Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy was too young to remember the first time he scraped his skin hard enough to bleed. According to his parents he was barely two, just learned to walk and immediately chose to run. 

He’s always been that way, it seems. Rushing onwards to seize every new opportunity without a moment’s hesitance. Taking little note of what obstacles might lay in his way, trying to trip him up or steal away the treasures he seeks.

Though he doesn’t remember, Tommy is sure that when he fell, he got right back up. He’s sure he only laughed and kept on running, paying no mind at all to the trickle of blood dripping down his puny, pudgy leg. That is - until the bleeding didn’t stop.

Turns out, the bleeding never stops. It is the boy’s bane, his burden, his curse. No matter how trivial the injury or how tough and big and strong of a man he is, Tommy cannot just walk his recklessness off. His blood is a traitor, out to ruin all his fun.

He is anemic and a severe hemophiliac, and any untreated injury could be his last.

Apparently this curse is from his ‘bad father’, who probably ruined Tommy’s life like this on purpose because he’s the worst and everyone hates him. At least that’s what his parents say. It makes perfect sense, though. Why else would something terrible like this happen to Tommy?

After the first number of hospital visits that he can’t remember, his parents became much more strict. 

They scolded him ruthlessly, pulled him out of preschool, and refused to let him play outside. He wasn’t allowed to run around the house, or climb up on things, or pretty much do anything besides sit quietly and draw dumb pictures and read dumb, boring books. And take his gross pills every morning. Usually he spits those out into the toilet, and his Mum has yet to catch on.

Naturally, by the ripe age of four, Tommy began sneaking out. At first, he was extra, extra careful about it. He’d walk slowly and only explore in safe places and do dull, harmless things - like watch movies and walk around shops.

But by his sixth birthday, his boredom and restlessness became unbearable. He let his feet step quicker, he let his excitement buzz through. He followed his curious gaze to its subjects of intrigue and chased the feeling through streets and parks and gardens.

It was a loose stone and stray branch in one such garden that does him in next. He tried so hard to make the blood stop - totally ruining his favourite red and white shirt in the process - but it just wouldn’t work. 

Tommy had to run home and reveal his shame to his parents before he passed out. He will always remember that day, when he woke up in that hospital. After all, it changed his life.

He knows the baby blue walls of the Crow’s Nest Family Hospital well. Even if he can’t really remember being here before, Tommy knows the name since it’s the closest L’manberg hospital to home. He also knows he liked being here.

Pain throbs dully in his ankle and along his forearm, evidently bandaged up and treated. The lights are soft and not too bright, and the ceiling is splattered with colourful paint splotches. 

His parents are not waiting in the little green chairs, and Tommy doesn’t see their shadows standing outside the foggy glass of the door, or past the blinds of the window next to it. He winces, hoping they aren’t too mad. They used to grumble and complain so much whenever they’d have to clean his wounds and hold cloths and ice packs against them, swearing to Prime that if the bleeding didn’t stop in twenty minutes, he would owe them the gas money for the trip.

Secretly, he really wishes they meant that. He wishes they would let him get a job and make enough money to buy himself some freedom. Surely someone would have a job for a high-risk six year old, right?

Or maybe Tommy could just trade in birthday gifts instead. He doesn’t need any toys to play with if they would just let him go outside and make some friends. A cold fear seizes him as he realizes his parents might never let him go out again after today.

Sure, he was sneaking out already, but now they know that. Tommy’s throat has gone dry, and tears burn in his eyes. Please, please, I don’t wanna be locked up in my room forever!

A soft knock echoes from the door, making the boy jump out of his skin. He hadn’t even noticed a shadow appear in front of the glass. The handle slowly turns, and he holds his breath, repeating over and over all the promises he’ll keep if his parents just don’t get too mad.

Please, I’ll be so quiet, I’ll clean my room, I’ll load the dishwasher, I’ll be so careful, I’ll-

The door creaks open wide, and a bright, kind face smiles back at him. A man in green nurse’s scrubs, with long blond hair tied back tightly and shining blue eyes a reflection of Tommy’s own.

“Hey there, mate,” he greets, pulling out a clipboard and gently closing the door behind. “How‘re you feeling? Tommy, right?”

Nodding, Tommy clears his throat to answer. “I’m all good now! No needa stay,” he assures the man, hoping if he’s cheerful enough, maybe he’ll be let go and his parents won’t be so mad.

“Glad to hear it,” the nurse chuckles. “Does anything hurt still?”

He shakes his head, ignoring the pulsing in his arm that’s steadily growing stronger. “I can go home now!” he insists.

The man laughs again - it’s a very bright laugh, and fills Tommy’s chest with something equally joyful. He can’t help but smile for real, stretching his cheeks til they hurt just a little.

“Excited to go home, mate?” The nurse asks through more bright cackles.

The smile on Tommy’s face wavers. He tries to hide, straightening his back and forcing his lips to turn up again, but those blue eyes burn at him now. His throat has gone dry again.

“Yes, I wanna go home!” he declares, ignoring the look. “Where are Mum and Dad?”

Frowning, the man turns back to the door. He glances at his clipboard, then peeks out to the hall, turning his head every direction. He turns back around with a tense smile.

“I’ll have to give them a call to let them know you’re up,” he says slowly, blinking all weird.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Tommy replies, shifting into a more comfortable position. “You don’t hafta bother ‘em. I can wait,” he assures the nurse.

The man’s stare shifts strangely again, silence stretching until it’s a little awkward. Finally, he leans back and smiles soft again.

“Okay, mate,” he sighs. “My name is Phil, by the way.”

Smiling politely, Tommy nods. “Hello, Phil! Thank you for helpin’ me!”

“No problem,” Phil snickers, grin brightening. “It’s my job, and my pleasure.”

He turns around and grabs the handle again, but stops there for a moment. Phil looks back over his shoulder, mouth open in hesitance.

“Say, Tommy,” he asks, leaning back against the doorframe. “Wanna try out walking? I can show you ‘round a bit while you wait for Mum and Dad.”

With a hesitant blink, Tommy hunches into his shoulders a bit. “Oh, well… I don’t wan’em hafting to look for me,” he murmurs.

“Nah, don’t worry about that.” The man waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll let the staff know, they won’t have to.”

A thrill of excitement runs through Tommy’s body and he sits bolt upright, brightening. “Okay!”

Chuckling warmly at his enthusiasm, Phil wanders over to the bedside as Tommy scrambles out. His legs are a little tingly and there’s a bit of fuzziness in his head when he stands, but he doesn’t wobble. His arm only throbs a little.

The nurse offers him a hand, smiling like Tommy is like a really cute puppy or something. Which is silly, ‘cause he’s a big, strong man. He still takes Phil’s hand, though.

The hospital is so big. Every wall is white or some pastel blue, pink or yellow - often painted with clouds, rainbows, flowers, butterflies, bees, and obviously tons and tons of crows. Every hall feels like an adventure, and every step over the speckled black and white tile fills Tommy with more and more buzzing energy.

A bustling crowd walks around them - nurses in pink, green or blue scrubs, casual or concerned visitors, patients practicing with walkers or exercising behind the glass walls of the gym, doctors in white lab coats and surgeons rushing around with armies of assistants.

He can’t help but wonder why his parents hate coming here so much.

A squeeze on his hand draws his attention, and Phil is pointing down the hall with an impossibly wide grin. “Hey, Tommy, wave hi to my lovely wife, Kristin!”

He follows the man’s finger to the hurrying figure of a beautiful woman in a purple shirt and white lab coat, dark hair braided back into a neat swirl. Her dark eyes are intent and focused on a clipboard that another nurse holds out to her.

With his best, most energetic wave and ear-to-ear grin, Tommy follows his instructions. “Hello, Dr. Kristin!” he bellows.

Her head swivels with a start of surprise that quickly melts into warmth. “Hi, there! Tommy, yeah? Is my darling husband showing you around?”

He nods eagerly, curls bobbing. “Is’so poggers! I like the walls!”

The doctor’s smile brightens until it somehow outshines his. Her laugh is so nice, and he kind of wants to hear it forever. Especially if it’s because of him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it! We try to make it feel like home here, as much as we can,” she explains, but her eyes look a little sad. 

Almost like she doesn’t think they do a good job. And that’s just silly - this is probably the coolest and bestest place Tommy has ever been, he can’t let them think it’s not good enough!

“It’s better! It’s way better than home!” he declares sincerely.

For some reason, this only seems to make Dr. Kristin more upset. Phil, too. They’re looking all weird with their eyes like maybe Tommy did something wrong. He chews at his lip nervously, ducking his head and preparing to apologize, but suddenly the staring eyes fly wide.

“Tommy-” Phil yelps, reaching hurriedly. “Don’t- You’re gonna bleed!”

He freezes, releasing his bottom lip like it’s a stolen treasure he was caught with. There’s no metally taste or warm prickle of blood left behind, so he appears to have been spared this time. That does nothing for the panic all over the adults’ faces.

Guilt churns in Tommy’s tummy. All the hard work and worry they would have had to go through to take care of his dumb mistake - how hasn’t he learned not to bite himself yet?

“I’m sorry, tha’ was dumb!” he rushes, cheeks burning. “I wasn’ thinkin’, but I didn’ bleed, see? M’all good!” He sticks his lip out, pointing both hands at it for emphasis.

They’re relieved, he can tell by how their shoulders slump and they almost smile. But the way their eyebrows scrunch up isn’t good. It’s making his tummy bad and he kind of wants to run away. His bouncing legs might just fly away on their own.

But before Tommy can make any of these important decisions, they’re all interrupted by a new voice coming up behind the doctor. 

“Hey, Mom, Niki wanted me to tell ya she finished up with yesterday’s things. Also I think Manifold has been pagin’ ya for like… ten minutes.”

The voice belongs to a big man in pink scrubs with a big tag he can’t read, awesome pink hair all bundled up on his head, and really, really tired looking eyes. Like, more tired than Tommy’s dad on a Monday morning before his bean juice (that Tommy’s not allowed to have).

The doctor flicks her ponytail as she turns to the younger man. “I know he has. He knows I’m ignoring him,” she retorts easily.

The super cool pink-haired man shrugs, all casual and cool like it doesn’t matter at all. Phil grasps his shoulder and suddenly turns to Tommy with a cheery face again.

“Oh, Tommy! This is Techno - our son.” The man says it so proud, like it’s even more important than one of Mum’s work projects.

Though, Techno doesn’t look very excited about it. He kind of looks like he wants to run, too. Or fall asleep on the hard floor.

“He’s a resident here, which means he’s learning to be a doctor,” Dr. Kristin adds, reaching over to pinch the grumpy man’s cheek.

He grunts before staring dead into Tommy’s eyes, like he’s looking right through him at a million ghosts. “It also means I never get any sleep.”

This prompts various amused and sympathetic noises from the parents, who pat their son and kiss his cheeks. The son in question goes so red and grouchy that Tommy is sure he’s about to explode. He has no idea why though - he would kill to be pampered by his parents like that.

The thought suddenly wakes him up, head swiveling and frantically searching the crowd for long, blonde curls or a tall, balding head. So many heads bounce up and down the halls, but none match his Mum or Dad. Cold jitters buzz through his body the longer he looks, and he almost starts chewing his lip again.

They… they wouldn’t just leave him here… would they? 

It was meant to be a stupid question. Asking dumb, silly questions can help him see how dumb he’s being so he calms down. But now it won’t stop echoing in his head, over and over and over because he doesn’t have the answer.  

He doesn’t know. Tommy knows what he wants to be true, but he can’t be sure. He’s such a burden to them, they hate him sometimes, he knows they do. They always say he’s such a nuisance and not worth the trouble. What if they finally decided enough was enough?

What if they left him and they’re never coming back and he can never go home again? What if he never gets to see his plushies - his Henry, Shroud and Clementine, or play with his race cars, or sleep in his epic, big man bed again-

What if they don’t want me anymore? Tears are spilling hot down his cheeks, hiccupping sobs clutching his chest as his hands twist together. The crowd is a blur, bustling noise nothing but a formless buzz broken up by his own harsh breathing.

Someone is calling him. For a second, he thinks it’s his Dad, but as his eyes blink away tears, he sees Phil crouching to his level. The man’s big blue eyes are swallowed by worry, fingers hesitantly reaching for Tommy’s shoulders. Another hiccupping sob rips out as the scared, exhausted boy topples forward into the nurse’s arms. Those arms run up and down his back in soothing motions as gentle assurances are whispered in his ears. 

Tommy is shaking so bad and no matter how much he tries, he can’t speak. He can only whimper and cry. It takes most of his effort just to breathe like Phil keeps telling him too.

He doesn’t know how long he stays that way, but it feels like forever. He is picked up at some point, and feels himself moving. It’s really hard to care. He hopes he’s moving towards his parents, though.

Sounds of the bustling crowd surround them, and the boy squeezes tighter around the nurse’s neck, burying his head even deeper. Maybe, if he shuts the world out hard enough, it might just disappear. If he hopes hard enough, will he wake up in his bed at home?

“ Mummy… ” he whines through sobs.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the man murmurs back, still rubbing soothing patterns even as he twists quickly along down the halls.

And even though nothing is okay at all, Tommy is strangely tempted to believe him. Something about how soft and kind his voice is. He just seems like he’d never lie. Mum and Dad never use that tone with him, especially not when he’s crying. They’re always so upset if he’s making a scene in public. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Phil suddenly breathes, bouncing Tommy a little and patting his back. “I think he just got worried, not knowing where you were.”

The words snap the kid out of it with a jolt of panic. He whirls his head around, twisting and squirming in the nurse’s firm hold. And sure enough, standing hands-on-their-hips before the front desk, are his parents. Their eyes are tired and frowns annoyed, making him swallow hard on reflex. 

Tommy is in big trouble.

And as scary as that is, he can’t help but feel relieved. Because they’re here - they came back for him. They still want him.

“Mum, Dad!” he hiccups, scrambling towards them the moment Phil sets him down.

His mother bends and scoops him up with a sigh, tucking him into her neck. The boy clings on eagerly, still crying much more quietly, desperately wanting to soak up this moment for as long as it lasts. He’ll be in trouble later, but for now, he’s getting comfort from his mum.

“Thanks for putting up with the little devil,” she chuckles dryly, adjusting her hold with a bounce. “We’ll be sure to keep him out of trouble.”

“Oh, tough luck with a chaotic little boy like him!” Phil retorts with a snort. “But it was my pleasure, of course. He was perfectly polite, and made all the staff smile.”

The words make Tommy’s head go a little fuzzy, and he doesn’t quite hear the rest of what the adults are saying. Did he really make them all smile? It’s such a warm thought, it actually distracts him long enough for his tears to dry.

But the drive back home is enough to bring them back hot and stinging to his eyes. He’s in big, big trouble. For sneaking out, for getting himself hurt, and for making a scene at the hospital. 

He gets Henry taken away for two weeks, and has to hold Shroud and Clementine extra tight to fight off the sobs at night. He has to be in bed by 7pm, and he’s not even allowed to play in the yard unless Mum wants to sit out there.

After a few months of that terrible awfulness, Mum gets a new job and starts leaving him with his older cousin, Schlatt. That turns out to be actually the best thing ever.

Because Schlatt doesn’t like all the rules his parents made. He lets Tommy run around and jump on the furniture, and sneaks him sugary treats, and takes him out to the park to play. 

Every time Tommy asks if they’ll get in trouble, the teen just raises a finger to his lips, winks, and says: “Snitches get stitches.”

And he has no idea what that means, but it seems like Schlatt’s not going to tell on him, which is pretty poggers! He also teaches Tommy all the bad words - sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. He’s always laughing really hard whenever the boy uses them, though, so he starts saying them all the time. 

But only with his cousin - his parents would not be laughing.

It’s one sunny, rebellious day sneaking out to the park with his cousin, where Tommy sees his own blood again. 

He is seven years old now, and having the time of his life. They’re playing King of the Slide, and Tommy is red-cheeked and winded, laughing so hard he’s struggling to climb. Schlatt is cackling like a cartoon villain, reaching out for the slide first. 

He’s going to win, and rub it in his little cousin’s face. Tommy cannot let that happen, he is the biggest, bestest man and no one is faster than him! With a harsh push of his foot off the play structure’s top rung, Tommy launches himself for the top of the slide, right at Schlatt’s feet.

What he failed to account for, was how slippery the shiny, black shirt that he’s wearing is. So, instead of skidding to victory, grasping onto the bars at the entrance of the slide - Tommy flies forward, face smashing sideways into the metal ridge of the slide, and proceeds to tumble over and skid all the way down the slide. 

The glistening silver is streaked with red, and as if to add insult to injury, both of Tommy’s knees are throbbing and trickling with warm, unending trails as well.

“Oh, fuck…” Tommy groans the words as a late echo of Schlatt’s yelp.

His cousin is at his side a moment later, gingerly turning him over and pulling him into an awkward cradle. The blood is pooling so fast, it’s already filling up his mouth even though he’s spitting it up. The world is spinning really, really bad.

“Shit shit shit fuck shit-” Schlatt sputters, leaping shakily to his feet and clumsily taking off.

Tommy would have to agree.

Everything gets really fuzzy after that - bright lights and blurry crowds, traffic sounds, muttered swears, pleading whispers, and a slow fade into blackness.

The blackness does not turn into dreams. It stays dark, heavy, suffocating, and unbearably quiet. It feels like his body is being crushed under the world’s heaviest blanket. Like, it must weigh a million, billion, zillion pounds! And those are the biggest numbers Tommy knows!

It’s not fun. It’s the worst sleep ever, actually. He wants to wake up now, or at least roll over so he can breathe a little easier and not feel so stiff. 

Sleeping with a blanket over your face is a very bad idea, because it’s stupid hot and it’ll probably suffocate you. Especially if it’s the world’s heaviest, and has a specific grudge against his chest and throat.

He’s trying and trying to wriggle out, but his stupid, dumb body won’t move. It’s definitely not because the blanket is too heavy, because Tommy is the biggest, strongest man ever. He must just be sleeping too deeply.

Slowly, a throb of cold builds up in his lower lip. For a little bit, it’s a mercy - but then the cold seeps around his skull until he has a pounding headache. Ugh, why is this sleep being such a fucking dick? That word was one Schlatt taught him by accident, but whenever Tommy used it his cousin always laughed so hard, like he was dying.

…Am I dying?  

The thought instantly spreads the icy cold into every vein in Tommy’s body. His parents always told him that bleeding could make him die. And he’s heard that dying is cold and dark and sucks a lot.  

Oh, fuck shit, I’m dying! Tommy wants to whimper and cry, but as hard as he tries to strain his throat, he hears no sound. He can’t die yet, he’s got so many big man things to do! He’s never even tried roller blades or been on a plane, or eaten ice cream cake, or seen the last episode of his favourite cartoon-

“Mummy, I don’ wanna die,” he whines, dampness tickling his frozen face.

A voice answers him in the darkness, but it’s not his mother.

“Shh, you’re not gonna die, Tommy,” it assures him gently. “You’re okay, we got you.”

And it’s so nice, like a hug from words. He shivers, leaning against something warm that softly brushes, easing stiffness and pain. More words hug him, wrapping his body with something soft and light and comfy - like a proper blanket.

This sleep is too nice to be death, so Tommy settles into it with a content sigh, finally slipping away into something like a dream.

It’s in the middle of epicly slaying badass behemoths and riding dragons that Tommy starts feeling heavy again. Mostly just his eyes, feeling heavier than the shit blanket from before. Dry and scratchy as hell, too.

The moment he focuses on it, the poggers sky battle vanishes and is replaced once more by dumb, sluggish, empty blackness. No, no, no! He groans internally, trying with all his weary but infinite might to force those zillion-gillion pound eyelids open.

Unsurprisingly, because he’s Tommy Innit and he is amazing, he manages a slow, slight blink. Bright light spills into the tiny spaces between his eyelashes, instantly reminding him of the terrible headache he has.

“Uuuuuugh…” And his eyes fall shut again with regret, and he tries to squeeze the wretched light away.

But it’s too late - the darkness is imprinted with red, and the spiking pain in his skull refuses to fade. In fact, it seems pissed at him for trying.

“Oh, hey- hey, you awake there, mate?”

Lips drawing up to a disgruntled sneer, Tommy tosses his head back and forth on his pillow. He weirdly can’t feel the bottom of his face, except that it’s very, very cold. But that doesn’t really matter right now because the top half is complaining loudly.

“Daaad, my head huuuurts,” he whines, not caring if he gets in trouble for making a fuss.

He’s in pain, dammit. A lot of it, he’s not just being dramatic this time. His father makes a soft sympathetic noise, and something brushes the hair out of Tommy’s eyes. That’s kind of weird, actually. Why is-

“I have something for you, but you’re gonna have to sit up to take it. Can you do that for me, Tommy?” The voice that is suddenly very obviously not his Dad speaks again.

With great effort, he flutters his eyes open once more. Every remaining ounce of energy drains dry at the motion, but he manages to take in his surroundings. A familiar room, but not his own. This one has soft lights, and sky for walls, and… Phil.

The blond nurse is smiling, blue eyes crinkled and shining, and his hand is still resting next to Tommy’s head on the pillow.  The other hand is holding onto a water bottle and a little medicine bottle.

At the sight of the medicine, Tommy can’t help his brow drawing into a frown. Ew, not more pills. He can’t spit them out if he’s stuck in a hospital bed!  

“Noooo,” he moans, trying to roll over and bury his face into the pillow.

But he doesn’t get very far, both because his limbs are heavy as shit and the second he gets to a half turn, there’s a scramble of movement and firm hands are pushing until he’s flat on his back again. The pressure is somehow still gentle despite being frantic and forceful.

“Please don’t roll over, Tommy,” Phil urges, not moving his hands. “Your face is very tender, we don’t want you to bleed again.”

Letting out a confused noise, Tommy blinks his eyes open again. The nurse’s smile is strained with concern. It’s a look he doesn’t think he’s seen on anyone outside of the hospital, but it’s probably pretty common to see here.

His head pulses angrily, and the expression is swallowed in black again as Tommy whimpers weakly. There’s more shuffling, and the bed dips a bit.

“I want to help with your pain, Tommy, but I need your help with that, okay?” Phil is saying again, finger brushing gently through his hair.

Humming noncommittally, he leans into the lovely feeling of the brushing. His head still hammers like a bitch, and his knees are starting to burn too, but maybe it’s fine if Phil is comforting him like this. 

It is fine if Tommy doesn’t have to choke down more gross, dumb, horrible pills.

But the fingers slow to a stop at his brow. “I can help you sit up. It’ll just be for a second, then you can go back to sleep.”

He can hear the rattle of the bottle as it’s set down, the pop of the cap removed. A knot of unease twists in his gut as Tommy suddenly feels trapped.

“Please-” It comes out small and shaky, eyes prying open with cold horror. “I don’ wan’em.”

The nurse freezes mid-reach, staring back with matching horror. Then those eyes soften, and he leans closer, holding something in his palm. Tommy shrinks back instinctively, but the man tilts his hand to show what he has.

“Hey, it’s okay, look- they’re chewable, there’s just two of ‘em!” He shoves the medicine forward, and sure enough, there are two small, pink chewables. “Just two little candies for your pain, and then that’s it.”

Eyes narrowing, Tommy lets out an unhappy grunt. Sure, these are way better than swallow pills, but this kind is still awful. Plus his heart’s still racing and he feels really bitch right now and wants to be a problem.

“No, don’ wan’em,” he repeats in a grumble, crossing his arms over the blankets.

His head spikes bad at the movement, making him wince, but he holds stubborn. Then Phil’s face falls and he looks so concerned and sad that it makes the boy falter.

“Please,” the man urges softly. “They’ll help you sleep better.”

A small voice stirs awake in the back of Tommy’s brain, crying out for him to be good. Phil is being so nice about it, too. He should listen before he decides to be mean, right? His parents would never have tried this hard to get him to take his medicine - they’d have given up or forced him by now.

Slowly, hesitantly, Tommy opens his mouth. Phil smiles bright, helping him sit up a moment before popping the candies into the boy’s mouth and bringing the water to his lips. He still gags and scowls at the icky, chalky texture, but he swallows it down - greedily chugging the water afterward - and flops back down onto the pillow.

“There, good job, mate!” The nurse praises, brushing Tommy’s bangs. “You’re such a brave, little man!”

“M’big man,” Tommy retorts, snuggling into the warmth of the covers and the words. “Bes’es, bigges’ man.”

A chuckle wafts over him in the sleepy air, slowly fading away with the soft whirring of a fan and the annoying beeping of some machine.

The next time Tommy wakes for longer than a few minutes, the coldness and pain have dulled down to a subtle throbbing, and the bleary light doesn’t sting his eyes nearly so sharply. He stretches out with a long yawn, and sits up to find a silent, empty room.

It’s jarring, since every blurry memory is crowded by kind faces coaxing him back to sleep. The beeping is gone, and there’s no tubes or wires sticking to him anymore. He’s still in a spotted hospital gown, though he doesn’t actually remember seeing it before. There’s a bottle of water beside the bed that Tommy takes advantage of right away.

Once he’s finished gulping that down, he decides to give his legs a try, swinging out of bed. They’re wobbly and his head spins a little, but he manages to keep himself up. He touches his jaw gently, flinching back when he feels it a lot sooner than he thought he would.

There’s no mirror to look in, but something isn’t right. Did his chin grow big and massive while he was sleeping? Does he look like an awesome, massive, Greek god, now? Is that why Phil told him to be careful with his face? That’d be pretty fucking poggers.

It’s still a little numb and tender, so maybe it’s still growing? Maybe he’ll be a bigger man than Zeus and all those other bitches! He already is, of course, but it’s the principal or whatever.

Curiosity suddenly swallowing him, Tommy stumbles to the door, intent on finding Phil to ask him all kinds of questions about his brand new face. But as soon as he opens the door, he meets another familiar pair of eyes down the hall. A teen with sleep-tossed brown hair, wearing scuffed jeans and an orange hoodie.

Dropping his half-eaten snack bar to the tile, Schlatt gapes in shock for a split second before barreling towards Tommy with a shout. The boy steps out uncertainly, nervous that his cousin is going to worry over him like all the nurses and doctors - many of whom are throwing startled looks his way as well.

But before Tommy can ask any of these questions, his cousin is skidding to his knees in front of him, pulling him into a tight but incredibly careful hug.

“Holy fucking shit, man, you scared me so fucking bad,” he wheezes, fingers threading through the back of the boy’s curls. “Prime, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Clinging back, Tommy does his best to swallow down guilt and tears. Those fuzzy memories resurfacing of Schlatt carrying him through the streets, covered in blood and spilling panic do not make it easy.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks into the teen’s hood.

His cousin just shakes his head. “It’s my fault. It was my fault.”

The boy pulls back with a frown, opening his mouth to protest, but finds Schlatt staring down at his chin. Tommy grins as wide as he can without spiking pain, hands on his hips and chest puffed out.

“Am I a massive man now?” he asks, with a wiggle of his brows. “Like Zeus, but better?”

Schlatt coughs out a laugh. “Yeah, well… It’s fucking swollen, is what it is,” he says, face pinching strangely.

“Mmhm, a big, massive, swollen man!”

“Tommy, it’s- It’s not funny!” Schlatt chuckles, shaking his head. “Have you fucking seen yourself, man?”

“Nah, but all the ladies have!”

“Tommy!”

His cousin seems uncharacteristically set on keeping things serious even while he’s laughing at Tommy’s jokes, and it’s starting to pick at the boy’s nerves. He abruptly remembers his parents and what happened and where and he blanches.

“Do they know?” he asks, grasping Schlatt’s sweater desperately. “Did you tell ‘em?”

Guilt and sadness pool in the teen’s eyes and Tommy’s desperation spirals into horror. His breath scoops in ragged, and tears prick at his eyes. Shit! He’s going to be all alone again, locked in his room with nothing and no one and-

“Tommy, hey- It’s-”

“Why didn’ you lie!?” he blurts, fingers digging into the orange fabric. “Why’d you tell ‘em- They won’ lemme play anymore! They won’ let you-”

“Kid, you almost died! ” Schlatt cuts in, matching tears rolling down his own cheeks as he grabs Tommy by the shoulders. “You almost died and it was all my fault! I never should have-”

He takes a shaking breath, and Tommy is too dazed to interrupt. “Look, I know you like to play, Tommy, but your parents are right! It’s too dangerous for you to do that kinda stuff!”

The words slam down like a judge’s gavel onto the young boy’s skull, shattering his vision to pieces. Stumbling back with a frigid hole in his chest, his fingers go limp. He pulls away from his cousin, staring up at him with utter betrayal and rising, red-hot rage.

“F-fuck you!” he gasps through a vicious sob.

“Tommy-”

His fists bunch up into hard stones and he shrieks this time, “Fuck you! I hate you! You didn’ gave a fuck ‘bout me ever! ”

He whirls around and takes off, adrenaline churning his legs like they didn’t just get out of bedrest. Schlatt continues to call after him, joined by several nurses, but Tommy ignores and dodges around all of them, sprinting around corners and ducking under tables until he spots a dark room with the door open just a crack.

With no time or energy to consider his options, Tommy scrambles over to it, slipping inside and gently shutting the door behind him. He waits for several seconds in the darkness, listening to chaotic shouts and footsteps fade away down the halls, before he finally lets out a breath.

Sliding his back against the door, he sits down with a huff. Fuck, everything hurts now. The blackness of the room in front of him is spinning so bad that it kind of looks like a portal to the void. That’s maybe a little too tempting for Tommy right now, so hopefully it’s not real.

He groans, pulling his knees close and laying his heavy head on them. He doesn’t want to live the rest of his life locked in rooms like this. He doesn’t want to be all alone and bored, swallowing pills every morning and keeping perfectly still so he doesn’t break. Why does everyone have to look at him like some broken, fragile thing? 

Okay, maybe he kind of almost died, but technically anyone could have almost died on any play structure! Life is fucking dangerous, that doesn’t mean Tommy wants to hide from it!

He’s just so sick of being lonely. Something between a growl and a sob slips out at the thought of Schlatt. His best friend, his cousin, his hero - the only one to let him break his parents’ dumb rules and behave like a damn kid. The one who kept it all secret for him, who promised to always be there, who swore to Tommy that his parents were wrong and he deserved to have fun. The one who lied about everything he ever said.

How could he betray Tommy like this? How could he side with his parents and leave him behind? There’s no chance that they’ll ever let the cousins see each other again after this, now that they know the truth. So how could he?

Soft sobs heave through the boy’s hands, despite all his efforts to stifle them.

“Um… hello?” A scratchy voice suddenly echoes through the darkness.

Tommy’s head snaps up, eyes finally adjusted enough to see that he’s in a regular hospital room, with a bed in the center. On the bed, a small figure is sitting up, peering down at him. He can vaguely make out pale skin, short, brown hair, and a medical mask. The stranger appears to be a boy around his age.

Rather than saying ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘who are you?’ or really anything that might be remotely normal in this situation, the first words that fall out of Tommy’s mouth are: “Why’re you sleeping with a mask on?”

The other boy blinks slowly, adjusting the mask in question. Then he just shrugs. “Wanna. …Why’re you hiding in my room crying?”

A strangled squeak slips out as Tommy stiffens. He crosses his arms and turns away with a pout, frustrated by how easily he walked into that one. And what is he supposed to say? It’s kind of pointless to lie, but he can hardly just tell the truth!

“M’not crying,” he blurts, tucking tighter into himself. “And I just… don’ wanna go home.”

The other boy doesn’t say anything to that for a long pause, just sitting stiff in the awkward silence. The seconds drag on painfully and Tommy considers his odds of evading Schlatt and the nurses if he slips out now.

“...Why not?”

Snapping from his thoughts, Tommy whips his head back to the other boy. With the low light and the mask, it’s hard to make out his expression. 

Eyes narrowing, Tommy grumbles into his knees, “‘Cause my life is ruined and when I go back I never getta have any fun again ever. ”

Weirdly, the other boy nods slowly, tucking his own knees to his chest. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’d hide too, if I could,” he says in a low, sad voice, like someone just tore up his favourite stuffy or something.

Something tugs at Tommy’s chest despite himself and he swallows dryly. “What’re you hiding from?”

The boy flinches back from the question like it stings, and he doesn’t look at Tommy anymore. He sighs, shoulders rising and falling slow and shaky.

“I’m sick,” he answers softly, and Tommy sits up.

“I’m sick, too!” he declares, not meaning to sound quite so excited as he crawls over to the bed. “I have bad blood and my Mum n’ Dad don’ lemme do anything ‘cause I have to come here every time I get hurt!” he explains, surprising himself with his own eagerness. 

He pulls himself onto the bed beside the other boy and leans in on his palms, eyes wide with curiosity. “How are you sick?”

But the other boy doesn’t match his enthusiasm. He doesn’t lean back or look away, but a deep sadness pools in his eyes - one green and one brown, now that Tommy is getting a closer look.

“My… body is bad,” the kid starts, rubbing a hand up and down his shin. “It’s okay right now, but it’s gonna get worser and worser until I… can’t do much.”

Head tilting, Tommy frowns. “What, like, not move at all?” 

He nods. “Yeah… my legs will stop working.”

Tommy blinks. Oh. That’s… pretty bad. 

He hates being forced to sit still and not run around and play, but he can’t imagine actually not being able to. That sounds awful, he would be so bored. His nose wrinkles at the thought. And his parents would be able to just leave him all alone because they know he can’t hurt himself! 

Shit, how the hell is this boy just sitting in bed right now? He should be racing down the halls and jumping off tables and playing around with all the kids while he can!

Grabbing the other boy’s arm, Tommy tells him as such. “C’mon! They work now, don’ they? Play tag with me!”

“Wha- wait, aren’t you hiding?” the kid shoots back, but he still scrambles along as he’s pulled.

Pausing only for a moment, Tommy just shrugs. “So more people’ll play tag with us!”

The other boy raises an eyebrow, but it’s hard to tell if the expression is amused or doubtful. He stares down at Tommy’s chin for a moment, hesitating at the edge of the bed. 

“What happened to your face?”

“Got smashed,” Tommy says with a shrug.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” the other boy asks incredulously. 

“Nah, m’a big man. Don’ be lame, come play!” He tugs again, and the kid finally relents, swinging his legs off the bed.

”What’s your name?” he blurts once the other boy joins him on the floor.

“Ranboo,” he replies, adjusting his mask. “What’s yours?”

“Tommy!” He beams, reaching to drag his new friend by the arm again.

But instead the other boy sticks his hand out, eyes squinting cheerfully. It takes a moment for Tommy to realize he’s waiting for a handshake. He hesitantly takes it, and Ranboo bobs their grasp up and down in a practiced motion.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tommy!” he greets.

And Tommy snorts, free hand clamping over his mouth to try to stifle it. But then Ranboo’s face contorts in confusion and he just can’t take it anymore, doubling over with wheezing laughter. His ribs ache from barking coughs as he thumps a fist against his thigh.

“Wh- why are you laughing?” Ranboo’s question is genuine even as it trembles with giggles.

It’s not helping. Tommy shakes his head helplessly, patting the boy’s shoulder.

“You… are so weird,” he manages, wiping tears.

Ranboo scowls at that, but it’s hardly angry. “You’re pretty weird, too, Tommy.”

“Yup.” Tommy nods, grabbing the door handle with one hand, and Ranboo’s wrist with the other. “Now let’s play tag!”

And they both run giggling into the bustling halls of the Crow’s Nest Family Hospital. 

It doesn’t take long for them both to be caught, no matter how Tommy boasts of his poggers ninja skills. It’s not Schlatt that snatches him up, but Techno - so he counts that as a win. He doesn’t look at his cousin, still babbling to Ranboo as if the teen isn’t there at all.

He focuses on learning all about this new boy, making himself comfortable in the nurse-in-training’s arms and pretending that he’s not there either. Ranboo’s only a little older, he loves spaghetti and purple, and his favourite flower is the same as Tommy’s! The fluffy purple one! He has plushies too - he says his favourite, Michael, is his son - and he says his favourite in the hospital is Techno.

The boy whispers that part, but with the way the pink-haired man’s arms stiffen around Tommy’s middle, he probably heard it. Tommy doesn’t bother whispering when he replies that Phil is better.

By the end of the day, both boys are returned to their parents and their separate lives. But with the glares in his Mum and Dad’s eyes and the looming prospect of being shut inside forever, Tommy decides to be a little more bad.

He can hardly imagine the punishment could get much worse anyway, so he pushes a little. He whines, he cries, he makes a big scene. He begs for Ranboo’s home phone number. The boy didn’t know it himself, so they have to ask his parents.

Tommy has received a lot of angry looks from his parents, but he actually got chills from the iciness in their eyes after he started screaming and they had to reluctantly turn to the other couple and bashfully make the request. 

He tried so hard to memorize the numbers - knowing full well his parents would tear up that paper the moment they got in the car - but to his immense relief, Ranboo asked for his number, too. Hopefully the other boy’s parents won’t take his paper away.

The two boys throw each other tearful smiles over their shoulders as they’re guided away. And even as Tommy marches on towards despair, dread pooling up with the dig of his mother’s nails in his shoulder, he clutches onto this small spark of hope.

He’ll definitely lose all his plushies for a long time because of this. Maybe forever. The thought makes him want to wail, but it will be worth it if he gets to keep Ranboo. 

If he gets to keep a friend.

Chapter Text

“Holy fuck, Tommy!” a familiar, worry-worn voice exclaims, echoing through the Crow’s Nest lobby.

The boy’s face pulls into something between a smile and a wince as he sheepishly turns his head to Phil. Despite everything, it’s good to see him again. It’s been almost two weeks since the last time he got to see any of the hospital staff or patients aside from Ranboo, and that’s just too long.

A dozen other nurses in matching green scrubs turn and stare with matching horror, but only Phil rushes forward. The hospital is thankfully not so busy today, but that does turn Tommy into a bit of a spectacle.

Miss Puffy’s arms tighten their cradle as the teacher hurries to bring him to the nurse. Her concern is not so open as the man’s, but her jaw is stiff and her ribs press raggedly into the ice-pack laying against swollen bruises on Tommy’s side.

“He stumbled into class like this,” she says tersely, closing the gap. “Tried to hide it with a sweater. ”

Tommy ducks his head at that, refusing the eyes of either adult. He supposes their panic is understandable - he does look a bit like a battered, malformed plum at the moment. But that’s his blood’s fault, bruising and swelling so dramatically. 

He’s not dying or anything! Just hurting. Nothing desperate.

But Phil’s ginger hands rapidly check him over like it is. His fingers lift Tommy’s shirt and find the rest of the bloated marks, muttered curses slipping out like prayers. He offers to take him, but Miss Puffy refuses even though she’s clearly struggling. 

It’s stubborn - Tommy is a very big ten-year-old and carrying him is no simple feat! But Phil just leads Miss Puffy towards the halls, throwing a piercing, haggard glare at the boy.

“What the hell happened? ” he demands.

Internally, Tommy sighs. He would think that by the third time, the man would’ve learned to stop asking like he’s going to get the truth. Though, this one is much worse than the others. Little harder to dismiss as a dumb accident. 

