredly and begins to fall backwards into bed. “Oh darling, you must be so tired. You’ve done so so well, I’m so proud. It’s okay, oh it’s okay, you can stop merely surviving now, how does that sound?”

It sounded great, the thought of finally dropping his act, that he won’t have to move for a while, that he can sleep and not worry about the future, about the next day, about who he is.

It sounded so nice, and he’s falling into a sleep, tumbling and tumbling towards darkness.

The last thing he hears is, “You can stop taking each day as they come. Because they will come, they will always come. It’s okay Tommy, go to sleep, and take as long as you want, a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, I’ll always be here.”

He smiles, and something inside him begins to feel warm, something inside him begins to heal.

He stops taking one day at a time.

Chapter Text

Tubbo POV:

The house is silent.

It remains silent as he begins to pack his bags, tiptoeing around as Techno sleeps on Tommy’s bed. He doesn’t know when Wilbur and Phil came in, when they decided to stop looking hopelessly at the deserted road as if they weren’t the cause for that. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t really care, not now, not after this.

The house is silent, and Tubbo knows that deep down it will stay quiet.

So he packs, he doesn’t want to be here, not after that, not after this. He didn’t mean to cause problems, and Techno would probably say that he didn’t, that it just happened, but he knows that Tommy was enjoying it there before he came, knows that somehow he caused promises to be broken, knows that perhaps if he wasn’t standing here Tommy would be.

It’s okay. He wasn’t here long. He can leave.

The house is silent, as is Tubbo, and he isn’t sure when he will speak again, because he is scared now, really really scared. His eyes dart around when a floorboard creaks too loud as he walks around to collect his things in the sitting room. He jumps to the ghostly reflection of him in the hallway mirror. His back prickles as he walks around the kitchen, the darkness a swell of nothing outside the backdoor.

He has not felt safe for a while, and he isn’t sure that will change.

He wanted it to change though, fuck, he really wanted it to get better. But it didn’t, and Tubbo knows that at 17, at that age when you are no longer cute, when you are no longer pliable or happy, that he probably won’t find a family, not one to call his own. He is alone. Tubbo is alone and he has to make peace with that. But there is a part of him that breaks at that thought, as if a chunk of his chest is missing and metal replaced it, cold, blunt - something lodged in his chest that he feels when things get too much.

He really wants a family. He wants his family back, not the graves that signify their existence, not the pictures that are haunting snapshots of their happy life, he wants his family back.#

(He won’t, he never can.)

And that is how he finds himself sitting on the kitchen floor in the darkness, the coldness of the tiles penetrating, grounding, something to remind him of the world that is existing outside his thoughts. He misses Tommy, sort of, sure he was cold, abrasive, sometimes downright rude, but Tubbo could recognise the hurt, the anger, the pain, Tubbo understood that survival instinct Tommy seemed to live in, the way he was always seeking comfort for a pain he didn’t dare speak about.

Tubbo could see himself in Tommy, and it was comforting. Until Phil decided it wasn’t, that Tommy was too much, that Tommy had to go. Tubbo recognised what had happened, that when the family desperately tried to make him comfortable they had isolated Tommy, and with that they alienated him too. Lost two people at once.

(He worries that if another child came, that would happen to him too. He wasn’t as strong as Tommy was, he couldn’t deal with that.)

He had to go. It was for the better that he went.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against the wooden cupboards, hidden amongst the drawn out shadows.

The room is silent and Tubbo basks in it.

It is quiet, he can hear the hum of the fridge, see the moon stretching imprints of the window across the floor. It was quiet, there was no shouting. It is quiet and Tubbo can hear his own thoughts, finally, he can listen as they spin past. It is quiet, the steady beat of his heart and shallow breathing, fill the air - something he can control, something he craves.

“What are you doing there?”

It’s a good question, Tubbo isn’t entirely sure what he is doing, only that he is sitting there and that it’s quite comfortable. He opens his eyes to Wilbur crouching in front of him, ghostly in the lack of light.

