Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Technically, Thomas Innit had been through 47 homes during his years in foster care. Really though, he supposed he should only count 21 of those, as they were the ones which lasted more than a month.

As he drove to home 48, he tried not to set any expectations. Not getting his hopes up was easy. It was harder to keep his anxieties down.

“You excited?” Sam, his social worker, asked from beside him.

“Take a wild guess,” he deadpanned in return.

Sam glanced over at him and couldn’t quite hide his wince. Tommy knew why. He had several large bruises intersecting each other on the left side of his face, and a few smaller ones on the right. He had barely been out of the hospital for two days and they were already dragging him right back.

“This house is gonna be different, Tommy.”

“You always say that.”

“Well I mean it this time.”

“So you- you- you’ve- you’ve been- you’ve been lying to me all these other times? Wow, Sam. You’re a monster,” Tommy joked.

Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly. “You know that’s not what I meant. I know this guy, and I have for a long time. He’s a good man. I think you’re gonna like it here.”

“Now where have I heard that before?” To be fair, Sam had never claimed to know a foster parent before. He said the rest of it every time though.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘s not your fault,” he reluctantly admitted.

“Still. This one’s gonna be better.”

He hummed noncommittally, too tired and anxious to fight but nowhere near believing the man next to him.

Soon after, Sam put on his blinker and they turned onto a new street. It was long and lined closely with trees on both sides. At the end was a cul de sac with three houses. They parked at the one on the left.

They wordlessly got out of the car. Tommy hauled his backpack into his good shoulder, as his other arm was wrapped in a dull red cast. He didn’t have his normal trash bag full of stuff. It was burned at his last house— a surprisingly impractical way of destroying things, he had to say. It’d been a pain to clean up after.

Much too soon for Tommy’s comfort, Sam was knocking on the door, ignoring the way Tommy slid behind him, arms crossed and head down.

A man only slightly taller than Tommy opened the door. Everyone always said Tommy would be tall if when he got older, but being a practically malnourished fourteen-year-old, he hadn’t quite hit his growth spurt yet. “Hey, Sam! Nice to see you again. And this must be Thomas?”

“Hey Phil, yeah, long time no see. He goes by Tommy.”

“Ahh of course, my bad. Come on in.” The older stepped aside to allow them the pass by. Tommy tensed even further as he did so, but the other made no move to touch him.

Tommy decided at that moment he would hate it here. All the ones who acted this cheery in front of the social worker snapped as soon as they were gone.

“These are my sons, Technoblade and Wilbur,” Phil said, and Tommy risked a glance up. There were two boys, who looked to be in their late teens, sitting at the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” one said with a small wave. The other just nodded at him.

Tommy nodded back, also with a small wave. He then quickly recrossed his arms and went back to inspecting the floor. It was a light-toned, well worn wood. One of his old houses had a carpenter for the father, and he had learned a lot. He was pretty sure the stain —because wood was stained not painted, Tommy knew— color had honey in the name.

“Well, we have a few things to go over and then I can leave you guys to it,” Sam said.

“Yeah of course, come on back to my office. Does Tommy need to be here for this?”

“No, it’s better if he’s not.”

“Alright, boys do you want to give him a tour while I talk to Sam then?” Some kind of silent conversation must have happened, but Tommy didn’t dare look up to figure it out. “Alright, Tommy. Wilbur will be giving you the tour, Techno has to get ready for practice.”

Tommy risked raising his head as everyone moved at once. The teen with pink hair went upstairs, Phil lead Sam down a hallway to the left, and the teen in the yellow sweater came up to him.

“Hey, I’m Wilbur.” Tommy managed to only flinch back a little. He nodded in return, looking around the room as much as he dared. “Wanna start upstairs?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Alright, upstairs it is then.” The two of them made their way up. The upstairs was one long hallway with several doors on both sides and one at the end. “The one at the end is Phil’s room,” Wilbur told him. “The one next to it on the left is just a closet, there’s extra stuff in there like blankets and toiletries if you ever need them.”

Wilbur opened the door to the closet, and Tommy felt a rush of relief realizing there were full shelves all the way to the floor. Even underweight as he was, he couldn’t possibly fit in there.