Bile climbs up his throat and he swallows it down, still refusing Phil’s peering eyes. “I fell. From a tree,” he adds, hoping that maybe it’ll make it more believable.

The suffocating tension that clutches the air lets him know he was not successful. Fuck, this has been a shitty morning. Tommy just groans and shuts his eyes, knowing that he won’t get interrogated if he looks in pain. It’s hardly acting, but still.

It works, of course, and he just gets more urgently carried into a room. Miss Puffy lays him carefully onto the bed as Phil pages someone to bring Factor IX over. He takes the gross pain medication. Ew. Then Tommy’s shirt is gently tugged off, and the man gets to work with ice and a numbing agent.

“Fucking- Shit, Tommy,” the nurse declares, rubbing the agent over the boy’s ribs. “You shouldn’t be swelling this bad, mate! Have your parents not been getting you your doses of the factor?”

Tommy wets his lips, turning away. “Uh, well, they want to save it. For emergencies.”

In the corner of his vision, a storm cloud crackles over Phil’s face. It sends a nervous chill straight to the boy’s roiling stomach, and he tenses. The tingling of the numbing agent only adds to the effect.

“They- We agreed that with your condition it’s best for you to receive regular doses! ” Phil exclaims, like he’s equal parts angry and in disbelief.

A bitter laugh very nearly escapes Tommy before he stuffs it down. The factor is pricey and would need to be injected four times a week, or alternatively his parents would have to take him to a clinic that often to have a nurse do it. They just don’t have the time for any of that.

His parents both work jobs, and they already have to sacrifice so much to make sure their insurance covers all of the boy’s stupid accidents. The one condition they gave Tommy when allowing him to go to school was that in the event of an injury, he wouldn’t bother them about it. He’s meant to let a teacher take him in, and then take the bus home.

“It’s hard for them,” is what he chokes out. “They work a lot.”

It’s not a lie, but the words feel vile on his tongue all the same. Maybe it’s the funny way that Phil and Miss Puffy stare at him, arms crossed all stiff. Or maybe it just sucks.

The truth of the situation took a while to set in at first, but Tommy’s been living with it for almost three years now. His parents are sick of him. It’s so blatant, trailing heavy of their sighs, glazing the exhaustion in their eyes. They hate him. 

But they gave him one gift, and that’s school. They let him go, even though they knew he’d be a dumbass and hurt himself all the time. Even though they knew it would cost them, they let him have it because they were so desperate to get rid of him.

And hell, Tommy will take it. He’ll grasp onto it like a starving street kid clutches the loaf of bread that the baker tossed into the bins. Tuck the scraps close to his chest even as his body aches from the bruises of fighting for them.

Because so what if he doesn’t fit in? Who cares if none of the school children like him and they all mock him behind his back - or to his face. It doesn’t matter that Ranboo and Miss Puffy are the only two people that ever treat him with any kindness. That’s twice what he receives at home.

Even the bullying is preferable to sitting alone in his room all day - throwing sass back at his upperclassmen is at least entertaining. At least when he gets fucked up like this for going a little too hard on the dumb brute who hates him most, he gets to see Phil and the others.

At least Tommy’s there to be a spotlight for everyone’s ridicule, keeping Ranboo safe in the shadows beside him.

His thoughts are interrupted as Niki stumbles through the doorway, nearly toppling over Miss Puffy while handing over the factor and a needle. Tommy brightens at the sight of her.

“Niki! Hi!” he greets excitedly.

The young woman has changed her shoulder-length hair since he last saw her, now a more neon yellow instead of the part-brown, part-blonde it was before. She’s wearing pretty, dangly earrings today, contrasting her rumpled, pink scrubs.

Instinctively she beams back at Tommy, but her grin is strained by horror as she takes in the bruises covering him. Phil just accepts the factor wordlessly, filling the syringe.

“Tommy! I- Oh, gosh, what happened? Are you okay?” She crosses over and sits on the bed.

“I’m okay. Can’t feel it anymore, thanks to big man Phil!” he replies brazenly with a puff of his chest, attempting to ignore the first question.

Niki lets a short huff that’s almost a laugh, but much to Tommy’s chagrin, she doesn’t give up. “Tom, you look like you got stampeded! How did this happen?”

It’s a fight to keep his smile from wavering. Looking down at himself, the boy can kind of see where she’s coming from. The vaguely flower-shaped, dark purple marks trail from his hip to his arms and ribs and up to the underside of his chin, kind of looking like footprints of someone walking directly over him. Which… isn’t entirely inaccurate.

Taking his arm for the injection, Phil grumbles out, “He claims he fell out of a tree.”

Lips twisting, Tommy stiffens. He acts like it’s preparation for the pricking needle, but in truth there is probably nothing more routine for the boy at this point. He barely even notices when it breaks his skin, flooding his bloodstream with its lacking protein.

There is a deep crease in between Niki’s brows. The troubled shimmer in her brown eyes twists at the knot in Tommy’s stomach. He doesn’t want her to be upset, but he can’t tell her.

“Tommy, you can tell me anything, you know?” she says, soft and earnestly sincere.

The irony is painful and the boy forces a big, bright smile. “I know.”

Her frown only deepens, almost a pout. Phil puts away the needle, wearing a similar face before he turns his back. Miss Puffy isn’t staring, but she looks like she wants to cry, which is somehow way worse. 

Shit, what are they thinking?  He has to settle their worries, but how? If he tells them about the bullies- No. If his parents found out they’d take school away altogether, or send him somewhere else, away from Ranboo and Miss Puffy!

“It might be hard to tell with the swelling, but… Tommy, you didn’t get these injuries from a fall, ” Niki stresses the last word, searching eyes full of pleading.

Blowing a harsh breath and allowing his smile to go a little shaky, Tommy tucks into himself, shoulders hugging his ears. 

“Okay, okay - maybe I didn’t fall out of a tree, but I was just being a dumbass. I was embarrassed, sorry for lying,” he laughs nervously, hoping it fits well enough with the lie he’s spinning.

“What were you doing?” Phil asks, turning back around with arms tightly crossed.

He might be buying it, so Tommy continues. “I uh… I was trying to jump along the rocks on the path, and- and I kept falling, but I kept jumping ‘cause I just really wanted to get five in a row, and that was really stupid, and I knew you’d be mad because I’m not supposed to do that stuff and you told me-”

It all rushes out in one breath, the boy almost impressed with himself for his improv. The adults are cutting him off with urgent gestures, Niki reminding him to inhale. Phil shakes his head and gives him a stern look, arms still crossed.

“You’re right I’d be mad!” he snaps. “That is ridiculously irresponsible and needlessly reckless with your health!”

Despite the circumstance, the heat of Phil’s words sinks deep into Tommy’s stomach, boiling that festering, knotted cluster of shame until acid and bile crawls up his throat. It stings, it aches - he hates being scolded, and he doesn’t even deserve it this time. 

And the fact that it’s coming from Phil makes the boy want to cry and also punch something. He only ducks his head with a murmured apology.

“This is already the third time in way too recent history! You can’t be-” The nurse cuts himself off with a glance at Miss Puffy and then Niki. 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and Tommy tries not to squirm. 

“Mate, you have us all worried someone is hurting you.”

The boy’s gasp gets choked in his throat. Shit. Shit shit shit- He looks up, praying his shock is appropriate for his cover, and then forces his brows to crinkle together.

“Wh- at?” he sputters, voice failing him.

The weight of the returning stares are crushing and Tommy wants to bury himself beneath them. He plasters on a lop-sided grin instead, blinking like he’s confused. His head is screaming and his throat is shrivelled and dryer than a desert.

Still, he puffs his swollen chest and with as much bravado as he can summon, declares, “Nah, don’t be silly, Phil! Anyone dumb enough to pick a fight with Big Man Tommy Innit won’t be living to tell the tale!”

“Tommy-”

“Y’know, I should get home now,” he barrels over any further comments, shifting to the edge of the bed. “Mum’s prolly worried after that call, and treatment’s all done, so-”

Hands fly out and land soft but firm on his shoulders, one from Niki and one from Phil. Tommy presses his lips together to avoid biting down on them, letting rising irritation blanket his fear as he glares up at the stubborn adults.

“You’re not going anywhere, mate,” Phil says plainly, no room for argument. “No moving around until the swelling has gone down, especially not before the factor has set in! You could cause internal bleeding.”

Tilting his head to the side, Tommy raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s wrong with that? S’not coming outta me.”

The rampant wave of horror and disbelief that washes over the gaping adults makes the boy immediately regret asking. Niki recovers first, leaning forward on the bed with wide, shining eyes.

“Tom- that’s not- bleeding on the inside can kill you!” she breathes.

“And it’s worse, because we can’t see it!” Phil jumps in with similar intensity. “We’ve spoken about this, I- This is why it’s crucial for you to be receiving regular factor!”

Tommy badly wants to pull his legs in and tuck into himself, but he knows he can’t with his injuries. His hands pick and twist at the blankets underneath him instead. 

Now that he thinks about it, he definitely has heard Phil talk to him and his parents about internal bleeding before. Something about risk and his ‘special case’ and his joints for some reason. It was two years ago, around all the scans and tests and charts, just before he started going to school. 

To be fair, the boy tried his best not to pay attention to those conversations. The nurse was always so clinical and not-quite-Phil whenever he talked to Tommy’s parents. And he would be told the real rules when they got home, so there was no point, anyway.

Pinching his nosebridge, Phil lets out a sigh. “Regardless, you’re staying here overnight. I’ll speak to your parents again when they get here,” he says, all tired like he just lost a fight.

In an instant, Tommy’s heart is damn-near exploding out of his chest. He sits bolt upright, mind racing for anything it can grasp to get him out of this.

“Th-they’re not coming!” he blurts stupidly.

Silence is his reply, and the young boy curses his whole existence.

“Why not?” Startlingly, it’s Miss Puffy who speaks.

Unfortunately, she’s the hardest to lie to. So Tommy does his best to work with the truth, staring down at the pale green bed sheets.

“They’re… working.” The squeak is hopelessly pathetic, as the truth tends to be. 

He breathes in deep, shaking off the stares, and continues. “They have to. It’s bad enough they have to hear I got hurt, but they can’t afford to leave every time it happens. ‘Specially when the work pays for it, too. ‘Specially when it’s my fault.”

A cold weight pushes heavy against Tommy’s ribs, stealing air away and flooding tears to his eyes. This is the truth, and he knows it. They told him over and over and over, drilled these facts into his skull all these years. 

Dad hates his job, but he hates being home even more. Whenever he yells at Tommy, he’s sure to remind the boy that he’d rather be slaving away at the factory than putting up with his shit. 

Mum loves her work more than anything, and every hour she sat at home with her annoying, whiny, disobedient son, she’d make certain he knew how much she was sacrificing. She was never happier than when she was leaving, never snappier than when she returned. 

And always beyond enraged whenever Tommy tore her away from what she loved for another one if his stupid mistakes. It doesn’t matter that maybe he wouldn’t get hurt so much if they just let him get his energy out before it was crackling inside of him like a burning ball of lightning. 

So what if he could actually just behave like a normal kid if they’d give him the factor regularly? He can’t possibly ask them to give that much more up for him, they’re already done with him.

The mattress bounces a little as Niki shifts closer, laying a hand gently on Tommy’s knee. Her smile is sad but her eyes are full of nothing but overwhelming warmth, looking at him like she… like he’s something very precious.

“How about you lay back and get some rest, hm?” she murmurs. “We’ll see how you’re doing tomorrow.”

The boy bites back a grumble but he does let out a deep sigh as he falls back onto the soft pillows. At least they’re done asking about his injuries, but now he’s confined to bed all day and night!  

He texts Ranboo his woes, completely ignoring the fact that his friend is definitely in class.

Big Man: Theyr holding me hostage ranboob

im strapped to bed

Forced to suffer

Boob Boy: im not surprised

You actually looked like a diseased alien

It was bad.

Big Man: oi fuck you1

I am agreek god an the ladies love me

Boob Boy: Tommy

You were a rotten mutant banana

a raisin with tumours

Big Man: fuck U bitch

im built different from all u pussy bitches u dont understand

im perfect and great and this treatment is unjust

Boob Boy: Tommy, can you be honest with me?

He swallows hard, fingers gripping tightly to the sides of the bulky, red phone case. He doesn’t want to lie to Ranboo, and frankly the dude won’t buy it if he does. He didn’t believe the other times were accidents either, but he just nodded along because he knows Tommy wouldn’t lie for no reason.

So the fact that Ranboo is asking like this now… Fuck, Tommy just can’t get a break from this, can he?

Big Man: I promise im fine boob boy

body’s just dramatic, remember?

There’s a long, cold pause before Ranboo’s icon pops up saying he’s typing. Tommy stares at the three bouncing dots, ribs throbbing with the pain of holding his breath. 

Why is he so nauseous? Is it just the aftershock from the conversation with the adults? It’s not like Ranboo’s going to fuck him over, the guy’s just worried. There’s no reason to be freaking out, but Tommy’s racing heart didn’t get that memo apparently.

Boob Boy: Those idiots from PE, they’re doing this to you right?

All his breath is released in one defeated woosh. It’s enough to catch Phil’s attention, but the man’s polite enough to ignore it and return to his work.

Big Man: You cant tell anyone.

Boob Boy: Tom.

Big Man: I mean it! 

if my mum finds out i wont go to school anymore

Boob Boy: They could literally KILL you!

Big Man: im FINE!

I can take it im not a pussy bitch

Boob Boy: Your blood begs to differ

Big Man: your mom begs to differ!

Boob Boy: Tommy.

Big Man: piss off ranboob, I said im fine

Boob Boy: fine. But if you get hurt again I’m not promising anything

The tension in Tommy’s shoulders finally unfurls over the mattress as he drops his phone. This relief may be temporary, but it’s good enough. Convincing Ranboo to keep this secret next time is future Tommy’s problem. 

Current Tommy’s problem is Boredom.

Sure, it’s fun to talk to Niki and Phil as they take turns keeping him company, and Kristin, too, when she shows up for a bit. Sure, he missed them, and he loves the way they let him ramble on and on and actually listen like they care. And yeah, he feels all warm and fuzzy whenever he makes any of them laugh, but that doesn’t make staying put in bed and not moving for fucking forever isn’t actual hell.  

It’s a mercy he’s allowed to kick and bounce his legs, or Tommy would actually go insane. Niki is always chill whenever he fidgets, and Phil seems to find it funny. They both let him whine and complain with a sympathetic ear and a healthy amount of teasing.

“ Phiiiiiil, ” Tommy groans, kicking the blankets off for the fourth time in ten minutes. “Can’t I please just go for a walk? I won’t even run, I’ll be super-duper careful and shit!”

The man clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a smirk. “I don’t believe that for a second. And walking could injure you just as easily right now.”

With a toss of his head on the pillows, Tommy lets out a disgruntled noise very similar to a slowly-dying cat. “C’mon, Phil! I thought you were the Man! The only Man Ever! Think about what you’re doing! How will the Company ever survive this?”

Turning away from whatever he’s typing into his laptop, Phil levels him with a look. “Guilt-tripping with gibberish won’t make me agree to risk your health.”

In an impulsive rush, Tommy scowls into the nurse’s eyes, bunches his legs up, and kicks out to roll himself off the edge of the bed.

“You little shit- ” Phil scrambles from his chair and leaps for the bed just in time to catch the boy’s shoulder at the edge.

He rolls Tommy back over and gently pins him down, staring down like he’s just disarmed a bomb. The boy continues glaring, trying to hide the grin that’s tugging at his lips.

“That is not funny, Tom! I swear, I will get the guard rails!” Phil seethes breathlessly.

“I’m demoting you! You’re not my favourite anymore!” Tommy retorts, sticking his tongue out.

The man’s eye twitches, hands still holding the boy down as he leans over him. “Because I don’t want you getting hurt? ”

“‘Cause you don’t want me having fun. Fun police! Tory.” 

He can’t tell if it’s the pain medication or the insanity, but Tommy’s definitely a little delirious. It earns a breathy laugh from Phil.

“You don’t even know what that means. ”

“Shaddup, Tory!” he sneers. “You’re second favourite now. Suffer.”

The nurse raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “Oh yeah? Who’s replaced me?”

“Uhhh… I haven’t picked yet, but they’re better than you and they’re not a fuckin’ Tory!”

With a heavy sigh, Phil releases Tommy from his imprisonment. He murmurs something too quiet to hear and starts shuffling papers around. But he’s smiling, even though he tries to hide it. It makes the boy finally break into a grin himself.

Messing with Phil keeps the boredom from being totally unbearable. Still, by the time evening rolls around, Tommy is ready to tear all his hair out just to give himself something new to count. 

He already counted all thirty-two ceiling tiles and thirteen painted clouds in the room, and all fourty-six tongue depressors in the little jar, and even the seventy-one marks on the walls. And he did all that just during the time Niki or Phil were swapping out.

Now they’ve both gone home for the night, and no one new has come to check on Tommy in what feels like hours. It actually has been a few hours, but that’s probably because the staff thinks he’s sleeping. The last person he talked to was Jack Manifold, so it’s safe to say he’s extremely lacking in the entertainment department.

Rolling over onto his good shoulder, he pulls up his phone and opens up the messenger for the fifth time this hour. His last text to Ranboo is still unread. 

Frowning, Tommy’s thumb taps furiously, typing out clumsy messages to convey his indignation at being ignored.

Big Man: HELLO1!/?

Bitvh

Bitch

Dotn ignore me 

Anser meu  fucker!!1!

Fudk you bithc

Die

Delivered: 11:47 PM

Tossing his phone aside, Tommy sighs. He should probably sleep. Exhaustion pulls at his eyelids and sinks deep into his shoulders and injuries, begging him to slip away to the darkness.

But he can’t. The boy’s swollen limbs buzz with restlessness, and he aches with the discomfort of laying still all day. He has to move - to do something interesting. Tommy just can’t sleep when he’s bored, and he’s pulled enough all-nighters to prove it.

With a heavy groan, he pushes himself up to a sit, easy on his tender ribs. Grabbing his shirt from the night stand, he rubs at his bleary eyes as he scans the dim room. The sounds of hospital staff and patients moving up and down the halls has dimmed significantly, but it’s still present. 

He gently pulls his shirt on, wincing with every movement and brushing of the fabric against his bruises. This isn’t the best idea, probably, but he’ll hardly last long in the halls showing off a bare chest of swollen purple. 

He finally tugs it into place and sighs, inspecting himself in the darkness. Now only a bit of his arms and neck look fucked. Much better.

Well, what is he waiting for? Swinging his legs over the bedside with a grunt of effort, Tommy touches his socked feet to the cold floor and creeps carefully toward the exit. His fingers find the smooth, metal handle, and he eases the door open just a fraction, warm light instantly spilling through.

The green scrubs of two nurses Tommy doesn’t recognize flashes past, but neither figure notices the boy, too distracted by their own chattering. He waits a few more moments, adrenaline pumping as he shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Someone clatters by with a large cart and Tommy immediately takes advantage of the noise, slipping silently through the crack in the door and dashing behind the rickety, steadily-moving cover. He follows behind the man wheeling it, close enough to shelter from bystanding staff, but not too close that he’s noticed by the man himself.

Still, it’s too exposed to work as cover for long. That’s swiftly proven when he spots the white lab coat of an approaching doctor - Sam. In a matter of seconds, the man will catch sight of Tommy and his epic midnight adventure will be all over!

Eyes darting around, Tommy searches for an escape. He lands on the half-opened door of a room he and the man with the cart just happen to be passing by, and seizes the handle without hesitation. 

This tactic has never failed him before -  in fact, he’s made a good number of friends this way! Besides Ranboo, there was that lady with the pretty rose tattoo, and that guy, Jeff? Gogy? Something like that, and those dickhead friends of his that said they knew Techno. 

The blond one said they were like best friends, but when Tommy asked Techno about them, he just called them nerds. 

Turning the handle, Tommy pushes in a whirls around, softly shutting the door behind him before even taking in the new space he’s entered. The first thing he notices after confirming the coast is clear is that the lights are on. That means it’s time to meet someone new.

Slowly, the boy turns around, aiming a bright smile towards the center of the room, where he knows the bed will be. Sure enough, a figure sits in it, half under the covers. 

Even slouching he’s a tall motherfucker, pale and lanky and definitely sleep-deprived. His dark curls are as much of a mess as he is, but it’s strange, because he’s not wearing a hospital gown. He’s not even strapped to any wires, just bunched up against the pillows in an oversized, rumpled, yellow sweater.

“Um… hello?” the guy greets questioningly with a tilt of his head, lips twitching just slightly into a smirk.

“Hello!” Tommy replies, bounding over to the bed and leaning on the side.

Pain flares through his torso at the reckless movement and the boy fights a wince, sticking his good hand out with significantly less speed and enthusiasm.

“I’m Tommy! Who’re you?”

The man takes his hand delicately and shakes it like it’s made of glass. He’s smiling, but struggling with it as his eyes are drawn to the bruises.

“I’m… Wilbur… What are you doing in here?”

“Hiding,” Tommy answers honestly, still grinning.

The guy, Wilbur, snorts at that. “You picked the wrong room for that, Tommy.”

Startling back, the boy frowns. “What? Why?” 

“This one gets checked on like every ten minutes.”

“Oh shit,” he blurts, peering closer at the frail dude. “Are you gonna fucking keel over and die on me, man?”

Something falls over Wilbur’s expression, twisting his face strangely. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Then he wheezes, covering his face with his hands, and shakes with laughter. At least, hopefully it’s laughter.

“This is- No-” The guy leans back and gasps for breath, beet-red face stretched into a gaping grin. “I need to sleep, I’m halucinating, there’s no way-”

Hands on his hips, Tommy glares at the hysterical stranger. “I’m no fuckin’ mirage!   Show some respect, you’re blessed to be in my company!” he huffs, only succeeding in making the dork laugh harder.

“Who the fuck are you, child?” Wilbur chuckles, wiping tears.

“Not a fucking child for starters,” Tommy retorts grouchily.

His hands curl into fists as the idiot lets out another peel of laughter. Wilbur’s laugh is nice, even as he clearly struggles to breath through it, but Tommy prefers to earn laughs rather than be the subject of them. Especially since he can’t understand what he’s being made fun of for.

But before the boy can make any further curt remarks, a sharp click rings out behind him, followed by the creak of the door. Wilbur lights up instantly, calling out to the new arrival.

“Hey, Techno, I didn’t know you had a little brother!”

The words nearly cause Tommy to stumble flat on his face as he whirls around, sure enough finding the familiar, slouching resident standing at the door - pink hair tied neatly back in a long ponytail, and pink scrubs similarly orderly. 

His expression mirrors Tommy’s in bewilderment, brow raised at Wilbur as his bloodshot eyes dart back and forth between him and the boy.

“What lies is this child spittin’ now?” he deadpans, breathing a sigh.

“He’s-” Tommy sputters, heat rushing to his head as he struggles to maintain his dignity and also figure out whatever the hell Wilbur is trying to pull. “I’m not his brother! What are you even-”

“Come on, there’s no way he’s not!” Wilbur insists, still laughing. “He looks just like Phil, and he’s just wandering around patients rooms-”

“Yeah, he is not s’posed to be doin’ that,” Techno cuts in pointedly, glaring down at the boy.

Squirming, Tommy avoids meeting either man’s eyes. He’s just been caught and escape should really be his main concern, but he’s barely thinking about that. Does he really look like Phil? He’s always liked how the nurse’s crystal blue eyes mirror his own, and they are both blond. 

Fuck, his face is burning - that’s probably not good for the bruise under his chin.

“Is he really not?” Wilbur sounds genuinely shocked, which isn’t helping.

“No, he isn’t my brother,” the resident replies, shaking his head. “But he is my responsibility. C’mon, kid, you should be in bed,” he scolds, walking closer and reaching a hand out.

“ Noooo, ” Tommy whines, scrambling back onto the bed and flaring up a burst of pain over his arms and ribs while he’s at it. “I’ve been in bed all day! I’m booored! ”

“Hey, watch your- Tommy, ” Techno firm hands keep him from moving his upper body off the mattress. “You’re not makin’ a good case for yourself.”

Relenting just enough to not aggravate his wounds any further, Tommy eases against the bed, kicking his legs into his captor’s shins instead. Techno makes no reaction to the assault beyond an eyebrow raise.

“I’ll be good! I’ll stay right here!” the boy bargains, flashing his best puppy eyes. “ Please don’t make me go back to bed, Techno.”

“How’re ya beggin’ me while attackin’ me?” 

“Hey, he can stay in here with me, can’t he?” Wilbur pipes up innocently. “I can make sure he doesn’t run off or hurt himself, and then we both have company,” he proposes.

“Yes, yes! Let me stay here with this dork!” Tommy leaps eagerly for the olive branch. “Then all the nurses don’t have to check on both of us, it’s all wins! All Ws!”

The resident narrows his eyes and Wilbur lets out a squawk of offense. He seems hesitant, but his exhausted gaze is considering the proposal. Tommy blinks big, round, perfect-angle eyes up at the man, ceasing his kicking and remaining completely still. Please, please please!

I don’t want to be alone again.

Techno’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh and he leans back, releasing Tommy. He turns to the other man, a ghost of a smirk curling onto his face.

“Ya sure ya wanna be stuck with this kid?” he teases.

“Oi-” Tommy starts, but Wilbur beats him to the punch.

“What do you mean, Techno? I’m blessed to be in his company,” he drawls, some strange blend of mockery and sincerity.

“Fuck you both,” Tommy grumbles, glaring daggers at the ceiling tiles.

A muffled snicker slips from the lanky man as Techno’s footsteps cross the room.

“And you’re completely sure he’s not-”

“Wilbur.”

The ceiling is spinning a little now in the heat as Wilbur lets out another squeal of laughter. These idiots need to stop comparing Tommy to Phil or he’s seriously going to pass out.

The door creaks open, but just before stepping out, the footsteps abruptly halt. Tommy idly glances, and Techno is staring over his shoulder, eyes presumably locked on Wil. He looks… strangely soft all of a sudden. 

The boy can’t recall any time the pink-haired man has had that kind of look before - warm, fragile and worried, like Phil practically always looks.

“But Wil, are you… Ya holdin’ up okay?”

Tommy blinks, eyes darting to the stranger beside him. Was the boy actually right? Does this guy have some deadly illness that could kill him at any moment? Shit, if Tommy had something like that, there’d be no force in heaven or hell that could keep him sitting in a hospital bed, just waiting for the inevitable.

He hopes that’s not what Wilbur’s doing. The man is smiling now, strained but warm, and nodding to Techno.

“I’m hanging in there,” he chuckles, but the sound is much more hollow than before.

Techno nods, and makes his exit, leaving the door cracked open like before. Despite the uneasy curiosity of whatever that was, Tommy can’t stand to let silence last more than a single moment.

“Are you here a lot, too?”

Startling slightly, Wilbur glances down at the casually laying boy, smirking at his idly swinging legs. “I’ve… been here a few times, yeah.”

“You know Phil and Techno,” Tommy points out bluntly, and the man nods.

“They helped me before,” he explains softly. “They’re good people.”

This time Tommy nods, enthusiastic but careful of his bruise. “I like it here, everyone is really nice. Even though they hate me having fun, they talk to me and listen and let me move if it won’t hurt.”

Wilbur hums, picking at the bedsheets. “You said ‘too’. Are you here often?”

“Yup!” Tommy replies with a wide grin. “They’re starting to get mad at me for getting hurt so much.”

He says it lightly, with a laugh, but the pale man still frowns, leaning closer.

“Why are you hurt so much?”

The boy does his best to shrug without spiking pain across his chest, rolling his head over to look away. “Mum says I’m too hyper and clumsy, and my blood’s bad so I always have to come here to get fixed.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s tired of being interrogated, but there’s only one thing Tommy can reflect with, and he’s not sure he wants to go there, either. 

Unsurprisingly, his impulsivity wins out in a heartbeat. “What about you?”

“Hm?” Wilbur blinks, seeming to drag himself out of somewhere else at the boy’s question.

Tommy swallows hard, glancing anywhere but the man. “What did Phil and Techno help you with?”

“Oh.” The man has that funny look on his face again, and his eyes dart away. “They, uh… They kept me company.”

Nodding awkwardly from his splayed-out position on the bed, the boy grins. “Me too! They’re good listeners.”

Wilbur returns the grin, softer. “Yeah, they are,” he murmurs fondly.

“It sucks when I have to sit around, but it’s not so bad with Phil. And Techno’s cool, too, I guess,” Tommy adds pettily, just barely stopping himself from shrugging. “Ranboo likes him a lot. That’s my friend, he’s also here a lot. Have you met him?”

“No,” the man chuckles, leaning back on his pillows. “I’ve only been here a few times.”

“He’s sick and someday he won’t be able to walk anymore, but he still can right now! Sometimes it just hurts a little, but we both think he should run around all the time ‘cause he can still, so we play at the park and at school we’re the best, most pog players at volleyball!” 

Tommy knows he’s getting a little carried away with his rambling, but he can’t help it. It’s like anytime someone lends him a spare ear, something coiled up, trapped inside him just bursts and all the words start spilling out. He knows he’ll keep going and going until that someone tells him to stop.

“Can you walk, Wilbur?”

“Yeah, I can walk.” Something seems off about the man’s answer, so the excited boy pushes deeper.

“Can you run all around, or do you get scolded like me?” he asks, not really meaning to roll onto his side as he peers expectantly at the kind stranger.

But a shadow falls over Wilbur’s eyes, clouding them with that funny look again. It makes Tommy’s stomach go cold and he instantly wishes he hadn’t asked.

Then the man smiles. “There’s nothing wrong with my body, Tommy. It’s my head that’s sick.”

Pain pulses through the boy’s collarbone, but he ignores it, frowning as he rolls even further.

“Oh. Is that why you’re wearing that dumb sweater?”

A sharp peel of laughter bursts from Wilbur’s lips as he crumples into himself. “Wha- What’s wrong with my sweater?” he retorts, offended. 

Or at least, the man would seem offended if he could manage to stop smiling and wheezing. Tommy just rolls his eyes, gesturing vaguely at the mustard yellow wool.

“Everything. It’s a dumb colour and a dumb sweater and you look dumb in it,” he informs the unfortunate man simply.

This only makes Wilbur laugh harder, which is a nicer feeling now that Tommy knows he’s not being made fun of. He’s simply a comedic genius, and this stranger is just appreciating that.

“I- You’re wearing your own clothes, too,” Wilbur finally flusters out, hands flailing wildly.

“That’s- ‘cause I’m not s’posed to,” Tommy fumbles, cringing at himself the moment it falls out.

No surprise, the man is staring back incredulously. His tone is dangerously similar to Niki’s scolding one when he asks: “What do you mean?”

He scrambles through his brain for any response that won’t get him in trouble, but he comes up empty. Just his luck that Tommy almost gets off scot–free when Techno somehow didn’t notice, and then he goes and slips up all on his own.

“S’nothing, nevermind,” the boy tries, because maybe this guy will go easy on him.

But the universe is never so kind. Wilbur leans closer, a stern line drawn between his brows.

“Are you supposed to be wearing a hospital gown, Tommy?” he interrogates, still using that Serious Niki™ voice.

“No,” he answers honestly, but desperation builds at the man’s skeptical glance. “I’m not! I’m- They didn’t give me one ‘cause… it’ll rub my skin…” 

He trails off into mumbles at the end, not nearly incoherent enough to escape Wilbur’s hearing. The man instantly lights up with worry, reaching out.

“Then why are you wearing a shirt?”

Tommy shrugs without thinking and spits a loud hiss as pain burns raw through his arm and chest. Of course it’s at this moment that the swelling covering his body chooses to reignite with a passion, the subtle itch under the fabric of his shirt suddenly becoming an unbearable throbbing. 

He doesn’t resist when Wilbur gently helps him remove the black tee, but he makes a point to avoid the man’s eyes as his ugly bruises are revealed. He knows what he’ll find there, and he doesn’t want to see it. Still, he hears the choked-off gasp Wilbur lets out, and feels the way his hands falter.

Wanting nothing more than to curl up and disappear, Tommy forces himself to hurriedly discard the irritating shirt and flop back down on the bed. His arms absently hover over his chest, but he takes care not to let them touch.  Honestly, he doesn’t know why he bothers trying to use his limbs as cover, considering his right arm has a purple goose egg, and his left shoulder is as much of a disaster as the rest of his torso. Chalk it up to instincts. 

He still hasn’t looked at Wilbur, and the man has yet to make another sound. At this point the horrified silence is just irritating.

“What, bitch!?” he blurts with a little more heat than intended, dropping his arms to his sides but still not turning. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

“I-I’m sorry, Tommy, I-” Wilbur stammers, sounding near tears. “Are- Shit, are you in pain? Should I call Techno-”

“No,” he cuts in quickly, guilt clawing at the ache in his ribs. “No, the pain’s fine. It’s fine.”

When he finally turns his head, there is moisture pooling in the man’s wide, brown eyes. He’s somehow paler than before, and trembling. His smile is nowhere to be found. And it hurts - it hurts and Tommy wants nothing more than to fix it.

“I’m not hurting,” he stresses again, swallowing back a wince.

“You’re- How- You said this was from being clumsy? ”

Wetting his lips, Tommy attempts a smile. “I’m… really clumsy,” he huffs.

“ Tommy. ”

“I bruise easy, and bruise bad. It looks way worse than it is,” he reasons, but it’s getting nowhere.

Crossing his arms, Wilbur shuffles closer and peers down. “You’re bed-ridden. ”

“Under protest.”

The man folds over, curls bouncing recklessly as he buries his head in his hands. He’s starting to remind Tommy of Phil, and that’s only festering more guilt.

“I’m really fine, Wilbur. Promise. Everyone here’s just dramatic and don’t want me having fun.”

“Of course they don’t, if you’re going to hurt yourself like this!” he snaps back, eyes aflame when he lifts his head.

And it burns - right down to Tommy’s bone. The words are searing hot pain, far worse than any of the plaintive injuries all over. Because it’s not fair. He just fucking met this dumbass and already he’s just as sure as everyone else in the boy’s life that he knows best and everything is all Tommy’s fault.

Every echo rattles in the young boy’s restless, fuming brain: Be careful! Watch yourself! Just sit still, Tommy. The voices bark at him, hands pinning him down, eyes rolling with impatience. Stop running, Tommy. Don’t jump, Tommy. Shut up, Tommy. Quit squirming, Tommy.

They growl and sigh, sneer and swear, head shaking, pinching their brows. If you’d just be a good little boy and do as you’re told then we wouldn’t have to be dealing with all these problems.

Maybe you wouldn’t! His own voice screams back at the looming shadows of disapproving adults surrounding him, fists clenching tight. No matter what, I’m still suffering! Why should I only suffer in ways that you don’t have to hear about!?

“I’m not hurting myself, I’m living my fucking life! ” Tommy exclaims with venom, throwing a kick so violent that it tosses the comforter to the floor. 

Shock glazes Wilbur’s dumb eyes as he flinches back, but it does absolutely nothing to soothe the bubbling rage spilling out of the aching boy. 

“I’m not that damn pathetic, just because everybody and their mother likes to say I am! It’s not fair that I always have to treat me like broken fucking glass just ‘cause my bitchass body was fucked from birth! ” he snarls, wishing he could just jump off the mattress and sprint out into the halls.

Especially when silence seizes the room in a chokehold. He once again vehemently refuses the stranger’s eyes and stares instead at the clouds on the walls. Some of these ones have colour, and one kind of looks like a dark blue sheep.

“It’s not pathetic,” a hoarse voice, soft as the wind, suddenly speaks.

Raising an eyebrow, Tommy levels Wilbur with a glare. He doesn’t look up, still staring down at his fingernails, but he doesn’t back down either.

“Taking care of yourself isn’t pathetic,” the man says firmly, yet no less soft.

Tommy scoffs, eyes rolling. “Treating me like fragile fucking cargo all the time feels pretty fucking pathetic, Wilbur.”

“It’s not, ” he insists, leaning close again with a stubborn glint in his eye. “Everyone is fragile sometimes, and it’s not pathetic to keep yourself away from things that will shatter you! How are you supposed to live your life if you lose it?”

Ignoring the logic and tender understanding in the words, Tommy sets his jaw and scowls at the pushy stranger. 

“According to fucking everyone, everything will ‘shatter’ me! But they’re wrong, I can take a few scrapes and bruises! I don’t care about a little pain if it means my day can be a little less dull. And even if it kills me, I’d rather fucking lose my life by living it than fucking waste like a bitch forever!”

“No one’s asking you to rest forever,” Wilbur protests, though Tommy would beg to differ. “When you’re not injured like this, does Phil let you ‘have fun’? Safely? ”

Twisting his lip, the boy stubbornly tries not to remember every time Phil and Techno would take him and Ranboo on their shoulders and visit around the hospital. He always loves it when Techno gets competitive and turns it into an impromptu race to see which team can visit the most rooms. 

The rule is that a room only counts as a visit if the patient (and any nurses and doctors present) give some sort of response to the team’s greeting and answer a question. They quickly established that sleeping rooms don’t count after Tommy shouted very loudly and woke a middle-aged man so he could respond.

So far Tommy and Phil are the far superior team, running a perfect winning streak. Techno may have the superior athletics, but neither he nor Ranboo can remotely compare in social competence.

Aside from that, Niki is always down for hide and seek, and Kristin gives him clipboards to scribble on and lets him mess around in the cabinets. Anything he takes from the packaging he’s allowed to take home. He’s got a massive collection of tongue depressors going.

But Tommy is bitter right now, and he’s not interested in talking about any positive experiences.

“So what? What if I don’t want to?” he grumbles, kicking against the mattress again. “You’re so quick to tell me what to do, have you ever had to walk like you’re made of glass?”

“Yes.” 

The response is so immediate that Tommy blinks a few times before even processing it. When he does, his chest goes cold. That bad shadow is back in Wilbur’s eyes, but the stubbornness remains. His knuckles are white gripping the sheets, and he’s meeting the boy’s gaze now with the same set jaw.

“I have to walk like that a lot, Tommy,” he continues, lips twitching into some mockery of a smile. “I told you, we’re all fragile sometimes. And, well… I’m pretty fucking fragile, lately.” 

Oh, no. This stranger is too much like Ranboo and it’s really starting to hurt. Tommy wishes he could take it all back and just let the man be angry at him instead. Adults are always angry at him, scolding and giving unwanted advice. Why did he have to make a big deal and turn that into this?

Regardless, Wilbur keeps going with a shaky breath. “Sometimes, I have to watch myself like a hawk to make sure I’m not breaking. Not only that, but when I am breaking, I have to ask other people to watch me, too.”

Tommy winces, and the man nods to it.

“Yeah, sounds awful, doesn’t it?” he chuckles dryly. “It wasn’t easy. I hated it, but I never regretted it. That’s why I keep coming back.”

“...That’s what Phil and Techno helped you with?” The words fall out before Tommy can stop them, cracked and small as he feels. “They watched you?”

“Are helping me with.” Wilbur nods, smiling softly. “And they do much more than watch me. They’re the ones that taught me that taking care of yourself doesn’t make you pathetic,” he adds pointedly.