“Sitting?” He isn’t sure why it comes out like a question, but it does. Tubbo’s shrinking in on himself, wanting to hide, wanting silence, not Wilbur who is loud, not Wilbur who will ask too many questions and -

“Can I sit here too?”

Tubbo doesn’t answer, doesn’t know if he can. What right does he have? He couldn’t say no, not after today, not after how quickly Tommy was effectively kicked out of the house, he didn’t want to say yes, couldn’t even if he wanted to. Tubbo is stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he isn’t sure how to get out of it without being crushed - so he sits there waiting for the inevitable blow that will eventually come.

Wilbur slumps next to him, hand moving too quickly, everything too fast.

Tubbo flinches. He moves away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Wilbur lets it hang in the air as if he doesn’t know what to say, knowing that he can’t say anything that will get out of this.

They sit there, quietly, awkwardly. Tubbo wants to leave, wants to find a place where he can curl up and cry alone - a place where he is safe, away from the earth. He wants his head to stop spinning and the screaming in his head to stop. Tubbo wants everything to stop, and the problem with life is that it doesn’t.

“I’m sorry we put you through that.” It is brutally honest, something Tubbo wasn’t expecting from him. Not that Tubbo ever had a reason to think Wilbur was lying - but so did to Tommy and look where that got him.

“I’m not entirely sure I can forgive you really.” It’s monotone, small. A truth that pushed its way passed Tubbo’s lips before he could stop it, and he isn’t entirely sure why. It hurts, he knows, watches as a wince flashes across Wilbur’s face and his eyes shut as if that would stop the truth from hurting. Tubbo knows it won’t.

Because the problem is, he can’ forgive them, not really. There will never be a day in his life, when living under their roof, that he won’t fear for his safety, for this false sense of security, for the day he fucks up just like Tommy did and they dispose of him too. And Tubbo isn’t like Tommy, he is not brave, he is not hardy or courageous. Tubbo is Tubbo, someone who knows when it is a good time to leave, to call it a day, to get out of whatever hell-hole this is before they push him out. Tubbo is terrified, he is tired, he is fucking exhausted - he has spent the last weeks tiptoeing around Tommy, scared to set him off (he got it wrong though, it wasn’t Tommy he should’ve been scared of, it should’ve been them, all of them.)

He doesn’t say this though, not out loud. Instead, to the quiet room and the breath of Wilbur he says,

“You get why I can’t forgive you right? You understand that?”

There is a pause. Tubbo twists his head to look at Wilbur. He looks rather angelic in the darkness, pale face cut by the moonlight, eyes gleaming, face taut and cheeks ever so slightly red - Tubbo wishes he could look that put together after today - he knows his brown hair is all fluffed up the wrong way, that his face is pale (too pale), his fingers scratched from where he picked at his nails, his eyes bloodshot, shoulders too tense, and watches as Wilbur thinks through the question he just asked him.

Finally, Wilbur shrugs, and Tubbo doesn’t entirely know what that means.

“You don’t really do you?” It’s brutal, almost condescending. Tubbo’s anger streaming out through that question.

“No, not really.” A quiet admittance to the quiet kitchen in a silent house.

“Wilbur, if you don’t know why I can’t forgive you, then I can’t really help you. And the fact you don’t know means you haven’t thought hard enough.”

Tubbo means every word he says, almost spat there was so much venom in him. He gets up, both because he can’t stand it and because he thinks it adds a dramatic flair to the whole thing.

He leaves the brunet slumped on the floor - it will be the last time he sees Wilbur, lit up in moonlight like a ghost. It is the last night he spends in the silent house, for when he gets back to Tommy- his room, he picks up his phone and begins to dial.

It rings and rings, the fuzzy metal resonating around the room.

“You okay Tubbo?” Jack’s voice is loud and worried, and when Tubbo glances at the clock to see it flashing 12:30 it is easy to see why - a foster kid calling at that time of night is never a good thing.

