Work Text:
"I'm going to go check on him," Phil decided, breaking the silence that had sat down at the table for breakfast in place of the bright Tommy that he and his wife had been getting used to.
Kristin smiled at him, resting her mug of steamy coffee back on the table. "I was just thinking the same thing. He's going to be late for school at this rate."
"Do you want to—?"
"No, no, you go up," Kristin declined her husband's offer. "I'll start cleaning the kitchen." She rose from her chair, beginning to stack the plates. Phil kissed her on the cheek before he turned to the staircase.
Tommy's room was still dark, Phil having opened the door after his knocks went unanswered. He peered in, sticking his head in through the crack he'd made. He could just about make out Tommy, still in bed and asleep. Phil smiled. It was nice seeing his foster son so at peace. Even still, this was quite uncharacteristic of the teen. In the ten months that he'd been living with Phil and Kristin, Phil couldn't remember a single time that he had woken up before Tommy, the boy tending to fall asleep earlier and wake up with the birds.
Carefully, Phil walked into the room and made his way to the smaller of the two windows, pulling open the curtains quietly, just enough so there was a bit more visibility within the room. When he did, he could see that the trashcan which usually resided beneath the desk had found its way to the side of the bed, and the tissue box that hadn't needed replacing since Tommy's arrival had been nearly emptied, its contents used and crumpled up in the little bin. Tommy was sick.
Phil's shoulders dropped, the tension he hadn't been aware of fading as he felt pity grow within him. It had been a strangely long time since he'd taken care of a sick kid; Tommy's immune system was pretty strong, and before him, there hadn't been any other kids for a while either. He wondered if they even had any medicine in the cabinets.
Accepting that Tommy would not be going to school that day, Phil shut the curtains again to give him the peace he needed to rest, but when he moved them, the metal of the rings caught weirdly on the rod and a shrill noise sounded for all of a fraction of a second. Phil's breath caught; he knew how hypersensitive Tommy was to sound, the earplugs and headphones on his nightstand a testament to this. And, sure enough, when Phil's head turned back to the bed, Tommy was awake, his eyes immediately wide.
"Good morning, Tommy," Phil spoke up, letting the curtains hang open.
Tommy's disorientation from being asleep wore away within seconds. He was pushing back his covers quickly and getting to his feet before Phil could react.
"Woah, woah, where are you off to?"
"I'm sorry, I know it's a school day," Tommy muttered, side-stepping the older. Phil could hear how congested he was.
"What's that got to do with it?" Phil asked, stunned to the spot as Tommy flung open the wardrobe, fingers quickly prying fresh clothes off of hangers.
Tommy shot him a quick, incredulous glance before continuing on his way, laying the clothes over his arm and rushing to the chest of drawers.
"Tom, you're sick, mate."
"I know that," came Tommy's reply not a moment later. He sniffled, opening the top drawer and pulling out the first pair of underwear his fingers met.
"You're not going to school sick."
For the first time, Tommy paused. "What?"
"You're not going to school if you are sick," Phil repeated.
Tommy blinked, deadpanning Phil. "But I'm not that sick."
Phil was a little taken aback. It was nearly a laughing matter, 'not sick'. "What's all this, then?" He asked, gesturing at the bin.
"That was just last night, I'm fine now." Another sniffle and Tommy quickly rubbed his nose with the side of his finger. His eyes seemed bloodshot and weepy as Phil inspected him. Then Tommy coughed, partly stifled at first, but it quickly turned into a short fit. Phil quirked his eyebrow.
"'Fine' you said?" Phil said with a disbelieving smile.
Tommy's shoulders grew the slightest bit more rigid, but Phil spotted it. "Yeah, I promise. I can go to school. I want to go to school."
Phil had found that odd about Tommy in the time that he'd known him. Despite not having particularly impressive grades—he averaged Cs with an odd B every now and again—and with the bullying he faced on and off, you'd think he'd be more averse to going to school. He had a few general friends who he'd talk with on occasion, but nobody who he hung out with outside of school. Phil had asked, and Tommy had said that he didn't mind, that he liked being on his own. Phil wasn't sure if it was the whole truth.