Face flushing, Tommy turns away. Of course they would say something like that. But, with what Wilbur’s talking about, he can’t find himself disagreeing. It’s just… It’s not fair.

“I come here, I ask for help, I let people watch me, so I don’t hurt myself,” the man reiterates, clearly fighting to meet the boy’s eyes. “I know it’s hard, I know it sucks. But it’s worth it.”

Something aches inside, deeper than any bruise. It aches so bad because Wilbur gets it better than anyone Tommy has ever met, and he cares and he’s worrying and he’s trying - but he doesn’t understand.  

“I’m not hurting myself,” Tommy repeats in a whisper, but it comes out differently than the first time.

There is no defensiveness, no stubborn rage to be found. Nothing but a quiet promise, and a pleading all at once. There is a desperation buried in his tone, begging the man to hear his sincerity without catching the message hidden in the space between.

Unfortunately, Wilbur does understand him. Whatever uncanny string that seems to bind the boy and this stranger tugs a little too tightly, and the man straightens. He peers down, burning holes in the side of Tommy’s face as he continues to inspect the sheep-cloud on the far wall.

“Tommy,” he breathes, danger clipping his tone. “Is… someone else hurting you?”

And he tries to answer, he really does. Tommy tries to summon that same plastered smile and bright tone when he spoke to Phil and Niki. He tries to say something fun like: ‘No, of course not, Wilbur! What a silly thing to imply, you strange, strange man!’

But… nothing comes. 

Instead, it’s his silence that speaks for him, and there is no doubt Wilbur catches every message hidden in that wide open space.

Chapter Text

The school halls have long since cleared out, and only the late day sunlight illuminates the dented green lockers and grimy white and gray tiles.  Tommy doesn’t normally stay long enough to see the building barren like this, but Ranboo got held up in some ‘chat’ with the guidance counsellor for almost the past hour now. And no matter how much the other boy insisted he just head on out, there is no way he’s going anywhere until he hears the details.

The prospect is getting more and more tempting each passing minute, however. Scrolling through his phone, bouncing his red ball, and playing ninja around the empty halls is only entertaining for so long. Especially all on his own.

Now he’s getting dizzy and this nice, colourful sweater that Wilbur got him is all sweaty. Plus his jeans have new scuff marks. No rips, though, and no blood! He’s getting better at keeping minor roughhousing minor.

Checking the time, Tommy huffs impatiently. Maybe Ranboob was trying to dismiss him for a reason. It’s a Thursday, and if he doesn’t get going soon, he’ll be late for his appointment with Phil. 

Not that this would be the first - or even seventh - time that the boy has been late for a factor dosage at the hospital, but that doesn’t mean Tommy is in the mood for another lecture. Mostly because he’ll once again have to talk around the fact that it isn’t his parents' fault that he’s come late because they never drive him.  

This is probably a good enough excuse, though. Ranboo always accompanies him for his triweekly doses, and if this weird ‘meeting’ is anything close to what Tommy thinks it is, then it’s well-worth waiting for.

Finally, the jingling of a handle echoes from the office around the corner, and Tommy races to greet his friend. He stumbles a little rounding the bend, earning him matching warning glares from Ranboo and the guidance counsellor, Mr. Halo.

Grinning sheepishly, Tommy holds his hands up, palms out in a motion of both victory and surrender. He didn’t fall, after all. The glares soften, but they don’t fade.

“Tom, I told you not to wait,” Ranboo sighs, slumping heavier against their forearm crutches.

“Yeah, well, I did.” He shrugs dismissively, motioning down the hall and entirely ignoring Mr. Halo. “C’mon, let’s get going. I’m late already.”

His friend shifts forward with an eyeroll, but the guidance counsellor doesn’t seem to understand the agenda of him being ignored and cuts in.

“I thought your mother was here to pick you up, Ranboo?” His brow is furrowed, hand reaching like he intends to stop the kid from moving any further.

Tommy watches a flicker of panic cross Ranboo’s face and immediately has to swallow down the instinct to cuss the man out. Mr. Halo especially wouldn’t take kindly to that. But he has to help somehow, he needs to-

“She’s in the area,” Ranboo blurts, moving further down the hall as casually as they can seemingly manage. “But if Tommy’s here then I can tell her I’m all good.”

The guidance counsellor nods, confusion lifting like rain clouds to sunlight. He says goodbye to both of them, patting Ranboo lightly on the shoulder before returning to his office.

“Take care, then! I’ll see you boys tomorrow!” he calls out with a wide grin, shutting the door with a soft click.

Letting out a pent-up breath, Tommy falls in step with the other tween. He looks so much paler dressed in all black, like an extra emo vampire. Their brown hair is getting longer and shaggier, too, hiding his ears and the straps of his mask. Of course it all suits them, because he’s just effortlessly handsome like that.

But something isn’t right, and Tommy can’t shake the tension from his shoulders. Ranboo has been walking weird all day, favouring their crutches way more than usual, and right now he’s avoiding Tommy’s gaze.

“So!” Tommy begins brazenly. “Details, please and thanks! The fuck was that?”

“It wasn’t anything, that’s kinda why I told you not to wait,” is Ranboo’s retort.

“Bullshit! Fucking spill!” 

“There’s nothing to spill.”

The dorky emo keeps stubbornly moving down the hall, ignoring Tommy’s attempt to stop them both. He’s not about to try grabbing Ranboo right now, but there’s no way he’s just going to let this slide. Racing up and whirling around, he plants himself in his friend’s path, arms crossed.

“Hey. Don’t fucking lie to me, man,” he growls seriously, not missing the wince as Ranboo meets his gaze. 

His tone only gets tighter and more dangerous as he asks, “Are those bastards after you now?”

But Ranboo’s stiff stance melts away into something pissed and exhausted immediately, and he levels Tommy with a mocking glare. “ No, they’re not. I wouldn’t lie to you about that,” he replies seethingly.

Swallowing ash, Tommy falters. He is sure that something’s going on with his friend - with the secrets and evasiveness, the weird meetings, and the way he’s walking. But if it’s not about those bitchass bullies that mysteriously stopped harassing Tommy last year, then he has no idea why Ranboo isn’t being honest with him.

Before he can manage to ask, Tommy’s leg is lightly struck (very intentionally) by one of the black, metal crutches as Ranboo pushes past. Letting out an exaggerated yelp of pain, he cusses the bastard out before chasing after them.

“I’m telling Phil if that bruises!”

“And I’ll tell him I told you not to wait,” he snips, nose in the air.

Fighting a smile, Tommy smacks the idiot on the shoulder. “Fuck you!”

They chuckle and continue down the halls until they reach the front entrance. The bus stop is another block away, and Tommy tosses his friend a nervous glance as he holds the door. His knuckles are white and clammy gripping their crutches, and his arms are starting to shake as they hoist him past. Their brow is furrowed and lips tight in a clear struggle he refuses to name.

“Hey, we can take a rest-” he starts, but the sharp glare he receives in response immediately marks that as a mistake.

“I’m fine. You’re late,” Ranboo huffs, tone final.

They continue down the street, Tommy making sure to walk at the other’s pace, hands awkwardly twiddling with an antsy instinct to reach out for assistance if needed. That nervous tension is probably what’s driving Ranboo to heave so harshly and swiftly with his crutches, jaw clenching tighter with every step, but that doesn’t mean Tommy can stop it.

When they finally reach the bus stop, Tommy sinks down onto the bench with probably ten times the relief than his disabled friend. He checks his phone, and maps reads they have a four minute wait before the next bus. 

The silence is suffocating, fighting for Ranboo’s gaze to no avail as he tucks into himself, crossing their arms across their chest.

“You’re really not gonna tell me what that was?” Tommy finally blurts, phone dropping to his lap.

“No, I’m really not.” Their tone has an edge sharper than blades, and just enough sass to light a fire under Tommy’s tongue.

“Why not!? The fuck is up your ass today, bitch?”

Eyes blazing, Ranboo’s upper body whirls on Tommy, arms slapping down and clutching onto the bench. “It’s none of your business, Tom! Why is it so hard for you to get that?”

The boy flinches back like he’s been slapped, head spinning with heat while his heaving lungs claw with stinging cold. He’s never heard Ranboo use that tone before, not even when the kid was a week deep into sleep deprivation and hurting all over, snapping at Tommy to please just give them some space for a while.

They both get angry and annoyed, they can both be cold and brutal - but the way those words twisted with such exhaustion and genuine distaste; tears are burning in Tommy’s eyes before he can even catch his breath.

Fighting down the urge to flee into the streets, he shuts his mouth with a click and curtly turns away. “Fine! I’ll just go fuck myself, then! My bad, bitch!” he spits, gripping his jeans so tightly they might just rip.

Silence returns and Tommy welcomes it like a smothering blanket, slowly breathing out the ice and cinders from his lungs. Before he’s even nearly rid of the tightness, the bus is pulling up with a trail of searing squeaks.

He rises stiffly, watching Ranboo board through the corner of his eye. His feet instinctively find their way closer as his friend shakily bridges the gap. They sit shoulder to shoulder yet continue to stubbornly ignore each other for the whole ten-minute trip.

When they arrive, instincts once again take over and Tommy scrambles to his feet just as the bus lurches to a stop, whirling around and standing on the far side of Ranboo’s seat. His back is jostled by two impatient bodies before Ranboo even gets their crutches down, an irritating reminder of why this habit was developed.

All too often, strangers prioritize whatever busy bullshit they have going on over allowing Ranboo to exit safely, ahead of the crowd. Like shit, there’s a damn second door. Whether these idiots just don’t notice the kid’s black crutches, or if they're just plain assholes, Tommy has long since lost the patience for them and prefers acting as a silent shield.

There are still no words exchanged as the two of them make their way into the Crow’s Nest lobby, but Ranboo does immediately make a beeline for the right corner, where the nurses keep a few wheelchairs for frequent patients to borrow for their visits. He collapses into one with a stiff sigh.

Tommy approaches hesitantly, but Ranboo quickly waves him off.

“Just go in, Phil’s waiting,” he says, at least a little gentler than before.

So, reluctantly, he does. Tommy tries to smile and greet all the familiar faces at the reception desk and throughout the halls like usual, but it’s heavy. He breaks into a jog, using his lateness as an excuse to avoid more awkward tension.

His feet carry him easily through the twists and turns of the corridors despite his eyes not really processing what’s in front of him. He can’t stop thinking of Ranboo, a frown gradually wearing down his faux easy grin. Obviously something is wrong - whether it’s the kid’s parents, or school bullies, or something about his condition - but the most worrisome thing is that they won’t tell Tommy. 

Ranboo hates secrets. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep them, but if he won’t tell Tommy, that means two things. One, it’s something really bad. Two, Ranboo is really, really scared.

And Tommy’s mind is having a field day thinking up every possible horrible thing that could mean. What if the kid’s in danger? What if he’s moving schools or something? Or leaving the country? What if something’s gone really wrong and they might die soon?

The boy is harshly torn from his thoughts in the split moment that he sees black and white fabric before colliding with it. He only lets out a muffled grunt, answered by a startled yelp as arms quickly clutch around him, saving them both from falling.

“Woah! I missed you, too, Tommy!” A warm, familiar voice giggles, still swinging their body weight to straighten him out.

Pulling back, Tommy is unable to help the beaming grin from stretching over his face as he looks up at the teasing face of Kristin. “Sorry, my running tackle needs more practice before I achieve hug perfection,” he answers.

“Of course, and we all know Dr. Rosales-Watson is the best candidate for hug practice.” She boops his nose before shifting stance and raising a brow. “But somebody is late for his appointment. Again,” she scolds.

With his best puppy-eyes, he blinks innocently up at her. “I’m sorry, but I just didn’t want to leave Ranboo alone. He had some meeting after school and it was really, really long.”

Kristin shakes her head at his obvious theatrics, but her smirk fades at the mention of Ranboo.

“They came here with you?” she asks, tone unreadable.

Nodding, Tommy swallows down more rising anxiety. “Yeah. I think he’s in pain. They wouldn’t tell me what the meeting was about,” he adds a little bitterly.

He resists the urge to ask what’s going on with Ranboo, knowing that even if Kristin knows, she’ll only say it’s not her place to say.

“I’ll be sure to say hi,” Kristin replies, a silent promise to look after the kid.

Tommy smiles gratefully, a small bit of weight lifting off his shoulders. The doctor playfully tousles his hair as she leaves, patting the boy’s back to send him in the direction of his appointment room. 

Usually, arriving late means that he’ll be waiting a good while for Phil to get back from his other duties, so it comes as quite the surprise when Tommy turns the handle and opens the door to two figures sitting inside. Both figures turn immediately, one brightening like the sun while the other scowls like storm clouds - Wilbur and Phil.

“Tommy!” Wil’s arms shoot out, eagerly inviting an embrace where he sits on the leather chair.

Despite his shock, the boy wastes no time crossing the distance, allowing himself to get swallowed up into the man’s arms and rocked back and forth. 

Ever since they met almost two years back, Wilbur has become one of Tommy’s closest friends. They text and call for hours every day, and the man recently started making a habit of visiting the hospital whenever he knows Tommy will be there. 

He knows Wil visits with plenty of the staff members as well, and it used to be more of a coincidence that he’d run into Tommy. But the boy started taking regular factor after Phil and Kristin finally worked something out with his parents, so it happened more often.

The man has been busy with work lately, however, so it’s been almost three weeks since they’ve seen each other last. He looks noticeably healthier, a fresh haircut and rosy cheeks under the rims of his round, dorky glasses. He knows Wilbur is happier now that Phil and Techno finally convinced him to drop out of college and is loving his new coffee shop job, so Tommy doesn’t mind missing him a little.

Doesn’t mean he isn’t ecstatic to see him again.

“Fuck you and your dumb job, bitch!” Tommy grumbles into the man’s white collar that peeks out from one of his many, many dumb, dorky brown sweaters.

“ Aww, I missed you, too, you little gremlin!” 

“And you missed your time slot, you little shit,” Phil cuts irritably through Wilbur’s cooing.

Squirming around in Wilbur’s hold, Tommy turns his Baby Blues™ on the nurse, a fist covering his mouth as he struggles not to smile.

“I’m sorry, Phil, I didn’t mean to!” he insists with all the same theatrics he used with Kristin. “Please forgive me.”

With a smothered giggle, Wilbur squishes Tommy’s cheeks in one hand, gazing imploringly at the older man. “C’mon, look at that face! Forgive him, forgive the child, Dadza!”

Phil erupts into cackling laughter as Tommy burns beet-red, limbs twists and flailing until he forces out of the younger dumbass’ hold, sending a few kicks to his ribs for good measure. Because what the fuck!? If anyone was the absolute expert in embarrassing Tommy into a steaming puddle of shame, it was no doubt Wilbur.

He was constantly drawing parallels between the boy and everyone he interacted with, pushing familial labels on them as if Tommy was anything more than a nuisance to these kind people just doing their jobs. The nickname ‘Dadza’ was just the latest example of this, and Tommy was starting to feel like getting a little revenge.

“Fuck you, bitch! I’m not a child! I’m a bigger man than you’ll ever be!” he growls as he clutches the edge of the seat, heels stomping against the man’s back as it heaves with laughter and a decent amount of pain.

“Okay, okay!” Phil breathes, trying to get his arms in between them. “I swear, the both of you are children!”

“How dare you!” Tommy and Wilbur gasp in perfect unison.

They freeze as the nurse keels over laughing again. “Yeah, there you go, exactly!” he wheezes. “Can’t tell you little shits apart!”

In a split second’s hesitation, an impulse grips Tommy’s mind - driven partly by vengeance and partly by whatever strange floatiness is spinning up there right now - and it spills out before the moment ends.

“You know that’s true, Wilbur. We’re a bit like brothers, aren’t we?” 

Now, Tommy swears he means it as a tease. He means to embarrass the man, make him flinch back and turn red, angrily denying the ridiculous notion. That’s what he expects to happen - it is - ignoring that small voice in the back of his head begging otherwise.

What he was not expecting was for the smile on Wilbur’s face to fall, dark eyes widening and shimmering with strange light. 

And the last thing Tommy expects to hear so sincerely and thick with emotion as the man’s lips twist up is: “Don’t say that, I will cry.”

Any potential response the boy could’ve made is decidedly caught in the tangle of whatever invasive emotions are currently attempting to close up his windpipe. All that tumbles out is a vicious cough, which Tommy takes full advantage of for folding over and covering his blazing, dumbstruck face.

“Aw, mate…” is Phil’s commentary, and Tommy could do without all the gooey warmth oozing from the words.

This is the worst. The boy wants nothing more than to sink down to the floor, melt into the cracks and never emerge again. Phil is patting his back now, thinking he’s having a coughing fit, and he can feel Wilbur smiling down at him again.

Mercifully, the nurse provides him an out from this humiliation hell. Unfortunately, that out just so happens to be another landmine.

“Why were you late this time, Tom?”

Clearing his throat, Tommy decides to go with the closest version of the truth. It’s a good excuse, as long as no one tries to verify any of the fine print. 

“Ranboo had a meeting that ran long, so I made Mum wait. He would’ve been stuck at school otherwise, ‘cause he always comes with us!” he reasons, making sure to add enough self-righteous whining to his tone to make it believable.

The nurse nods in acceptance and Tommy internally sighs relief. But in the corner of his eye, Wilbur’s brows furrow. As Phil preps the factor, the other man turns that troubled gaze on the boy.

“What was Ranboo’s meeting about? Is he doing okay?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy answers, a little too sharply. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

He gets wary looks from both men, but Wilbur’s is instantly wreathed in flame.

“He’s not getting any trouble from bullies, is he?” the man demands.

Shaking his head, Tommy grimaces. “Nah, he was pretty clear that that wasn’t it.”

Wilbur crosses his arms, unconvinced. “And you would’ve sworn the same last year,” he points out sourly. “Those dickheads haven’t-”

“No,” Tommy replies immediately, rolling up his sleeve for Phil. “I haven’t even seen ‘em since they switched classes. And I’m with Ran pretty much all the time. I think I’d know if he was getting any trouble, but…”

The needle punctures the boy’s arm as Wilbur lets out a contemplative noise, scratching his chin. Tommy didn’t expect the man to be quite so invested in Ranboo’s situation, but he does always get riled up at the mention of bullies. It was kind of nice to be able to vent his fears and frustrations like this and have his energy mirrored back.

“I’ll have to chat with him,” Wil murmurs absently. “See what’s up.”

“If this meeting was about that,” Phil pipes up, withdrawing the empty needle and smoothing tape over the cotton ball. “Then it sounds like the school is already handling the situation.”

The statement is extremely pointed, but Tommy is surprised to find it directed solely at Wilbur. The two men are having some sort of stare-down, a thousand words being exchanged in the silence - none of which the boy can read. 

The only thing that’s clear to see is that neither are very happy with the other.

It finally breaks as Wilbur turns away with a shrug. “Still no harm checking in,” he murmurs, tension still clinging like heavy fog.

“The fuck’s happening,” Tommy can’t help blurting, glaring accusingly at the two men who have so rudely opted to pretend he isn’t there.

“Sorry, Tommy,” Phil replies immediately, an easy smile curling onto his face once more. “How’s school going? That maths test go well?”

Now, the boy knows a good deflection when he hears it, and his narrowed gaze makes sure Phil knows it, too. However, he has been waiting to rant about that fucking bullshit test and Ms. Karen-the-Kraken’s ridiculous injustice and general bitchiness - so he lets it slide for now.

But even as he leaps into passionate ramblings, Tommy takes note of the way a certain stiffness never quite fades from both men’s shoulders. They both jump in on his rant, backing him up and providing colourful commentary on what his maths teacher deserves, but Wil doesn’t meet Phil’s eyes the whole time.

Eventually, the nurse is pulled away to his duties, and Wilbur and Tommy go off to look for Ranboo. Well, they don’t need to ‘look’, really - They know exactly where they’ll find the kid.

Wilbur is back to his cheery self on the walk towards the resident’s wing, humming as he swings Tommy’s arm back and forth. The boy could pretend to still be annoyed from earlier, but getting to hop, skip and swing around with the man he’s missed so much is just way more appealing. He recognizes the tune Wil is humming as one of his new songs and starts bouncing excitedly.

“Are you gonna play it for me soon? I’ll be the first one to hear it, right? You’ll play it for me first,” he clutches the man’s fingers in both hands as he dashes backwards in front of him, staring urgently up into his eyes.

Other hand clutching back, Wilbur bursts into laughter. His pace slows as a result, and he ends up stumbling a bit as Tommy drags him on.

“You will! You have to!” he insists through the man’s giggles. “Promise me! You have to promise!”

“You’ll be the first to hear it, Tommy,” Wil sighs fondly. “I promise.”

The boy beams, unable to help himself jumping up and down in little happy hops. He doesn’t release Wil’s hands, jumping in circles and spinning them both around and around. The man doesn’t stop laughing, only losing harder every time Tommy lets out a shout of ‘pog’ or ‘we win these, gamers’.

Luckily, most of the hospital staff are used to their antics by now and pay no mind beyond head shakes and smiles. But after all the spinning, Wilbur forces them to a bit of a shaky stop, swaying on his feet.

“Woah! Pause, I think I-” he lets out a low whistling noise, face red and eyes bright and dazed.

It’s not as if Tommy is doing any better - much worse in fact, as he nearly slips from Wil’s hold and careens for the tile. Spinning as an anemic is not recommended, but somehow the boy always forgets.

“Whoops,” he chuckles, pressing his back against the wall and watching the halls continue their high-speed merry-go-round.

Wilbur breaths his own chuckle, clumsily pinching Tommy’s cheek. “I think we need some water and crisps, yeah? I’ll go get some.”

The boy nods, suddenly realizing how thirsty he is. He barely processes the man stumbling away, presumably in the direction of some of the hospital’s vending machines. 

By the time Tommy’s eyes are able to focus properly, Wil is no where in sight. He waves lazily to a few passing nurses. Some smile and wave back, one winks at him. That was probably Hannah Rose.

A familiar restlessness begins to tug at his buzzing, lethargic limbs. His fingers absently tap the wall. What’s taking Wilbur so long? It’s probably only been like a minute, but it suddenly feels like hours. The lights in the hall feel like they’re drilling a hole in Tommy’s skull.

Deciding he’s had enough of boring waiting, the boy shoves his back off the wall, only swaying a little bit as his forearms stay bent back, bracing him. The black and chromatic sparkles floating around his vision tell Tommy he should be sitting right now, not moving. But that’s boring, and he wants to see Ranboo already.

He shuffles down the hall, left arm bouncing him back every time he sways too close to the wall. When he turns the corner, spotting the room he’s looking for, a frowning face turns on him as he catches his balance again.

“Tommy, sit down! You’re going to fall and crack your head open!” Tina scolds, grasping his shoulders immediately.

The boy smiles wryly. Tina is one of the only other residents that actually uses the Study Room - a small, quiet space filled with reading materials - AKA the best place at the Crow’s Nest to find Techno and, by extension, Ranboo.

“I happen to be headed to just the place for sitting right this moment!” he assures the woman, leaning confidently against the wall, beaming through the violent lurching in his head.

Her frown doesn’t fade, but she does sigh and relax her hold. “Why isn’t Wilbur with you? You know you can’t be-”

“He’s busy being my errand boy.” Tommy waves his hand dismissively. “Fetching me things, serving my every whim.”

That cracks a smile from Tina. She opens her mouth to say more but is cut off by a beep from the pager on her belt. Her eyes dart to it with the guilty haste that knows she needs to be somewhere. Tommy raises an eyebrow, leveling her with a look.

“Now, run along, young lady, you have other patients to attend to!” he teases, pushing at her shoulder.

Tina’s eyes narrow with a fiery glare, but her lips still twitch toward a grin. “Uh-uh, you’re not getting out of this that easy,” she scolds, shifting as one arm slides around the boy’s shoulders.

She quickly but carefully guides Tommy across the hall to the Study Room and sits him down into the first acceptable chair-adjacent object they come across - a low desk near the doorway.

“You stay right here til Wilbur finds you,” she orders, finger practically touching his nose.

The boy folds his hands neatly in his lap, smiling with mock sincerity. She certainly catches the sarcasm, but clearly has no time to reprimand him further. With a quick tousle of his hair, Tina dashes from the room.

Absent of any remorse, Tommy immediately hops off the table the moment she’s out of sight. He loves Tina - she’s sweet and fun and she’s always adamant he never leaves the Crow’s Nest without a lollipop. But just like most of the hospital staff, her concern can be a little overbearing.

Now, Tommy won't pretend he doesn’t enjoy being doted on. Of course it’s nice when people are concerned for your well-being, and it feels really warm to be cared about. But it’s never not going to taste sour when he’s scolded. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stomp out that flash of fire that rises every time someone tells him what to do. 

No matter how reasonable the concern, Tommy just can’t help but feel like he’s being suffocated. He’s so sick of hearing the never-ending list of can’ts imposed on his life. Every command is another lock on his cage, keeping him away from the blissful freedom he always craves.

So, yeah, maybe the world is still spinning a bit. Maybe Tommy can’t exactly walk straight, but he knows how to keep his balance by leaning on the bookshelves. Yeah, maybe it would be better for him to rest, but he’s tired of people telling him what he has to do - like they’re the ones living with his body and not him.

The sound of a soft, deep voice snaps the boy out of his thoughts, and he staggers a little closer to the noise. It’s drifting from beyond the maze of bookshelves, in the furthest corner - the room is designed to surround each section with three shelves to give each space extra privacy. 

But it’s not a very large room, and sound carries easily. He locates which nook the voice is coming from in no time. It’s definitely Techno, but the boy’s not close enough to make out any words yet, or whether or not there’s another person with him. In the effort of remedying that, Tommy’s foot catches a little on the carpet and he falls forward, both hands clutching at the wood as he leans heavy into a bookshelf. 

Luckily, he manages to stay upright, but the shakiness in his limbs and black spots in his vision have intensified to a degree that’s definitely not recommended. His ears ring so loud he can’t hear Techno anymore. 

Because Tommy is not an idiot who wants to prove all his oppressive guardians correct, he lowers himself to the floor, head dropping between his knees. The black spots fade quickly, and relief washes through his body being freed from the burden of staying upright. So what if Tina had a point? He didn’t let himself fall or crack his head open, now, did he?

He breathes deep, the ringing slowly fading out to the sound of Techno’s voice again. But then another voice chimes in, sniffled and high-pitched, as if speaking through tears. Ranboo.

“It’s not fair! I’m scared- I’m scared and I don’t want this!” Ranboo sounds out of breath, choking on every word with a desperation and rage that Tommy hasn’t ever heard from the kid before. “I don’t want it- I don’t know what to do,  I’m scared! ”

The words devolve into muffled, heart-wrenching sobs and Tommy’s heart leaps to his throat. He should not be listening to this, but he can’t bring himself to move away. Physically and emotionally.

“That makes perfect sense, kid,” Techno murmurs. “In your shoes I’d feel exactly the same. It is scary. It is unfair.”

Ranboo cries harder, still muffled presumably by the resident’s chest.

“I’m right here, kid,” the man whispers again. “We’re here with you.”

Tears sting in Tommy’s own eyes as his friend wails again. He’s overcome with the urge to run in and join the hug, but given how cold Ranboo was acting earlier, he doesn’t think they would want him to overhear any of this.

This is enough to confirm for Tommy that the issue Ranboo is currently dealing with is definitely to do with his condition, not bullies or home life. If the kid had brought up either of those topics with Techno, the man would certainly be offering more than comfort.

But it still doesn’t make sense to Tommy why Ranboo refused to tell him about this. Some gnashing, whining part of his mind insists that it’s because his friend doesn’t trust him to handle it well and they hate him actually.

“Have you been gettin’ much sleep lately?” Techno’s voice gently cuts through the boy’s spinning thoughts again.

More sniffling is the only response. Or maybe Ranboo shook his head, because Techno sighs. It’s not surprising to Tommy, and he’s sure it isn’t to the resident either. Sleep apnea is a bitch, and Ranboo is paranoid enough to just stay awake all night rather than risking any late night panic attacks from his body deciding ‘eh, breathing isn’t important’.  

“Sleeping on your side hasn’t been helping?”

“Can’t,” the kid chokes out. “Hurts.”

“Hm…” A chair creaks with the sound of Techno’s slow, heavy breathing. “We could get you a machine. It might-”

“No,” Ranboo cuts in with a harsh sniff. “It’s not- It’s not that... Not really.”

Tommy sits up at that, head only spinning a little. The silence that grips the space is crackling with something, but it’s impossible to sense what. At least not without actually seeing the two figures, but there’s no way the boy can reveal himself now.

“...Nightmares?” Techno asks, so soft that Tommy barely hears it.

“No- Well,” Ranboo stammers, sniffling a few times. “Kinda. I- I dunno…”

“S’alright, talk to me.”

Tucking into himself, Tommy buries his chin into his knees. Between his worry over whatever’s going on and something about the way Techno’s talking, it’s getting really hard to not cry. Fuck, he really wants a hug.

After a long silence peppered with sobs, Techno gently nudges again. “...Ranboo?”

“I can’t sleep at home,” the kid blurts, breath hitching like he has more to say.

But he doesn’t go on. Tommy hears some shuffling and more sniffs, easily picturing the look on Techno’s face: one brow raised, head half-turned, eyes inviting. He’s a good listener.

Still, the man has to prompt the kid again to get more out of him.

“Why not, Ranboo?”

A sharp inhale, a stifling silence.

A croak, barely whispered: “...I’m scared. ”

At the echo of the words, Tommy swears that all of the air is sucked out of the room. His body is washed with an icy wave, churning his stomach. He’s never heard Ranboo sound so afraid, throat squeezing so tight around their statement as if their body desperately doesn’t want him to speak at all.

Before he can think any further about what could make his friend feel that way, a single, unabashed shout rips his mind off the rails.

“Tommy!” Wilbur’s voice rings clear from the Study Room entrance. “Are you in here?”

Shit. Tommy is no stranger to being caught red-handed - one could even say he’s a seasoned expert. But no amount of experience could prepare him for the paralyzing mortification of finding himself literally backed into a corner some place he absolutely should not be.

There’s no way he gets out of this - best he can do is sow enough doubt that he was straight-up lurking on the entirety of his best friend’s extremely personal, private conversation.

As silently as possible while scrambling for his life, Tommy stands to a goblinoid crouch and sprints on his tiptoes to the nearest sheltered spot. He only just barely dives onto the beanbag in another reading nook before Wilbur rounds the corner, holding two water bottles and bags of crisps, eyeing the boy with confused exasperation.

“Sup, Big Dubs.” Tommy attempts to be casual despite his heart hammering in his chest.

“What the fuck, gremlin!? You couldn’t wait five minutes!?”

He shrugs. “You’re slow. Tina moved me here so I wouldn’t ‘crack my head open’.”

A bag of crisps smacks Tommy in the face a moment before a heavy thud lands on the carpet beside him. He squawks offense, throwing the bitch a death glare.

“You wrong’un! You nearly bruised me!”

Wilbur shakes his head, smiling despite the irritable way he rolls his eyes. “I aimed for the floor, child!”

The boy opens his mouth to spit out more ingenious, scathing remarks, but the words die on his tongue at the soft sound of another voice.

“...Tommy?”

Head snapping to the sound, he meets Ranboo’s gaze as they peek around the corner, Techno hovering behind him. His eyes are red and puffy, skin blotchy and no doubt stinging painfully. Their bottom lip is chewed to shit and their fingers twist together and pick at the fabric of his sweater. 

The look on their face - beyond being unfathomably tired - is a pinched-up discomfort and anxiety. They’re wondering how much Tommy heard. 

Play dumb, Tommy!  

“Oh, hey, Ranboo!” 

Not that dumb, bitch! He instantly berates himself, internally cringing. There’s no way Ranboo will buy that he didn’t even know they were there, the room is hardly fucking soundproof.

“Were you and Techno, uh… talking about something?” he adds slowly, completely failing to keep his tone light.

Ranboo looks away, hugging himself. “Uh… Yeah.”

Tommy feels a little better about his shitty-ass cover when his friend doesn’t even attempt one of their own. The awkwardness is palpable, but the boy is a lot more focused on the lingering fear. It’s still radiating off of them both, and Techno, too. But he’s not about to push any further today - not after everything.

Apparently, Wilbur missed that memo. “Oh yeah? What about?”

He approaches the other two, shoving Techno’s shoulder as he leans down to catch the gaze of the kid who is desperately fighting to keep it anywhere else.

“Just, uh… venting.”

It’s honestly a little commendable that Ranboo’s refusing to lie, but maybe that’s just because he doesn’t believe Tommy didn’t hear everything.

“Yeah? Is someone bothering you, buddy?” Wil immediately latches on, flicking his gaze to Techno as if to check for confirmation. “If any dickheads at school are picking on you, we can make sure that never happens again.”

Shock freezes Tommy’s brain for a moment as he processes the words. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Could this be why Phil and Wilbur had that weird staredown before? What the hell is Wil-

“No one is bothering me at school,” Ranboo huffs.

And it’s subtle - really subtle. But Tommy and Techno have just enough context to catch the careful phrasing buried under exasperation, and Wilbur has always been adept at picking up soft subtext.

“At school?”

Ranboo instantly tucks into themself, even bumping into Techno a little as his foot steps back. They’re shaking, breath quick and eyes wide with the terror of being cornered. Tommy knows it well, having just experienced it not five minutes ago.

“Who’s bothering you outside of school?” Wil continues, either oblivious to the kid’s panic or too pissed to care.

“Wilbur.” Techno’s hands wrap protectively over Ranboo’s shoulder’s as he shoots the other man a warning glare. “Lay off.”

This at least seems to snap the bitch into awareness, but even while recoiling sheepishly he still glares back with fire. His hands close into fists and he opens his mouth to protest.

“Prime, Wil, read the room,” Tommy sighs heavily, raising his eyes to heaven as he grabs the dork by the wrist. “We’re interrupting. Let’s go prank Jack Manifold or something.”

He drags Wilbur away, the bitch sputtering the whole time, and meets Ranboo’s eyes one more time before rounding the corner. The look is full of guilt, gratitude, fear, and relief. He nods to them, and they nod back.

Later that night, when Wilbur finally takes his leave to catch the bus, Tommy wanders to his own stop, assuming Ranboo would rather make his own way home. Just before he reaches the bench, a buzz rumbles in his pocket. He checks his phone, stopping dead when he reads the message on the screen.

Ranboob: Thank you, Tom.

I’m staying at the hospital tonight.

He only hesitates a moment, shock stalling the cogs in his brain, before typing back.

Wifehaver: Which room?

Turning around, Tommy keeps his grip on his phone as he marches back towards the Crow’s Nest, waiting for the buzz of his friend’s reply. He moves a lot faster than recommended, chest heaving and heart racing by the time he reaches the parking lot, but he’s too caught up in the clashing feelings swirling his body. 

Anxiety storms freely, squeezing at his lungs and throat, and yet the boy feels a thousand times lighter than before. The heavy weight that’s been pressing down on him since he and Ranboo first fought is finally lifted a little. Some loud, pathetic part of Tommy’s mind had convinced him that he’d fucked up irreversibly and ruined the friendship he relies on so heavily. 

No matter how irrational the thought, he’d been sure that Ranboo was going to abandon him - finally sick of him like the rest of the world already was.

But Ranboo didn’t have to reach out. They would’ve been completely right to leave their communication severed, festering bitter distance until sunrise. They certainly didn’t have to thank him for dragging Wilbur out to give him space.

His palm vibrates and Tommy lifts the screen, pushing through the glass, lobby doors.

Ranboob: You don’t have to stay

I’ll be okay

Wifehaver: Never heard of that room, king

Im staying bitch

Ranboob: …

You’re impossible.

Wifehaver: Bitch dont make my wait in this fvckn loby

Ranboob: 206, idiot.

Tommy doesn’t bother redoing his hellos to all the people he just said goodbye to, instead racing down the halls, paying attention to nothing but the slowly rising numbers marking passing green-curtained, white doors. 

When he arrives, Techno is unsurprisingly already present. He doesn’t say much to Tommy, taking his leave after a little while with a soft whisper to the kid. Ranboo doesn’t say much either, but Tommy doesn’t care so much anymore. 

If Techno knows, if his friend is staying here for now, he trusts that they will be okay. The last thing he’s interested in now is more pushing. He just sits with Ranboo - joking, chatting, scrolling on his phone - just being with them.

When the night gets late, Sam comes in and gets Ranboo hooked up to a machine for his sleep apnea. It’s clunky and Tommy can tell the kid is embarrassed by it, so he makes sure to tease them about how awesome and handsome they look. 

Eventually they settle down, Tommy snuggling up on the edge of the bed, chin resting on Ranboo’s shoulder. Just as he’s drifting on the edge, easing towards sleep, a soft voice tugs at his ear, ushering him back to reality.

“Did you hear it all, Tommy?”

For a few moments, the boy just draws in deep breaths, eyelids unmoving. When his friend’s chest expands to ask again is when he answers.

“I heard a lot,” he murmurs, swallowing thickly, eyes still closed. “Not on purpose, I swear.”

They fall to silence for another long pause, broken only by heavy breathing and the whirr of a machine, which presumably now sits under Ranboo’s chin. Tommy swears he almost drifts off again. Sue him, he’s exhausted.

“I’m going to have to start using a wheelchair at school soon,” Ranboo whispers sourly.

Shifting closer, Tommy scowls through sleepy confusion. “Oh. That’s… bad?”

The kid sighs, breath blowing Tommy’s curls. “No, I need it. My legs have given up.”

Tommy makes a disgruntled noise. “Y’scared d’ck’eads’ll make fun?” he slurs.

Another sigh. “Maybe. I dunno. I…” Ranboo’s breath hitches strangely. “I feel like I’m… losing my life before I even got to live it.”

Eyes blinking open in shock, Tommy sits up, peering down through the bleary darkness at his friend’s crumpling face. Their eyes shine with tears, but the emotion rolling off him in waves is bitter, burning rage.

“What- what do you mean?”

“Tommy, the only friends I have I met at a hospital! ” he blurts with a sob. “I’ve never left the city, I barely go anywhere, and now I can’t even take the bus in the morning because it’s not wheelchair accessible! And I can’t- I-”

The kid’s breaths are becoming ragged, and Tommy is quick to take his hands, pressing down with his thumbs in a steady, back and forth motion. Ranboo responds instantly to the grounding action, already schooling his breathing before the boy even reminds him to.

“I thought I could wait,” Ranboo chokes out after a minute, sitting up as tears spill freely. “But I’m already running out of time and I- I’m so scared but I can’t. I can’t wait anymore.”

The air in Tommy’s lungs goes frigid. The echo of the kid’s whisper, that cracked, deathly-terrified voice speaking the simple words: “I’m scared.”  

“Can’t wait for… what?” he breaths, dreading the answer as much as he craves it.

Ranboo looks up, lips drawn into a thin line, eyes hollow and filled with death. It sends shivers down Tommy’s spine, and he squeezes their palms tighter.