“No. No I’m not. Please- Please could you come pick me up.” And Tubbo breaks, properly breaks. He can’t breathe, can’t see, feels the fire burning in his chest spread through him. It hurts and he can’t breathe. There is no air. He tries to suck it in. He fails. Again and again. He hears Jack’s voice tinny and small, directing him through it - it takes ages, the room swimming in and out of view. He finds himself on the floor, hugging himself because there is no one there to hug him. He is alone. Alone in the world that doesn’t want him.

“I’m so scared Jack, it hurts, why does it hurt so much?”

“Because it’s scary Tubbo, it’s okay, you are allowed to be scared.”

Tubbo hiccups.

“I don’t want to be scared. I want to go home.”

…

“I’m so so sorry Tubbo. We find another one, I promise, a better one. It’ll be okay.”

“But I want to go home.” His voice cracks, a tear trickles down his face, salt hitting his lips.

“I’m so sorry Tubbo, it’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want sorry, I want to go home. I want my mum.”

He doesn’t hear what Jack says next. He doesn’t care. They are gone, they are all gone. And in that moment he blames them. Blames the world. He wants to set it alight and burn with it, make them suffer too, because how is it fair that he is suffering and they aren’t.

He sits in the room, listening to Jack, small, metallic, the only comfort he has is the man on this phone.

“I’ll pick you up at 7, okay? I won’t knock on the door, we can go and I’ll sort it out. We can sort it all out, how does that sound?”

“Yeah… good. It sounds good.” He hears Jack heave a sigh of relief on the end of the phone, he almost smiles.

“Okay, you’ve.. You’ve got this Tubbo, just hold on okay? Can you do that?”

“Yeah.”

Then the phone goes dead.

Tubbo doesn’t look over to see if Techno is still asleep, doesn’t particularly care. Doesn’t care what Techno has to say, a part of him wants Techno to know, to be awake - to see what they have done, to know that this is what drove him to leave, that it wasn’t voluntary but a fear for himself, for his life, he didn’t want this, never wanted this.

He finishes packing, throwing things into his bag or the bin, he tries to be quiet, but occasionally he isn’t. He. Doesn’t. Care. Because they don’t care.

He falls asleep, fully clothed, clutching his bag to him, a life line to a new place, a new world.

Tubbo wakes at 6, and just stares at the wall. His eyes hurt, his head pounding down the left side of his cheek as if someone is splitting his face open from head to jaw. He stares and stares.

Glancing at Techno, he watches as his chest rises and falls, his hair strewn out around him as if it were a halo.

And when everything gets too much, he finds himself in the same position as Tommy was, less than a day ago. He sits on the wall and doesn’t look back. He sits there and suffers the same punishment as Tommy does.

Jack’s car pulls up. He waves. They hug. Tubbo throws his bag in the car, and swiftly follows it. The door bangs shut, he yells and Jack only watches with a grim look. “I got you a new home.” “Good.” And then they go. Tubbo doesn’t look back, not once.

They get to the bottom of the street.

The car turns.

Tubbo and Jack disappear, the house blocked from view.

Wilbur and Techno watch from the window, tears falling down their faces. They don’t look at each other. They don’t say a word. A family of 5 down to three, in less than 24 hours, as if they took “take one day” as a challenge.

Tubbo and Tommy will not see each other ever again. In fact Tubbo will not see any of them again, they don’t know where he ends up, if he is safe, if he goes on to live a nice and happy life. They don’t know how many families he ends up living with (6 for those of you curious, Tubbo does not find a house, he does not get a family, he makes one though but that is a different story), they don’t know where he ends up living or if he gets a partner - they lost that privilege the minute they lost Tommy, the minute Tubbo lost faith in them.

Phil lost, didn’t get out of bed for a week, and Techno didn’t speak to either of them for a month. It is a quiet house, a silent home, it takes a long time before it starts up again - and even then it never really recovers. Two teenagers ensured that, or really the three of them did, every action, every word, creating a broken future.

They did not take each day as it came. Techno moved out shortly afterwards, and only sees them 4 times a year. Wilbur becomes a musician, he writes sad songs, his audience don’t know it is about two teenagers he met. They are guilty songs, songs that are made for haunting, because Tubbo and Tommy haunt him, every single fucking day.