“This is the bathroom,” Wilbur said, opening the next door. It was a basic bathroom, slightly on the larger side. Tommy nodded. a they moved to the next door. “This is your room!”

Wilbur opened the door to a small room with light gray walls, a gray plaid bedspread, a white desk and dresser, and nothing else. It was one of the nicer rooms he had had, and definitely one of the cleanest.

“It’s plain right now, but Phil’s probably gonna give you till the weekend to settle in and then take you shopping to personalize it more. You can leave your stuff in here if you’d like.”

Tommy knew he was really telling him to put it down or else, so he did. There was no reason to risk any conflict.

The pair then made their way downstairs, which led into the kitchen. “This is obviously the kitchen. You’re welcome to any snack in the fridge or pantry, which is over there,” he pointed to another closet-looking door. “Just check to make sure no one has their name written on something,” Wilbur added. Tommy assumed everything would have every name but his on it.

The kitchen and living room combined to form an L shape, with a large dining table in the corner of it. In the living room was a hallway that ran parallel to the kitchen— the same one Phil had lead Sam down earlier.

Wilbur stopped partway down the hallway, not going all the way. “Phil doesn’t want us to overhear them so we’re not gonna go down there.” He began to point to each of three doors as he spoke. “That’s another bathroom, that’s Phil’s office, and that’s another storage closet. There’s also a lot of board games in there is you ever want to play.”

Really? Board games? Was that some kind of joke? Was the game that they hit him with a wooden board? Or were they just trying to make him feel comfortable until Sam left so he wouldn’t alert the man to anything being wrong?

Wilbur lead the way back into the main area of the house, and Tommy followed.

“This is the living room,” he gestured. He then opened another door with stairs leading down. He waved for Tommy to follow him. “Hold the railing, they’re steep.” Tommy nodded though the other couldn’t see.

“This is the basement.” It looked like the living room, but less cozy, with white cement walls and an exposed-insulation ceiling. More fun though, perhaps. There was a gaming system and foosball table. Tommy reminded himself he’d never get to use it.

Wilbur lead him through another door, to a large room made entirely of cement. “This is the boiler slash laundry slash storage room.” And it was. There was a washer and dryer in one corner, with several hampers surrounding it. There was some weird machine against another wall, which Tommy assumed was the boiler. There was also a lot of large boxes and what appeared to be holiday decorations.He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time down here— he’d once spent a few days chained to one of machines and being around them still creeped him out.

Wilbur lead him out of that room, and back up to the living room. Wilbur sat down and Tommy stood anxiously. “You can sit,” Wilbur said, and the younger rushed to obey.

A beat of silence. “I think there’s kids your age in the other two houses here,” Wilbur eventually said. “Wait— how old are you again?” Tommy barely had time to process the question before Wilbur started panicking. “Oh shoot, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to! I mean, you can, you’re allowed to talk you know, sorry, I should’ve said that earlier, but you don’t have to! I, um, yeah. Sorry.”

Tommy just looked at him for a second. “I’m- I- I’m fourteen,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wilbur blinked, apparently not expecting him to actually talk. “Oh. Cool. Me and Technoblade are both seventeen, we actually have the same birthday so we like to joke that we were twins separated at birth.” Tommy thought that was unlikely; the duo looked nothing alike.

He nodded though, it must’ve been a nice thought for them.

“Fourteen? That would put you in….freshman year, correct?” He nodded.

“Cool! I think that’s where the other two kids are too. They seem nice, you should talk to them at some point. It’d be fun to be friends with your neighbors. Tommy just nodded.

Wilbur looked like he was about to keep filling the quiet when they heard the foster father’s door open, and the men walked out. Tommy stood up as quickly as he possibly could when Mr. Craft walked through the door.

Sure, Wilbur had said it was okay. But Wilbur wasn’t Mr. Craft. Tommy couldn’t quite tell if the brothers were going to be on his side or their foster father’s, but he wasn’t going to take any chances until he knew for sure. No one commented on what he did, so he assumed it was correct.