“To grow up,” they hiss through their teeth, like a curse. 

“To move out. I can’t-” Ranboo inhales so sharply it has to hurt. “Tommy, I told Techno- I told him why I can’t sleep at home.”

Tommy swallows stinging, waiting for his friend to continue. A few more tears drip down onto the cream comforter as Ranboo steadies his breathing, finally looking up again, not quite into the boy’s eyes.

“My… parents.” Their voice is hoarse, once again so quiet that Tommy can barely hear. “I’m… I’m scared of them.”

It shouldn’t be so surprising at this point. He’s known Ranboo hates going home, and he’s never heard them sing their praises or anything. But he’d just assumed the assholes were like his parents - cold, strict, snobby - people who just didn’t give a shit. 

But if Ranboo is scared of them, then…

“Have they hurt you?” The words slip out before he can think, carrying a heat that Tommy hadn’t even processed despite the fact that it’s suddenly burning out of control inside him.

Lips twitching into a shaky smile, Ranboo huffs out a breath. Tears roll down, shaking their shoulders, and he gasps for breath, shaking their head. For a moment, Tommy thinks the kid is saying no, but then he drops their head into his and Tommy’s joined hands.

“Tommy… Techno says I’m not going home to them,” he sputters strangely, almost like he’s laughing more than sobbing. “ Ever again. ”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Scrambling forward, Tommy pulls the sobbing twelve-year-old tightly into his arms, squeezing as if maybe, if he squeezes hard enough, he can chase away every bad thing that put tears into Ranboo’s eyes.

They fall asleep at some point, cuddling together as exhaustion swallows the two of them whole. 

They forget to readjust Ranboo’s sleep thing, but luckily someone fixed it while they were sleeping. Tommy thinks it was Tina, but Ranboo’s seems certain it was Techno, despite the resident definitely being off shift by the time they fell asleep.

“He said he’d check on me.” Is Ranboo’s only argument.

And maybe Tommy shouldn’t doubt it - the man is taking it upon himself to rescue the kid from an abusive household, afterall. 

Phil and Kristin join Techno to greet them in the morning, even offering Tommy a ride to school. He declines, immediately launching into a persuasive debate over why he should be allowed to skip school for just this one day to support Ranboo. But it’s awful hard to win a debate like that when your traitorous friend sides against you. 

So, he takes the bus to school. The next couple weeks are long and boring and filled with text conversations. He gets his phone taken away a record number of times but keeps finding creative ways to message Ranboo anyway. Who knew you can fax the Crow’s Nest Family Hospital from the printer in the reception office?

He gets more than his fair share of detentions, too, but that hardly deters him. Ranboo is a nervous wreck lately, drawing further and further into himself as the whirlwind of legal bullshit picks up all around them. Even when things with their parents start to settle, he only seems to sink further down.

Their legs hurt a lot, they keep having night terrors, and he misses going to school. He’s not adjusting very well to using the wheelchair, either. Functionally, he’s fine, but they’ve become so much sourer since they started using it all the time.

And it’s not like Tommy can’t handle a little bad attitude - banter is his favourite activity. But it’s just… not Ranboo. They’re spiralling, and he doesn’t know how to help.

It all comes to a head in the first week that Ranboo is back in school.

Starting with smaller things. Some kid snickers and makes a whispered remark mocking their wheelchair and before Tommy can cuss them out for it, Ranboo backs up right over the dickhead’s foot.

No problems there - not even detention. But it boils under the surface, simmering just under their skin. He talks back to a teacher and gets detention. Tommy flips her off to join them. 

They end up skipping it together, doing a lap around the school before heading to lunch.

The dickhead shows up again with some friends. They’re pissed and Tommy shouting for a teacher and socking one of them in the jaw does not help with that. He yells at Ranboo to get back as the biggest bitch jumps on him.

Ranboo doesn’t get back. He rams the guy pinning Tommy down, knocking him off balance, fist slamming into the dickhead’s nose as he’s pushed over. The other three swarm in as Tommy tries to get back up and then what does the fucking idiot do!?

They stand up out of their wheelchair - who knows when the fuck he grabbed his crutches - and proceed to brain one bitch three times rapid fire with a crutch. It gets torn away and he swings a damn fist at the bastard who stole it.

And Prime, Tommy tries to help. His head was already lurching from colliding with the floor and the blood spilling from his nose may become a concern later, but he still throws himself into the fray, trying to get those bastards away from Ranboo.

He ends up with a few more dramatic bruises and a sprained ankle for his efforts, and Ranboo… they get tackled down under a flurry of blows. By the time the teachers show up and break up the fight, they’re unconscious.

Tommy will never forget the look on Techno’s face when Ranboo is wheeled in. Ghastly pale, shaken, and murderous.

Silver lining on this catastrophe - the dickheads get expelled. Given the fact that Miss Puffy escorted the kids to the hospital and is close with both Techno and the principal, Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if the pink-haired resident had something to do with it.

It takes Ranboo three days to wake up. Three days that Tommy sits at his bedside, guilt eating him alive, refusing to even entertain the suggestion that he go to school.

“We’ll look after him, Tommy,” Phil says gently, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re not doing either of you any good just sitting here stressing.”

Tommy shakes his head, hands clasping tighter around Ranboo’s cold, limp fingers. The bruises discolouring their face staring back like a sickening taunt. Why couldn’t the moron just get back? Why did he get up and throw himself into that mess like it was going to go any other way?

And the deeper, crueller, more truthful voice that asks: Why did I throw the fucking punch?

Because that’s the truth. Tommy started that fight, even if those dickheads were looking for one. He should have known Ranboo would go off the rails like this. He should have been smarter, thought about their safety instead of the burning rage that Ranboo no doubt felt tenfold.

Tears prick at the corners of Tommy’s eyes. He ducks his head, squeezing them shut. Phil’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

“...Tommy?” A sluggish voice cuts the moment in two.

With a sharp gasp, Tommy pounces, arms wrapping his friend in a warm embrace - one they immediately wince from. Shit-

“Oh, Prime- Shit, sorry!” he stammers breathlessly, jerking back.

Ranboo smiles weakly, something dry and almost teasing.

“Hey, Ranboo? It’s Phil. How are you feeling, mate?” the nurse asks softly, kneeling down by the kid’s pillow and offering him a water cup.

“Like crap,” he groans, still smiling as they take it.

“Yeah, no shit!” Tommy blurts. “What the fuck were you thinking, dumbass?!”

The smile drops, eyes narrowing. Phil lifts a hand as they take a long sip, reminding Tommy to keep his voice low. The cup slams empty down on the nightstand.

“What I was thinking, ” Ranboo grits through his teeth. “Was: ‘Oh, crap, these idiots are being the worst! Oh no, they’re going to beat the crap out of Tommy ‘cause he’s a moron, looks like it’s time to beat them the hell up!’”

“And you don’t see anything wrong with that dumbass plan, bitch!?”

“Okay, how about we don’t-” Phil tries to cut in.

“No, I don’t! Honestly, Tommy, I think I held up a little better than you did!”

Tommy inhales so quickly his vision goes a bit dizzy. “I didn’t end up unconscious in the hospital for three fucking days, Ranboo!”

“Well, maybe you would have if I hadn’t stepped in!”

“I told you to get the fuck back! I didn’t want you getting hurt, dickhead!” Tommy’s voice shatters from emotion and strain but never loses any heat.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly happy to watch you get hurt either, idiot!”

“Prime fucking dammit, Ranboo-” the boy’s vision abruptly clutters with black spots, and in the next moment he feels a strong grip latch onto his arms.

He’s practically hanging over Ranboo on the bed now, the only thing preventing him from collapsing on top of them is Phil holding him upright. Ah, right - too dizzy for this much shouting.

Something has shifted in Ranboo’s expression, like a hard shell split open to terror and concern. It only makes Tommy more angry, because the damn selfless dickhead is not allowed to be the one worried right now, that is total bullshit. He wishes he could scream more, shake the dumbass until a sliver of logic finally clicked in his fucking tiny, smoothass brain. 

But his throat is trashed, and his head still spins. He can’t catch his breath or even lift himself out of Phil’s hold. Tears burn in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in a blink.

“Dammit…” he croaks, leaning back as Phil pulls him to his chest. “Why are you so stupid? ”

The kid just stares back, evidently warring emotions schooling his expression to something tight and steeled. Phil’s chest expands in a heavy sigh as he runs his hands up and down Tommy’s arms.

“Personally, I think you little shits are both stupid,” the nurse declares tiredly. “Getting away would have been the best option for both of you.”

Tommy’s teeth clench and he stares down at the floor. His chest is impossibly heavy under the weight of a whole clusterfuck of festering emotions. 

After a long silence, Ranboo agrees. It’s hard to tell if that admission is in any way satisfying considering how much more guilt it piles onto Tommy’s shoulders. Sure, the dumbass knows they’re a dumbass, but he also confirmed that all of this was Tommy’s fault. He was the one who made a mistake, and Ranboo was the one to pay for it.

And hell, do they pay for it. If the kid was spiralling before, they hadn’t seen anything yet.

Being trapped in bed at the Crow’s Nest was absolute torture for a kid who had just barely started adjusting to a new life with new freedoms and new restraints. He couldn’t see the foster family he’d just been introduced to, or attend the classes they’d just gotten back to, and they couldn’t even use the wheelchair he hated using.

It was obvious Ranboo could sense Tommy’s guilt over the situation, and even more obvious that the kid was making a conscious effort not to lash out because of it. 

Unfortunately, Tommy fully deserves the lashing, and in order for Ranboo to keep it held back, they’re pushing him away. That wouldn’t be a problem - again, Tommy deserves it - but it’s driving the boy crazy because his friend keeps getting worse and he can’t do anything to help!

Even Techno is getting worried, checking in with Tommy as if he’ll know better how Ranboo is doing than the resident does himself.

At this point, Tommy is one step away from sitting at the foot of their bed and poking and poking until they finally give in and scream at him again, finally blaming him out loud for making them suffer so much. At least it might give the kid a little catharsis.

At least if he gets pissed, Ranboo might look a little bit alive again.

A choked-up sigh slips past Tommy’s lips as he wanders down the hospital halls. He’s sort of heading to Ranboo’s room, but mostly he’s making the rounds, trying to build up the courage. It shouldn’t be so hard - he shouldn’t be hiding from it. No matter what Phil and Wilbur and Puffy and the other staff members have tried to tell him, he knows the truth. He knows every word, every accusation that’ll get thrown at him. The boy knows and he owns every one. 

If only he could shake away this trembling, whiny feeling twisting in his gut. If only he wasn’t such a selfish, pathetic coward and could actually face his friend like a man. 

His feet turn, taking Tommy back towards the lobby again. Still a coward. He kicks at the air, ignoring the wave that Tina sends him as she walks by. He just stares down at the tile, blocking out everything else as he carries on, hands deep in his pockets.

Heart hammering, the boy struggles to keep his thoughts in any kind of order. He feels frayed, approaching collapse.

A sharp squeal is what snaps him back to the present. He lifts his head, recognizing the sound as a stretcher in a hurry. Sure enough, spilling from the lobby is a rushing team of paramedics, shouting callouts and swiftly carting a stretcher. 

It’s surprisingly been a little while since the boy was witness to an emergency situation like this - a whirlwind of perilous desperation somehow perfectly contained in a glass case of professionalism. It’s always a little jarring, and Tommy can’t help his heart leaping to his throat as he presses his back against the wall to make room. 

But this situation is infinitely worse than every one he’s seen before, and that sinks in the moment Tommy registers how small the body is. Even worse, the figure is completely unrecognizable on account of the horrid burns covering their thin frame.

Immediately after the small figure, two more stretchers with equally charred, adult bodies rushes past. Tommy’s legs nearly give beneath him. Prime, it’s a family.  

Likely a house fire, and a brutal one at that. They somehow carried with them the thick stench of smoke, and now the boy feels like he’s choking on it.

Sinking to the floor, Tommy clamps his hands over his mouth, tears spilling freely. He has no idea why, but he’s suddenly overcome with the need to see Phil. It’s strange, the more he thinks about it. Witnessing something like that - shouldn’t he want to see his parents?

He really doesn’t have time to argue with his desires, especially with how aggressive they are right now. Tommy rises shakily to his feet and steadies himself on the wall. He glances down the hall where the burned figures were taken, sending a quick prayer to Prime that the kid and his parents will be alright, before turning the other way towards the nurse’s lounge.

With a deep breath, Tommy wipes his eyes and takes off running for Phil.

Chapter Text

His breath catches in his throat as Tommy’s feet stop dead on the glossy, refurbished tile. He’s always preferred this new sand-like pattern over the old black-speckled white one, and he’s made sure everyone at the Crow’s Nest hears about it and agrees with him. Wilbur is his biggest supporter on that front, but that’s more of a hindrance since he’ll always use the topic as an excuse to advocate for eating sand. 

“It’s tasty, and I love the way it crunches in my teeth,” he’ll say, which always used to make Tommy gag and sometimes throw a fit at the horrendously unpleasant image - jumping up and down and shaking his hands in the way that would always get him in trouble with his parents when he’d do it at home.

But Phil is always much more upset with Wilbur, reacting almost as disgusted as Tommy and declaring they need to have a talk about his ‘strange behaviour’. 

Once, Wil mockingly responded with something along the lines of ‘what do you mean, father?’, and Tommy still remembers the moment vividly. Phil leveled his gaze at the man, and without skipping a beat, replied: “Stop eating sand, son.”

The boy doesn’t really know why that moment’s stuck with him - it was just the normal, playful banter. Wilbur is constantly making family jokes, and Phil often plays along. That’s all it is. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so hung up on something dumb like that. Or why it’s currently playing on loop in his head as he stands, frozen and shaking like a leaf right outside the office where Phil is currently working.

Swallowing hard, Tommy attempts to raise his arm to knock. He never knocks, preferring to just burst into everyone’s space and announce his presence loudly. But right now, he can’t even bring his knuckles to the gray-painted wood. Tears still burn in his eyes, barely held back from flooding down his face by something like spite and overwhelming fear. His face keeps getting hotter.

He can’t stop thinking about that family - the small body on the stretcher, burned beyond recognition, followed by their equally indistinguishable parents. It makes him feel so small, fragile and cold - and so fucking alone. 

He wants- he needs to be held together. To feel safe and like everything’s going to be okay. He needs his- …He needs Phil.

But he’s so scared. Tommy’s never been scared to bother the nurse before - the man has never turned down anything he’s asked, or sighed or told him to shut up when he’s rambling, or complained that the boy is being whiny or dramatic or unreasonable. He’s always listened, always smiled, always cared. 

Phil never seems happier than when Tommy gives him a hug, so what is he so afraid of?

Some whisper in the back of his head always tells him that everyone will get tired of him, eventually throwing him away when he becomes too much - Tommy is used to that feeling. He still struggles with it even though he knows it’s wrong. Phil and Wilbur, Ranboo, Niki, Techno, Kristin, Miss Puffy and practically every other person to treat him with kindness has told him so.

It’s still hard, and the voice is always there. But it feels like something much bigger this time. Something strong enough to keep his feet rooted in place and throat closed tight.

He thinks of that moment again - where Wilbur called Phil ‘dad’ and the nurse scolded him like a son. That big, scary Something twists painfully in Tommy’s heart. It whispers in a soft, certain voice: He wouldn’t say the same to you.

Here you are, running to his door when you want a father to put you back together, but he only sees another patient. One he’s obligated to treat with kindness, nothing more.

Tommy wants to throw up. He suddenly can’t hold back the tears anymore. Hands clamping over his mouth, he tries to stifle the hiccupping sobs that tumble out of him. This is just disgustingly pathetic. Why does any of this matter to him? Why is he crumbling to dust over any of this?

Of course Phil won’t see him that way - what does it matter? He’s still the best, kindest, most comforting man Tommy has ever met, and always goes out of his way to make the boy’s life brighter. 

And of course he’d see Wilbur more as a son - Wil doesn’t have a dad, and the two of them have spent countless agonizing nights together, Phil teaching the younger man the beauty of life and the worth of fighting.

Tommy has parents - so what if they’re shit? He isn’t tearing apart at the seams like most of his former and current patient-friends. His struggles are old news, hardly even a concern anymore. He doesn’t need Phil to be his father, he just needs Phil. 

He has Phil. How is that not enough? How can he really be this selfish, crying so hard over something so small and stupid? Honestly, he doesn’t even deserve the man’s comfort if he’s going to be so whiny about it.

Turning away, Tommy forces his feet to move. But before he takes more than a single step, he’s frozen in place by the sound of a handle rattling. He doesn’t turn around at the sound of a door creaking open, or at Phil’s voice, hesitantly saying: “...Tommy?”

Fuck. He remains stiff and motionless, mind racing too fast and scrambled to process. He can’t turn around - Phil will see him snot-nosed and crying like a baby. Prime, why did he come here? He’s not six years old anymore, shaken by his first ever time watching someone get wheeled in on a stretcher covered in dark blood, face half concealed by bandages.

Why is he being such a fucking pussy? Another sob rips out as if to prove his point, jolting his whole body with it.

“Oh, mate, hey,” Phil says gently, footsteps rushing close before a warm hand falls on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, look at me. C’mere, what’s wrong?”

And like that, Tommy’s pride is forgotten. He melts into the contact, whirling around and clutching with all his dwindling might around the man’s waist. Phil’s arms curl around him without hesitation and the boy collapses even further, gasping and shuddering with violent, unending sobs.

Because maybe he’ll never have what he so selfishly wants, but with Phil holding him like this, it’s not very hard to pretend.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” the man murmurs, reminding Tommy of when he was falling apart at six years old, desperate to not be abandoned by his parents. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”

Arms curl tighter, running up and down his spine as he fights for air. It’s only after several minutes of crying that Tommy manages to get any coherent words out, but when they come out they pour out like the torrent of a crumbling dam.

“I don’ know why I’m crying, I’m being such a fucking pussy right now,” he gasps a shuddering breath, squeezing harder around Phil’s waist before continuing his rapid rant. 

“But I just- it was too much and I just broke when I saw them and I don’t know why- the kid was so small and it looked so bad, and fucking hell- they just lost everything and might not even survive and if they do then-”

“Hey, hey, slow down-” Phil cuts in, pulling back and cupping Tommy’s face in his hands. “Breathe, mate. Just breathe for a second, it’s okay.”

Feeling suddenly unbearably vulnerable, Tommy’s face twists up as he forces himself to inhale sharp and exhale slow. Phil’s thumbs brush at his tears, helpless to actually dry his eyes but relentless in their efforts anyhow. He’s staring with such open kindness and concern - as always, with Phil - but right now the warmth of it is burning.

He pulls back with a harsh sniffle, wiping his face with the red sleeves of his hoodie. Phil’s hands hover for a moment before the man lets them fall to his sides.

“Who did you see?”

Tommy shakes his head, hugging himself tight. “Just… A family. Patients. They… I think it was a house fire, I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t know why I’m-” he gestures vaguely at himself.

But Phil just steps forward with a sympathetic noise, drawing the boy into a hug again. He melts into it once more, lacking the energy to resist. The nurse absently cards his fingers through Tommy’s curls, almost swaying them both side to side.

“Feelings don’t make sense a lot, Toms. Nothing wrong with that.”

“It just- I’m being dumb, I’m sorry-”

“ No, ” Phil interrupts firmly, his hold abruptly tightening. “No, mate, no apologizing. You’re alright.”

“But I-”

The nurse cuts him off again with a shake of his head and a short hum. Tommy wants to protest further, head spinning with the heat of an inferno, but his tongue is heavy. Phil continues carding through Tommy’s hair, holding the boy close like there’s nothing he could say to change his mind. Like he’s really alright and not being stupid or a bother to the man. 

Like Phil really cares - like he really loves Tommy.

Once again, it’s Tommy who pulls away first. He leans back with a sharp breath, snapping the moment apart. Phil lets him go, looking a little reluctant but never losing the soft smile. 

And why is that going to crush the boy, like a foot pressing down on his ribs? He’s suddenly suffocating with the screaming, warring voices in his brain - one tells him to run away as far and fast as possible while the other begs him to fall back into the man’s arms and never, ever leave.

“I uh, I gotta go, um, see Ranboo now,” he stammers, backing away and hiding his face poorly.

“Okay,” the man begins hesitantly. “Are… are you sure that’s a good idea right now?”

Tommy freezes, a cold chill spilling through his collapsing chest. The careful tone is the worst part - like Phil was afraid to say the words but knew they had to be stated. It hurts way more than it should. 

Of course the nurse is aware of all the tenuous, complicated, teeth-grating bullshit going on between the boy and his friend lately. He probably knows just how fed up Ranboo is with seeing Tommy’s bastard face and equally aware that the kid is too much of a saint to ever say it. 

It’s no wonder he doesn’t want Tommy anywhere near them while he’s being such a sad, needy bitch. After all, Ranboo actually has reasons to be sad and needy, and the last thing they need right now are more burdens.

With a sharp breath, Tommy nods, turning fully away. “Right, right, that’s a great point, big man!” he declares with as much brazenness that his trashed voice will allow. 

“He’s probably getting his beauty sleep, and Prime knows what I’ll do when they get more handsome, but hey! Who am I to defy nature?” He speeds up down the hall, ignoring Phil’s calls after him.

“Tommy-”

“See you later, Philza Minecraft!” the boy hollers, waving back without turning.

He rounds the corner to the sound of a distant sigh, followed by a shout of: “That’s still not my name, gremlin child!”

Tommy’s lip twitches up in the barest of smiles before dropping away to nothing. He buries fists deep into the pockets of his hoodie and speed-walks with purpose. He keeps his head lowered, headphones in, all the way to the lobby and out the door. Dozens of faces blurred past, but none looked his way.

He lets out a deep sigh as his feet wander across the parking lot and towards the bus stop. He hasn’t even checked the time, hardly caring how long he’ll have to wait. The air is cold, wind biting at his cheeks as he sits down, shivering in his jeans and sweater. His breath curls around him like the smoke of a dying dragon.

He doesn’t care. It almost feels good, drowning out the sickening cold in his chest with the nip of frost. Though his jaw is starting to ache from the chattering of his teeth. Two buses drive by before Tommy’s numb fingers dig into his back pocket for his phone. 

His new phone case is slick and shiny, almost tumbling to the pavement with the shake of his hands. It was a gift from Ranboo, white-bordered and clear, patterned with pale purple butterflies. Tears sting and he wipes them immediately, shivering from the dampness on his sleeve.

Checking the time, Tommy presses his forehead down against the smooth, frigid screen. There are no messages - no missed calls on his screen. No one misses him.

He almost lets another bus go by, face buried and thoughts running too wild to even notice the rumble and squealing of the wheels, but someone calls out to him.

“Hey, kid! You getting on?”

The tone is snappish and impatient, and instinct forces Tommy out of his daze and onto his stiff, quaking legs. He’s scrambling onto the bus and fumbling for his fair before he even registers who was speaking. It’s the bus driver, side-eyeing the boy tiredly as he drops the coins into the slot.

With a nod and a mumbled apology, Tommy sinks into an empty seat. A glance gratefully confirms that this is the correct bus, and he sighs. He aches all over, fingers screaming at the abrupt shift in temperature. But most of all his heart refuses to settle, still rattling beneath his ribs like a faulty engine.

It was just a slightly annoyed stranger - he didn’t even care what Tommy did either way. But his frazzled body just can’t be convinced. He remains keyed up all the way home, and freezes solid on his own doorstop, death-gripping the brass doorknob.

Swallowing bile, Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe slow. You’re hiding from fucking ghosts, dumbass. They don’t even see you anymore. 

Still, he carefully turns the knob and slips inside with practiced silence. The house is dark as he enters and after carefully peeking into the living room and kitchen, he sighs relief at finding the place empty.

It used to be so different. Tommy used to be filled with bitter disappointment every time he returned to an empty house, and rejoice whenever he would find either parent in place at the stove or the chair beside the TV. 

He has no idea why it was so exciting - they never paid him any attention except to scold him. Maybe it was the promise of a hot meal that night. Maybe he didn’t care if they yelled at him because at least that meant he existed. If they were angry then at least that meant they cared, right?

Tommy scoffs, racing up the steps and pushing past the door to his room. He doesn’t give a shit about that anymore - now he’s happy if they just leave him alone. It’s better if he doesn’t exist to them, because that way he can do whatever he wants and hang out with people who actually listen when he speaks.

His room is a mess, but Tommy has no intention of remedying that right now. He slams the door behind him. The few posters on the walls are all crooked from putting them up when he wasn’t tall enough and never bothering to fix them. One is ripped at the bottom corner from when his mum was cleaning once. His stuffed animals are buried under his covers and blankets so she doesn’t throw any more away like she did with Clementine.

The boy makes a beeline for that very hiding place, digging out Henry and Friend and holding them close. He tumbles into bed, squeezing their soft bodies and letting the fabric soak up all of his fresh tears. 

Memories of Phil’s smile and wisps of warmth curdle with flashes of Ranboo’s vacant eyes and the frown that slowly forms on their brow. The nurse’s tone when he tries to kindly remind Tommy that he’s a burden. Always kindly, because Phil is just like that. He will always care for his patients - even hold them and comfort them while they shatter to pieces over stupid little things.

You’re not fucking special, bitch. How entitled are you that you really think he’d ever see you as a son?

After hours of exhausting spirals and dehydration, he slips away into darkness, phone lying still on his mattress all through the night.

In the morning, Tommy slips past his mum, opting out of breakfast in favour of avoiding her notice. Not that she’d spare a glance anyway. He plugs in his headphones and drowns out the growling of his stomach with drums and bass.

The bus ride sucks as it always does without Ranboo. The shrieks of other kids pierce through Tommy’s music and bring him ever closer to the edge. He skips form and tries to grapple for his sanity in the bathroom.

He fights the urge to text Ranboo through the next period, earning himself a quick lunch detention when he flips off his maths teacher. He doesn’t eat lunch and the detention supervisor never looks up from his book long enough to notice. 

He definitely starts paying for that choice by the time the next period rolls around. Just rising from his chair sends Tommy reeling and he barely manages to catch himself on the desk. It takes him a few minutes to stay upright, and he stumbles along the wall to his next class - where he promptly passes out on his desk.

The sharp sound of something wooden slamming the surface beside his ear splits the blackness apart and Tommy jerks back. The whole world tumbles like a washing machine on drugs and the boy can’t make out a single image among the swirling spots. Something hard and cold is pressing against his neck and shoulder, and it’s the only thing halting his descent.

“Thomas, would you care to participate in the lesson with the rest of your classmates?”

He still can’t make out the shrewd face of his least favourite teacher, Ms. Francis, but he’d recognize her sneering voice anywhere. He finally registers that he is at his desk, barely being held up by the back of the metal chair that’s securely attached.

The teachers are always sure to place Tommy in those chairs so he can’t move or tip them back. He hates them with a burning passion, and once tipped his whole desk just to spite them. But right now, it may have just spared him a concussion.

“ Well, Thomas?”

Ah, shit. He still has to answer a question or something. The classroom is still spinning at a million kilometers per hour and Tommy’s mind is not feeling very up for philosophical discussion.

“What are your thoughts on how the people of Athens treated Theseus?”

She knows exactly what she’s doing, being just unspecific enough to humiliate Tommy. The fact that she hasn’t even acknowledged how obviously dazed he must look is making the boy’s blood boil as he searches for some sort of response.

“Uh, pretty shit, innit?” is what his helpful brain spits out.

“That’s detention, Thomas. After school,” Ms. “Fucking Bitch” Francis snips. “Now try to pay attention so you can perhaps offer some useful contributions to the discussion.”

Tommy bites down on the inside of his burning cheek to hold back a retort and keep his eyes from rolling. There’s no way he’s going to that detention, especially after he already had to reschedule his last factor appointment to today from the same issue. And cussing out his English teacher isn’t worth making that even more complicated.

Prime forbid they end up calling his parents. The last time that happened, Tommy went without his phone and laptop for almost two months and he barely got to talk to Wilbur. They also locked him in his room for the first day of the weekend but stopped there because they forgot to give him any food or water and found him half-dead the next day.

He still wasn’t allowed to go out, and he didn’t try. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to any of his friends why he was so dizzy and out of it.

The taste of iron snaps Tommy back to reality and he blanches. Shit! His tongue was already coated in the damning taste and it sure didn’t seem to be stopping. He can’t really be this big of an idiot, can he?

Slapping a hand over his mouth, the boy stifles a groan. Mouth bleeds are the worst, and of course he gives himself one while his body is so low on factor. Maybe he can just ignore it and it will just go away. That’s the best way to deal with problems.

The blood keeps pooling, getting hotter and more bitter by the minute. Finally, face crinkling with deep disgust, Tommy forces himself to swallow. Prime, it’s terrible, and it was definitely one of those things that Niki told him never to do.

But the blood is gone, and he’s not going to think about anything else. Except for the new blood that’s continuing to build up. This time it takes much longer for it to build up, and he’s able to spit it out into a tissue at the end of class.

See? It’s already slowing down. No big deal.

Somehow, Tommy makes it through his last class - going through a whole lot of tissues and bathroom visits- and he wastes no time dodging detention and racing for the bus stop. 

He should have maybe wasted a little time, considering he made it about five rushed steps before out the back door before his legs gave up completely. Tommy doesn’t remember falling, the sudden blackness only fading once his cheek rests on the coarse, frosty earth. 

He’s honestly a little impressed by the minimal pain coursing through his body, but that victory is easily overshadowed by the fact that the biggest source of pain is his now profusely bleeding cheek. The dirt is a puddle of crimson when Tommy finally manages to lift his head a little.

“Shit…” he mumbles, spitting more blood onto the mess.

His head quickly meets the earth again, gravity refusing to allow the motion. The blackness is threatening to pull him under once again, and Tommy groans as he realizes what he has to do. Trembling fingers fumble for his phone as the boy prays for Prime’s mercy.

He’s too dizzy to get up, and passing out at the back of the school with a cheek that isn’t going to stop bleeding isn’t the greatest idea, especially if no one knows where he is. Now, he doesn’t really think he’ll bleed out - probably - but it’s really cold out here and he forgot a jacket and frostbite is a thing.

It should be the school nurse that he calls, or the ambulance. But instead his thumb lands on bleary, doubling image of Wilbur’s contact photo. The man is staring at the camera in it like he’s seeing a ghost, face stretched and eerily pale in the light. It’s a funny photo, but right now it kind of makes Tommy sick as he watches it ring.

He can’t quite read the words: ‘Calling Big Dubs’ but he knows it’s there. His mouth is really, really warm. Really makes him feel how fucking cold it is out here. His body is spasming with shivers and it’s exhausting but he can’t make it stop.

“Tommy!” A familiar, cheery voice crackles through the speaker.

The boy finds himself smiling.

“Where are you? Don’t tell me you got detention again, child. Phil cannot get stood up again, I’m telling you!”

A laugh stutters out and immediately winds Tommy. Fuck, he’s so tired. His eyelids are drooping and he finds he could so easily fall asleep to the sound of Wilbur’s voice. It makes him feel safe, and so much less alone.

“Tommy?” 

There’s an edge of concern now, tugging at the coldness sinking into the boy’s skin. He tries to keep his eyes open, fighting to unlock his jaw. More blood dribbles out the corner of his mouth, reminding him of the urgency of this call.

“Hey, Tommy? Is something wrong? Where are you?”

He chokes first before rasping, “Wil…bur…”

A gasp jolts through the speaker, and the man speaks like a shattering vase. “Oh fuck- Tommy, where are you? Please, tell me where you are!”

Something about the way Wilbur’s panicked voice begs him, as if on the verge of tears, nearly makes the boy throw up. But he heaves a breath and forces his voice to work.

“Sc…school.”

“ School? He’s at the school!” Wil suddenly shouts the last part to someone else.

More garbled noise comes through, and a whole lot of shuffling. Tommy’s eyelids are way too heavy to keep open. It sounds like people are talking, or shouting. There’s a lot of voices, it’s hard to tell. They’re getting further away now, drowned out by rustling.

“Tommy? Can you hear me, Toms? Can you tell me what happened?” Wilbur is breathless, and the boy winces as his voice abruptly blasts the speaker.

He lets out an irritated groan, preferring the previous darkness to the jackhammer that just started up in his skull. The dark was warm. Wasn’t he just really cold before? No, he definitely is - he’s still shivering. Someone else is speaking in a rushed voice, and then Wilbur comes through again.

“Stay with me, Tom! Please, can you answer?”

Lips curling into a half-hearted sneer, Tommy grumbles something totally coherent. Wil’s voice is getting really grating, like a pile of scrap metal dumped under the brain-jackhammer. Fuck, he just wants to sleep.

“Are you bleeding, Tom? Where’s your ride?” 

It’s Phil’s voice now, and he only sounds a little less panicked than Wilbur. But Tommy knows the nurse is probably even more of a wreck, he’s just better at hiding it. He winces and groans, hating that he’s making them so worried over nothing. Why does he always have to be such a burden?

“M’fine,” he mumbles weakly, dribbling blood over more of his chin.

“Are you hurt? ”

“Mhm,” he reluctantly confirms. “Can’t… g’up.” 

“Tommy, please-” Wilbur cuts back in, definitely crying now. “The ambulance is coming, and so are we! Phil’s calling the school but we need to know where you are! Are you in a classroom?”

The boy makes a noise in the negative, fighting to understand any speech under the weight of the darkness and pain wracking his head. The sound of an engine starting crackles distantly. He could’ve sworn none of this was a big deal. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. 

He’s fine - just really, really tired.

“Tommy, the school nurse is going to find you. Are you inside the building?” It’s Phil again.

He tries to communicate that he doesn’t need an ambulance and he’s sorry for causing a disturbance, but all that comes out is a weak whine. The noise that comes back through the speaker sounds way more wounded than Tommy does. It definitely came from Wilbur.

“Please, I need a yes or no. Are you inside?” Phil repeats.

It feels like a monumental effort, but Tommy finally manages to mumble out: “No.”

A gasp, and Phil is praising him. “No, you’re outside? Okay, thank you, good job, mate! Are you closer to the front or the back?”

It’s too much effort to speak and keep his eyes open, so he lets his eyes fall shut as he murmurs: “Back.”

“The back! Okay, okay, that’s great, you did great, Tommy,” the nurse replies breathlessly. “The nurse is coming. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

The boy is almost certain Phil asks another question, but it gets lost in the suddenly very apparent ringing. Fuck, when did that get so loud? 

He just wants to slip away towards the warm dark, away from all the painful noise. He is so tired, so sick of being a burden. He didn’t mean to this time, it was a fall! It was dumb Mrs. Francais’ fault. He doesn’t want to get lectured again. 

He knows Phil would never yell at him, but both he and Wilbur get so upset whenever Tommy is hurt and they just don’t understand how much more that hurts than the wounds ever do.

“ -ommy! ” A shrill cry and popping speaker sends ripples of ice through the dark’s embrace. 

It’s so faint and muffled, like he’s underwater and a million miles away, but he just barely makes out the words: “ Please…- swer me! Stay…-mmy, please!”

A whimper crawls up Tommy’s throat at the desperation in the voice. He wants them to not be scared, but he’s too weak to do whatever it is that they want. It’s a matter of seconds before he’s entirely smothered by the blackness, dragged away to a dreamless, restless slumber.

The dark is the worst kind of familiar. It’s the friend he keeps coming back to and hates more each time. It’s home like an empty fridge, lonely rooms and dampened pillowcases.

It is cold, miserable, nothing - it’s family.

The jackhammer returns, Tommy’s strength does not. The ringing blares, he strains his ears for comfort. He longs for the feeling of warm hands covering his. He finds nothing.

You’re alone. The boy’s mind hisses, relishing in the victory of his suffering. You finally pushed them too far, and now they’ve left you.

He tries to cry out. He tries to scream away the sickening thoughts, to call for help. Tommy wants someone to tell him he’s wrong - he hasn’t been abandoned. He wants Wilbur to sing to him and assure him they could never get sick of him.

Don’t fucking kid yourself, it was only a matter of time and you know it.

He sees Ranboo turned away, clutching the bedsheets like he wants to tear them apart, telling Tommy to go on and go home. He hears the crack in Wilbur’s voice as he begs through the phone, brought to tears over Tommy’s stupid mistake.

It’s always another mistake. Tommy can’t seem to stop making dumb fucking mistakes.

Maybe you’re the mistake. Ever thought of that?

A wail catches in the boy’s throat, strangling tears. It feels like a knife twisting in his gut, tearing him apart. He wants- he needs someone to hold him together. Of course he doesn’t deserve it, but this hurts too bad!  

He wants Phil.

A shiver wracks his body, bringing a dull ache with it. Pain and ringing swim around his brain like an aquarium from hell, exhaustion pressing down hard on his eyelids, removing any chance of prying them open. 

Fire sears the boy’s throat as he fights to swallow, but still Tommy summons all his willpower and forces out a whimper.

Instantly, something answers. There is motion, once again slurred and distant. Warmth presses against Tommy’s hand and he eases. Someone is here, at his side. He is not alone.

Almost as soon as the relief washes over him, the dark sweeps the boy away again. It’s still dreamless, but much more restful now.

When he wakes, the pain is much duller but his exhaustion is no less heavy. It’s a funny sense of deja vu, not being able to feel the bottom half of his face. Someone is still holding his hand.

With another harsh, stinging swallow, Tommy attempts a question - finding the task much more doable than opening his eyes.

“ Mmhm..? ” Is what comes out.

A gasp and jolting movement tugs Tommy out of his grogginess enough to clearly hear Wilbur’s voice call out: “Phil! He’s awake!”

Tommy groans, the abrupt awakening causing his head to start pounding. The bitch holding his hand whispers out hurried apologies, but it means nothing now that it’s too late. He’d flip the man off, but his hand is currently being held hostage. And Wil’s not worth the effort anyway.

Someone else enters the room with rushing steps, presumably Phil, and joins Wilbur at the edge of the bed. A hand brushes back Tommy’s bangs and he leans into the touch.

“Hey, mate,” Phil greets softly, like a polite person. “You with us?”

With a sigh, he grumbles, “Barely.”

It earns short laughs from both men, and Phil continues gently brushing the boy’s hair back. Tommy chokes, suddenly feeling the burn of tears in his eyes. Now might not be the best time to open them, which is fine with him.

“Are you hurting?”

With an impassive noise, Tommy half shakes his head. He’s really stiff, it must have been at least a few hours. How long have they been here with him, waiting for him to wake?

“T..ime?” 

Phil laughs, patting his head. “Ah, it’s… about one AM, mate.”

Pulling a face, Tommy mumbles out an ‘oof’, earning a few more chuckles. Wilbur squeezes his hand.

“That really scared us, Toms,” the man croaks.

The boy’s eyes flutter open without thinking, meeting Wil’s watery gaze with his own. It hurts and Tommy is so fucking tired, but he makes himself do it, guilt and terror eating him alive.

“I’m… sor-ry,” he rasps, squeezing back.

Wilbur’s eyes blow wide, clouding with pain and confusion. Both he and the nurse rush to assure him, repeating over and over again that he has nothing to apologize for. But Tommy knows it’s not true - he knows they’ll scold him when they learn what happened. He knows he’s one step closer to pushing them both away forever.