The house remains silent. Still. As if the life of it was sucked out of it when trust crumbled.

Chapter Text

One month later:

Tommy didn’t get out of bed for the first week, and that was okay. At least according to Niki it was. Tommy read, and slept. He slept and slept, as if this was the first time in months he could. According to his therapist that's what happens when you come out of a survival or high stress situation, his body has to recover from its highly taught state.

Tommy is okay with that.

His bedroom had not changed since he left it all those years ago - and you might think that Tommy would hate that, that it would bring back all the horrible memories. It didn’t. It was the opposite - a place that wasn’t tarnished by Dream, by physical pain, by the Watsons’, by fights or anger, it is a calm place, something that he can hold onto and say that he had a lovely time. It was small and light, and wonderfully safe. It had a lock on the door and no one else sleeping there - it was his room (Niki had to remind him of that fact every day, but that was okay) and no one else’s. It was his room and his room alone, full of his things that only he could touch. It was the bestest thing Tommy had in a very long time.

And Henry. Oh Henry. Look Tommy is a Big Man, doing very manly things at the age of 17 nearly 18, but that cow is one of the only things he actually owns, he picked it out, something that was brought out of pure kindness of Niki’s heart. (If Tommy slept clutching it every night, if his heart pounded when he couldn’t find him, well that’s for Tommy to know, and only Tommy.) But Henry was a constant in Tommy’s life, something so soft, so cute, something that is currently doused in flour as he makes cupcakes.

Tommy loves Niki, he loves her house, he loves her way of life (maybe because he gets to constantly make lots of sweet things and then promptly eat it), loves that she always designates a period of time a week where they can hang out, no work, no pressure, just the two of them. It typically ends in chaos.

Currently, they’ve done paddle boarding on a lake near their house (they spend more time in the water than on the board), they saw a James Bond movie and spent the whole night then having a nerf gun war (Tommy obviously won, don’t listen to what Niki says), and they are currently making 40 cupcakes (Niki is throwing a party that evening. It is safe to say Tommy is thoroughly terrified.)

“It’s going to be okay, Tommy, I promise. And if it isn’t I will not fault you for going to your bedroom. We can set up a code word for if everything is too much and you need me, how does that sound?”

Tommy loves Niki is how that sounds. There are days where it feels like he is flying, soaring above the air, a warm fuzzy feeling inside of him. Because he is happy here, truly truly happy here.

Of course there are bad days, days where he freezes and can’t speak, spending the whole day staring at a wall in mute silence. But that’s okay, it will always be okay, because here is Niki and Niki is a safe person. And he recovers, it can take minutes, hours, occasionally days, but that is fine, because he is safe to do so.
So yes he is thoroughly terrified, but only because of the new people, not because of Niki or her friends (he’s horrified of her parents though, Niki promises they aren’t coming, he doesn’t fully trust her, his stomach twisted and hollow at that feeling. He ignores it, hopes that the fullness of his heart, and the warmth in his veins will mean that he will survive, he will continue because he has to, because (and for the first time in over a few months) because he wants to.

“Are you sure it will be okay?”

“Yes.” It is definite, sure, confident in a way that Tommy trusts, because he trusts her. There is no room for argument, no uncertainty - it feels like a hug, and his brain stops whirring for a bit.

“Okay.”

They go back to baking.

—-

The party is in full swing, loudish music playing the background and a hum of chatter. Tommy is in the corner, talking to some children he doesn’t know the names of (he forgot them as soon as they told him), but it is fun. They are his age, and they both play minecraft (Tommy ignores the sting of the reminder, desperate to still enjoy the things he once loved. He liked Techno, and out of all them, he is the one he likes the best.)

So he talks, and they talk. They eat crisps, catch grapes in their mouths and laugh - it eases the sickness in Tommy’s stomach, the twist gently releasing over time, allowing warmth to rush through, a gently goo in his stomach, a reminder that everything is okay.

