Chapter Text
It happens on Tommy’s 16th birthday. It happens on a day that should have been happy, a day that marks life .
Tommy wonders why, if it is a celebration of life, is he the only one still breathing?
He wakes up at 7:48 in the morning to the fire alarm going off, and the sounds of tired laughter echoing up the stairs. Tommy can’t help but snort at his family's antics, and he vaguely hears Wilbur pleading his innocence as he shrugs his blankets off his shoulders and slides out of bed.
Tommy makes it downstairs at 7:56, stumbling down the stairs and brushing the hair out of his face. He can see the shadows of his family in the kitchen, scrambling to do something.He walks in only to be stopped in his tracks by his family - Phil, standing over the stove, a playfully annoyed expression on his face as he watches his sons. Wilbur is hunched over their trash can, frantically scraping what appears to be burnt pancakes into the trash. Techno, on the other hand, is standing on a chair in the corner, waving a rag below the fire alarm as a thin veil of smoke wafts towards the window.
Phil spots him first amidst the chaos, making his way over to wrap Tommy in his arms and wish him a happy birthday before passing him off to Techno.. He hears Wilbur mutter something about Phil being allowed to leave the stove unattended before another pair of arms and another chorus of happy birthdays join the first. Tommy can only grin at his brother’s antics before he slides out from under their arms, making a quick escape to the table where he can see his dad getting ready to serve up a shit-ton of pancakes.
At 8:39, they all get settled on the couch together. It’s become tradition at this point that they watch Up or Moana, and this year the vote is Up. Tommy settles with his head resting on Phil’s shoulder, Wilbur flopping down next to him. Phil’s arm wraps around his shoulder as Techno snatches the remote and sits in his usual armchair, ready to turn the movie on.
As much as Tommy loves Up, he loves this quiet time with his family even more. He loves Phil’s hand, tangled in his hair, rubbing circles into his scalp. He loves Wilbur, a steady support at his side, eyes fastened on the movie despite having seen it a million times, just because his little brother annoyed him into it. He loves Techno, trying desperately not to doze off in the armchair, just for Tommy.
He loves the framed photo sitting on the TV stand, a photo taken on their last trip to the beach as a family. Phil stands in the back, mouth open, probably in the middle of making some sort of stupid joke. He has an arm resting on Wilbur’s shoulder, whose gaze is solely focused on the ground, hair in his face, probably completely entranced by the sand on his feet. Techno stands to his side, an amused grin on his face as he watches Wilbur. His hair is brown, though still longer than his brother’s, and there are strands escaping his messy braid. He only tolerated the beach for his family, he’d always hated the scratchy sand, the noises, and the crowds. Behind the two of them, Phil has his other arm around Kristin, who has her head thrown back in a laugh. In her arms, she holds a young Tommy, who is giggling, pudgy hands reaching out for Phil. It was their last family trip before she got sick.
Eventually, he’s not sure when, his eyes fall shut and he can’t remember the rest of the movie, only warm bodies pressed against him, his hand in someone else's, and another hand brushing through his hair. He can only sigh contentedly and let himself slip off.
He has only sweet dreams, dreams of familiar colors and shapes, things he can’t quite place but that he’s sure he knows.
“I would have let you sleep,” Phil says apologetically as he wakes him up far too soon with a gentle hand, “but your sleep schedule is gonna get so fucked, mate.”
Tommy only grumbles in response, turning his head to look at the clock. About 11:30. He groans, pulling himself off of the couch. Phil moves to wake up Techno, who apparently lost his own battle with sleep, and Tommy turns his head to Wilbur, who is - ew. He’s leaning on Tommy’s shoulder, spit drooling down his chin and onto Tommy’s shirt. He shoves his brother off, not at all gently, spitting curses at him as a grin splits his face.
“Wha-” A dull thump is heard as Wilbur falls to the floor. “What the fuck , Tommy, I was sleeping !”
Tommy laughs, poking his head over the side of the couch only to be met with grabby hands and more complaints. Wilbur drags him down to the floor, and he quickly finds that he’s trapped as Wilbur cackles at his misery.
“Fuck off, Wil- you were drooling all over me !” He can’t truly be mad, though, not at this. He can’t hide the grin on his face as he buries his face in Wilbur’s shoulder.
They spend the rest of the day messing around, doing the most random shit that Tommy loves. Techno beats them all miserably at Mario Kart, and Wilbur brings his guitar down to show Tommy the new song he’s been working on for weeks . Phil carefully takes his hands in his and tells him how proud he is, but Tommy won’t admit how much it makes him tear up.
And then it’s about 5:00, and it’s time for dinner. They always go to Tommy’s favorite place on his birthday, they’ve been doing it since he was 4 or so. It’s this crappy pizza joint downtown that serves the greasiest and simultaneously tasteless food Tommy thinks he’s ever had, and it’s all squished into this tiny, falling apart building that barely fits four tables. But it’s also cozy, and the workers are nice, and the chef always winks at him and gives him extra pepperoni on his slice even though he never asks for it.
So they all cram into Phil’s car, really the family car since Wilbur, Techno, and Phil use it, and soon Tommy will too, and Wilbur snatches the front seat and the aux before anyone else can even think about it. Tommy can only roll his eyes and press up against Techno in the backseat as Wilbur’s latest playlist begins to blast through the car speakers.
He peers out the window as they pull out of the driveway, and he keeps his gaze on the passing trees as they move out of the neighborhood. Wilbur’s loudly singing along to the music, Phil is shushing him exasperatedly, and Techno is shaking his head in absolute disbelief, though he’s smiling too.
He doesn’t know where it goes wrong, but it does. Because suddenly the car is swerving, and Phil is shouting, and Techno’s hand finds his, and-
Everything goes dark.