His eyes fall closed again and the world disappears in moments. This time he does dream, but it’s nothing fun. Just small feet wandering down long, empty halls, and a frightened voice echoing out into the darkness that does not answer.

The dream disappears with the muffled sound of voices. The first thing Tommy notices is that his hand is cold. He can’t sense anyone beside him anymore, and it pulls him violently towards consciousness.

After a long while of trying, Tommy finally manages to blink open his eyes again, expecting to find a room dark and despairingly empty. What he finds instead is a million times worse.

Staring back sternly from their uncomfortable perch on the green chairs are the faces of his parents. Tommy’s stomach drops.

His mother’s blond curls are frazzled, pinned haphazardly like she hadn’t the time to smoothen them. Her make-up is equally unmaintained, and she’s wearing one of her fancy outfits - red cotton jacket and pencil skirt with earrings and heels. Her nails are clutching so tightly to her purse and some of them even look chipped.

And his father - he is hunched over on the seat, grease-stained hands folded between his knees. His blazing glare is bloodshot and underlined with dark, heavy bags. It would probably go unnoticed to most people, but the man is more pissed than Tommy has ever seen before.

They came here from work. Tommy is fucking dead.

“Mum- I- I’m-” he stammers wetly, too panicked to consider the best approach.

“No, no, you stop right there. ” His father is rising to his feet, looming over Tommy lying helpless on the bed.

Tears spill down recklessly, but Tommy forces his trembling lips shut, knowing that speaking over his father will only make the man more pissed. He leans close, one hand pressing down onto the mattress as he does.

In one last vain effort, Tommy glances pleadingly at his mother, but she isn’t looking back. Her head is turned as she frowns down at her damaged nails. She just looks bored - sick of all of this. He’ll get no help today, and the boy has never felt so small.

“Do you have even the slightest idea how much trouble you’ve caused?” His father’s voice is low and haunting. “Do you really think any little ‘sorry’ could ever cover that?”

With a vigorous shake of his head, the boy struggles to swallow down the whimpers that threaten to escape. He can’t breathe, lungs paralyzed by the man’s gaze. A rapid beeping fills the room, reminding Tommy of the ringing from before.

Every instinct screams out to defend himself, to say something - anything - to somehow quell the rage that threatens to swallow him whole.

But his father asked for silence, so Tommy is better off suffocating than uttering a word.

“You can never just learn to be grateful, can you?” the man growls, leaning closer and gripping Tommy’s gown.

The barest squeak slips out but he quickly stifles it, squeezing his leaking eyes shut.

“No, no, it’s always more whining. Always more trouble, more disrespect.” 

Tommy cringes back at the feeling of hot breath as the man leans close enough for their noses to press together. He vaguely registers that the persistent beeping must be his heart monitor.

“After everything we’ve provided - everything we’ve sacrificed for you, you can’t even follow simple rules. ”

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

“Thomas, tell me - what were the rules we set for you when we allowed you to go to school?”

Claws of ice pierce the boy’s chest as his eyes fly wide. He finds no mercy in his father’s eyes which instantly blur from stinging tears. Tommy’s face crumbles - inside, it feels like everything does.

“ Please, I’m sorry- ”

“Thomas,” the man snaps, grip tightening. “Do I look like I have any time for your bullshit? What were the rules? ”

It takes Tommy a few unbearable seconds to stop hiccupping long enough to sputter, “D-don’t… c-cause tr-trouble… Don’t inter-rupt your w-work… Don’t… m-make you… look bad.”

His father nods, humming thoughtfully. His hold on the boy’s collar doesn’t loosen.

“Now, Thomas, would you say you’ve done a good job at following these very simple rules?”

There is no good answer to the question, so Tommy only sobs harder. This, however, appears to be a bad answer. 

In a blink, rough, greasy fingers snatch up a handful of hair and pull back hard. Tommy’s stares down his chin through tears and quick, messy breaths at the inferno that is his father’s gaze.

“This isn’t complicated, boy,” he spits. “Here you are, causing trouble, pulling us away from work, and we were the last to arrive to this whole dramatic waste of time. Do you think that makes us look good, Thomas? Do you think we were happy to find some random, grown stranger at your bedside before us?”

Tommy shakes his head, despite the sharp sting as it pulls at his captive curls.

“Dear,” his mother suddenly pipes up. “That’s enough now.”

The boy is started when his father instantly pulls back, glare and posture smoothing out. He turns to his mother in shock, but finds that she’s still staring away, towards the window now. The shock is enough to stop his tears from flowing, and he rubs at his face in a daze. His father isn’t meeting his eyes anymore, a full step back from the bedside. Why did…?

His head snaps to the sound of the handle clicking, and watches the towering, pink-clad form of Techno walk through the door. Realization and panic hit at the same and Tommy hurriedly wipes more snot and moisture off into the sheets. 

His father turns to greet the man, and his mother brightens with a tired smile. But Tommy just barely catches Techno’s eye over his father’s shoulder and his panic doubles. The resident’s gaze is sharp and far too fixated on the boy.

“Ah, we were just about to go fetch someone,” his father says with a laugh. “He’s wide awake!”

“Could you tell us if he’s ready to come home?” his mother asks.

“Are you alright, Tommy?”

Tommy startles at the resident’s abrupt question. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Tommy and appears to be completely ignoring his parents. He knows Techno isn’t the greatest at social skills, but this is crazy. They’re going to be pissed.

“Mhm,” he murmurs with a quick nod, dropping his eyes. “I’m good… to go.”

A forced laugh echoes from his father. “Well, there you go! He says he’s ready!”

Techno only grunts, footsteps shuffling closer. Tommy jerks his head up as he realizes the man just ignored his parents again and is leaning over the bed now. He’s staring intensely at the boy’s face, and it only serves to triple his heart rate - which is unfortunately captured by a massive, beeping machine right next to them.

In fact, the already-quickened pace of the sound before might be what captured the resident’s attention in the first place.

“Wow, that thing is insistent!” his father jokes. “I don’t know how you all put up with that!”

Techno’s eyes narrow, still staring at Tommy. The boy can see his father stiffening behind, slowly getting fed up with being ignored. His mother’s faux smile is getting strained and her nails are digging back into the leather of her purse. 

He needs to put a stop to whatever it is that Techno’s doing. The last thing he needs is to make things worse with his parents.

Clutching his sheets tight, Tommy opens his mouth to speak.

But the resident beats him to the punch. “Unfortunately, I can’t release him to ya yet,” he declares, tone flat and leaving no room for argument.

Shock and perplexion decorate his parents’ faces, mirroring Tommy’s own. His mother stands up stiffly, frowning now.

“What do you mean? He seems fine, and we have to-”

“He’s concussed and needs more rest under surveillance. And after such severe blood loss, we hafta keep track of any irregular heart activity,” he adds pointedly, eyeing the still rapidly beeping heart monitor.

For a moment, it feels like all the air is turned to ice. Tommy shrinks in on himself, watching the tension in his father’s jaw, and flinching ever-so-slightly as his mother chips another nail. Techno turns back to face them in the stiff silence, and the boy finds himself holding his breath.

But at last, his father’s shoulders fall with a heavy sigh. “Fine, fine, you’re the doctor! When will you be able to release our son to us, then?”

Techno shrugs. “It’ll depend on the next twelve hours, but it’s safe to say it won’t be until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Tommy just barely stifles a sigh of relief at the news, clinging onto his last scraps of freedom and joy before they’re stripped away forever.

His mother’s frown deepens, but his father gestures dismissively. “Alright, you’ll have to contact us when he’s cleared. We’ve unfortunately missed too much work already, you understand.”

“Of course,” the resident deadpans.

“Will you be alright on your own, darling?” Tommy’s mother coos, sliding up next to Techno and giving his hand a short squeeze.

Stomach flipping aggressively, the boy forces himself to nod. She pats his hand once more before turning back and walking towards the door with her husband. They both wave goodbye with honeyed voices and burning eyes.

“We’ll be back,” his father says, and it sounds more like a threat than an assurance. 

A chill runs through Tommy the moment the door closes and he’s left alone with Techno. For probably the last time. He stares down at his hands, trying to blink back the tears as the beeping of the monitor gradually begins to slow.

“Tommy.”

With a jolt, the boy looks up and stiffens as he finds Techno’s eyes on him, heavy and searching. He grimaces as the beeping picks up again, reaching instinctively for the wires attached to his chest.

“Mhm?” he tries to murmur casually, clutching the cords with whitened knuckles.

Techno’s stare does not relent, and Tommy finds himself desperately avoiding it. Though he’s not entirely sure why.

“What’s wrong?” the resident asks bluntly.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly. “‘Cept I almost died again.”

“Ya didn’t almost die. You were hurt.”

Tommy shrugs, picking at the patches stuck to his chest. The beeping is seriously grating on his nerves.

“Tommy, what’s wrong? ”

“Nothing!” the boy snaps, finally looking up to throw Techno a glare.

But the man’s deadpan stare leaves no space for bullshit. “You’re scared,” he points out, tapping the heart monitor for emphasis.

“No, I’m fucking not!” he protests, ducking away again. “This machine’s fucking broken, it’s shit.”

“You were scared,” Techno presses. “With your parents.”

The boy’s jaw clicks shut at that. The beeping starts to race again and in a burst of frustration, he yanks at the cords and tears the patches off his chest. A loud uninterrupted blare replaces the incessant beeping, but the boy feels a touch of satisfaction regardless.

“ Tommy- ”

“It’s fucking annoying!” he grumbles, flopping onto his pillow and turning away from the resident. “How am I supposed to sleep with that?”

“You can’t just-” Techno breaks off with a heavy sigh, dipping the mattress at Tommy’s back. “How ‘bout this: I’ll mute this for a while… if you tell me why you were scared with your parents.”

His stomach flip-flops at the words, but the flatlining scream of the machine overwhelms any nerves with irritation.

“ Fine, turn that shit off!”

The mattress shifts, and with a couple simple clicks, the room is cast into sweet, merciful silence. Tommy sighs, allowing a slight bit of tension to roll off his shoulders. The silence doesn’t stand for long.

“Why were you scared, Tommy?” The question feels oddly accusatory, like he thinks the boy has no business being frightened.

He huffs, something too bitter to count as a laugh. “Well, I was a dumbass and they missed work ‘cause of it. M’in pretty big trouble. S’fun, innit?”

The resident doesn’t miss a beat before pressing, “What kind of trouble?”

The words dry up in Tommy’s throat as the burn of tears returns. He only manages a shrug, shoving the non-swollen half of his face deeper into the pillow. He can feel Techno’s stare on his back, searing neat holes into his shoulder blades.

“Tommy…”

“What’s your problem, bitch?” he snaps, voice cracking slightly as he remains rigid in place. “I answered your dumb question, can I just go to fucking sleep now? I’m suffering blood loss!”

There’s a beat of silence. Tommy presses his trembling lips together, willing himself to breathe. He needs to think, he needs to be alone. He needs to rest.  

The boy barely knows what’s happening anymore. The only thing that keeps playing on loop in his groggy, aching mind is the hellfire inside his father’s eyes. He still feels the grip on his collar, the heat of his breath, the growl in his voice, and the overwhelming helplessness.

He’s going to lose everything. They’re taking it away from him. 

It’s swallowing him whole, pulling him down and he’s sinking. His shaking hands reach for his mother but she won’t even meet his eyes. The only time she ever aims any warmth his way is to help his father cover the evidence. To make sure they don’t look bad.

Will Ranboo even notice when he disappears? Will his parents at least let him contact his friend eventually? Will they let him explain?

“Tommy, can you look at me?” Techno’s voice is low and softer than Tommy’s ever heard before.

He hunches up further, eyes welling up. How can he look at Techno now? The resident will see every bit of weakness there - he’ll know how helpless, pathetic and terrified he is. He can’t.

“Kid… Do you trust me?”

Tommy blinks at the unexpected question. Does he trust Techno? 

He thinks about Ranboo, the eavesdropping in the Study Room and late-night, tearful confessions. He knows how dearly his friend trusts the pink-haired man, how much they adore him. He knows how much Phil and Kristin adore their son, and how Techno was one of the ones to sit at Wilbur’s bedside when the man was at his lowest. 

The man saved Wilbur, and he saved Ranboo. He and Phil saw to the kid’s foster placement personally, sticking by his side for every step of the way, making sure no one ever hurt them ever again. They made sure he wouldn’t be taken too far, knowing that Ranboo couldn’t want anything less.

The thought strikes Tommy suddenly - They made sure his friend wasn’t taken away. They made sure he was fostered close by, keeping them at the same school and in close contact. Techno made sure of that because he knows it’s important to Ranboo.

What if…?

Tommy turns over, just a little. He sniffles, rubbing the moisture from his eyes, and cautiously meets Techno’s gaze. His brown eyes are patient, filled with concern and understanding. Only in the tension of the man’s jaw can Tommy find any sign of his obvious frustration.

With a sharp breath, Tommy his swollen chin in a weak nod. Techno immediately leans in a little at the wordless response, stare never wavering.

“You can tell me anything, Tommy,” and he says it like he knows, and he means it, too.

But still, the boy swallows hard, eyes dropping. “I… I-I’m not like Ranboo.”

The resident raises a brow. “I don’t remember asking if you were,” he deadpans.

“N- You know what I mean, I-” Tommy huffs, cheeks reddening. “I’m- They- They’re not-”

The words keep catching in his throat and his breathing is becoming quick and ragged as he tugs at his hair. 

“E-everyone is always saying- They always think that they’re hurting me, but they’re not! ”

“Your parents?”

“Obviously,” Tommy retorts, gesturing wildly.

“Okay,” Techno nods. “What are they doing?”

Tommy hugs himself, studying the faint, spotted pattern on the pale green comforter. He searches for the words, for anything that could possibly express to the man what years and years of sitting in a tiny, locked box of suffocating rules feels like. 

How can he possibly tell the man how grateful he was when his parents finally started to hate him, because at least he could breathe a little easier. He was invisible, alone, starving - cradling his own wounds and wiping his own tears - but he was free.

Maybe it would be easier to start with something more tangible. The way they take his things and lock him away when he does wrong. Techno asked why he was scared, right? 

But Tommy is terrified that won’t be enough. Every parent disciplines their kids, after all. Especially stupid, reckless, troublemakers like Tommy. What if Techno just laughs and shakes his head, telling the boy to toughen up and try listening to his parents’ rules for once if he doesn’t like getting punished?

Honestly, that’s what he fears the most. Because what if they’re right? What if everyone in the world would agree that this is just the way Tommy deserves to be treated - the way he needs to be taught? What if he whines about his hurts and it just pushes all the kindness away from him, replaced by sneers and disappointed frowns telling him to ‘grow up already’?

Then he’s all alone. Then he really has nothing.

But… they’re already going to take it all away from him anyway, aren’t they?

“Tommy?”

“It’s stupid,” he blurts out past the lump in his throat.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Techno replies evenly.

“You’re gonna say it’s stupid.”

This time the resident frowns, eyes narrowing. “...I highly doubt that.”

Dragging a hand over his mouth, Tommy lets out a heavy, shaky sigh. His eyes follow the vibrant trail of butterflies scattered over the wall. He counts all fourteen before wetting his lips and continuing.

“...They hate me,” he croaks through his teeth. “I think they got sick of me at like, the fifth hospital visit. I’m just, a lot of trouble, y’know? And they like their work, and don’t like when I get in the way of it.”

“But, y’know, I’ve never been very good at… not getting in the way. That’s why they finally let me go to school, so they don’t have to deal with me so much. But I didn’t stop causing trouble and getting hurt, which was like, a big rule for me being allowed to go.”

With a deep inhale, Tommy lets the words keep tumbling at lightning speed from his mouth, trying his best to ignore the way Techno has gone rigid on the bed. He has to say it all now or it will never come out.

“So I get in trouble a lot, and it’s worse every time ‘cause they’re more angry. So to answer your question, that’s why I was scared. They’re pissed, and they’re gonna take me out of school- ” he chokes, tears finally spilling out down his cheeks.

His breath hitches and stutters, but he can’t stop yet!

So through sobs, he forces out, “I can’t do it again, Techno!”

The man is wide-eyed and pale as a ghost, staring frozen as Tommy bawls his eyes out. His lungs burn as he spits out fire.

“It was hell, I was so alone! I could only talk to Ranboo, but this time they might even take that away, and I can’t- ”

Strong arms enwrap him, pulling the boy into a warm, tight embrace. Tommy instantly melts into it, devolving into reckless wails. With every shuddering breath, Techno squeezes tighter. It should be uncomfortable - even suffocating - but with each squeeze, he only wishes for the embrace to be even tighter.

“The only ‘stupid’ thing about any of that,” Techno murmurs in between Tommy’s gasping sobs. “Is that you kept justifyin’ it and blamin’ yourself. Tommy, ya did nothin’ wrong. ”

The boy only buries his head deeper into Techno’s shoulder, lacking the strength to argue. The resident seems to sense his disagreement anyhow, and continues.

“Prime, you and Ranboo are the damn same,” he mutters with a stiff laugh, like the joke is more irritating than funny. 

“Parents are s’posed to take care of ya, no matter how much ‘trouble’ you are. Phil has been fightin’ your folks for years to just do the bare minimum. They’re stubborn and selfish - apparently much worse than any of us ever suspected.”

Tommy sniffles, shrugging. “Yeah, well… and I’m their kid…”

Something rumbles in Techno’s chest as his hand slides into the boy’s curls, clutching but nearly tight enough to hurt. “Tommy, you are stubborn, but ‘selfish’ isn’t a word that could ever describe ya.”

He lets out an incoherent grumble, shifting uncomfortably. “I just… I don’t really think what they did was ‘bare mini-mum’, it’s not like it was easy to raise me-”

“Tommy, they’re your parents. You’re twelve , and it took ‘em ten years to even consider drivin’ ya to get regular treatment to allow you to live a normal life! I mean, it’s not that hard to drive their kid somewhere two evenings a week!”

For some reason, Tommy finds himself snorting a laugh. He shouldn’t find it funny - nothing about this is funny. This is incredibly serious and he should not be laughing.

“...What?” Techno prompts suspiciously.

He laughs again, failing to smother it with the fabric of the resident’s uniform. “...They didn’t actually drive me,” he squeaks softly. “I took the bus. With Ranboo.”

“ Bruh… ”

Chapter Text

The first thing Techno promised Tommy once the boy was finished describing the full extent of his homelife was the same thing he’d promised Ranboo: “You’re never going home with them again.”   

It was totally surreal for Tommy to hear those words spoken to him. Sure, he’s known his parents are pretty shit for a while, but there’s always been this voice in the back of his mind telling him that he’s exaggerating everything. 

He’s dramatic, he’s whiny, he’s sensitive and a lot and he tires everyone out - his parents were just doing the best they could, and Tommy just can’t deal with his genetic bankruptcy. He’s just a reckless dumbass who hates facing the consequences.

But when Techno’s burning eyes met his with sincerity and assured Tommy: “You’ll be safe with us, kid. We’ll keep ya safe from them.”  

Something… shifted. Clicked into place.

He didn’t stop crying for probably hours after that, eventually falling asleep in the resident’s arms. 

When he wakes, he has patches on his chest again, but the beeping is steady and much quieter than before. He has to repeat his story for a nice, smiling lady with a clipboard. Techno holds his hand the whole time, and he feels lighter.

It doesn’t feel real. Not quite.

They call his parents. Tommy lets Techno squeeze him and hide the world away while the nice lady talks on the phone outside. He doesn’t have to talk to them. He somehow hears his father’s voice peak the lady’s mic and shudders. It wasn’t even on speaker.

He doesn’t understand why they care. He knows they really don’t.

“I thought they’d be happy to get rid of me…” Tommy murmurs bitterly into the resident’s uniform, trying to block out the rising of the nice lady’s voice beyond the door.

“It’s not about ya,” Techno responds with equal bitterness. “They like their image, right? Their kid spillin’ the beans on what awful parents they are isn’t great for that.”

Tommy hums understanding, resting his cheek more comfortably on the man’s shoulder. He tunes his ears towards the steady beeps of the monitor and the rhythmic rise and fall of Techno’s breathing. This all still feels like a dream, but that melody of life is too grounding to ignore.

He’s scared of all the uncertainty - foster homes are a foreboding concept for someone terrible at keeping himself together. Tommy has no idea how to be likeable or agreeable, and he’s dogshit at being polite and well-behaved. Ranboo mentioned that every foster home has a list of house rules and Tommy is mortified at the concept.

He has to match with a foster family quickly or he’ll be fresh out of nearby options in a blink, but what if all of them have that same suffocating atmosphere that pushes down on Tommy until he boils over? What if all the homes get fed up with him? He’d much rather age out in the group home than entertain any placement out of town.

All of these thoughts swirl in his mind, a tornado of torment. But Tommy can breathe - he can rest because Techno gave his word that he would be taken care of. No matter what happens, he’s not going anywhere.

Tommy doesn’t dare give space to the quiet whisper slowly growing in the eye of his storm. He can’t ponder what he really wants - that hope would be too crushing to let himself believe in.

Still, the next morning, when he’s greeted by a tight, warm embrace from both Phil and Kristin, it’s impossible not to indulge it just a little. He basks in it, breathing in sanitizer and flowery perfume. 

Kristin praises him, telling him he’s so brave and strong and she’s so happy he asked for help. Phil cries and apologizes for not doing more, for not asking, for not seeing - Tommy calls him out for being ridiculous, because he is. 

The man just shakes his head and says he’s so proud of Tommy, squeezing him tighter and assuring him he’s going to be okay now. And if Tommy cries for another half hour, that’s nobody’s fucking business now, is it?

He has to talk to a few other people - sitting in Kristin’s lap and flipping through one of Phil’s anatomy books as distraction. He likes to point out the funny words and tries to make the nurse and doctor laugh by repeating them over and over, maintaining dead eye contact. Phil cracks way easier than Kristin, but he gets her at least twice.

He talks to another nice lady, answers a bunch of uncomfortable questions and tries to ignore the patronizing lilt of voices before promptly passing the fuck out - exhausted by all the emotional and mental weight of sharing his ‘story’ over and over.

The sound of muffled shouting wakes him, forcing Tommy out of deep slumber with a sharp jolt. The voices are loud and angry, but what’s infinitely worse is that they’re familiar.

A strangled whimper escapes the boy as his eyes blink open. Instantly, his hand is squeezed comfortingly, and a figure leans over him, brushing his hair back and cooing assurances - Wilbur.  

“Shh, it’s okay, Tommy. They’re not getting in here.”

Tommy can’t help his breathing going ragged, eyes flickering to the shuttered windows and back to searching Wilbur’s blurry face. The man is smiling down softly, but his shoulders are tense. His eye twitches as another shout peaks above the cacophony outside the room. His dorky glasses are missing, and there’s a dark, purplish mark beside his right eye.

Sitting bolt upright, Tommy’s chest expands with a sharp gasp. “Wilbur-”

Hands quickly falling to the boy’s shoulders, the man tries to gently return him to the mattress. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” he soothes urgently. “They’ll never get past Phil and Kristin, let alone the-”

“Are you okay?!” Tommy blurts, horror and disbelief burning through him as he absently reaches towards Wil’s face. “Did- did they hit you?”

The man winces, smiling turning sheepish. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me now, Toms,” he scolds lightheartedly.

But Tommy ignores that entirely, heaving fire and ice. There’s no way his parents had the audacity to actually fucking hit Wilbur. What could possibly possess them to be that stupid? 

Hitting Tommy, sure, that’s fair game - but Wilbur? He never even did anything except be there for Tommy. What, are their feathers ruffled because their kid found people who don’t treat him as shitty as they do? The boy grips the sheets with white knuckles, blood bubbling like magma.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Wilbur stresses, cupping the boy’s face in his hands. “The police are coming, and you’re for sure never going to see them again.”

The man laughs a little when he says it, and Tommy hears the bitterness. The fire flashes in those dark eyes for a moment, and he can suddenly picture exactly what went down. 

Wil probably came to see him, ran into his parents in the lobby and was sent reeling by unexpected hostility. They likely called him a creep or something and told him off for befriending their son. Maybe they demanded Wilbur show them what room Tommy is in now, since Phil promised they would never learn that information. 

The man probably stood his ground, catching on to the situation, and probably gave them a piece of his mind - no doubt all deserved.

And then his father hit him. Tommy’s jaw clenches at the thought, eyes burning holes into the mark on Wilbur’s cheek. The man would have retreated, a crowd of hospital staff getting in between him and Tommy’s parents and bringing them to the situation at hand - distant shouting from beyond the ‘wall’ as they all wait for sirens and cuffs.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Tommy mutters through his teeth.

With a soft sigh, Wilbur tousles his hair with a wry smile. “No need.”

“No, but I’m gonna.” 

In a fluid motion, Tommy throws his blanket into the man’s flustering face and rolls out of bed, sprinting for the door the moment his feet meet the floor. Wilbur squawks and scrambles desperately after him, but the boy slips out the door before he even touches ground.

“Tommy, wait- Stop!”

The hallway is blindingly bright compared to the dark room he just left, but Tommy has no trouble spotting the edges of the crowd around the corner, currently engaged in a heated back and forth. His wobbly legs churn forwards, ignoring the desperate footsteps tailing behind as he approaches the rising shouts of his mother and father.

“You have no right to keep us from him!”

“We have every right, and in fact every obligation to-”

Tommy’s father bulldozes over Kristin’s words with a shout of: “He is our son! I don’t care what ridiculous lies you’re all feeding-”

Skidding to a stop just at the edge of the crowd, Tommy draws a sulfurous breath and spits out a fiery cry, instantly drawing every gaze.

“I can’t fucking believe you, you motherfucking bitches!”

The shock that glazes a dozen pairs of eyes quickly fizzles from his father’s, replaced by something cold, sharp and cruel. Under a different roof, if there was anything less than a wall of staff and criminal charges standing between Tommy and those eyes, the boy would have lost every ounce of bravery and crumpled to his knees at the sight.

But the man can’t touch Tommy anymore. And he hurt Wilbur.

“Tommy-” 

At least five people say it. Wilbur’s hand grasps his shoulder, pulling him back with panting breaths. Tommy is totally focused on the way his father mouths his name, lip curling with a sneer.

“No, fuck you! ” the boy screams. “You’re always pissed at me for being a dramatic bitch, but you throw a fit like a fucking pussy over this shit?!”

“You won’t speak to me like this!” his father snaps, expertly masking his shock and rage with indifference. “I’ve had enough of your acting out, it’s time to stop causing all this trouble and-”

The words dig in deep, tone a sharp spade, but Tommy is too enraged to let it stop him. He’s too pissed to let the bastard keep speaking.

“You hit Wilbur!” he seethes, gesturing upwards towards the man’s face as he looms over protectively. “You hurt him! For what?! ”

His father falters, red-faced and stammering, torn between trying to advance or backing away from the increasingly aggressive bodies holding the line. Phil in particular has moved to be practically chest-to-chest with the man, but he barely seems to notice.

“You weren’t there, Thomas!” It’s his mother’s voice now, clipped and furious. “It is absurd that this establishment is allowing a stranger to be near you but not your own parents! ”

“I’m not a stranger! ”

“Wil’s not a stranger! ” Tommy and Wilbur shout back in unison.

And before either parent can offer any dismissive rebuttal, he goes on: “And they’re not letting you near me to keep me safe! Because I asked them to!”

In the echo of his words, his father’s scowl darkens while his mother pales - her eyes glitter with what seems like genuine shock. For some reason the shock hurts much more than the rage.

Her mouth falls open, but the clash of several voices washes away any potential comment. Tommy’s father is screaming about him being a lying, selfish, ungrateful brat while Phil physically holds him back and Wilbur pulls the boy further away. 

But Tommy keeps his glare lasered on his mother. He’s not sure what he’s looking for there. It only burns and twists more and more viciously in his chest as he watches his words sink in. He wants to scream at how fucking startled she is - like she somehow didn’t know what she’s put him through.

Like she hasn’t been treating him like the dirt under her shoe for the last fucking eight years.

“You don’t mean that.” 

She doesn’t say it loud enough to be heard above the heated crowd, but Tommy is watching her lips closely. He reads the words she whispers and he feels something snap.

He’s floating - Wilbur is the only thing tethering him to the universe.

“You don’t get to say that shit to me! ” Tommy roars, only flashing hotter when his father’s head snaps his way and his mother recoils. 

“Neither of you! You can’t just show up now and act like you ever gave a shit! Don’t call me your son now, it doesn’t fucking work anymore!”

His throat is so trashed that he can’t get through a single word without his voice breaking, but he couldn’t care less. His parents try to cut in but he doesn’t let them. He’s not going to let them stamp him out anymore.

“No, I don’t wanna fucking hear it! I’ve felt more at home at this damn hospital than I ever did with you! You’ve made it really fucking clear that you’d rather I just didn’t fucking exist - well, I’ve got great news! I’m gone! ” 

Fury and satisfaction are bubbling up like a volcanic eruption as his parents stagger back speechless and Tommy has no intentions to stop it. Go big or go home, right? And he’s never going ‘home’ again.

“So how ‘bout you bitches get the fuck back in your damn car, drive back over to that coldass house and pop the motherfucking champagne! There’s no need to waste any more of your precious time on me.”

And with that, he turns away and lets Wilbur swallow him up in an eager, impossibly warm embrace. Exhaustion and ringing washes away the noise of the crowd as he leans bonelessly into the soft material of the man’s sweater. 

He chooses not to look or listen for his parents’ reactions - they don’t matter to him anymore. He has his real family right here, rocking him back and forth and whispering how proud he is of Tommy. Wilbur is his brother in all the ways that count. 

And sure, he might never get what he truly wants from the Watsons, but he’ll always see them as his family, and they’ll care for him and protect him the way they always have - the way his ‘parents’ never did.

The police show up eventually, but Tommy barely pays attention to what happens. He’s more set on falling asleep, snuggled up to Wilbur on the hospital bed as fingers trail lazily through his sweaty curls.

Yeah, he’s not really worried anymore. No matter what the foster homes are like, this is home. And it’s not going anywhere.

For the first time in… ever, Tommy smiles as he falls asleep.

He dreams of something strange and wonderful. He’s in a nest, squished against warm, fluffy, peeping bodies. He peeps with them, reaching out, flapping small, fuzzy wings as he tries with all his effort to scramble up the edge of the nest. He doesn’t know what he reaches for, just that he really, really wants it.

He tries and tries, peeping and peeping, but no matter what his little wings won’t lift him up. His tiny talons can’t get a grip. He’s stuck in the warm nest with the other fuzzy bodies. 

The nest isn’t bad, he likes it, but still, something cries out inside. It claws at his heart, turning his peeps into shrieks as he tries harder and harder. He calls and calls, wriggling and flapping and scrambling - desperate for Someone to answer.

Then, with a flutter of feathers, he hears it! A soft coo, just for him! There’s a flurry of black, and suddenly Tommy is staring into the loving eyes of a massive crow. 

Dad! His heart cries with joy, peeping louder and flapping excitedly. The crow lets out a warbling noise, leaning down and rubbing his beak against Tommy’s small, soft one. He peeps louder, faster - he is so happy!

His dad slides into the nest, wrapping Tommy and the other bodies up in his big, dark wings. The peeping is so insistent, it’s starting to get annoying. Tommy is safe and happy now, why won’t it stop? He’s trying to stop, but it only gets louder.

It doesn’t really sound like baby birds. Honestly, it’s starting to sound an awful lot like a heart monitor.

“Toms..?” A sleepy voice asks.

Wilbur. Abruptly thrust into darkness, Tommy opens his eyes to find the most pathetically exhausted face he’s ever witnessed - and he’s seen Ranboo on Monday mornings.

“Y’av’nigh’mare?”

The boy barks a laugh that quickly becomes frantic coughing. He’s vaguely aware of the fast beeping of the heart monitor - apparently attached to him, which must have been done in his sleep - and assumes that’s what Wilbur is concerned about. 

But the way the man clearly doesn’t even know what planet he’s on while he tries to string a sentence together was just too hilarious. The coughing only causes Wilbur to blink his bleary eyes more urgently - but still one at a time - and it does not help.

“Was’wrong?” Wilbur slurs, sitting up and grasping the back of Tommy’s gown. “ Phil- ”

“No, no-” Tommy manages through coughs and giggles, slapping at the sluggish man. “I’m fine, you’re a dumbass, shut up!”

Said dumbass continues fumbling around in foggy confusion but he at least calms down a little, latching onto Tommy’s hands.

“Huh? Wha- wassup?”

Shaking his head with a laugh, Tommy tries to bring him back to earth. “Man, did you have a nightmare, king? You look like shit.”

The man squints at him, and it’s lopsided from the now slightly swollen mark beside his eye. Tommy’s heart pangs at the sight and he squeezes Wilbur’s hands. Those cloudy, dark eyes finally seem to focus just as the door creaks open.

A beaming smile stretches over Tommy’s face as he catches sight of Phil peeking in the doorway, a similar smile brightening the nurse’s face.

“We alright in here, boys?”

Tommy nods, lifting his arms and Wilbur’s along with them. “Yep! Wil’s just a sleepy drama queen.”

The nurse laughs while Wilbur scowls, still squinting almost suspiciously.

“Your heart rate was speedy,” he says accusingly.

The boy barely stifles a laugh - Wilbur is always the one making family jokes, but that was just so similar to Techno. Like the Wish version of the resident finding out about Tommy’s parents. Except Wilbur is two seconds from passing out and Tommy wasn’t even having a nightmare.

“I’m literally fine, Big Dubs, put down the pitchfork.”

“Here, lemme check your vitals, mate.”

Wilbur finally relaxes when the nurse starts humming under his breath as he looks through the information in the machines. Tommy sags against the man, eyes fluttering when he starts carding through his hair again.

“It looks like your heart did pick up in the last hour - you were probably having a pretty vivid dream,” Phil explains, glancing at Tommy for confirmation.

His mind drifts back to the strange dream. It was vivid - he can still feel the fuzzy bodies around him, the warmth and safety of the wings, the overwhelming desperation as he kept on reaching, scrambling, crying out for his-

All at once the boy’s face is burning. He quickly dodges the nurse’s eyes, and it’s ever unhelpful that his heart rate spiking is picked up by the machine. Shit!

“Hey, Toms, what’s wrong?” Wilbur asks, rubbing his shoulder. “Was it a bad dream? Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Tommy rasps, hoping the answer will be acceptable for both questions.

Mercifully, Phil seems to take the hint to move on and starts rambling on about Tommy’s health progress. He adds off-handedly that his parents were arrested and says that the social worker will be back tomorrow to take Tommy back to his place to pack up his things.

“Oh.” Is all he can think to reply.

What else can he really say about all that? Honestly, he’s pretty sure the shock hasn’t worn off yet, like a tidal wave that’s going to drop any minute. 

Wilbur squeezes him tight while Phil smiles sympathetically. He returns both gestures, once again taking comfort in the fact that this - what he has right here, right now - isn’t going anywhere. For right now, it’s enough.

In his ear, Wil murmurs, “Ranboo wants to see you, you know.”

The boy blinks at that. “What? …Really?”

Pulling back, Wilbur twists around so he can meet Tommy’s eyes with an indignant expression. “What do you mean, ‘ really ’? They heard about everything that just happened, of course they want to see you! Why wouldn’t he?”

Shrinking into himself, Tommy only manages a weak shrug. This only seems to perplex the man further, but he really doesn’t want to get into the whole ‘why I’m a dick and Ranboo rightfully hates me’ discussion.

“You should go see them, Tommy,” Phil suddenly pipes up, smiling softly.

And again, the boy’s brain stalls. Even Phil is telling him to see Ranboo? Is the kid doing better lately? Are they doing worse?

“Oh. Okay, sure, yeah-” Tommy clears his throat, continuing to avoid Wilbur’s incredulous stare. 

“For sure, big man! Does that mean I can be released from this demon box again?” he adds hopefully, tugging on the wires attached to his chest.

Phil rolls his eyes but still smiles as he moves to remove the patches. Tommy stares at the patterns on the wall to avoid looking the nurse in the eye, but the plan backfires. These walls are painted with fluffy clouds and dozens of black crows in flight.

It’s fucking humiliating that his face flushes and his heart rate spikes right as Phil starts prying the patches off, so rather than enduring any more of that, Tommy rips them off in one now-practiced swoop and hops off the bed. He’s become quite the expert in swiftly tying up his gown and running effectively in it.

“See you later, kings!” he calls back, ignoring their protests and sprinting from the room.

He can practically still hear the scream of the monitor echoing from the rattle deep in his chest as he runs, waving at every blurry figure he dashes past. 

He doesn’t stop running, knowing that his mind will come up with a million compelling reasons to avoid the inevitable if he does. Tommy’s fears and insecurities aren’t what matter right now - this is about Ranboo. 

His feet don’t falter as he effortlessly weaves through the familiar halls towards room 206, until his eye catches on something and stops dead, whirling around. A head of shoulder-length, pink hair buried in shaking, manicured hands. Niki.

The resident is leaned against the wall, hunched over, alone and sobbing into her hands. Tommy’s heart wrenches.

“Niki…?” he barely whispers. “Are you okay?”

She straightens with a startle, wiping her nose as she sniffles. “Oh, Prime- Tommy…” she sighs, shaking her head. “I’m fine, Tom. I just- Just a hard day.”

“What happened?”

She shakes her head again. “It doesn’t matter, Tommy. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

The boy frowns at the sad smile straining Niki’s face, crossing his arms. “Niki, c’mon. It’s me. Is it a patient? Do I know them?”

“No, you don’t know them, Tommy- Just- This is my job, don’t worry about it.”

“So it is a patient? A new patient?”

“Tommy-”

“They weren’t a dick to you, were they?” Tommy suddenly interrogates, fully prepared to catch a felony.

But Niki is waving her arms and shaking her head no. “No, no, it’s nothing like that! I’m just upset for him, it’s a very upsetting… I-it’s just very sad.”

Deflating a little, Tommy twists his fingers together. He doesn’t like seeing Niki sad, but she does have a fair point that this is her job, and the boy knows better than most how hard that job is at times. Still, he wants to be able to comfort her - help out however he can. 

If she’s this upset about a patient’s condition, maybe he can cheer them up, or help them out somehow. It’s not like this is his first rodeo with that kind of thing - the nurses are often telling Tommy that patients thanked him for his company. Kristin says that just hearing someone talk can be a mercy for people sometimes.

“Could you tell me who it is? People tell me I’m good at bringing up morale.” He smiles brightly, earning a genuine smile back - and proving his case in point.

But something glitters in her eyes as she hesitates. “He… I’m just… I don’t want you to try to take this on for yourself, Tommy. It’s a really terrible situation.”

“I know.” He resists rolling his eyes. “Please, I can handle it.”

The resident purses her lips for another hesitant moment before blowing out a heavy breath. 

“He’s a boy your age. There… There was a fire in his home. His parents passed yesterday and last night, and he’s severely burned all over his body. He… he hasn’t fully woken up yet, so we… he doesn’t know yet.”