They are on their fourth round of Uno, which Big Man Tommy is currently losing at (he’s won the other 3 obviously, he’s got to let the other’s win at least once), when there is shouting, a small commotion, which immediately grabs Tommy’s attention. He looks over, losing focus on the game, and as the other’s realise he is no longer paying attention, the others begin to look too.

There is the middle of the kitchen is Niki’s parents. Safe to say, Tommy stops breathing, the warmth that had happily spread out in his stomach, a heavy stone, sinking its’ way into a pit that makes him feel sick. He cannot breathe, and so holds his breath (it’s one of the only things he can control, and so control it he does).

“What are you doing here?”

He has never heard Niki so angry. Her voice a knife through the talk and chatter, it is cold and thin - he resists the urge to flinch, to run, to leave, to get out of this because it is bad. It so bad. Bad. He’s got to breathe - but it is bad and Niki is angry. So bad, and there is no one there to help hom. He needs to get out, needs to leave, can’t breat- has to run - has to make sure he is saf- can’t get hurt again.

“We wanted to come, Niki darling. We can’t believe you didn’t invite us, honestly dear, we thought you had forgotten to invite us -”

“You need to leave. I don’t want you here.”

“Oh don’t be silly, Niki darling, of course you do. If this has something to do with that little bastar-”

“Don’t call him that. Get out.”

“What Niki, don’t be unreasonable,” - Niki’s father was joining in now, and Tommy was shrinking backwards, he knows what men with bad tempers do. They hurt, they fight, they punch and yell, and it hurts. So he has to run, has to leave, now that Dylan is talking, it is worse, so much worse, needs to run, just have to be safe.

They continue, snippets of arguments, yells, so much yelling. And Tommy is trying to be a Big Man, trying to breathe, but it is not working. And then someone has his shoulders, arms tight on him, and he struggles, because this is it, this is when the pain starts. Tommy doesn’t know what to do other than cry and beg.

He is being moved, all the while he is gasping, whimpering, begging, anything - he can’t breathe, can’t go through this,

“Hey Tommy,” it is gentle, why gentle? It was going to hurt.

“That’s okay, you are safe.” His tears continue to pour, lava down his face, vision swimming.

“It’s a bit scary isn’t it? All that yelling,” He nods,” I can imagine that was very tough. I’m sorry that was never my intention, it’s okay if you are upset. We can sit here for a bit hmm, but you have got to breathe okay.”

And so they do sit there, his heart hammering, Niki swimming into view every now and then. A hand tapping on his knee, counting the breaths, and it helps. Slowly. So slowly. His throat eventually lets him breathe, air sucking in and out for longer and longer periods of time.

“There we go, that’s it.” Niki gives small reassurances, gentle, soft taps of comfort, murmurs that were warm and loving. And Tommy basks in it.

“There we go, that was quite scary wasn’t it.” He nods, tucked against her chest.

“They gone?” Whisper crammed between his lips and her chest, lost to the silent room.

“Oh yes, yes. They were never going to stay, not after last time.”

“Really?”

“Oh gosh, Tommy, yes. I didn’t speak to them after you left, I couldn’t believe what they said, I couldn’t have that. My house was meant to be safe, and it wasn’t, not with them around.”
That news made Tommy love Niki even more. Unable to believe someone did that for him, for him and his safety. His happiness. He couldn’t remember the last time someone prioritised his happiness.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Niki said with a smile. “And they won’t be back any time soon, I promise.”

Tommy didn’t believe her, couldn’t quite believe her. But that’s okay, it will always be okay, because all he has to do is take one day at a time, just one, and that would be enough.

And that is exactly what Tommy did, he took one day, and then the next and the one after that. He took that week, and the week after that, and then a month, and then 2. He took 4 months, had his birthday, and the next birthday, and the birthday after that. And it was okay, it was always okay, because Niki was there, Niki was always there (and so was Henry thank goodness, he was always there), and that was always always enough. And so Tommy kept taking and taking - and it got better, because it had to, because life does, and that is okay.

Life will always get better, Tommy knows that, but it starts with taking one minute at a time, and then the rest follows onwards, and onwards is always better, Tommy can vouch for that.