The next time he opens his eyes, everything is uncomfortably bright, and hot, and there’s some sort of liquid dripping onto his face and pooling steadily under him. He thinks he’s on his side, but he’s not sure, and there’s an incessant ringing in his ears. His arm is trapped underneath him and there’s something strapped across his chest that hurts , and vaguely he realizes that it’s his seatbelt. It’s the only thing keeping him even slightly up, even though it’s making it difficult to breathe.
The next thing he notices is that Techno’s hand is no longer in his, and as his vision begins to clear, he’s able to turn his head slightly. He’s met with the sight of Techno, eyes closed, practically dangling from his seatbelt. His arm lays limp and mangled, barely brushing Tommy’s side, and there’s a steady stream of blood dripping from his head, violent red parting the pink strands. There’s blood coming from somewhere else, too, his side, but Tommy can’t make out exactly where. He’s not sure he wants to.
His breath hitches and all he can do, for a moment, as his brain catches up with what he’s seeing, is stare. And then he sees- Techno’s chest isn’t rising and falling. He isn’t breathing .
He doesn’t think he’s processing anything as he struggles to unpin himself. His arm is stuck under something, though, and the moment he tries to shift his weight a stabbing pain shoots up into his shoulder and down his spine. He cries out, vision blurring with tears.
He tries to look into the front seat, and fuck , Wilbur and his dad aren’t moving either. Wilbur and Phil are both completely pinned to their seats by the front of the car, and fuck , he can’t even tell what is inside of them and out- they’re both chillingly still. He’s not even sure he’d recognize them through the damage if he’d not known them his whole life. There’s smoke and blood in the air, and Tommy belatedly realizes the radio is still playing.
He doesn’t realize he’s sobbing for what he believes is a few minutes, gaze simply locked on the shattered glass and crushed metal surrounding him.
He blacks out when he hears sirens, he thinks, and the next time he fully regains awareness he thrashes against arms holding him down, pinning him to something, shoving something over his mouth. He tries to scream and ask where his family is, where are they, are they alive- but his throat is raw and scratchy and he just starts coughing instead. He tries to raise his hand to swat at the people surrounding him, vague blurry shapes, but it twinges and he thinks he does start screaming when that pain hits.
There’s a sharp pain in his other arm, the one that doesn’t already hurt. Suddenly, things come into sharp focus for just a moment. He’s able to turn his head slightly- the lights are so bright and he can see bags and- someone is telling him it’s ok and to calm down as his vision starts going again. His fingers twitch with his attempt to swat the hands away.
His head lolls, he no longer has the strength to keep it up.
Tommy is scared. Tommy is alone.
He’s alone .
It’s the last thing he thinks before he blacks out.
…
It’s dark when he wakes up. Or- he thinks it is? There’s something poking his arm, his blankets are scratchy, and there’s something stuck in his nose. Oxygen, he thinks?
Tommy stares at the ceiling for a few moments of confusion until his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He turns his head as much as he can, which is still not much, and takes in the room. The walls are a sanitary white color. Bleached, almost. There’s a cart nearby, with tools or something, he can’t really tell what exactly it all is. There’s a door across the room from his bed, and a chart hanging on the wall. There’s a curtain, and-
Holy shit -
It hits him, suddenly, that he’s in the fucking hospital, because his family got into a car accident- he looks around, and they’re not in the room with him. Nobody is. But his family must be somewhere. If he’s in the hospital, they must be too, after all what would the point be otherwise, if the hospital is here to help.
His gaze slides down to his arm, his uninjured one. He thinks there’s supposed to be a button or something, something to let people know he needs help. It takes a few moments before he finds it, and he jams his finger into it a few times for good measure, panic making his chest hitch. It’s a few minutes before the door opens, light flooding into the room only blocked by a small statured nurse making her way inside.
His eyes track her as she makes her way to his bedside, speaking in soft tones about upping the pain meds, and how is he feeling? And maybe he’d like something to drink?
Tommt opens his mouth to speak, only now realizing how raw his throat feels. Like he’d talked on end for hours , or- or screamed.
“My family,” he rasps, watching her carefully crafted face fall briefly, “where- where are they?”
She clears her throat before she speaks, giving her a moment to mull over what she’ll say to him.
He already knows the answer, somewhere deep inside, but he needs to hear it. Needs it from her, needs it said aloud.
He wants it to be fake. Wants it to be one big bad dream that he’ll wake up from tomorrow morning. Wants her to tell him that they're just in the next room, recovering, that he’ll be able to talk to them again. That he’ll be able to tell them he loves them.
“They didn’t make it.” Her voice has sympathy in it. Not much, because she can’t afford it, can she? Because how often does she do this? How often does she tell people that their lives are practically ending, that their world has burned to a crisp around them.
“Was it quick?” He whispers brokenly.
She hesitates.
“We believe that your father and your brother,” she glances at the chart on the wall, “Wilbur, yes? They died on impact.”
“And Techno?” Tommy almost doesn’t want to hear the answer, hand trembling by his side
“It…appears that he bled out. All three were pronounced dead on the scene, so he couldn't have been in so much pain for more than fifteen minutes.”
She continues to watch his expression shift to something shattered, the pity still lingering in her eyes.
“My condolences, Tommy. Someone will be in to speak with you in a few hours.”
And then she leaves. Just like that, she leaves him to drown in his grief.
Drown he does, breath hitching in a sob, working hand clenching into a fist, tears tracking steadily down his face.
It takes him a while to fall asleep, after he exhausts himself crying. Mourning.
His dreams consist of darkness. He swears he can hear a woman, crying, screaming, wailing- grieving. Like him.
He won’t remember it come morning, though.