Niki cuts off with a sob, covering her mouth. Tommy wants to run up and hug her, but he finds himself frozen in place. The boy she’s talking about… it’s the same figure he watched get wheeled in. 

The kid that was so small, and so unrecognizable. He never would have guessed the boy was his age. And the family - his parents didn’t make it. It’s almost worse, that they didn’t but he did. That’s going to crush him. 

Not only is he scarred, life forever changed, but he's all alone. Alone in grieving the ones he lost - the ones who should be there to comfort him.

“Oh, Tommy…” Niki’s cracking voice jolts him back to reality right as she reaches out for him, pulling him into a crushing hug. “I’m sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have- It’s okay, we’re gonna be okay. We’re all gonna be okay…”

When did Tommy start crying? He tries his best to subtly wipe his eyes on Niki’s uniform, squeezing her back. He’s not doing the greatest job comforting her if she’s having to soothe him now, but at least she’s also getting a hug.

“M’fine,” he murmurs into her shirt. “I just… saw them come in. It was… really awful.”

She squeezes harder. “Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry… No one should ever have to see something that terrible. Or live it.”

They stay there for a while, rocking side to side and squeezing tight. Tommy can’t get the image of the boy on the stretcher out of his head. It’s no wonder Niki’s so upset.

Finally, Tommy pulls away, mumbling about how he’s going to see Ranboo. Niki smiles at that, saying she’s glad. They hug one last time and part ways.

His steps are much slower now as he finds his way to room 206, but he’s standing in front of it before he knows it. Heart thundering, Tommy shakes the thoughts of the other boy from his mind and grasps the door handle.

It opens with a creak, and he instantly winces, finding the room dark. But immediately a figure shifts on the bed, and the hum of a machine is interrupted. Tommy knows he should say something - maybe step inside and close the door to shut the light out. Yet he does nothing.

“Um… Hello?” Ranboo asks hesitantly.

Tommy smirks, instantly being brought back six years to the day he first met his best friend. So much has changed since then, but they’re really still the same, aren’t they?

He steps inside, easing the door shut behind him. “Still can’t believe you used to sleep with a mask on.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“You literally have sleep apnea, dumbass.”

“So now I sleep with a machine instead.”

“Yeah, because it fucking helps you breathe, instead of helping suffocate you! Move over,” he grumbles, shoving onto the bed beside the kid.

Rather than shifting over, Ranboo eases back down onto his pillow with a long sigh. Tommy can’t really see their face, but he can feel the way they’re nudging his leg - a silent invitation that the boy had started to believe he would never receive again.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Tommy accepts, flopping (carefully) down next to him, shoulders overlapping, cheek leaned on their head, and chin digging into the pillow. Normally, when Ranboo is uninjured, they prefer to flop entirely on top of the other, but Tommy is not looking to extend his friend’s hospital stay any further.

They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other’s breathing. Ranboo speaks first.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

Emotion clogs Tommy’s throat instantly, but he doesn’t let him hesitate even a beat before sincerely replying, “I missed you, too.”

Another few beats pass before Ranboo takes a deep breath in again, resting a hand on Tommy’s. 

“Thank you for telling someone.”

Turning his head in confusion, Tommy tries to find his friend’s gaze. It’s hopeless in the dark at such an awkward angle, but hey, he tries.

“What?”

“About your parents.”

Tommy freezes, something twisting deep inside. He blinks back tears, shoving a little deeper into the pillow. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Well, I had to.”

“What do you mean?” This time Ranboo tries to shift, managing a little better than Tommy had.

Licking his lips, Tommy tries to ignore the phantom feeling of that stare. “They were gonna take me out of school. I was gonna lose you, and everyone here.”

Silence. The phantom stare intensifies as Tommy fights the urge to find it in the darkness.

“...I would have kidnapped you if they tried,” Ranboo says finally, squeezing his hand.

Huffing a laugh, Tommy squeezes back. “Yeah, right. Good luck getting up my stairs.”

“I have my ways.”

“What fucking ‘ways’? ” he drawls sarcastically, shifting and finally finding the vague shape of his friend’s face staring back at him.

“Techno,” Ranboo retorts easily.

“Okay, well- …Touché.”

He can just barely make out Ranboo’s facial features but is acutely aware of the smug grin stretched across their face. He sticks his tongue out in retaliation, hearing a snort, before settling back down against them.

“I kinda heard you, by the way. Yelling at them.”

Tommy swallows hard, not daring to move. “...Oh, yeah?”

“It was pretty awesome,” Ranboo chuckles, nudging his shoulder into Tommy’s.

The breath leaves Tommy in a clumsy wheeze. “It felt pretty awesome.”

“Oh, I bet.”

“They fucking hurt Wilbur!”

Ranboo hums. “I heard,” he replies sourly.

“I still can’t believe it, the bitches! I wanted to fucking kill them.”

“You know,” his friend’s tone shifts strangely. “They hurt you, too, Tommy.”

Clicking his jaw shut, Tommy lets silence swallow the room once more. He shifts uncomfortably, staring deeply into the pillowcase. It’s too close to look like anything other than blurry darkness.

“...I know,” he says hoarsely, willing it to sound convincing.

Because he does know. He didn’t shriek all that stuff at the bastards for nothing - he didn’t lie when he told them he didn’t feel safe with them. He just… Well, it’s just easier to focus on what they did to Wilbur. There’s nothing complicated there - they hit him for nothing.  

“Tom, can I ask you something?”

Internally sighing, Tommy rolls over and swallows back bile. “Shoot.”

“If they hadn’t threatened to take you out of school, would you have told anyone what was happening?” 

The words echo off the walls and bounce around in Tommy’s skull. What is that supposed to mean? He knows that Ranboo is reaching for something, trying to pry something up, but he’s clueless as to what. He just frowns at the ceiling.

“...I mean… Probably not? Them taking me away was kinda the whole problem.”

“Was it, though?” Ranboo retorts, sighing heavily when Tommy only frowns harder. “Tommy, this is just like the thing with the bullies. Why do you only stand up for yourself when somebody else is affected?”

The boy opens his mouth to protest, but his words falter. Ranboo takes the opportunity to keep talking.

“You’d happily suffer in silence for ages to avoid even the chance of someone else getting hurt, but the moment anyone else takes the brunt, suddenly you’re the loudest voice in the room!”

“Hey, don’t pretend like you don’t do the same fucking thing, Ranboo!” Tommy finds himself blurting, suddenly defensive.

“I know I do, Tommy!” they snap back. “I know I suck at sticking up for myself, but I’m consistent about that! I could never do what you did - screaming at your parents like that! I’d melt into a frickin’ puddle before I ever looked my father in the eye!”

“There was a crowd holding him back…” Tommy mutters, crossing his arms.

“Even still! Why was it Wilbur, Tommy?”

The boy narrows his eyes, glaring in his friend’s direction. “What?”

“Why does them hurting Wilbur matter more than hurting you? Why do they deserve your anger now but not before?” 

The kid’s voice is shrill and breathless, like he’s beyond exasperated that Tommy doesn’t understand something so basic. And Tommy… He doesn’t know what to say. His mind is spinning, heart thumping like the hoofbeats of a racehorse. A sharp knife is twisting inside, and it feels like Ranboo is gripping the handle.

Why won’t he stick up for himself? Why does Wilbur matter more than him? The answer is both utterly simple and damningly complex.

“Just- Because it’s Wilbur, okay? I don’t want to talk about this,” he chokes out finally.

“That’s not what I’m asking, Tom. Why d-”

“Please, Ranboo,” Tommy cuts in, desperation leaking into his urgent whisper. “Can we drop it?”

They huff a sharp breath. “Fine. I just… I just want you to care about yourself, man,” he says softly, like he’s not sure he really wants to say it. “...‘Cause I do.”

Letting out his own sigh, Tommy allows himself a small smile at that, reaching down to grip Ranboo’s hand once more.

“I know. I love you, too, man.”

The kid inhales through his teeth, tensing. “Now, I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Oi, fuck you!” Tommy shoves his free hand in the idiot’s face, poking and prodding ruthlessly and they both devolve into giggles.

“Okay, okay, I love you, too! Now stop!” Ranboo wheezes, smacking his hand away.

Easing back into his comfortable position on the mattress, Tommy relents. The laughing dies out and he starts drumming his fingers on his chest, contemplating. Ranboo needs to rest, so he should probably leave them to it, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave yet. 

He’s probably just going to wind up falling asleep beside them anyway, but that’s besides the point. There’s still more that Tommy wants to discuss.

“So…” he segues flawlessly. “Uh, how’ve you been, king?”

Awkwardness fills the air like a particularly wretched gas bomb, but Ranboo laughs through it anyhow, trailing off with a long sigh. The sound is disturbing, echoing so hollowly into the dark. Utterly lifeless compared to the genuine giggles from moments ago.

“Oh, y’know…” he hums, with humour that’s equally hollow. “Pretty not exceptional, king.”

Pausing for a beat, Tommy squeezes their hand. “You been sleeping?” he asks, almost certainly knowing the answer.

Another lifeless laugh, this one with barely any strength behind it. “I mean… technically? I’ve been trying, anyway. But, uh… Well, maybe I’m not really trying anymore.”

Frowning, Tommy’s now-adjusted eyes find Ranboos. “What? What do you mean?”

Ranboo is staring up at the ceiling, face pinched up with some unreadable emotion. He sighs again, breath catching on the edges with unshed tears.

“So, uh… You know how… I used to get nightmares a lot?” Tommy just hums affirmation, and they continue, all high-pitched and watery. “So, um, they never really, um… stopped.”

Feeling the way his friend is shaking, clearly fighting tears, Tommy starts running his thumb back and forth over their knuckles, free hand doing a similar motion against Ranboo’s shoulder. The kid starts to breathe deeper, a few tears falling free as he centers himself.

“I kinda just… stopped sleeping m-most of the time, and um… well, that’s not healthy, so, I’m trying to sleep again, but… they’re back.” They take a gasping breath. “And they’re worse, and… And I keep… w-waking up thinking I’m back there. ”

Coldness twists in Tommy’s gut as he leans against his crying friend. Prime, he doesn’t even want to imagine having an awful dream like that with his parents, let alone over and over - and his parents are nothing compared to Ranboo’s!

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Ran…”

“The worst part,” they continue in a rush, still staring up at the ceiling. “Is that when I wake up, and I think I’m there, I’m not- I’m not really awake, but I’m not asleep either. I keep- Techno and Niki both had to find me and carry me scr-screaming back to my room. Multiple times. Now I’m stuck here so much longer ‘cause I keep hurting myself.”

“Shit.” Tommy turns over and - as carefully as he can - wraps Ranboo into a tight hug. “I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sorry- I should’ve been here, I’m sorry…”

Even through gut-wrenching sobs, the kid manages to sputter out: “Shut up, idiot! S’not your fault- You didn’t even know.”

“Still…” he whimpers, sniffling into their hair. “I’m so, so sorry. That’s so shit, man.”

“Yeah…” Ranboo sighs, then chuckles dryly. “If only I could teach my panicked, sleepwalking self to at least use the wheelchair.”

“Do you like, have a night guard now?” Tommy asks, pulling back.

Pulling a face, they tilt their head. “I mean, as best as they can, I guess. They’re short-staffed as it is.”

“‘Kay, I’m night guard now. You’re being night-guarded,” he declares, flopping back down into the positions they started in.

“Tommy, you’re not gonna spend every night in the hospital with me-”

“Fucking watch me, bitch.”

And he does. 

Honestly, it’s a pretty reasonable request, considering the social workers are still looking for a placement and Tommy doesn’t have any relatives in the country to stay with during the transition Or at least not anymore, since Schlatt’s family moved back to America years ago. Plus, he’s already receiving treatment at the Crow’s Nest, and the staff there are the people he’s known the longest and feels the most comfortable with.

There’s a small incident that night, some thrashing and frantic murmuring, but Tommy manages to quiet his friend down and they sleep the rest of the night.

The next morning he meets Ranboo’s foster parents. They’re sweet people - they bring Ranboo snacks and comic books, and they offer Tommy a ride to school even though Kristin was already going to take care of that. He thinks they’re perfectly average parental figures, and Ranboo seems to like them well enough.

He’s told that Wilbur is going to pick him up after school when Kristin hands him a lunch that she apparently prepared for him. He was already eating a vending machine breakfast but she brought him a muffin, too.

Swallowing down tangled emotions, Tommy thanks her and hurries to catch his ride with Ranboo’s foster parents. The muffin tastes amazing - it’s somehow still warm.

All day at school, Tommy thinks about how he can help Ranboo. He wishes he could be there with him every hour of the day - talking, comforting, laughing, taking watch to fight off their demons. 

Why does every adult insist on the importance of his classes? Tommy loves learning, he loves Miss Puffy, but all of that pales in comparison to taking care of his friend.

When the day finally ends, Tommy sprints for Wilbur, not caring for the light-headedness that tries to tackle him down because he knows the man will catch him. Sure enough, he barrels clumsily into his legs and is instantly scooped into the air and squeezed by a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, Tommy! How are you, little gremlin child? How was school?” he coos, still squeezing and not allowing the boy’s feet to touch the ground.

“Fuck off, bitch! Die!” he barks, thrashing and wriggling to no avail. “Put me down, I hate you!”

“Oh, yeah? Do you?” the bitch keeps teasing, only lifting Tommy higher. “Well, if you hate me, I don’t see any reason to listen to you-”

“Put me down put me down put me down you fucking bitch-!”

Laughing carelessly, Wilbur ignores his protests and carries him a couple steps before dropping the boy down beside the silver passenger’s side door of his old, dingy, second-hand car. Tommy glares daggers, flipping the bird as he opens the door to get in. Wilbur just keeps laughing, circling around to get in the driver’s side.

“Ah, you’re just too easy, Tom,” he sighs contentedly, sliding into his seat.

“And you’re a bitch,” Tommy retorts, arms crossed and definitely not pouting.

“Seatbelt,” Wilbur says, buckling his own.

Turning away, Tommy raises his chin stubbornly, keeping his arms folded. He can sense the way Wilbur’s shoulder’s sag, feeling the weight of his ‘this-is-serious’ stare.

“Tommy,” he begins warningly.

And he should just listen - of course he’s going to have to give in eventually. But Tommy is petty and he feels like being a problem right now. So he continues admiring the dents and smudge marks on the inside of the passenger’s door. One of them almost looks like a frowny face - like the car is sharing in his misery.

A loud, frustrated sigh nearly makes Tommy flinch. Heart suddenly pounding, he almost whirls around, prepared to drop the act and apologize, until a hand is reaching across his chest - and another plunges into his stomach, tickling rapidly.

Startled, wheezing laughter chokes out of the boy as he spasms, trying in vain to swat either hand away. Wilbur laughs borderline maniacally as he both pulls over the seat belt and ruthlessly torments Tommy.

The car is starting to spin, Tommy’s stomach aches, and he can’t stop laughing. He shrieks for mercy, surrendering and allowing Wilbur to click the seat belt into place, but the sadistic man can’t seem to help torturing the boy a little more.

“What was that? Did you say ‘keep going’?”

With both hands, he tickles all over Tommy’s stomach, and reaches up to his armpits even as he continues shrieking breathlessly, tears pricking his eyes. 

“St-o-op, dickhead! ” He twists around, lifting his legs and bringing them down at Wilbur’s face and torso.

The man flinches back instantly with a burst of hysterical giggles, arms shielding the rest of his body from damage. Tommy doesn’t stop kicking until Wilbur is begging for his own mercy, still going a little further as vengeance.

“Okay, okay, enough- Okay, I’m sorry!” Wilbur wheezes out.

Scrambling back into a reasonable - albeit, extremely slouched - seating position, Tommy shoots the bitch a fiery glare. He does his best to hide the laughter in his voice when he spits out another: “Fuck you.”

Jamming the key into the ignition, WIlbur shakes his head fondly. “No, but really, how was school? Shit?”

Tommy snorts. “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’, staring blankly forward.

“Any particular reason?”

The engine rumbles to life as the boy shrugs. “Just shit. Miss Ranboo.”

Wil hums understanding as they pull out of the parking lot. He seems thoughtful, driving in silence for a while. Tommy understands why when the man speaks.

“You know… You never actually told us what happened when you passed out at school.”

He sinks lower in his seat. “Uh… Yeah…” he swallows dryly. “It was dumb. I was being dumb.”

“Dumb how?” Wil prods, instead of leaving it like Tommy hoped he would.

It wasn’t a promising hope, but a hope nonetheless.

“I, uh… Well, I skipped breakfast,” he starts, swallowing again and letting silence fall.

“...Okay. And?”

The boy sighs, turning to stare out the window at the buildings drifting by. Most of them are gray or glass in this commercial area, but there’s an occasional pop of colour. Tommy thinks those stores are the smartest, standing out like that and also just being objectively better in every way. It’s a wonder they’re as rare as they are.

“And I fell asleep in class with the Queen Bitch herself, Mrs. Francis, who gave me detention and fucking tried to piss me off, I swear to Prime-” Tommy tears his eyes away from the window so he can rant properly, not realizing how angry he still was about this.

“She fucking hates me, just like all the others, I can’t stand her! She’s not as bad as Mr. Sterland, he’s a fucking wrong’un, but she loves embarrassing me! She knew I was passed out - hell, I was hearing colours when she snapped me awake, there’s no way she didn’t notice I nearly concussed myself, but she just-”

“Wait, wait, hold on-” Wilbur cuts in, frown creasing his brow as he pulls to a stop at a red light. “ What? ”

Tommy just nods eagerly, bouncing in his seat and gesturing wildly. “I know! She fucking smacked a ruler on my desk and I nearly went flying! I couldn’t fucking see straight, held up by heart palpitations and hope, but she just keeps grilling me on philosophy shit!”

“Are you telling me your teacher ignored your health problems and then gave you detention? ” Wilbur is seething, knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “They have your file, they should be fucking watching for episodes!”

“Yeah, well, I told you, she hates me!” Tommy shakes his head. “And I did not want to be late again, so- Well, that’s where I was stupid, I bit my cheek.”

“Wait- That’s how you hurt your cheek?!”

“No, no- That was just the first time,” Tommy cuts in, ignoring the way Wilbur’s eyes are all but bursting out of his skull. “It just started bleeding then, like a lot, but I just ignored it ‘cause I was being stupid-”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding!”

“It was already slowing down!” he reasons grouchily. “It basically stopped, but whatever. Then I skipped lunch in detention and-”

“Prime’s sake, Tommy-”

“Anyway, point is, I was dizzier than I thought when I went to catch the bus and I fainted and that’s what busted my cheek open. Again,” he concludes in a rush.

Wilbur pulls into a parking space in front of the Crow’s Nest, dropping his head onto the steering wheel like a distraught lead in a soap opera. Tommy wriggles around in his seat, uncertain emotions squirming around his stomach as the man lets out a long groan.

“I feel like we need to revisit that ‘taking care of yourself’ conversation,” he grumbles, turning to rest his cheek on the wheel and staring exasperatedly at Tommy.

Flashing a sheepish, toothy grin, the boy unbuckles his seat belt. “Nah, we’re all good, actually! I’ve moved past it, really grown as a person!”

“It hasn’t been a week, Toms,” Wilbur retorts, but Tommy is already leaping out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

The man has to chase him through the parking lot to catch up, scooping him up from behind and carrying him into the lobby as revenge. Tommy resists, but he’s laughing too hard to put much effort into it.

“Tommy! Wil! How are you?” Niki greets them cheerily, frozen mid-stride like she just came in to work herself.

Dragging the boy like a sack of potatoes, Wilbur shuffles over to the resident like a lighthouse in a storm. “Niki! You’ll never believe how this gremlin ended up fainting last time-”

Abruptly kicking and screaming, Tommy urgently cuts in. “Shut up shut up shut up! Wilbur is fucking stupid-”

“I’m just telling the truth- ”

“No, fuck off, you’re a dickhead, plus ratio!”

“Woah,” Niki tries to interject, bursting into reckless giggles alongside Wilbur. “I feel like I missed something?”

Finally breaking from the bastard’s hold, Tommy quickly grasps her hand with both of his, making his Sincerest™ eye contact. “Nope, it’s nothing, Wil is nothing but a liar and a wrong’un!” he assures her.

Eyes narrowing and lips pressing together, Niki glances to Wilbur in amusement as he finally recovers from his laughing/coughing fit. The man throws Tommy a playful glare, hands on hips.

“Oh, so I’m a liar when I say that your teacher was a bitch who recklessly neglected her student’s special needs?” he challenges.

Tommy’s mouth falls open, failing to find a retort. But he doesn’t have to, because Niki beats him to the punch, grabbing the boy’s shoulder and turning him back to face her.

“What? Is that true?” she snaps with furious intensity almost equal to Phil. “Which teacher? Give me her full name.”

The boy has to blink a few times, jaw flapping uselessly before he manages to free himself from the trance of Niki’s burning gaze and processes what she’s asking. He swallows, hands drawing back to pick at the edges of his old, beaten red sweater. Wilbur is just standing there, like he’s waiting for the answer, too.

“Oh, well… I don’t- I’m not sure if what she did could really get her in trouble… ” he mumbles awkwardly, confused by the shift in energy.

“I didn’t ask about that. I’d just like her name, please,” Niki replies easily, suddenly eerily composed. 

Her smile is almost wolfish, but Tommy doesn’t feel endangered by it. It feels warm. He’s never going to get used to this - being protected.

“Donna Francis,” he says finally, heart fluttering as Niki’s smile brightens. “She’s my English teacher, and she hates me.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” Niki praises, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s unacceptable for school staff to ignore their student’s health needs. Let any of us know if anything like that ever happens again, okay?”

The boy nods dumbly, and she returns it, smiling at Wilbur before turning to head in. They follow her, Wilbur asking how work has been. She floats around the topic, flipping the conversation back on the man, who is more than happy to gush about his job. 

As Wil goes on, Tommy is reminded about the conversation in the halls - the tear-stained hugs and the scarred boy who just lost everything. A million questions tumble onto his tongue, but he holds it fast. He wants to help Niki, not reopen wounds for her. But he still knows nothing about this boy - not his name, not even his room number.

Oftentimes with less-than-friendly new patients, Tommy will know them by their room number for at least the first few visits, driven by pure spite to get them to open up to him. He refuses to ask the nurses for any info or help - it’s a personal challenge.

But unless he intends to do one of his full rounds where he visits every room in the hospital for a few minutes (and he hasn’t done one of those since Phil started struggling to carry him), then he’s going to need to get a number. Maybe he could ask one of the nurses instead.

As if on cue, two bodies in green and blue scrubs round the corner ahead, deep in conversation. The man in blue tugs at his bouffant (that he refuses to take off even when he isn’t preparing for surgery) while laughing at the ramblings of the nurse with thick glasses and neat, brown hair. 

Tommy hasn’t seen the pair in ages, but he instantly lights up at the sight of them, sprinting forward and waving his arms excitedly.

“Charlie! Big Q! Hey!”

Heads snapping his way, Charlie waves back with matching enthusiasm while Quackity beams and spreads his arms wide.

“Eyy, Tommy! How ya been, lil’ man?” he calls back, bracing as Tommy throws himself into the surgeon’s arms.

“Fuck you, I’m a big man, bitch! Bigger than you’ll ever be!” he retorts instantly, pushing Quackity back as soon as he’s set back down. “And you know how it’s been - getting rich, girl-bossing, slaying all the women!”

Any response is lost to a torrent of giggles, but Charlie steps in intelligently, raising a finger and advising, “Now just make sure you don’t go girl-bossing too close to the sun, alright?”

The boy nods reverently. “Of course, of course, you’re talking to the Tommy Innit, here!”

“Is that who I think it is?” 

Quackity lights up at Wilbur’s voice echoing down the hall, raising his arms high above his head. “Wilbur? ” he says in a high-pitched squeal.

“Quackityyy! ” the other dork responds in an equally squeaky voice, dashing to meet Big Q halfway.

They repeat this bizarre greeting a dozen times over, jumping up and down in a crushing embrace. Niki shakes her head and slides past the duo, waving goodbye as she heads off to work like a dignified employee.

Taking advantage of the moment, Tommy turns to Charlie. “Hey, big man, could I ask you something?”

The nurse looks a little taken aback, fixated on the two idiots making monkey noises and clearly not expecting the boy to pull him out of it. But he blinks a few times and recovers, smiling kindly.

“Of course, whatever you need! As long as it doesn’t breach patient confidentiality - Kristin did have to give me a talk about that,” he deadpans, adjusting his glasses.

Tommy coughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “Ah, yeah, of course, of course! Uh… well, so, there’s this patient who I’ve been meaning to visit, but I don’t know what room he’s in right now.”

“Oh, sure, I could look that up for you! What’s his name?”

He chews at the sleeve of his sweater. “Uh… It’s the boy from the fire? The one whose parents…” he trails off, watching Charlie’s face fall.

“Who told you about that?” The man looks upset, almost sick.

Swallowing hard, “I watched them come in,” is all he answers.

With a heavy sigh, Charlie hesitates for a few long moments. His eyes dart back and forth from Tommy to the laughing men a few meters behind him. Finally, he fixes the boy with a hard look. He suddenly looks much older than he did before.

“He’s in 198. He just woke up last night,” he says, then grabs Tommy’s shoulder. “He might not want any visitors. He asked to be left alone when he learned what happened.”

Tommy nods soberly. He can’t imagine wanting to talk to strangers after something like that - but he can’t imagine wanting to be alone, either. With a deep breath, he announces his departure to the group, startling Wil and Big Q, but he runs too fast for them to ask any questions.

It’s only a few turns before he’s staring down the 190s hallway and he suddenly freezes solid. He can see the room number looming there at the end of the hall, so close and so far. Tommy has never been intimidated about meeting a new patient before. 

Normally he puts zero thought into it and just bursts in, loud and proud, forcing his way into the space. But this situation feels delicate, like one wrong move could shatter the glass bubble - and Tommy’s never been good at ‘careful’.

If he fucks this up, will he just make everything worse for everyone? Maybe he should just stay out of it, leave this one to the experts. That feels like the right answer, but something inside Tommy vigorously opposes it. 

And that feeling refuses to let him turn around or walk away, so he remains rooted in place - just staring as a few nurses and doctors walk in and out of rooms, some passing him by.

Finally, that burning, steeled, something wins over as Tommy’s hands curl tightly into fists, and he steps forward down the hall. He reaches the door to room 198, taking a shaky breath before he snatches the handle and pushes it open without a second thought.

The room is stunningly not dark, but the small figure in the bed is in no way alert. It actually takes Tommy a moment to realize that the bundle of white is in fact someone’s head and not part of the dozen pillows that it’s resting on. 

The main thing to clue him in are the wrapped arms resting on top of the sheets. Only one eye is left uncovered in the mass of bandages, and there doesn’t appear to be much leeway left for speech. Tommy winces, easing the door closed behind him.

The kid appears to be asleep, which isn’t surprising, so he pulls up a green chair and prepares to sit and wait for a long while. But as he pulls, the chair leg makes a nasty squeak and Tommy sucks in a breath trying to shake the awful sound from his mind. 

He releases the seat and clamps his hands over his ears, closing his eyes as he waits for the rattling in his skull to settle. It takes about a minute of slow breathing and squeezing the world away for the awful feeling to fizzle out to a slight headache. He lets out a long sigh, finally dropping his hands and blinking his eyes open.

A single green eye stares back.

Tommy nearly lets out a yelp, stumbling back and collapsing onto the chair with a thump. The kid continues staring blankly. He blinks in a way that reads ‘unimpressed ’.

“Prime, you- I- Shit, uh… Sorry,” Tommy blabbers with expert grace and poise.

He’s nailing this.

The kid blinks again, looking Tommy up and down. The obvious question hangs in the air and Tommy is quick to oblige.

“Hey, I’m Tommy!” He holds back from sticking a hand out for a handshake, having at least enough social sense to avoid such an embarrassing faux pass. 

“I’m ‘round here a lot and I like to do the rounds, visit folks old and new! What’s your name?”

Awkward silence stretches on as the kid narrows his eye. Tommy is confused by the venom there - he knows the dude can talk, since he apparently asked to be left alone before. …Unless that was interpretive, and actually he’s being incredibly rude expecting a mute kid to speak to him. Shit.

“Oh, wait, shit- Can you talk?” he asks hurriedly, tucking into his shoulders as he clutches the seat.

Eye rolling back into his head, the kid lets out a huff. Tommy goes to stand, a string of apologies on the tip of his tongue, but before he can start, a shredded, quiet voice interjects.

“Yes.”

Tommy blinks. “...Oh. Great!” He smiles sheepishly. “...What’s your name?”

More glaring. Tommy shifts uncomfortably, about to ask what he’s doing wrong, when the other boy speaks again in the same raspy, clipped tone.

“Tubbo.”

Straightening, Tommy beams bright. “Oh, cool! That’s a funny name, like my best friend, Ranboo! You’d like him I think, especially if you hate it here. Ranboo’s gonna lose their mind if they have to sleep here much longer,” he chuckles, shaking his head as the kid just stares. 

“But I’m night guarding them, so hopefully it won’t be so bad anymore. At least he isn’t strapped to these demon machines! Doesn’t that beeping just drive you insane?”

Both boys blink in the return of awkward silence before Tubbo answers a simple: “Yeah.”

Swallowing thickly, Tommy smiles again, a little more strained. “Yeah, it’s the worst! Hey, I’m twelve by the way and I heard you were around my age. How old are you?”

“Twelve, too.”

Bingo, that was almost a sentence this time! Tommy sits up, smile widening.

“Okay, so my birthday is July fourth, when’s yours?” he asks, bouncing eagerly.

“You were born on the fourth of July?” the other boy retorts incredulously, and if it wasn’t for the bandages, he would surely be raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up, I’m no filthy American, that means nothing to me!” Tommy waves that off, earning a small snort from the boy before moving back to more important matters. “But when is yours? Are you older or younger than me?”

Tubbo’s lip twitches up in what might possibly be the ghost of a smirk. “Older.” And Tommy swears there’s a trace of smugness in the word.

Flopping back in his seat, he lets out a long-suffering groan. “ Awww, man! Why am I still the youngest of all my friends? This isn’t fair!” he whines.

“Who said we were friends?” Tubbo deadpans, staring flatly as Tommy sits back up.

“I did - just now,” he replies equally bluntly. “But I might have to rescind the status for the disrespect of still being older than me.”

“How am I supposed to control my age?” Tubbo’s voice pitches up slightly in confusion.

Tommy crosses his arms, sticking his chin up stubbornly. “If you were a real one, you’d make yourself younger for me. That’s what friends do!”

“We’re not friends,” the kid deadpans again, but this time there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

With a dramatic gasp, Tommy clutches his chest like a string of pearls and leans back in his chair. “How could you say such a thing, Tubbo! After everything we’ve been through together? All the memories we’ve made? The things we shared?”

He’s visibly fighting a smile when he retorts: “I don’t know you.”

Shaking his head gravely, Tommy clicks his tongue. “Man, all this disrespect is gonna getcha demoted, Big T. I’ll have to downgrade us to acquaintances, for shame,” he sighs.

“Oh no, whatever shall I do,” the kid replies with such perfect, flat sarcasm that even Techno would be impressed.

“I know, the devastation must be paralyzing. But I could perhaps be convinced to re-promote you if you grovel,” Tommy offers helpfully.

“I think I’ll live.”

“Suit yourself, but never say I’m not merciful.”

His eye rolls back into his head again, but now a small smile rests on his face. Tommy shifts in his seat, legs pulling up and twisting until he’s in a comfortably absurd position. One hand taps restlessly against his shin, echoing a soothing melody through his bones.

“Did you manage to get any sleep with all that blaring?” he asks, sending another hateful glare at the heart monitor.

“Yeah, I actually slept soundly until I got interrupted,” Tubbo replies meaningfully.

Wincing apologetically, Tommy sucks in a sharp breath. “Ah, yeah… My bad. I swear those chairs have a grudge against me, specifically.”

“They do sound like the screams of the damned.”

Brightening, Tommy gestures excitedly. “See? You get it! Phil says it’s ‘sensory issues’ or something, but they’re fucking demons! I keep telling him to replace them but he’s all ‘ah, we don’t have the budget for that, mate’, the fucking traitor…” he grumbles.

Tubbo watches him for a moment, glancing at Tommy's tapping fingers and back to his face. For once the gaze is not judgemental, but something unreadable.

“You… have sensory issues?” he asks, tone equally unreadable.

The blond shrugs. “That’s what Phil says. I haven’t got like… proper diagnosed or whatever, but he and Dr. Kristin think I have ADHD. And they’re probably right, I guess. Their son, Techno, has it, and they say I’ve shown the signs,” he explains, unsure where the question is coming from but not wanting to turn down Tubbo’s curiosity.

The kid just keeps staring, head bobbing in a barely perceptible nod. After a few moments, he looks down, licking his lips almost nervously.

“I… get headaches from the lights,” he says finally, hardly a whisper.

Eyes flying wide, Tommy scrambles from his seat in a heartbeat. “Wha- Did you tell the nurses? I can turn them off for you!” he exclaims, reaching the switch in two strides and flicking them off before the other boy can even draw breath in.

He whirls back around, no longer able to see Tubbo in the abrupt darkness - which is admittedly easier on Tommy’s eyes as well - but he hears the kid huff something between a laugh and a sigh.

“You- You didn’t have to do that,” he breathes through more huffing.

Rolling his eyes, he carefully strolls back over. “Why wouldn’t I? It was bothering you.”

He hears no response as he takes a seat again, slowly to avoid creating any more horrendous squeaks. The silence stretches on again and Tommy wonders idly if the boy is starting to drift off. He can’t really blame him, the dark is almost as comfy as the hospital beds.

But suddenly, Tubbo speaks up again. “...Why are you here?” His voice is small and hesitant, but it carries an overwhelmingly exhaustive weight.

“I told you,” Tommy replies as easily as he can manage. “I’m here a lot, and so is my friend. I like to visit other patients. It’s a good way to make friends. It’s how I met Ranboo, after all.”

Another beat of silence. “Why are you here often? ”

A chuckle slips out as Tommy leans back. “Well, that answer keeps changing. The short answer is I get regular treatment ‘cause I’ve got shit genetics and a tendency to get myself injured. But I mean, also all my friends are here. This is basically my home.”

His chest is gripped with a tangle of emotions as he says it, causing him to breathe heavily. Tubbo seems to catch on to the undertones and doesn’t seem impressed.

“The hospital… is your home,” he states flatly.

A far more strangled laugh chokes out at that and Tommy cringes. “Yeah, that sounds pretty fucking sad, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tubbo’s bluntness doesn’t spare him now, but Tommy only finds himself laughing more sincerely.

“Sure, I guess it is. But hey, I’m way fucking happier here than I ever am anywhere else. Especially my ‘real home’. ” He uses air quotes even though the other boy definitely can’t see them, but he has no doubt the sarcasm comes across.

The kid, however, falls abruptly silent. He can hear his breathing hitch, like something caught in his throat. Tommy sits up, about to ask Tubbo if he’s choking when he hears another strangled sound, followed by a sharp sniffle.

Tommy freezes solid, realizing in horror that the kid is crying. His horror only grows as it dawns on him a moment later why.  

Nice going, fucking dumbass! Complaining about your home and parents like this kid didn’t just lose both of his! Stupid, stupid!

“Shit- Uh, hey, it’s- Don’t-” he fumbles hopelessly, grasping his pant legs.

The kid only sobs harder. Fuck, why is this so hard? How is his fam- How is everyone he knows so good at this? What would Phil say? What would Wilbur or Techno do?

Hesitantly, Tommy reaches a shaky hand out and rests in on the covers near the boy’s bandaged arm. He doesn’t dare touch him, especially with the injuries but mostly because he hasn’t asked yet. But he wants to remind Tubbo that he’s here. He’s right here with him.

“Hey, I’m here, okay?” he says, voice trembling as he tries to speak softly, some semblance of reassuring. “I’m so sorry…”

Tubbo’s crying turns desperate and garbled, flooded with cursing and gasping breaths - like he’s trying to stop himself. Tommy shakes his head instinctively, leaning heavier into the mattress. 

“Hey, just- just let it out… I-” he bites his lip as the other boy chokes out a sharp wail.

Shaky sobs echo around the room and Tommy’s own eyes sting with tears. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he call a nurse? No, Tubbo told them to leave him alone before and he doesn’t want to have to leave to go get someone. But Prime, he wishes Phil was here. 

He closes his burning eyes and thinks back to his weakest moments, trying to remember what he needed to hear. Trying to recall the words that brought him off the brink - that gave him a rope to cling to in the torrent of the storm. 

Shuddering breath in, cold breath out. “You’re not alone, okay?” he manages, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. Whatever you need, just say it. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it.”

The boy just keeps crying, barely catching enough breath for the task. Tommy realizes there’s no way Tubbo will be able to speak whatever he might need. He leans his full weight onto the mattress, staring into the amorphous darkness until it finally sharpens into the kid’s bandaged, shaking form.

He grabs for a glass he knows is sitting on the nightstand. His fingers find it, wrapping around the cool, smooth surface, and he lifts it carefully and rests it on the trembling mattress.

“Do you need water?” he asks softly, studying Tubbo’s shadowy face closely.

His chin bobs up and down through the sniffling and Tommy immediately reaches a hand for the adjusting button. He warns Tubbo and waits for the bed to sit him up, lifting the glass to the boy’s lips. He lets him sip greedily, holding the cup at a well-practiced angle - Phil had taught him things over the years, after all.

He doesn’t stop sipping until the glass is empty but denies needing any more. He nods when Tommy asks if he wants to lay back down, so he adjusts the mattress again. The kid is already crying again before it’s finished laying him flat.

It’s hard to not think of Ranboo, and Tommy’s having a hard time resisting the urge to flop on top of him, crushing the boy in a comforting embrace. He’s unable to stop the burning question from slipping off the tip of his tongue.

“...Do you want me to lay next to you?” 

He cringes at himself for letting such an impulsive thing out. He’s not talking to Ranboo, he’s talking to a practical stranger. That’s a weird-ass thing to ask, Tommy!  

He hurries to correct it. “I mean- I won’t like touch you or anything, I just- No, actually, you don’t have to answer that, I-”

“Please… ” the other boy rasps, barely audible between hiccupping sobs.

But Tommy hears it, and all the desperation that came with it, and he reacts immediately. He climbs onto the bed, crawling as close as he dares to the kid, and eases his cheek down onto one of the pillows.

Eventually, the sobs begin to settle. A nurse comes by to check on them - Hannah Rose. She brings more water, asks if there’s anything they need. Neither boy has an answer, so she smiles sadly, patting Tommy on the head before she leaves again, shutting the light out.

After a few more minutes, Tubbo’s cracked voice whispers: “Please, don’t leave.”

And Tommy doesn’t hesitate to respond: “Never.”

He means that, of course, but it only takes a few moments for him to realize a problem. He made a promise to Ranboo, also. He can’t just abandon his night guard duties and let his best friend continue to suffer, but he can’t break this promise to Tubbo either.

