Chapter Text
Tommy loved swings.
He had since he was little. His first memory or a swing was when he was 5. He had been at a playground with Phil and his brothers, and he had set eyes in a swing set. He begged Phil to push him on it, and Phil agreed. Tommy had never felt so free, just flying around the air laughing with his dad. And now he was 11, in the same playground with his friends, arguing about Pokémon.
The sing kept swinging.
“Nah, Charmander is because of abilitys,” Tubbo called from the grass, lying flat on his back. Was he probably going to get hayfever? Yep. But he didn’t care. Tubbo got sick a lot, so he was used to it. “No Evee is better” Ranboo argued back, not even looking up from the stick he was using to draw shapes in the dirt. Tommy kicked his legs harder. “Incorrect” Tubbo shot back. “It’s charmander” From the bench nearby, Karl laughed. “Actually, it’s charmader, because he has the better competitive and battle abilities.” “HA-HA!” Tubbo yelled triumphantly. “I win, Boss Man!” They fell into easy laughter after that- the kind that didn’t need a reasoning. The sun was still out, the air warm but not too hot, and everything felt normal in that simple, perfect way Tommy never really thought about.
Until Karl said, “Hey—have you guys heard about that illness thing?”
It slipped in between jokes, casual as anything.
Tommy slowed a little on the swing. “What illness?” “My parents were talking about it,” Karl said, shrugging. “Something going around. Like- people getting really sick.”Ranboo put his stick down. “Sick how?” “I dunno. They stopped talking when I came in.” Karl frowned slightly. “They do that a lot lately.” Tommy frowned. Karl’s parents were not the nicest people around. Ranboo finally looked up. “If it was serious, we’d know about it.” “Yeah,” Tommy said quickly, going back to his swing. “Stuff like that’s always on the news or whatever.” Karl nodded, though he didn’t look totally convinced. “Yeah. Probably nothing.”
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By the time Tommy got home, the sky had started to dim into that soft early evening blue. He shoved the door open like always.
“I’m home!” he called.
No answer.
That wasn’t that uncommon. Wilbur was probably out with some friends, and Phil was usually dropping Techno off at speech therapy. Tommy didn’t understand why techno barely spoke. Techno was so much older than tommy, and in Tommy’s head, people older than him should speak. That’s how it works. Babies and toddlers don’t talk, someone as old as techno definitely should. He was an adult.
Tommy kicked off his shoes anyway, letting them land wherever they felt like, and wandered into the living room to watch TV..
..and stopped.
Phil stood near the window, phone pressed tight to his ear, pacing.
“No, listen to me,” Phil was saying, voice low but sharp. “If it’s spreading that fast then we can’t just—no, that’s not good enough.” Tommy blinked.
Dad didn’t sound like that.
Not really.
“I understand,” Phil continued, running a hand through his hair. “I need to know what I’m dealing with.” Someone on the other end spoke, and then Phil responded again. “No, no, I have 3 kids, I can’t just sit by and watch this happen, Sam…no, no I-I understand, but I have an autistic kid. He’s not gonna understand what’s happening…..Sam, he’s nonverbal and he can’t walk, how the fuck is that gonna help?.” Tommy didn’t know what the word ‘autistic’ meant but it didn’t cross his mind properly after what Phil said next. “There’s already 300 thousand cases, the death rate is 90%, I’m not just gonna watch this happen.”
Tommy shifted his weight, the floor creaking slightly under him.
Phil turned.
For just a second, something flashed across his face—something tight and worried and way too serious. Then it was gone.
“I’ll..call you back,” Phil said quickly, ending the call.
Silence filled the room.
Tommy crossed his arms. “Who was that?”
“No one important,” Phil said, a little too fast. He slipped the phone into his pocket. “How was the park?” Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him. “You were being weird,” he said finally.
“What?.”
“What were you talking about?”
Phil looked confused “That’s not very specific, mate.” Tommy stepped closer. “Was it about the sickness thing?”
That made Phil pause.
Just for a second.
Then he smiled—easy, familiar. “You’ve been talking to Karl, haven’t you?” “So it is real?” “It’s just a silly illness,” Phil said, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “Nothing to worry about.” Tommy frowned. “You were literally arguing on the phone.” “I wasn’t arguing.” “You said ‘that’s not good enough,’” Tommy shot back.Phil hesitated again. Smaller this time. “…Just adult stuff,” he said. “Boring things. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Tommy didn’t like that answer.
Didn’t like how Phil wouldn’t quite meet his eyes now, or how his shoulders still looked tense, like he hadn’t actually relaxed. “But..”
“Tommy.” Phil’s voice softened. “You’re alright. Your friends are alright. That’s what matters, yeah?” Tommy swallowed.
“…Yeah.”
“Good.” Phil reached out and ruffled his hair, just like always. “Now go wash up. Dinner soon.” Tommy nodded slowly. He turned and headed for the stairs, each step a little quieter than usual.
Halfway up, he stopped.
“…It’s not serious?” he asked without turning around.
There was a pause behind him.
A beat too long.
Then—
“No,” Phil said.
Tommy stood there for a second longer. Then he kept walking.