Chapter Text
He breathed in heavily. He had done it. He was free.
….
From the age of nine, Tommy had dreamed of running away. He didn’t think he had much of a reason to, his life was fine, it wasn’t like he was getting abused or anything. Sure, life wasn’t perfect but no-ones is. Yet the urge to just run sat stubborn in his stomach, no matter how much he tried to reason with it.
Sometimes he would spend hours- usually when his brothers and dad were arguing- just imagining it. Picturing any possible scenario. Planning where he would go, what he would do, how it would feel. Tommy wasn’t stupid, he knew it would be hard but some part of him longed for it. To feel the freedom. No family to give a shit about, no school to bother him, his own life.
He could picture it so clearly, the wind blowing his hair wildly, his feet pounding the pavement and a huge smile on his face; a weight lifted off his back.
When he was thirteen, the fights got particularly bad. He had been crying in his room, listening to Wilbur and Phil scream at each other while Techno attempted to dissipate the fight and decided to search up about running away and survival.
Over the next year, he learnt a lot.
Building shelters was fun. Whenever he wasn’t at school or sleeping, he would go to nearby fields or parks and build shelters. Attempting to make them sturdy and waterproof as possible.
He also learnt how to start a fire, set up traps, set up a bank account, job resumes and other things.
For his 14th birthday he asked for a Swiss army knife and was very surprised when his dad handed it to him with a broad grin, “Gods, you’re growing up so quickly. I trust you with this, just be careful, okay?” He had told him.
Phill wasn’t a bad dad. Tommy wished he would be, because then at least Tommy could hate him, but he wasn’t. He loved them and cared for them, sure, sometimes he would yell and be mean, but everyone gets angry, right? Tommy wanted to believe he had a good dad.
Shortly after his 14th, Tommy got a job.
It was a small job for a family friend and Tommy saved any money that he got. Just in case.
Then, Techno went to university and moved out.
After that, things shifted. Tommy had always been sheltered from the arguments, told to go to his room, not to intervene. But when Techno left, Phil got meaner. Tommy began fighting with him. They would spend hours hurling insults and criticisms at each other until their lungs hurt.
Tommy realised the pattern: Do something to upset Phil, get screamed at, scream back, then cool off for a day or two before getting irritated with each other again. He hated it.
Fighting with Phil meant arguing with Wilbur as well. The two fought less than Tommy and Phil though. Wilbur was more cold, snarky and closed off, a stark contrast to the flaming rage of their father.
Tommy managed until his sixteenth birthday.
Finally, he decided to do it. There was quite a bit of money saved up and he would be able to survive for a good while.
So, he began packing, any essentials and a couple meaningful things. Then he sold anything that was remaining. Pawn shops, random car boot sales, thrift shops. He also sold his phone then bought a older used one, he wasn’t sure if they would be able to track him with his old phone and number but he wasn’t putting it up to chance.
Luckily, Phil had a lot of work in the weeks he spent preparing and didn’t care enough to notice any change.
Unluckily, on the night before Tommy planned to run away, Phil caught him taking things out of the fridge.
Tommy could tell that he was in the mood to argue. And argue they did.
He didn’t even know what they argued about. Just that every word made the other more riled up.
“You’re a shit dad! I wish you were dead!” He yelled.
Phil stopped. “Excuse me?”
“You are a SHIT father and I hope you rot in hell!” Tommy spoke, his words sharp with spite as he stared into Phil’s eyes. There was a glimpse of hurt that quickly turned to rage in his father’s eyes.
Before he knew it, a fist collided with the side of his face, pain overwhelming his senses.
There’s a yell from Phil, Tommy kicked him.
He sprinted up the stairs, adrenaline surging through him and got his bag from his room.
A hand grabbed him as he ran towards the door, turning him around to face Phil. The grip on his arm began hurting as Phil stared at him, a murderous look in his eyes.
“I’m leaving. Let me go or I will call the police on you.” Tommy threatened, trying to keep his voice even. Phil’s eyes widened and his grip loosened. With that, Tommy burst out the door and ran.
He ran for what felt like hours; his backpack beating against his back and his ears burning.
He got to a nearby forest and slowed down to a stop. His legs were hurting and his left eye was sore but for a moment he burst out laughing. He had done it. He had really done it!
Once his lungs recovered from the running and laughter, Tommy began to set up a shelter deeper in the woods. He didn’t let himself think as not to disrupt the task at hand and only when he finally sat down inside the small makeshift shack to rest his aching bones did it hit him.
He had done it. This was it. No turning back now.
Suddenly everything became too real. This idea that had hatched in his mind seven years ago was now his reality. He had never thought about it that way, that it could actually happen. It was just wishful thinking, a distant dream. But it wasn’t anymore, was it?
All the joy and freedom he had felt hours prior was gone, overcome by a sense of dread and bile rising up his throat. He let out a single choked sob, then another, then more and more came and tears began streaking his bruised face.
Tommy was scared. He had to admit that to himself. Scared of what was to, how he would survive, if he would survive. Because he could die. Sure he had plans and preparation but who knows what would happen when it comes to the real thing.
Clutching his bag tightly to his chest, Tommy wept.
What he most wanted in that moment was to be comforted. Because he was still a kid, a kid who had just done something scary and needed someone to protect him. He just wanted a hug.
But there was no one there anymore to hug him. So, he wrapped his arms a little tighter over the bag.
Eventually, his tears dried slightly, and he noticed just how exhausted he was. Slowly, the boy took out a sleeping bag and laid it down, then reached into the bag for his cow plushie that he called Henry.
For a moment he cringed at it, 'still sleeping with a toy, what are you, five?‘, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. But as he laid down in the sleeping bag and cuddled Henry, a couple tears leaked out of his eyes. Then a couple more and before he could do anything the tears streamed down hiss face, getting on Henry and he sobbed into the plushie.
That night, Tommy cried for everything: his family, his past, his future, the fact that Phil was a bad dad, how much his face hurt, even his stupid brother, left to deal with Phil alone, just anything he could think of.
That night, Tommy fell asleep crying.