The lightbulb clicks a little while after Tubbo finally falls asleep, and he immediately grabs his phone to text Phil. He smiles to himself, admiring his own genius as he gets more comfortable next to his new friend.

He’s going to get Ranboo and Tubbo a room together. It’s the perfect plan, for a never-ending list of reasons that can otherwise be known as problems he didn’t even know he was solving! Sometimes he just impresses himself with his brilliance.

He sighs, sleep tugging at his eyelids. It’s hard being the mastermind of global solutions at twelve years old, but Tommy wouldn’t trade it for the world. After all, who would save it then?

Chapter Text

“Are you comfortable, Tubbo?” Niki softly asks, gently smoothing down the last of the boy’s fresh bandages.

The kid hums affirmation, seeming too lost in the pain meds for words. Tommy shifts impatiently from one foot to the other at the doorway, all but stepping on Wilbur’s toes as he hovers behind. He can’t help it, wishing the resident would move faster as she takes the handle of the stretcher and starts wheeling her patient towards his new accommodations. 

He just wants them both to get to Ranboo already. He’s already set up in the new room meant for the three of them, and Tommy can’t wait to introduce his newest friend to his oldest.

Nudging him out of the way, Wilbur pulls Tommy into his chest and wraps his arms around the squirming boy. He elbows the smartass in the gut because he was going to move anyway, but that just gets him lifted off the floor - dangling helplessly despite his violent thrashing.

Flushing bright red, Tommy sputters curses at the bastard for humiliating him like this in front of Niki and Tubbo. The bastard and spectators in question have the audacity to laugh at his torment. At least Niki makes an attempt to hide it!

“You’re all fucking dead to me,” he growls, finally getting a good few hits to Wilbur’s ribs and knee and earning his freedom.

He lashes at the giggling dumbass a few more times, sticking his tongue out spitefully. He’s distracted enough by the combat to nearly miss Niki and Tubbo turning the corner. He shoves past Wilbur - failing to avoid a viscous noogie in retaliation - and sprints after the pair.

“Tommy, don’t run! ” the dickhead reprimands. 

And as tempting as it is to tell him to fuck off, the boy slows his steps, not wanting to cause any more accidents. Besides the general hazard of running in hospital halls, his body’s still recovering, making him a fainting risk. He’s not super eager to go through that again.

“Fuck you, bitch!” Tommy throws the bird over his shoulder, catching up to the stretcher and following alongside it.

“Okay, gremlin!”

Just to spite him, the boy puts a skip in his step - keeping a hand subtly on Tubbo’s stretcher - as they round the corner. He smiles smugly to himself at Wilbur’s defeated grumbling, but in the next moment it falls away completely as Tommy’s feet come to a dead stop.

The stretcher slips away from his fingers as Niki doesn’t seem to notice Tommy freezing, but he barely feels it anyway. Because right there, standing at the end of the hallway before him, is a face he never thought he’d see again.

To make matters worse, those dark eyes instantly flicker up and lock onto Tommy’s own. They widen, pooling with something like shock. But not surprise. Schlatt is not surprised to see him here. The plaid-clad dumbass has clearly come looking for Tommy.

Well, too bad. Tommy’s fingers curl tight into fists, jaw snapping shut. He doesn’t want to see his cousin right now. There’s nothing he wants less, actually. Besides, he’s got big man responsibilities right now - friends to introduce and look after, sleep to guard. Not a good time. 

And maybe Schlatt might’ve known that if he’d ever bothered to call or e-mail or send a damn letter.

He stomps forward, catching up to his friends quickly and pointedly avoiding eye contact with the stranger. He doesn’t want to take in all the changes - how his cousin is a grown man now with long hair slicked back under a backwards hat and has fucking mutton-chops that look stupidly cool for being mutton-chops. He doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t want to see him.

Wilbur sort of stumbles behind, seeming to notice something off but not saying anything. Tommy tries to keep his head down and just get to the door without having to deal with any of this shit. They’re just a few feet from their room, but so is Schlatt.

The man is flustering, stepping forward, trying to catch Tommy’s stubbornly averted attention. ‘Cause why would he take a hint? The hell is he even doing here? Whatever the reason, it can’t possibly be good enough.

“Tommy– Hah-hey, buddy, uh–”

Fuck. Tommy is forced to halt when Niki does, the resident suddenly taking note of the man and glancing curiously between him and the boy. Wilbur immediately steps up protectively behind Tommy - he can practically feel the dangerous glare being burned into Schlatt. It’s a smart call, of course - the only family of Tommy’s that Wil has met were his parents, so heavy distrust is certainly warranted.

But Tommy isn’t afraid of Schlatt - the bastard just doesn’t deserve his time. He has to draw a deep breath to avoid biting down on his cheek when his cousin continues. 

“I, uh… I know it’s been a while, I… Do y-”

“I’m busy, Schlatt,” Tommy snaps with a sneer, still not looking up as he tries to will Niki to just step forward and open the door already.

And she does respond, just not quite the way he wanted. The resident blinks at his cousin’s name, giving the man a once-over as her eyes light up with recognition.

“You’re– Tom’s cousin,” she blurts uneccesairily, making Schlatt jump just a little, as if he somehow didn’t notice her.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stumbles awkwardly, uncertain who to address with all the eyes staring or not staring with varied levels of hostility. “I- I’m just… here to see him.”

“He doesn’t seem interested in seeing you, ” Wilbur retorts, beating Tommy to the punch.

The man blinks, taking a seemingly involuntary step back. He’s acting all stunned and taken aback, as if he didn’t expect this kind of reaction. Which is just bullshit after the way he left Tommy in that hell without a word for six whole years. What makes the dumbass think he can make any of this okay now?  

“Who gave you this room number?” Niki asks suddenly, with almost an edge of suspicion, nudging Tubbo’s forward and reaching for the handle.

Following suit, Wilbur grabs Tommy’s shoulders and pulls him closer. Schlatt shakes his head, taking an intentional step back as he raises his hands, distress spilling over his expression. With a bitter sigh, Tommy rolls his eyes at their dramatics. Anyone who knows his name can get his room, can’t they?

“Hey, wait, I’m not– Jack Manifold gave it to me, he said Tommy’s staying here!”

“None of the staff are permitted to give this room out to visitors!” Niki protests, swiftly moving around the stretcher until she’s between the others and Schlatt. “It’s a security precaution!”

The air switches so fast that Tommy barely even registers what’s happening and he just about witnesses a fight break out between Wilbur and Niki and his dumbass cousin. But luckily, Schlatt quickly backs off in a panic, still signaling surrender.

“Jack’s my friend! He’s been– He’s the one who told me what happened, with his parents! I just– I asked him to keep me updated! …About Tommy, so… he told me.”  

Time stutters a moment, the words rolling through Tommy’s brain like it’s made of molasses. He asked… He was checking in… about me? It’s something so small and fragile unfurling inside the boy - a tiny blossom of hope and longing in a bitter, raging storm.

But the sting of old winds is quick to bury it deep, and Tommy finally raises his head, burning glare meeting his cousin’s flickering, frightened gaze.

“And you never asked Jack for my number?” he growls, hoping the lash of anger disguises the way hurt cracks his voice.

He hates the way Schlatt’s face breaks open with guilt and he takes a sharp breath, grinding his teeth together. 

“Yeah, I could’ve saved you the trouble,” the boy bites out, leaning around the stretcher and ignoring Tubbo’s gaze as he swings the door open. “Now’s not a good time for a visit - you’re just a few years too late.”

Niki mercifully takes the cue to return to the stretcher and wheel Tubbo in ahead of Tommy. He stomps in after them, ignoring the way Schlatt stumbles forward, reaching out.

“W– Tommy, wait–”

“I think he was pretty clear telling you to piss off,” Wilbur cuts in, a clear warning. “Maybe you should listen, man.”

Tommy only glances back, just to make sure Wil isn’t about to get himself punched in the face again. The two men are practically nose to nose, locked in a tense stare-down, but all the hostility is from Wilbur’s end. Schlatt’s posture is slackening with defeat, gaze darting back and forth like he’ll find answers somewhere in the other man’s expression.

Finally, with a heavy breath, his cousin steps back and turns away, leaving Wilbur glaring down the hall at the retreating form. Tommy shakes his head, turning back around to find three pairs of eyes fixed on him, dancing with interrogation and concern.

A heavy sigh slips from him unbidden.

“The heck just happened?” Ranboo blurts, rudely ignoring the new arrival in their awesome new room.

And it’s a really cool space, too! They actually got them a room with three beds as if Tommy’s ever going to sleep in the one on the left end, and it’s kinda funny. There’s a super poggers mural of a flower field on the walls and his friends really need to be appreciating it rather than questioning Tommy about his stupid cousin and his dumbass visit.

“Wow, Niki! This room is amazing!” Tommy exclaims, attempting to redirect their attention.

The resident smiles, looking up as she prepares to transfer Tubbo onto his bed. “Yeah, I thought you’d like it. You can find all your favourite flowers in the mural.”

With a gasp, Tommy hurries to the wall and immediately starts scanning the details for yellow, red and pale purple. Sure enough, he finds examples of each very quickly and lights up, turning to point them all out to Ranboo.

But they’re still staring with that searching, worried look. “Tom, who were you yelling at?”

Smile dropping to a frown, Tommy just glares for a moment as Wilbur finally steps inside, pulling the door closed behind him. He hears the shuffle behind him of Niki completing the transfer and brightens up again.

“Oh! How rude of me!” he exclaims, stepping back and gesturing at both of his friends on either side of him. “Ran, meet my new friend, Tubbo! Tubs, meet my old friend, Ranboo!”

“I was not the one you were yelling at,” Tubbo responds dryly, and Tommy’s expression sours again.

Crossing his arms, he retorts, “No you were not, and that is not a very polite way to greet a new friend.”

“Dude, why are you avoiding the question so much!?” Ranboo demands.

“Did any of you learn any basic manners!?” Tommy throws his arms up, shaking his head in disapproval. “Prime, kids these days… So disrespectful.”

“ Fine. It’s lovely to meet you, Tubbo! I’m happy to share this room with you!”

“Likewise. Not sure about our other roommate, though.”

Wilbur and Niki snicker as Ranboo sagely nods. “Same. We might have to discuss that with the higher ups. But we should at least try it out for a while. He gets huffy when he’s alone.”

“Oh, fucking die you fucking bitches!” 

Tommy swings a fist at Wilbur since he’s currently the only viable candidate for physical assault. And the bitch is laughing just a little too hard.

“That’s not very polite, Tommy,” Tubbo teases.

“I hate all of you. This is what my kindness gets me!”

The roaring laughter is almost enough to hide Tommy away from Ranboo’s question, but he’s too slow to scramble for another topic before those piercing eyes level him seriously once more.

“Now tell me, already! We’re way too calm for that to’ve been your parents, so who was it?”

He sighs, slumping against the bed and throwing out one last terse, bargaining smile. “And what if I just wanna hang out with my friends?”

“Should we be worried about him, Toms?” Wilbur suddenly pipes up, sitting down on the bad as well, taut with tension. “‘Cause we can tell the staff and make sure–”

“No, no, shut up.” Tommy waves a hand, the other pushing through his bangs in a way that is not at all similar to Wilbur, no matter what Niki or Phil says. “Schlatt’s fine, he’s just a dumbass. I just don’t want to see him.”

“Wait…” Ranboo’s eyes fly wide and he flinches like he wants to sit up. “ Schlatt is here? As in your cousin? ”

“No, the other Schlatt. The one from the circus,” the boy deadpans, hating this conversation.

“But I thought he moved to America?”

“He did. ”

A sharp whistle rises from the other bed, Tubbo’s bandages shifting like he’s raising his brows. “Damn, he flew over here to get rejected like that? Tough.”

“Yeah,” Tommy grumbles, shifting more comfortably onto the bed and tucking into himself as he glares into space. “ Tough. ”

Prickly silence settles for a few long, painful moments. Tommy lets his eyes go out of focus as Wilbur picks at a loose string on his sweater. Niki finishes setting Tubbo up, murmuring questions to the kid as she goes.

“Sooo, Tubbo…” Ranboo clears their throat, segueing with all their hopelessly awkward glory. “Lemme guess - Tommy broke into your room and didn’t leave until you two were friends?”

Even as Tommy’s mouth flaps open in a vain attempt to defend himself, the exposed corner of Tubbo’s lip quirks up to a smile. “Something like that.”

The blond’s cheeks flush as Wilbur loses it, and even Niki isn’t far behind. He kicks at the gangly dork’s knee, sending Ranboo a deadly look that clearly states they would be suffering at his hand if they weren’t already suffering enough.

“What?” Ranboo retorts with exaggerated innocence. “I’m just observing! We’re all victims– I mean, subjects of the Tommy Effect!”

“Damn right you’re all subjects of me! I’m a fucking delight!”

“Of course,” Wilbur snickers, nodding with mock sincerity. “We’re blessed to be in your presence, Toms.”

Narrowing his eyes, Tommy stares the bastard down, watching him struggle with all his might to hold back his laughter. The boy knows when his own words are being parroted back to him - he knows when he’s being patronized. But it’s also trivially easy to Uno-reverse patronizing into praise.

“Exactly. I am a Prime-given blessing and you all should be grateful!” he declares, nodding firmly.

Approving nods bounce around the room with cheeky smiles and fond headshakes. Tommy expected that much - he set it up for himself. What the boy is not prepared for is the sparkling depth of sincerity and endless adoration he finds in Wilbur’s dark eyes.

He flinches back from it, startled by the confusing tumble of feelings it sparks inside. It almost feels like there's a flock of birds flapping in his chest, and that brings up very unhelpful images of an incredibly embarrassing dream that he did not have.

Lucky for Tommy, Wilbur has to leave for work within the next few minutes, so he doesn’t have to do any processing of weird, complicated emotions right now. He’s had enough surprise attacks from them today and he really just wants to chill out with his friends.

The three of them are finally left alone and Tommy feels himself relax, sinking into the comforter of Ranboo’s bed. 

He enjoys peace for approximately thirty seconds before his friend turns their head closer and murmurs in his ear, “...Are we gonna talk about Schlatt?”

Eyes remaining stubbornly closed, Tommy grumbles back, “Absolutely not.”

“Tom. All you wanted was for him to tell you why he left like that.”

“Yeah, and he took too long. I don’t care anymore,” Tommy retorts, turning away. 

And he means it. He does.

“He clearly came ‘cause he heard what happened. You don’t even wanna hear him out?” Ranboo argues, waving a hand as his voice pitches with something like frustration.

“If he really cared what they were doing to me, he would’ve fucking called! ”

With a sharp intake of breath, Ranboo half sits up, wincing as he does. Their eyes flare with some incomprehensible fire, burning into Tommy’s ice-cold glare.

“Tommy, if my parents had moved, I never would’ve seen or spoken to you again.” 

The words echo through the silent room with impossible, damning weight, cracking the foundations around them. There’s no malice in them, just desperate, aching terror. Tommy can only stare, swallowed by the haunted gaze and all the bare truth inside it. 

He knows it. Ranboo’s parents did not let him keep his number. The hospital is the only reason they still know each other, through no fault of their own. It sends chills through his bones and awakens old, harrowing aches that he’d long since fought to bury deep.

Because in truth, he’s always been better at being angry. He’s felt safer - comfortable there. Kicking and screaming is practiced; easy. Pain is easier to bandage when there’s someone to curse at. 

Whether that’s his bitchy teachers, his parents, his bullies, himself - or his dumbass cousin who betrayed him and left him behind without a word.

But what if there isn’t anyone to blame? 

What if his cousin really had the best intentions and every legitimate reason for staying away? What if he really didn’t know - or didn’t know what to do? What if he was drowning too, and there was no one for him to turn to?

What if they really were just two kids doing the best they could do in a shitty situation?

What is Tommy supposed to do then? It’s not fair.  

Because he was still left alone. He still suffered when he could have been saved. He was still betrayed. He’s still angry!

Would he still be angry with Ranboo if he’d never seen him again? Certainly. But would he give them a second chance? Would he forgive them?

“If he ever meant something to you, you’ll regret it if you don’t talk to him,” a sudden voice startles Tommy from his thoughts.

He rolls over, flinching as he meets Tubbo’s single, blazing eye. The gravity of his words and his stare drops Tommy’s stomach to the abyss. He cowers from it, expecting the room to lapse into silence. But somehow, the shorter boy continues.

“I was pissed at my parents when we went to bed,” he admits, voice hoarse and shaken. “We’d been fighting a lot - about grades n’ chores n’ shit.”

Oh, Prime… Tommy can feel the sting of tears brimming already. Once again, he can’t seem to keep his foot out of his mouth around Tubbo. How much of an idiot is he being that this closed-off kid is digging through his grief for Tommy’s benefit?

“It was so fucking stupid, but I thought it was all so important. I thought the end of the world was them taking my damn computer away,” the boy sniffles - it might have been a laugh.

The next words come out shattered, and they crumble every remainder of whatever foundations the three of them are teetering on.

“ The last thing I said to them was that I hated them. ”

A wounded noise slips past Ranboo’s lips as Tommy’s head falls into his hands. He apologizes before he can process a thing.

“Prime– Fuck, I’m so sorry, Tubbo, I didn’t–” he gasps for breath, hearing both his friends do the same. “I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll– I will, okay?”

A sob rips out from the other bed, choking around something like the word ‘good’. Tommy looks up and the boy is refusing his gaze now, staring stoutly at the opposite wall. A million thoughts swirl in his mind as he tries to search for the right words - for anything he can say. 

What could he possibly say to a kid carrying that much unimaginable guilt and grief? None of it is deserved, but Tommy can’t say he doesn’t understand. Because how do you forgive yourself for that? He tells his loved ones that he hates them all the time, but he never means it. He never even thinks he means it. 

But what if they did? What if that was the last thing they heard from him? He thinks of Schlatt, of the sorrow and shame glittering in his eyes as they desperately fought to meet his. Tommy might not be ready to forgive his cousin, but he doesn’t want the bastard to die with that weight on his heart.

And Tubbo, he wasn’t even truly angry with his parents. There has to be something he can say to at least share in the boy’s suffering. But his useless tongue is numb in his mouth, and Ranboo speaks instead.

“They knew, Tubbo,” they whisper, hoarse and earnest. “They knew you didn’t mean it.”

The bandaged boy’s eyes fall shut, tears trailing down and no doubt aggravating his burns. He doesn’t speak, just shakes his head in the smallest, almost imperceptible motion. And something about it - something underlying Ranboo’s words, a quiet echo cascading through the silent room - it clicks. Tommy remembers lying face down in the cold, blood trickling into the dirt, hearing Wilbur’s voice break with concern. He was fading, dying - but all he wanted was for his f… friends to not fret over him. 

If he’d died back then, Wilbur would have blamed himself forever, and Tommy couldn’t have wanted anything less.  

All at once, Tommy feels a spark light up in his chest, burning through his every nerve. 

“He’s right, y’know,” he forces out, ignoring the way Tubbo shakes his head again. “I’m sure they were smart people. Am I right?”

There. Tubbo turns a burning glare on him, answering the question wordlessly, but he answers aloud for good measure. “ Yes. ” 

Tommy nods, not letting any anxiousness betray uncertainty under the other boy’s murderous gaze. “Then they don’t need a ‘sorry’,” he says simply. “They don’t need an ‘I love you’ to know that you do. They were good parents, right?”

“Yeah…” Tubbo’s voice is barely there, but he gets the word out anyway.

“They loved you?”

“ Yes. ”

“Then they wouldn’t want you to hold onto guilt like that,” he concludes, heart twisting as he watches Tubbo’s face crumble.

Softly, from beside Tommy, Ranboo adds, “Don’t put that on you… You’re carrying enough.”

Leave it to Ranboo to effortlessly one-up him and bring it home like usual. Tubbo bursts into tears again, and the two of them aren’t far behind. Tommy hopes that these group sob-sessions aren’t a super regular thing, but he also can’t say he minds too terribly - as long as they’re all doing it together, with no outside witnesses.

After almost half an hour, Tubbo croaks out a watery: “I hate you both so much.”

Tommy bites his lip and immediately receives a sharp elbow to his upper arm.

“Don’t you dare, ” Ranboo snaps.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I can hear your thoughts.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Do not explain!”

They eventually settle down for sleep. Techno comes in to get them set up, mostly just checking on Ranboo and hooking up his machine. Tommy notes the fact that the near-graduated resident isn’t quite in full uniform and his hair is up in a high pony instead of a braid. He must have just arrived for his shift - the boy wonders if he even clocked in yet.

Just as the pink-haired man steps out into the hall, Tommy eagerly turns to Tubbo and stage whispers, “Oh! Who’s your favourite of the hospital staff? Mine’s Phil and Ran’s is Techno!”

“Tommy, you can at least wait til he’s out of earshot!” Ranboo complains with a groan, but Tommy waves a hand dismissively.

“It’s not like he doesn’t know, Boob boy - Now, Tubbo! Spill! Who’s your pick?”

“I haven’t exactly met most of them, y’know,” Tubbo deadpans. “Besides, isn’t it a bit rude to pick favourites?”

With a heavy eye roll, Tommy flops into the pillows. “Oh, don’t give me that, bitch! If you don’t tell me your favourite, I’ll tell you who it is!”

“Fine, it’s Niki.”

“Ha! Called it.”

“Niki’s great!! I like her, too,” Ranboo agrees with a soft smile and nod.

“Of course she is! Everyone loves Niki!” Tommy states like it’s obvious, because it is. 

He turns back to Tubbo with a conspiratory smile. “By the way, you’re her favourite, too.”

The tiny bit of pale flesh still visible amidst the bandages on the kid’s face abruptly flush bright red as his single eye suddenly studies the far wall like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

Smiling smugly to himself, Tommy cozies into the covers and sighs contentedly. Ranboo pulls on the machine’s mask and they all prepare to finally get some real sleep.

According to the blurry green numbers on the clock as Tommy’s eyes fly open, that lasts about four hours.

He finds himself sitting up with a jolt at the sharp sound of a scream. He rolls over, eyes trying and failing to adjust to the dark, flailing form of his best friend beside him.

“ No! Please, I’m sorry!” Ranboo’s voice is shredded, breathless and choked. “I didn’t mean to, please- Don’t hurt me!”

A fist, an elbow, a knee all collide in painful bursts with Tommy as he struggles to pin the kid onto the mattress. Ranboo’s eyes are glazed and unseeing, staring into the darkness with endless terror.

“Ranboo! Ran, it’s me! It’s Tommy! You’re okay!” he cries, trying to be as gentle as possible while keeping his friend in the bed.

“ No, no, no! ” they shriek, covering the boy with more stings that will surely form nasty bruises.

But Tommy can hardly give a shit. “You’re not there, Ran! You’re safe! ”

With a sharp gasp and whine, Ranboo curls in on himself. Despite the pang in his heart, Tommy takes it as a win, tucking tighter around them and running his hand soothingly through their hair like Techno always does.

Speaking of, the resident bursts into the room with a look of panic just as Tommy whispers a mantra of: “I’m right here, you’re safe.”

Switching on the lower light, Techno kneels at the bedside, fixed on Ranboo as they devolve into sobs and nonsensical muttering. He lays his hand gently over the kid’s, running his thumb back and forth. Ranboo gasps at the contact, but he latches onto it rather than flinching away.

“You’re okay, kid. Just breathe - in and out,” Techno rumbles, soft but clear.

“Pl-please, I don’t–” Ranboo hiccups, trying to squeeze somehow even smaller. “Th-they’re gonna k-kill me!”

Tommy can’t help tensing up protectively, shifting to totally shield his friend with his body. The resident seems to be gripped with a similar instinct, squeezing Ranboo’s hand and letting out something akin to a growl.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt ya, kid. They’re not here, and I’d never let ‘em get close.”

“You’re safe, Ran,” Tommy repeats again, burying his face in their shoulder and letting the hospital gown soak up his tears.

Prime, he knew this would be bad, but he couldn’t possibly have been prepared for how brutally this is gutting him. Who could ever be prepared to hold their best friend together as he screams and cowers from ghosts that once gave him good reason to be so afraid?

“ I don’t wanna die… ” Ranboo whimpers, so impossibly small and shattered.

It knocks the wind out of Tommy, as if to punish him for thinking he’s felt the worst yet.

“You’re not gonna die,” Tommy and Techno instantly reply in almost perfect unison.

They both keep trying to soothe the kid, with gentle squeezes and soft assurances, but nothing seems to convince him that they’re safe. He just keeps sobbing, begging for help, never seeming to fully wake from his nightmare.

Turning helplessly to Techno, Tommy searches for some secret solution that the resident might have. He finds only swirling, spiralling panic - a trademark of a man severely out of his depth. Just as the boy’s mind starts to get drastic, Tommy freezes almost in time with Ranboo.

Because suddenly, there’s a soft sound drifting through the dimness of the room. It’s a scratchy hum, not entirely on key and pitching awkwardly, but the melody is slow, warm and calming. It’s coming from the other bed a few feet away.

Words breathe featherlight into the tune, caked with the thickness of emotion. 

“There are those who’ll tell you you’re wrong, they will try… to… silence your song, but right here… is… where you belong, so don’t search… anymore~”

Most amazing of all, it seems to be working. Ranboo’s eyes are open again - still spilling tears, but staring out with a different kind of far-offness. Their breaths are slowing, evening out with the song’s pace. Knots of tension are unravelling from his coiled up posture bit by bit.

“You… are… the dawn of the new day that’s waking~ 

A masterpiece still in the making~

The blue in an ocean of grey…”

This time, Ranboo lets their eyes fall closed with a soft sigh, melting into the comfort surrounding him. Tommy even feels tension rolling off his own shoulders as he listens to Tubbo sing, stunned by the boy’s ability to be such a comfort from across the room. Hell, he’s doing far better than him and Techno!

“Though the world may try to define you, it can’t… take… the light that’s inside you, so don’t… you… dare try to hide, let your fears… fade away~”

The song abruptly breaks off with a burst of coughing, and Tommy whips his head around to find Tubbo grimacing. They make eye contact for a long moment, a million things being said in that brief, wordless interaction. From Tommy it’s mostly gratitude, from Tubbo it’s understanding, concern, and stoic determination.

“...Techno…?” Ranboo rasps hesitantly, drawing Tommy’s attention back immediately.

“Ya with us, kid?” the resident replies, lips twitching into a strained smile.

Rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, Ranboo groans. “It happened again?”

The man just nods as Tommy cuddles back up against his friend with a pained noise. Ranboo clutches him back right away, blinking rapidly in the low light.

“Are you hurting?” Tommy asks, fighting back a wince as the sting of his own injuries make themselves known.

“A little. Mostly the ribs.”

“Yeah, that was a lotta rollin’ and thrashin’,” Techno confirms, sighing as he runs a careful hand over the kid’s chest. “Nothin’ too bad, though. I’ll turn up your morphine, since hey, ya didn’t rip out of it this time!”

They nod at the resident’s dry praise and then frown. “I didn’t get up?”

Recoiling into a half-sit, Tommy aims a mock glare down at them. “What kind of night guard do you take me for?” he retorts, hand over his aching chest.

He knows he should probably get all these stings across his body checked out, but there’s no way in hell he’s breathing a word about them in front of Ranboo. They’re hardly serious, just a little uncomfortable. He can wait until morning at least, it’s nothing he’s not used to.

It’s more than worth it to see the warm smile spread over his best friend’s tear-stained face.

“Of course, what am I thinking? Thank you, Tommy - What would I do without you?” Ranboo says, clearly going for theatrics but spilling in a little too much sincerity.

“Fuck up your injuries way more, for sure,” he replies, easing back down beside them.

They laugh as Techno finishes up. The resident asks if they want the light off, and that prompts Ranboo to profusely apologize to Tubbo, who of course entirely dismisses the notion. 

They agree collectively to stay up, at least for a while longer. It’s clear that Ranboo doesn’t remember the lullaby that woke him up, so to show his gratitude to Tubbo, Tommy opts to let that secret be buried with them. Not that he won’t definitely use it as blackmail on occasion, but the threats will remain empty.

The night stretches on but never feels long. Tommy knows too well the suffocating loneliness of lying awake in the darkness as time seems frozen solid, but that frigidness never touches the atmosphere. The trio seem impossibly comfortable with each other, trading effortless banter and enjoying companionable silence. And as late night delirium starts to kick in, they fall easily into deep, existential ramblings like it's as casual as discussing the weather.

It’s kind of funny that Tommy learns Tubbo’s opinion on his place in the universe before learning what his favourite colour is, but he’s sure to ask that one later. It’s yellow. 

And when Tommy asks him what his favourite flower on the mural is, the kid sluggishly responds ‘bees’ . After they all finish dying of laughter for several minutes, Tommy dubs Tubbo ‘Bee Boy’ and vows to never call him anything else - much to the boy’s chagrin.

All in all, it’s a great night. Tommy might fall asleep a few times in there, it’s hard to keep track. He has no idea how much time bleeds by between each creak of the door followed by someone - usually Techno - checking up on them. But before they know it, the sun is peeking through the crack in the thick, blue curtains, and a tired Phil is stepping inside to tell them good morning.

Now, Tommy is hardly eager to leave his friends, but he knows Wilbur will be dropping by soon to take him to school and he has a couple things to take care of before then. So he greets Phil and pulls himself off the mattress, carefully hiding his wince as his definitely-bruises pulse with pain. 

Lowering himself off the bed, he covers the groan he wants to release by whining: “ Phiiiill, how long until Ran can come to school with me? I mean- they have an education to attend to, right?”

The nurse flashes a strained smile, but Tubbo responds before he can take a breath to reply.

“Woww, you’re trying to take my new friend away already? That’s messed up,” he drawls, shifting minutely in what would surely be an exaggerated shake of his head.

“What, are you clingy already, Bee boy?” Tommy tosses back, ignoring the adoring expression melting over Phil’s face.

“I think you’re the clingy one here, Tom,” Ranboo cuts in like the shit they are.

“Oi, fuck you! Excuse me for-”

“Okay, to answer your question, Tommy,” Phil sighs fondly, clicking a few buttons on Ranboo’s monitor. “It’ll be a few more weeks at least. But recovery is going well, all things considered. Techno tells me you had another night terror?”

As Ranboo nods, Tommy puffs up his chest. “Yeah, but no need to worry, Philza Minecraft! I night-guarded him and we all helped calm him down!”

“Yeah, I heard. Good job with that, mate,” the nurse praises, turning to him with dizzying warmth.

He deflates instantly, pointedly ignoring the teasing smirk that Ranboo is pointing in his direction as his cheeks burn. He should really get going - all those big man things he has to do and all. 

He rushes from the room as Phil starts saying something to Tubbo, calling a quick farewell without looking back. As he nears the front lobby, the halls are bustling with all the nurses, residents and doctors starting their morning shifts and Tommy almost immediately collides with a couple of them as his eyes distractedly scan the crowd.

He’s heading towards the nurse’s lounge looking for one figure in particular. He’d learned from Wilbur that he’s working today and should be starting with the rest of the early group. He scurries over the sand-like tile, gaze sweeping through multi-coloured scrubs for a tell-tale, shiny bald head.

Finally, he spots it, thrown back in laughter by the coffee machine. Jack Manifold fumbles a bit and spills some coffee from his mug but hardly seems to mind, too caught up in slapping his knee at something Hannah Rose said. The nurse seems entirely too awake for the hour and the exhausted expression Hannah is wearing seems to agree.

Well, time to rescue her, Tommy thinks valiantly, sprinting in the direction of the cackling man. Jack spots the boy before he gets to him and he watches that bright expression drop. It’s replaced with guilt and a healthy dose of fear.

“Tommy!” he calls out, voice tight.

Hannah turns around with a puzzled expression, eyes awkwardly darting between the two of them for a few moments like she’s heavily considering retreat.

“Hey there, Manifold! Have a minute?” he asks, more to give her an easy exit than anything else.

She takes it eagerly, nodding and stepping backwards until Jack and Tommy are left in relative privacy. It’s not good enough for the boy just yet, but that’s not the priority right now. Tucking into himself and drumming his fingers nervously, Jack leans closer.

“Yeah, hey, uh, look–” he starts, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, alright? I know I shouldn’t’ve told him anything without letting you know, and I should’ve–”

Waving a hand, Tommy cuts his babbling off. “Shut up, I don’t give a shit about you apologizing.”

The man blanches, somehow shrinking smaller as the boy continues. 

Tommy holds up a finger. “Here’s what I want - you owe me a favour, so you’re gonna do two things for me–” He raises another finger. “And then we can forget about all this and be like old friends. Sound good?”

Mutely, Jack nods, teeth worrying at his lip. Tommy nods back, patting his arm as patronizingly as possible.

“Good, good,” he murmurs with faux praise. “First thing, give me my cousin’s number.”

Jack winces at the request, already fishing for his phone. Tommy can sense the apology bubbling to the man’s lips and is quick to kill it with a pointed glare. With some more awkward fumbling, he inputs the number into Tommy’s contacts just as the boy grabs him by the fresh green scrubs and begins dragging him towards a more private area.

As they walk - Jack squawking confusion - he quietly continues his instructions. 

“The second thing you’re gonna do for me is going to involve zero questions and you’re not gonna tell a single other person about it. Understood?” He levels the man with a hard stare, knowing this one is going to be a much more difficult sell.

Sure enough, Jack reels back with suspicious concern. “What kind of favour is this? Are we at ‘help me hide a body’ levels, or do you have an embarrassing medical question?”

Shaking his head, Tommy sighs. “Nothing to worry about, I just don’t want anyone to know. I figured since you spilled all my secrets, you owe me keeping one,” he adds, knowing how it’ll bite.

The nurse stiffens, fists clenching and lips drawing into a thin line. The tension only lasts a moment before it blows out with an exasperated breath.

“ Fine, fair ‘nough. What is it?” he asks tiredly.

“Uh… I, um…”

All of a sudden, nerves flutter uneasily in Tommy’s gut. He wants to feel assured by Jack’s agreement, but who’s to say the nurse will actually listen when it comes to keeping medical information secret? There are probably laws about that or something. He really doesn’t want this to come back to Ranboo.

He sighs again. At the very least he can try to make sure nobody tells his friend, even if word does get out about his injuries. But Phil probably wouldn’t let him sleep beside them anymore and that would suck.

Fuck it. He’s come this far already. In one motion, as gentle as he can manage, Tommy peels the shirt off his back and drops it to the ground, letting the nurse get a look at the apparently nasty bruises peppering his chest and arms.

They look much worse than Tommy expected. Though, to be fair, his skin is always dramatic like that.

“ Holy shit! ” Jack exclaims with masterful subtlety, scrambling to his knees and inspecting the swollen marks. “What the hell happened? Tommy, I swear to Prime, if this is more bullies there’s no way I’m not–”

“It’s not! It’s nothing like that!” he assures him quickly, waving his hands. “It really wasn’t anything serious, this is just my blood, ‘member? I’m fine, I just want some numbing gel.”

The nurse throws him a heavy look, thoroughly unconvinced. “Tommy, it’s irresponsible of me to keep this secret if I don’t know how it happened,” he replies, firm and clinical.

“It was an accident,” the boy admits, queasiness swimming in his stomach. “I don’t want the person to know this happened, they’ll feel awful. I promise it doesn’t hurt that bad, I’m just trying to be responsible and look after my health!”

He knows adding that last part will definitely help his case. And it’s true! All of the lessons everyone keeps drilling into his skull are taking a toll on him. He knows he doesn’t deserve to be in pain, and asking for help is okay - he just doesn’t want Ranboo to hurt in the process! He doesn’t want to have to give up helping his friend in favour of helping himself, that just isn’t fair!

Tommy shifts back and forth from one foot to the other as Jack seems to ruminate on the issue, eyes narrowed and brow pinched. Finally his eyes fall closed and his shoulders heave with a heavy sigh.

“Alright… because you came to me about this, I won’t tell anyone. I want you to look after yourself, Tommy,” the nurse concedes, and Tommy brightens before he adds, “But that includes not being in situations that get you hurt in the first place.”

Begrudgingly, Tommy nods, avoiding eye contact. He continues doing so as the nurse fetches and applies the numbing agent, instead inspecting the sparkly polish on the floor. It makes the ground look like a desert under the bright sun, or a poorly hidden hoard of treasure.

Before he knows it, the pain pulsing over his body is replaced by a tingling coldness that will soon fade into numbness.

“Now make sure you’re careful while those heal, Tommy. No roughhousing, running or jumping, try not to touch them, and be sure to see me twice a day until the swelling goes down.”

Tommy swallows down the prickling irritation at being ordered to be careful and nods, smiling something genuine. He salutes - slowly - and marches from the room. Jack huffs a tired laugh behind him as he goes and the boy deflates with relief.

It’ll be a whole different feat to tackle this if he gets injured by Ranboo again, but that’s a worry for a different day. He’s got enough feelings well-equipped to consume him already as he stares down at the new contact in his phone.

Jack simply wrote in ‘Schlatt’ for the display name, but as Tommy’s knuckles whiten around his case, he finds himself swiftly typing in a change. It’s a far more vindicated feeling warming his chest at the name that stares back at him.

For a moment, his thumb hovers over the call button. It shakes as he considers it, but then he remembers hearing the breaks in his cousin’s voice, shattering further and further at Tommy’s coldness. He presses the message button instead, impulsively typing out a quick text and sending it before he can consider otherwise.

Shockingly, he gets a reply back almost instantly.

Wife Haver: meet me after school

Asshat: at the school or hospital?

He stares stunned at the screen for almost a full minute. Finally he shakes out of it and sends a reply.

Wife Haver: hospital.

Asshat: ok

I’ll be there for 3:30

I’m sorry, Tommy.

Seen 6:45 AM

He tries very hard to push the meeting out of his mind for the rest of the day, but it seems to be the only thing taking any space in there. Wilbur notices something off but luckily he doesn’t press. Honestly, it’s some massive growth from the man, and Tommy is incredibly appreciative. 

Not that it won’t all come out at the end of the day, when Wil picks him up and they both run into Schlatt waiting in the Crow’s Nest lobby. But Tommy is a big proponent of optimism, okay? It’s hard to get full glasses, so when it’s half full it’s a big deal!

For example, he might be totally zoned out and anxious all day, but at least he doesn’t have to deal with the demoness herself, Mrs. Francis. Apparently she was fired for something like ‘criminal negligence’? She might’ve been charged, but Niki and Wilbur always avoid the question when he asks about it.

In any case, he’s hardly broken up about it. His new English teacher actually makes the class fun! None of them could pronounce his name so he lets them call him Mr. Sneeg or Sneegsnag. 

He’s technically a sub right now because his education is mostly in criminology, but he’s amazing at making the discussion make sense and be cool to participate in. Plus he always seems to turn the discussions towards important life lessons like ‘don’t talk to cops’ and general topics like anti-racism and anti-capitalism. 

Tommy wonders how long it’ll take for Mr. Sneeg to get in big trouble with the board. He almost thinks the man sees it as a game himself.

Eventually the end of the day rolls around and Tommy slides silently into the passenger seat of Wilbur’s car. He stares subtly at the last text he’s received, reading that his cousin is ready and waiting for him in the lobby. He can’t get his foot to stop tapping.