"If you go to school, you're going to feel like shit all day. Plus, you could get the other students and the teachers sick. It'd be better if you just stayed home and rested. It's a Friday anyways."
Tommy's eyes grew wider. Phil was starting to wonder if it was just weepiness or if there was something more going on. Then, all at once, Tommy lowered his head and started to cry, loudly and losing his breath.
Phil had been in this situation often since meeting Tommy. At first, it was silent tears that the teen pretended he couldn't feel falling, then stuttered breaths into the necks and hems of his t-shirts, and sometimes recently, sobs. Phil walked over to Tommy, suppressing a groan as he squatted down to reach the younger's height. He reached out delicately and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Hey, now." Tommy looked up from the floor, meeting Phil's eyes through the tears. "What's wrong?"
"I don't want to stay home," Tommy hurriedly choked out between sobs. He looked more than upset. Phil felt like he should know this look by now.
"Why not?"
"I want to go to school." Tommy hiccupped through the syllables.
"What's so important that you need to go today?" Phil asked, stroking up and down his arm slowly.
Tommy didn't say anything.
"Come," Phil directed, standing back up and shifting his hand to the younger's back before guiding him to his bed. They sat on the edge and Phil continued his stroking pattern up and down his back. He pulled one of the few remaining tissues from the box and offered it to the kid. Tommy took it.
"Why do you want to go to school so desperately?" Phil tried again, his voice soft.
"I don't want to stay home," Tommy repeated.
"Yeah, you said," Phil acknowledged gently. "D'you wanna explain that to me?"
Tommy's breaths, which had been evening out, hitched again and he spluttered, coughing into the tear-damp tissue. Phil soothed him, lightly patting his back and shushing him, pulling him closer to his side and wrapping his arm around him. His hand climbed into his hair where it played absently as the teen waded through the newest wave of tears. Phil thought about Tommy's similar moments, thought about what could be causing the waterworks.
"You're allowed to take days away from school, you know," Phil tried. He continued when he got no reply, "You can stay home, it's not such a big deal." This time Phil could feel words forming on Tommy's tongue.
"But I'm sick," he stated miserably. "I can't..." Tommy trailed off, the words dying in his throat.
"You can't..?" Phil prompted, keeping him close.
Tommy whined into his hands, frustration beading his waterline once more. Phil caught the tell, his own hands subduing the younger's when they inevitably reached up to pull at his own curls.
"It's okay, Tommy. You're okay, you're okay," Phil soothed once more. He waited a moment, his other hand being held by Tommy's clammy ones. "What do you think is going to happen if you stay home?"
The tears were unpreventable, but Tommy bore them how he always did and found his voice. It was something Phil admired about the teen. "You're gonna make me do housework, aren't you?" Phil was stunned to silence. In his absence, Tommy tensed. "You are, aren't you?" He was bordering hysterical.
Phil snapped back to the moment, his hand firming in Tommy's tight grasp. "No! What?" It was incredulous to Phil. "Of course I won't. What makes you think that?"
Tommy's form lost some of its rigidity, his hands relaxing. He seemed ashamed now. "That's what they used to..." He trailed off again. Phil knew what he was getting at. He held onto the teen tighter. "Whenever I got sick, they would make me stay at home and do all the cleaning, and I thought that..."
"No, not in this house. Not ever." The kid had a way of tugging at Phil's heartstrings. "You're sick, Toms."
"I know."
"You need rest, not work."
"I know," through tears and sniffles.
Phil paused for a moment before he continued to speak. "So, do you want to stay home?"
Tommy nodded, face pinched with distress as he collapsed into Phil. Phil took the cue and pulled him into a proper hug, holding him as close as he could. Not in his house.
"Phil..." Tommy cried, muffled by the older's shoulder. Phil froze for a moment. Tommy hardly ever called him or Kristin by their names, even after all these months. Never their names, never mom or dad, or mister or misses Watson, just anxious glances and muttered 'uhms'. Phil didn't address it.
He shushed the boy in his arms, hand going back to its familiar tracing overtop pyjamas, whispering whatever until the kid's breathing calmed. "You're going to be alright, kiddo. It's all going to be okay."