Pulling the door closed, Wilbur starts up the car, giving the boy a strange look. Tommy sinks down lower, trying to ignore despite the futility. Why is he such a pussy about this shit?

The car pulls out and the man continues side-eyeing Tommy, clearly impatient but trying to let the boy speak first. He sighs, lifting his tapping foot and kicking against the glove box.

“So, uh…” Tommy begins eloquently. “I should tell you something, just so you don’t, y’know… flip out or something.” 

Wow, he’s shit at this. Wilbur perks up, far more than mildly curious now. But still he just hums and nods, waiting for the boy to continue.

With a dry swallow, Tommy flips his phone over, staring down at it. “I asked my cousin to meet me in the lobby. He’s waiting there.”

The man blinks, fingers twitching on the steering wheel. “The… same cousin that came by yesterday?”

“He’s the only one I got,” Tommy deadpans, leaning against the window.

Prime, he’s so tired. Everything about this is so exhausting, which is exactly why he never wanted to do this in the first place. But after everything Tubbo said last night… He just has to do this, at least once.

There’s silence for a few beats. Then Wilbur draws a long breath.

“You asked him? He didn’t push you?”

He shakes his head. “I… I asked him.”

His words feel caught in his throat, stuck by all the emotions attempting to rush out. Wilbur gives him a long look as they pull up to a red light. The bitch is just too good at reading him.

“...Why did you ask him?” the man asks, because of course he does.

Dropping his head back, Tommy heaves a sigh. Wilbur immediately jumps in at the obvious reluctance, holding an assuring hand out.

“It’s just that you were very clear yesterday that you didn’t want to see him. I just want to know what changed. Because, Toms… If you don’t want to see him you don’t have to. ”

The boy’s heart clutches at the words, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. He buries his head in his hands with a pained groan, trying to get his swimming, erratic thoughts into some sort of order. Because on the one hand, he doesn’t want to see Schlatt. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to deal with any of these messy, draining, scary emotions. 

He wants to punch the dumbass in the face and scream at him for leaving him - he wants to hear one of his jokes again and laugh like the two of them used to. He wants to hug him and make him promise never to leave again - he wants to send the bitch packing and tell him to never show his face again. 

He hates the bastard and he misses him so fucking bad. It’s so damn confusing and Prime, Tommy does not want to deal with it. But he could never forgive himself if something happened to Schlatt and he missed his only chance for closure.

“If I don’t do this now, I’m scared I’ll never do it,” Tommy spits out finally, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “And I can’t live with never doing it.”

Wilbur’s face pinches into a thoughtful frown as he nods, letting out a hum. He hesitates a few more seconds before asking, “Do you want me there with you?”

And Prime, is it tempting to say yes. Having the pillar of support and shield from hurt that is Wil beside him when he steps into the hurricane that is this meeting would be such a great relief. But Tommy knows he could never have the conversation he needs to have with Schlatt if Wilbur is there. There would just be too much room to hide, and not enough light for honesty.

“Thanks, Wil, but I need to do this alone.” He manages a small smile when he says it, but even that doesn’t seem to ease the tension coiling in the man’s shoulders.

Still, he gives a hesitant: “...Okay.”

By the time they pull into the parking lot, Tommy’s nerves are frying his systems. His hand trembles so bad he fumbles twice with the door before pushing it open and he sways on his feet as soon as he hops out.

But, steadying himself, he pushes on. Wilbur wordlessly takes his hand, squeezing it tight as they walk. Tommy wishes he could find the words to thank the man, but for now he can only squeeze back even tighter.

Then they’re standing in front of the glass doors of the front lobby. Tommy spots Schlatt instantly, sitting in a corner and fiddling with a black and red phone case. He’s wearing a baggy, brown hunting jacket, gray hoodie, the same bulky boots and backwards hat from the day before, and black slacks. 

The boy takes a deep breath, releasing Wilbur’s hand with it and stepping forward, letting the automatic doors part for his entrance. Schlatt’s head snaps up instantly, locking eyes with Tommy once again like a deer in the headlights.

A wave crashes over Tommy and it feels like it freezes him solid. This time, however, he’s quick to brush past it, feeling the coldness wane like the tingle of the numbing gel as it starts to wear off. He walks forward and his cousin stands and strides over to meet him. The man’s eyes flicker past him, lingering presumably on Wilbur for a few moments with caution.

“Follow me,” Tommy says, drawing Schlatt’s attention back as he gestures toward a leftside hall. “We can talk in the Study Room.”

He turns and nods to Wilbur, who silently communicates that he’ll be waiting, and turns to walk off. Schlatt follows the boy wordlessly, wringing his hands as his eyes dart all over the place. The man seems antsy about being in the hospital, or maybe it’s just general nerves.

The two of them make no sound aside from the squeak of their sneakers over the tile for the whole walk. Tommy nods to a couple nurses and they falter once when they almost run into Charlie. Some strange look is passed between them all there, like a thousand words spoken in a gaze, but they move on.

When they reach the Study Room, Tommy heads to the nearest nook in the bookshelves, relieved to find it seemingly empty. Opened books are scattered over the small table and a sweater is hung over one of the chairs, a sure sign that someone was called for an emergency - or they lost track of time on their break. 

But regardless, the space is unoccupied for now, and that’s all Tommy needs. He turns around, dropping into the chair with the sweater, throwing Schlatt a flat look. His cousin slides forward, pulling out a chair with a slight squeak before slowly easing down onto it.

With no interest in drawing things out, Tommy clears his throat. “Why are you here, Schlatt?”

The words echo cold and terse, seeming to shake through the man as he grips his pant legs and swallows hard. But the look in his eyes is no different - guilt, sorrow, utter confusion.

“I- I came to see you, Tommy. I-” The boy cuts him off with a huff, shaking his head. 

“No,” he snaps, barely speaking past the pressure in his chest. “Why are you here now? ”

Schlatt flinches like he’s been burned, guilt pooling in his fraying composure. He understands perfectly what Tommy is asking - he knows and it’s clearly eating him alive. Tommy tears his gaze away from it, a sting already blurring his vision. Prime, he can’t do this.

“ I’m sorry, ” his cousin’s voice is barely a whisper, scraping out through sheer force of will. “Tommy, I swear to you, I didn’t know– I didn’t– I didn’t know it was this bad, I–”

“What you saw wasn’t bad enough?” the words fall out before Tommy can stop them, cutting razor sharp with a heat he’d hardly felt building. “You thought I’d just be okay without you?”

The man’s face crumples, a tear slipping free as a hand grips at his face. He gasps, shaking his head over and over. Tommy just stares, blinking through his own tears spilling.

“No, I- Prime, I didn’t want to leave you, Tommy! I didn’t know what to do, I was scared and your parents went no contact and I didn’t–” Schlatt gasps again, hands gesturing helplessly. “I was a kid, too, okay?”

It’s a ruthless kick to the gut, sending Tommy tumbling with all his explosive, tangled emotions snaring him. Because Ranboo was right and so was Tubbo and they’re just fucking kids and it’s not fair and everything sucks and none of it is ever fucking fair.

And all of it comes out in a venomous scoff that melts into bitter laughter. “Okay, big man, and you’ve been an adult for how many years now? Almost four? And how long have you been talking to Manifold and not me, huh?”

He almost relishes the way Schlatt flinches this time, feeling just a whisper of that fiery catharsis from when he screamed at his parents. But it’s just a whisper, and nothing about this feels good.

“Look, I’m sorry, Tommy, I honestly– I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me after… what happened,” Schlatt stammers weakly, suddenly struggling to meet his eyes.

“You mean after you sold me out to my parents and then ditched me without a goodbye?”

His cousin’s shoulders drop, face splitting up with devastation. “I promise you I didn’t want any of that,” he says seriously, almost pleading.

Tommy shrugs, turning away. “Still happened.”

Studying the colourful book spines lining the shelves beside him, Tommy wipes his tears, fingers flexing spasmodically. He laughs something dry and empty, refusing Schlatt’s sorry gaze.

“Y’know… it took them a year to get sick of me, after you left,” he rasps, picking at the edge of his red sweater sleeve. “So they finally sent me to school, as long as they never had to pick me up from the hospital. I just bussed home.”

“...Tom–”

“Do you know how I spent that year?” His voice breaks as more tears slip free, and Schlatt’s words are swallowed into silence.

The boy tries for a humourless smile, but his lip winds up curling into a shaky sneer. “ Alone. Trapped inside, without even my oldest friends ‘cause they took them and hid them from me.”

Nothing breaks the silence but the sound of Tommy’s own shaking breaths. He shakes his head, knowing without looking the frozen look on his cousin’s face.

“The only reason I ever made a friend is ‘cause I almost died from what they thought was another dumb accident!” he suddenly roars, shocking himself with his own admission but barreling right over it with the force of his crashing. 

“I was alone, and the whole time I just wanted to know what made you stop caring!”

“I never stopped caring, Tommy!” Schlatt insists desperately, but it feels like a slap to Tommy’s flushing, tear-streaked face.

“Then where the hell were you!?” he shrieks back, leaping to his feet, uncaring of the way his chair flung back and clattered to the floor. “If you cared, why the fuck did you leave me!?”

His cousin seems to dissolve in the blaze of the boy’s glare, staring back like a kicked puppy bearing the weight of the world.

“I’m sorry…” the man all but whimpers. “I’m so sorry I left, kid… I would’ve stayed forever if I had my way. I will– I am,” he straightens suddenly, composure shifting with some strange eagerness.

“Tommy, I’m here– I moved here. I’m here to stay,” he says, hands tapping the table for emphasis.

And the boy watches them closely, but somehow the words don’t manage to pierce his skull. He just stares in stunned silence, tears taking a brief reprieve. There’s such sincerity in his cousin’s brown eyes, all of it fixed on him.

“You… what?” Tommy hears his own voice like it’s coming from someone else.

But Schlatt nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve moved here, to the city. I want… Tommy, I want to– at least offer you somewhere to stay, that isn’t the hospital. I… I can be your guardian. I can look after you. I’m here, and I’m staying. ”

Tommy blinks. 

He blinks again.

Next he knows, he’s being led out of the lobby by a familiar hand. Someone tries to speak to him, but he barely hears.

He blinks again and he’s sitting on a mattress, back pressed against the cool wall. Voices echo around him. Ranboo is holding his hand. 

It starts to come back.

He shut down. Schlatt must have left. Wilbur is still here, rubbing his arm and talking to Phil. 

Schlatt… His cousin moved back here. He wants to be in Tommy’s life again. He offered to adopt him. He never thought anyone would want to adopt him.

There are too many feelings to process - with every twist of his heart a million more thoughts pound in his head. It’s exhausting but he can’t find enough peace to fall asleep. His eyes can’t focus. He can barely feel the warmth against him.

And none of this torrent is being lessened by the sound of Phil’s voice, caked with so much hidden worry as he gently tries to coax the boy out of the entrapment of his mind. Not because Phil isn’t kind and calming and exactly the kind of support Tommy wants and needs in his weakest moments, but rather exactly because he is all of that.

He can’t look at Phil right now. He can’t let the nurse hold him and look at him with care and concern as he asks what’s causing the boy so much turmoil. He can’t tell the man that he’s part of that reason. He can’t tell him why.

Because Tommy was just offered something from his dreams, but he doesn’t want it because he so badly wants something he knows he’ll never have.

So he doesn’t. He refuses, curling against Wilbur as using the man as a shield from all his emotions like he should have from the start. He loses track of what happens next, but at some point it’s morning and Wilbur is still there. He’s asking if Tommy wants to go for a drive.

The boy has never agreed to something so fast in his life. He accepts water and a delicious muffin surely baked by Niki, and lets Wil guide him by the hand through the halls and out to his car. Maybe he just doesn’t want to let go of the man’s hand, but no one needs to know that.

The click of his seatbelt feels like a switch in his brain - not waking him up completely, but icing his thoughts with a little clarity. The rumble of the engine only brings him closer, fingers tracing over the leather of the seat, the fabric of his jeans, and the dusty plastic of the car door. The car reeks of antifreeze and air-freshner, but it only makes Tommy a little nauseous.

“We only have to talk if it’ll help,” Wilbur says suddenly, eyes fixed on the road despite an obvious desire to look elsewhere.

Tommy blinks. The green glowing numbers on the display change from 7:14 to 7:21.

“He wants to adopt me,” he finally blurts, flat and hollow.

Rain begins to patter against the windshield, droplets getting swished away by the rhythmic motion of wipers. A light switches from red to green.

“Tommy, do you want to live with him?”

The breathless words stun the boy and he startles a bit, turning to inspect the man’s expression. It’s not exactly the most surprising thing for Wilbur to say, but it was the way it came out that’s puzzling.

Even more confusing is the tense way the man’s shoulders are drawn up to his ears, knuckles flexing tightly on the wheel, eyes still staring straight ahead. He’s speaking like he can barely get it out, and holding his breath as he waits for Tommy’s response. 

What the hell is Wilbur so scared for?

“I… I don’t know…” Tommy replies hesitantly, gripping his seatbelt. “Honestly, I never thought I’d get adopted.”

The man draws a sharp breath, straightening even further in his seat. Tommy eyes him warily, trying to puzzle out all this weird behaviour.

“But do you want him to adopt you?” Wil asks again, something very pointed - almost knowing - in his tone.

Panic spikes at the notion and the boy turns his head away, suddenly incredibly invested in the raindrops racing for the bottom of his window. There’s no way Wilbur could know… right? That’d be impossible, he’s never told a soul. He’s been an expert at hiding his deep desires from everyone he holds dear. …Hasn’t he?

Deciding he can’t rely on words right now, Tommy just shrugs. After a long silence where he tries to settle his breathing, he swallows hard.

“I mean… I don’t really forgive him yet. But, well… maybe I should take what I get, right?”

“I don’t agree with that,” Wilbur retorts immediately. “I think you should have what you want. What you deserve. ”

Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stomach doing flip-flops at the heartfelt conviction in the words. He lets out a vague noise and continues staring out the window. He starts counting the red cars, then tries reading license plates.

A soft sigh breaks the prolonged silence. “Phil and Kristin want to invite you and Ranboo to join them for Christmas. Tubbo, too, if he’s well enough by then.”

The boy blinks, but the clock doesn’t change. He whirls around, searching Wilbur’s gaze. The man is smiling now, finally glancing at Tommy.

“What?” he demands, despite hearing perfectly fine the first time.

Wilbur’s smile only grows. “I’m invited, too. So is Niki. And I’m going, of course. Unless you don’t want to.”

“What!?” Tommy can’t help repeating, making the man burst into giggles.

“You’re not really that surprised, are you? You know they love you guys,” Wilbur teases, but there is sincerity laced into every word and Tommy is going to explode.

He knows he should respond with something brazen like ‘of course, everyone loves me’ as he normally would, but against his will he squeaks out a soft: “ ...They do? ”

Pulling to a stop on the side of an empty road, Wilbur fully whirls on him, face splitting open with a mix of horror and disbelief. “Tommy– Of course they do! They adore you, don’t you see how much they dote on you?”

Face flushing bright red, Tommy flusters for a retort. “Wh-but-like, that’s their job? ”

“It’s their job to take care of you, but they love you guys much more than a doctor or nurse loves their patient! Did you really think that?”

Tommy decides to adamantly refuse to answer that question. In fact, he almost convinces himself that Wilbur was totally lying about it all until Phil and Kristin walk themselves into the trio’s room and invite them all personally.

Of course they accept - what the fuck else were they going to do, say no to Dr. Rosales and Philza Minecraft? 

 For the weeks that follow, Tommy finds he can think of little else. He obsesses over a secret project, struggling to keep it hidden from everyone in the hospital. Ranboo is excited but not at all anxious about the event, always wearing this strange smile like he knows something the rest of them don’t. It’s irritating. They’re writing a lot in their journal.

At least Tubbo seems clueless, but he’s not nervous either. Mostly he’s not sure if he’ll be able to come, but he seems totally chill about spending Christmas with practical strangers who also happen to be the coolest ever. Tommy wishes he could borrow some of that power.

Not that the Rosales-Watson family are strangers to him, but once again it’s the opposite that makes him so nervous. It’s that same something that keeps him from responding to Schlatt’s text messages, subconsciously digging at what is deeply buried in his heart.

A month seems to fly by like nothing, only broken up by the slow and steady progression of his friends recovering. Ranboo is able to return to school in the last week, but they still spend nights at the hospital rather than returning to their foster family. Tommy’s a little confused by that, but he realizes that Ranboo hasn’t actually been visited by his foster family in… quite a while.

But they don't seem bothered about it, so he doesn’t press. The night terrors get a lot less frequent, and way less severe when they happen. Tommy’s bruises even get time to heal, and he only gets hurt a few more times. They owe most of that to Tubbo, who makes a habit of humming or singing whenever Ranboo has fitful sleep or wakes up in distress. 

Most of the time, the kid is still unaware of what it is that’s calming him down, and even when he realizes it’s singing, he doesn’t connect it to Tubbo. But Tommy’s starting to doubt that it would bother the boy to have that known.

Tubbo’s recovery isn’t quite so far along, but it’s still taking leaps and bounds from where he started. He can sit up now, and move his arms with minimal pain. His left eye is blind and the doctors don’t think any vision will be recovered in it. Bee boy takes it in stride, saying that it makes it easier for him to cover up the worse side of his face once it’s healed to a scar.

By the end of the month, he can finally wear loose clothing over his bandages, including a beanie over his shaved head. He decides he’s well enough to come for Christmas, and Phil and Kristin agree.

Tommy gets a little emotional seeing Tubbo dressed in normal clothes, sat up in his wheelchair and almost smiling while Niki wheels him around. He just… finally looks like a kid. He looks alive.

All three of them look far more alive than the days before they met. And of course that’s not entirely because of Tommy’s request to have them all room together, but he’s willing to take the credit. He still shares it with the fact that their trio is always being stared at with such undisguised pride and compassion by their favourite people.

Christmas comes closer and closer, and along with it this gripping anxiety that only seems to wind tighter and tighter around Tommy’s chest. It festers in his dreams, haunts him every time he glances at the notification bubble and sees those unread messages. 

He can’t really explain it - why he does what he does - but it comes crashing down on him in the middle of class the day before they’re all going to leave for the Rosales-Watsons.

He excuses himself from maths and stumbles to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall and fumbling for his phone. He hits call before he can chicken out and waits, heart hammering as it rings. 

It takes three rings for Schlatt to pick up.

“Tommy?” The man is almost breathless, voice tilting up like a question.

“Come to the Christmas party with me,” he blurts instantly.

A short beat of silence follows before the abrupt sound of shuffling against the mic. His cousin bails on a few sentences before dumbly spitting out: “ Huh? ”

Rolling his eyes, Tommy squeezes his phone tighter. “You heard me, dumbass.”

“Wh-What–? Tommy–” Schlatt continues to sputter along with wheezing, nervous laughter. “I’m not even invited, it’s tomorrow– ”

“I’ll tell Phil. They’ll be fine with it if I invited you, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not– Why do– I–”

“Ugh!” Tommy massages a growing headache, suddenly regretting every part of this extremely impulsive decision. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, I just want you to drive me there! Can you do that? ”

There’s another short pause, then Schlatt’s demeanor suddenly shifts. “Yes, of course I can,” he answers matter-of-factly.

The boy breathes out a long sigh, leaning back against the stall door. “Good. Great. I’ll still tell Phil. Y’know… in case you wanna stay or whatever…” he trails off, his cousin abruptly chiming in with some additional questions that Tommy promptly hangs up on.

Details can be discussed in texts anyway.

The rest of the day is doubly exhausting, but the boy feels oddly lighter during it. That suffocating squeeze is gone from his chest, replaced by a general worry and weight. 

He breaks the news to Wilbur - his former ride - on the way to the hospital, and it’s surprisingly easy. The man doesn’t press or worry or guilt-trip. Maybe because they’ve had more time to talk about Tommy’s feelings about Schlatt, but he’s grateful either way.

Phil is a little surprised - and that may be an understatement - but he’s quickly accepting of the situation after a quick glance shared with Wilbur. He says there’s nothing to worry about, since they’re making enough food to feed a small army, and a good portion of it is being made as part of the festivities.

Then at last, the day arrives. Ranboo rides with the Rosales-Watsons and Tubbo rides with Niki and Wilbur waits with Tommy for Schlatt to come pick him up, refusing to leave until the man arrives. He’s not even late, they’re all still early, but Wil’s paranoid because of course he is. Tommy just keeps his bag tucked tight against him, making sure the dork doesn’t catch wind of his secret project.

Watching his friends tuck into their respective vehicles sends a pang through his heart that he can’t quite explain, but it threatens to bring tears to his eyes. He swallows it down, watching for his cousin’s beaten, brown pick-up.

It shows up not long after, still several minutes early. Wilbur walks Tommy totally unnecessarily to Schlatt’s car, patting his shoulder with a goodbye.

“Drive safe,” Wilbur calls to Schlatt, carrying obvious weight under the words.

Tommy knows a threat when he hears one, and so does his cousin. The man swallows hard and nods, attempting a lop-sided smile as he waits for Tommy to pull his seatbelt on. Wilbur waves to them the whole way they pull out and the boy sighs, waving back tiredly.

“Wilbur, he…” Schlatt starts awkwardly, hesitating. “He cares a lot.”

“Yeah,” Tommy replies, surprising himself by getting choked up. “He does.”

They drive in silence for a while. It’s a comforting sort of familiar. Tommy watches the cars drive by and the clouds stretch across the sky until he feels ready, and he sits up.

“I don’t think I can forgive you yet,” he starts, bursting the dam with the care of an over-eager toddler.

His cousin stiffens, inhaling sharply, but his eyes stay fixed on the road. He says nothing, so Tommy continues.

“But I know it wasn’t really your fault. I know you didn’t mean for what happened to happen, and I don’t really blame you for all of it. I just… I’m still angry. ” 

His breath shudders and he flexes his fists, trying to push away the heat pulsing through them. Schlatt is nodding slowly, chewing his bottom lip. Tommy fights the urge to do the same, blinking back tears.

“You still weren’t there when I needed you. You being here now doesn’t make that less shitty, y’know?” He wipes a stray tear, not missing the way Schlatt winces.

“Of course it doesn’t,” his cousin rushes, voice strained with emotion as well. “I know this doesn’t make up for anything - I can’t do that. That’s not why I’m here, I’m here for you. Even if you don’t forgive me, even if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Schlatt,” Tommy replies instantly, meaning every word. “I’ve missed you so fucking bad, man. That’s been half the damn problem!”

He laughs at the last words and brightens when he hears his cousin chuckle a little along with him. Prime, he really did miss this.

Clearing his throat, the boy stares down at his hands as they finally unfurl. “I… I want you in my life. I do. …But I don’t want to live with you.”

He expects disappointment when he says it, he really does. Tommy wouldn’t resent the man for the emotion - he did move house and country just to offer the boy a place to stay. But instead he just gets a tired smile.

“That’s okay, kid. You’re better off with a family you deserve.”

Before Tommy has any time to process what those words mean, they’re pulling into the packed driveway of the Rosales-Watson's address. The house is large but homey, adorned with strings of colourful lights and wreaths, and the cobblestone walkway is unsurprisingly totally cleared and salted of any ice or snow.

Tommy is about to ask his cousin whether he’s planning on hanging around when the man shuts the car off and climbs out of the truck. He smiles at the boy as they walk up to the door and a warmth flickers in Tommy’s chest as he knocks.

Phil answers the door, and it sure is weird to see the man not in his nursing scrubs. It’s hilarious, though, that he still chose to wear green, but it is a cozy-looking christmas sweater. Kristin waves them in, glowing in her red dress and black shawl. Tommy’s starting to feel insecure that he only wore his typical red sweater and jeans, but in his defense, he doesn’t own any nice clothes.

The inside is a thousand times homier than outside, dark wood and forest green walls glowing under the orange light of pine-scented candles. The dining room has a long, intricately carved table and chairs and a fucking chandelier hanging overhead. 

The living room has green couches and chairs and a large, stylish fireplace that is burning bright and filling the home with the warmth of a hug. A massive christmas tree sits in the corner, lit up with lights and surrounded by a mountain of vibrant, neatly wrapped presents. 

Tommy can’t seem to pick his jaw up off the floor, and Ranboo seems to be on the same page. Even Schlatt is acting a little intimidated, but that might have more to do with the company than the accommodations.

But of course Tubbo is unfazed, because when is he not?

“Prime, Techno, how many gifts does one man need?!” Tommy exclaims when he finally regains the ability to form coherent sentences.

The resident raises an eyebrow. He also looks funny wearing a woolen, red christmas sweater and black, ripped jeans with his hair braided loosely over his shoulder.

“Those aren’t for me,” he replies pointedly.

Tommy blanches, but Ranboo beats him to the punch, lurching forward in their chair with a sick expression.

“They’re not– Techno, those presents aren’t for us, are they?”

A small smirk tugs at the man’s lips. “Yup.”

Tommy is sure to dive for the couch before his body takes the plunge for him. What!? Sure, maybe they’d considered a couple gifts being invited over for Christmas and all, but this is absurd! Where the hell do they even expect them to keep these things!? All of Tommy’s things that don’t fit in their room at the hospital are currently being held by his social worker, same with Ranboo! 

At this rate, they’re probably just going to end up leaving most of these gifts here! Did they even think this through? An overeager voice in the back of Tommy’s mind tugs hard at that, but the boy refuses to acknowledge it.

Even Tubbo is flabbergasted this time, wearing a wary expression like he’s growing less and less certain that none of the gifts are for him. Niki’s warm grin is clearly chipping away at his denial and his composure along with it.

“Well, enough about that, it’s not time for gifts yet!” Kristin announces suddenly, tearing their attention towards the cluttered kitchen. 

She’s now wearing a purple apron over her dress and has tucked her braid into a bun. Every dish and surface sparkles clean, but there is hardly a spare inch of counter space with all the ingredients and utensils. She lifts a wooden spoon like a baton and grins.

“It’s time for baking!”

Pushing away overwhelm, they all rush and cram into the chaotic space with increasingly sugar-fueled enthusiasm. 

They start with sugar cookies, then move on to gingerbread houses - they make a contest out of it, instantly turning on each other and fighting tooth and dirty nail for the prize. Tommy teams with Wilbur and Schlatt - mostly so his cousin won’t feel too weird - and they face off against Tubbo, Niki and Kristin, and Ranboo, Techno and Phil.

Tommy’s team focuses on delicious flavour, slathering every inch of their gingerbread in icing and packing on as many skittles, gummies and jellybeans as they physically can. It ends up as more of a decorated icing igloo because someone - and it definitely wasn’t Tommy, broke their main structural pieces of gingerbread. The crumbles were pretty tasty though, so he’s complaining too much.

They start leaning into sabotage at a certain point, because the others were having just a little too much of a peaceful time with their projects. Tubbo’s team have neat little candy cane rows and jube jube lights - just boring, domestic order. They end up attacked by a sudden snow storm when Wilbur dumps icing over their yard and roof, but their competitors annoyingly make it look pretty. The damn artists, fucking ruining their sabotage.

And they don’t have much luck sabotaging Ranboo’s team - Techno and Phil are just too good at being bodyguards, but Tommy does manage to smear icing on Ranboo’s face, so there’s that.

In the end they all get some points, but unsurprisingly the win goes to Tubbo’s team. The prize is just getting first dibs at digging into their gingerbread house, but Tommy still gets his hands on a prime piece.

They make pudding next, making it a race rather than a quality contest. Tommy’s team wins that one, though they do end up with only half the pudding left in the bowl. Tommy avoids most of the splatter himself, so he’s happy. Plus Wilbur looks really stupid with chocolate pudding in his hair, so that’s funny.

They play a couple of games while supper is prepared and then they all sit down to eat. Tommy has never seen so much food in his life and he can barely contain himself from digging in before everyone’s served. And it’s so delicious!

The boy grabs seconds and thirds and only stops to make sure he leaves an inch of room for desert. They have the cookies and pudding they made plus some of Kristin’s Turkish delight and Niki’s candy cane brownies.

By the end of it, Tommy is practically bouncing off the walls and his stomach feels like it’ll explode and/or empty itself any second. He can’t stop smiling. Ranboo keeps losing it laughing, and none of them have ever seen Tubbo grin so wide.

It’s safe to say this is the single greatest day of Tommy’s life.

Then at last, they sit down in the living room, the radio still softly playing carols. The fire crackles as Niki and Techno move Tubbo and Ranboo onto the couch with Tommy and Wilbur. Schlatt sits in a chair off to the side, a little out of place but still smiling softly. 

The Rosales-Watsons start grabbing the gifts and reality slams down on Tommy once more. They really got them things - this is real, and not a joke. He grips his backpack tighter, fiddling with the zipper that hides his secret project.

There’s so much to open - clothes, stuffed animals, games, toys, the piles feel unending and Tommy has no idea what to say. Ranboo just starts crying and never stops, whispering ‘thank you’ over and over like a mantra. Tubbo goes similarly mute to Tommy, just glowing warmer and warmer with each package he unwraps.

Tommy can appreciate how much more this must all mean to him, not only being mostly a stranger, but the fact that he lost everything he’d ever had in the fire. These gifts are basically the first things he can call his own again.

They even got Wilbur a few things, most notably a new coat, which he’d been complaining about needing months ago. The man bursts into tears the moment he sees it, jumping up and crushing the family in a group hug.

Tommy hugs his backpack to his chest. His gifts feel like nothing compared to this. They’re almost insulting, to give back so little after being given so much. He can possibly show these people how much he loves them - how much he owes them. 

Prime, he wouldn’t be here without them. He would have never laughed so much, felt so much, loved so much. How could he possibly convey all of that with just a simple, hand-made gift?

“T-Techno?” Ranboo suddenly gasps out through sobs, reaching into their jacket and pulling out their journal. “I… I m-made… I have– For you, t-too.”

The resident kneels down by him instantly, blinking in surprise as the kid shakily pulls out a folded bundle of pages and places them in his hand. They pull out a few more and look to Niki, Phil and Kristin, who hurry to accept the letters.

He slides a bundle to Tommy and Tubbo as well, and Tommy takes his letter in his hands, relief rushing through him. Ranboo doing this first makes him feel a little better about his own gifts. But when he starts to read the letter, that relief is gone in an instant.

Tears splatter the paper and he’s wrapping his best friend in a tight hug before he’s even finished the first page. Ranboo spilled their heart over these pages, somehow finding the words to untangle the darkest depths of everything Tommy was thinking.

“Prime, I love you, Ran, I love you so much,” Tommy can’t help but murmur, despite the way his words can never reach the same harmony.

The kid barely croaks out an, “I love you, man.”

It’s not long before Techno and then his parents all join in on the hug, and spill out similar emotional admissions. Tommy tucks the letter away, saving it for any lonely night where he may begin to doubt how much his best friend loves him.

Then, with a deep breath, Tommy tugs down the zipper of his bag.

“I… also made you guys things,” he mumbles, fighting a smile at the way Wilbur brightens with unbridled anticipation. “It’s nothing special or anything, I just thought I… Well, I just wanted to… y’know… say thanks.”

First he pulls out Tubbo’s gift, reaching over Ranboo to hand it to the boy. It’s a little bee, made from a sock and some scrap fabric. When his things were returned to him, Tommy had noticed that they’d accidentally given him his mother’s old sewing kit since she’d stored it in his room. 

That’s where the idea came from - his secret project. Scrap fabric is surprisingly cheap.

He pulls out Ranboo’s gift next, since he’s the most nervous about it and might as well get it out of the way. But his best friend lights up right away, recognition dawning in their eyes and washing away all of Tommy’s fears.

“Michael!” they exclaim, snatching the small, cobbled-together object and holding it close. 

It’s made up of cotton-stuffed, stitched-together pink and grey socks and green scrap fabric - with mismatched buttons for eyes. It’s probably less than half the size of the original plushie Ranboo had described to Tommy, but it clearly holds enough likeness to be meaningful. 

He’s known how much the kid misses his son, just how Tommy dearly misses his daughter, Clementine. (At the very least he never completely lost Henry or Friend, he couldn’t imagine the agony.) Throwing them away was truly the cruelest action of their respective parents. 

And so he’s been agonizing over how he can possibly reunite father and son, and feels a swell of pride at the joyous tears spilling down Ranboo’s face as he holds the child tightly.

Next, he pulls out a tiny pig (pink as Techno’s hair) with a floppy crown made of yellow fabric (because he’s a king). He hands it to Techno, who seems nonchalant about it, but something in the man’s eyes screams that he is seconds from passing away from sheer sentiment. 

He gives Niki a yellow flower made of glued fabric scraps. He was a little embarrassed that it seems so much more low-effort than the other gifts, but she assures him that she adores it.

The boy’s hands shake as he hands out the tiny, awkwardly proportioned forms of two matching crows to Phil and Kristin, who eagerly accept with  thank yous and adoring coos. And if anyone asks, the crows are because of Crow’s Nest Family Hospital, and not anything to do with a particular dream.

With minimal warning, he tosses something to his cousin, who scrambles to catch it. He fumbles a bit, but manages to clasp the coin in his hands before it bounds away on the floor. Schlatt recognizes the coin immediately, clearly fighting tears as he nods to Tommy. 

It’s a special coin that the man had given to Tommy for luck the day of a scary doctor’s appointment. He’d kept it afterwards and his cousin never asked for it back.

Finally, Tommy takes a deep breath and pulls out one of his oldest friends. Friend, his blue sheep plush, seems to smile at the boy as he holds him in both hands. Tommy smiles back before turning to Wilbur, holding the sheep out for the man to take.

Wilbur instantly sits up, eyes flying wide. “Wh- Tommy, I can’t– I can’t take Friend! He’s yours!” he protests.

Leaning over and bumping Friend into Wilbur’s chest, Tommy shrugs. “I have Henry. I want you to have him!”

The man’s face instantly pinches, tears spilling as he gently grasps the plush with both hands. He doesn’t take his eyes off Tommy, quickly pulling the boy into a crushing hug. Tommy melts into it, feeling lighter than ever.

When Wilbur pulls back, he immediately goes scrambling for his jacket pocket. He pulls out a small box and hands it to Tommy with a watery smile. Gingerly, the boy pulls off the lid to reveal a shining, silver necklace with a music note pendant.

Head jerking up in shock, he meets Wilbur’s gaze as the man reveals the chain around his own neck sports the same pendant. A sob rips from Tommy before he can think and he’s diving into the man’s arms again.

They finally have a little time to breathe after that, cleaning up wrapping paper and loading dishes into the washer. Tommy hardly manages to compose himself, but he at least pulls himself into a little less of a mess. Better than Ranboo or fucking Wilbur.

But suddenly, the peaceful respite is broken by Phil and Kristin calling them to the living room again. Tommy thinks they’re all going to get a picture or something, and that’s why they’re setting Ranboo and Tubbo on the couch again. But instead they all just stand there, smiling at the trio like there’s something they don’t know.

Wilbur is suddenly a bundle of energy, despite his eyes still being red and puffy from tears, and Phil is wringing his hands like he’s nervous.

What the hell is going on?

“Niki,” Kristin suddenly prompts, smiling at the resident and gesturing towards the couch. “How about you start for us?”

She nods, stepping up as she twists and tugs at her hair. Tommy’s only ever seen Niki do that when she was stressing over her ITEs. What could possibly be happening to make all these badass professionals so nervous?

The resident walks up to Tubbo and crouches in front of him, smiling tightly but still bright and genuine. The boy shifts a little, staring back curiously.

“Tubbo, I just wanted to bring something up with you, but it’s totally fine if you don’t even want to think about it right now,” Niki begins gently, only increasing the tightness in Tommy’s chest. 

“This is just something I’ve thinking about recently, but obviously nothing has to come of it if you don’t want that.”

This talk is starting to become too obvious for Tommy to ignore, despite the fact that he’d like to remain in denial a little longer. It would be a truly terrible end to this perfect day to get his highest hopes raised only to be brutally crushed.

Tubbo nods slightly and Niki continues.

“I’ve been looking into the possibility of fostering you,” she admits, eyes softening.

Now, Tommy’s not entirely sure what happens in the next few… moments? Minutes? It’s hard to tell when speech melts into vague mush and smiling faces smear into streaks of colour. All he knows is there isn’t any screaming. In fact, when he next gets a clear image of Niki’s face, she’s smiling even brighter than before.

But Tommy’s heart jumps to his throat as he realizes Phil and Kristin are talking now, walking up to the couch where he and Ranboo sit. He wants to listen - he has to hear what they say. He has to know.  

But… how can he let himself listen without letting his hopes sail for the sun?

Suddenly, Ranboo’s hand is clutching tight around his. Tommy looks up and finds that familiar knowing grin on his best friend’s face - eyes flooding with endless joy and assurance.

“Hey, hear them out, okay?” they murmur, light and almost teasing.

Tommy can’t help the dizzying sparks that flare up in his chest at the words. He turns to meet the beaming faces of Phil and Kristin, Techno softly smiling behind them, and Prime, he is flying now. His wings are all but burned already with how dazzling the sun has become.

Can this really be happening?

“Now, I hope it’s no surprise that we love you two,” Kristin starts, chuckling.

Squeezing Ranboo’s hand, Tommy swallows dryly. He’s not going to mention at this moment just how surprising that revelation is, but he can feel Wilbur’s gaze burning him from across the room.

Phil speaks next, squeezing his wife’s hand and smiling in that way that makes Tommy both want to hide and bask in that warmth forever. 

“You’ve both wriggled your way into a very special place in our hearts, and we have to admit we’ve been hoping for the chance to make that place more… concrete.”

Breath catching in his throat, Tommy waits in the unbearable tension for the words that will cut his tether - one way or the other. But he doesn’t have to wait long, because the moment is abruptly broken by Techno’s gruff voice calling out.

“Prime, how long’re ya gonna build suspense? We wanna adopt you!” the man declares with an exasperated eye roll.

All of Tommy’s air spills out in a whoosh and the room becomes a soup of dancing lights. Did he hear that right? No, he couldn’t have possibly… Adopt? They didn’t even say foster, they said–

“Yes, thank you, Tech,” Kristin chuckles.

Phil is laughing, too. He might be looking at Tommy, it’s hard to tell.

“So… what do you think?”

In one motion, Tommy shoots off the couch as is immediately sent crashing down into the bodies of his beloved, dream parents. They catch him in an impossibly warm and comforting embrace as he sobs uncontrollably, shouting out a single, assertive: “ Yes! ”

In the euphoric tornado that follows, Tommy meets the gaze of every person in that room and realizes he was the only one who didn’t know. Of course Wilbur knew, that’s unbearably obvious in hindsight, as well as Ranboo, the little shit. 

And when the boy finds his cousin’s eyes, he can see there that he knew, too. Maybe not always, but this was definitely the meaning behind those words he spoke in the car.

And so Tommy lets himself fall into every embrace, tears soaking through sweaters and smiles hurting his cheeks. He can finally truly breathe knowing that he is loved, embraced, and here to stay. 

By some miracle, he found his home in the Crow’s Nest Family Hospital, and now he never, ever has to leave it.