“Alright, everything appears to be in order,” Sam said. “Tommy, be good, and call me if you need anything.”

Tommy nodded. He was pulled into a hug goodbye, and made sure to relish in it. It’d probably be the last non-violent touch he would received until he got out of this hell hole. All too soon it ended and the door closed, and the small tan car he felt so many mixed emotions towards was out of sight.

“Alright,” Mr. Craft clapped and Tommy flinched He was too busy staring at the ground to see the way both Phil and Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Wil gave you the full tour?” Tommy nodded. “Alright, good. Wil why don’t you go find something to do, I’m gonna talk to Tommy for awhile and then we’ll figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Wilbur replied, leaving the room.

“Cmon back to my office,” Mr. Craft said, before heading the way. Tommy silently followed. They sat down on opposite sides of a large wooden desk.

“So, Tommy,” he started, not unkindly. “I just want to make some things clear.” Tommy nodded, and braced for what he knew was coming. Long lists of rules and punishments. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and a lot of your past homes haven’t been all that great.” Understatement of the year. “But I want you to believe me when I say you’re safe here. I’m not going to lie to you and say we’re gonna be the perfect match or that you’ll definitely be here forever. I don’t know if either of those things are true. I hope they are, but I don’t know. But I promise you’re never going to be hurt here. Definitely not physically and if I can help it then not emotionally either, okay?”

Tommy nodded. He didn’t believe it, he wasn’t stupid, but the man spoke so gently and Tommy didn’t want to be the reason why he stopped. Not so soon at least.

“Alright. Let’s go over a few more things.” He cleared his throat. “Your meds.” Tommy stopped breathing for a moment. Please, no, he couldn’t have those taken away, he needed them, he wouldn’t survive going off them again. “Wilbur has had some problems in the past with drugs, so I’m gonna ask that you keep them in your room.” Oh. That wasn’t that bad. “He’s been clean for a long time now so it’s not a major concern, but just in case, I’m gonna give you a lock box. It’s pretty big so you can put some other stuff in there too if you want to keep anything hidden.”

Tommy nodded.

“By the way I do have his and Technoblade’s permission to be sharing these things with you. I would never reveal personal information anbout any of you without your consent.” Tommy couldn’t help but figure he was an exception. “Technoblade has autism, which mainly manifests through sensory problems, so try to be aware of that.” Be quiet, Tommy read between the lines. “He’ll put in headphones or go sit in his room if it’s really bad, but just try your best.” Or else. Got it. “There are some other things you’ll learn about them as they want you to, but that’s all I’m saying for now. Now we need to talk about you.” Tommy tensed.

“Nothing bad!” The older assured him. “First of all, you know you’re allowed to talk, right? I wont make you, but don’t feel like you can’t.” He paused as if waiting for Tommy to respond. He didn’t. “Also, Sam took me through your file.” And we’ve decided to send you back already for being such a problem child. “I’m sorry you went through all of that. I hope this can be where it ends.” So don’t you dare mess up or we’ll throw you out. “It’s Thursday, I’m gonna give you a few days to settle in, and then this weekend we’re gonna go shopping. You can take a few more days to settle in and then you’re gonna start school on Wednesday. Does that sound good?”

Tommy knew he wasn’t really asking. He nodded nonetheless.

“Tommy?” Mr. Craft asked in a voice that made Tommy cautiously look up to meet his eyes. The man smiled briefly. “I mean it. You’re safe here.”

But Tommy knew he wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Phil had always known he wanted to foster. Ever since was a little kid.

He had been briefly thrown into the system for a few months until his parents regained custody of him when he was young. It was hell. He vowed that if he could, he was going to save children from going through that.

When he was older he realized his experience hadn’t actually been that bad. It wasn’t good by any means, but others had it far worse. Severe neglect was the worst he went through, never actually abuse. Well, he supposed it was emotional abuse. But only for a few months until he was back with his parents.

They were good people, just dirt poor and couldn’t provide for him. It was only a matter of time until CPS got called, but that was for the best. As soon as childcare wasn’t a problem, both his parents were able to get better jobs and they moved to an apartment that wasn’t infested with mice and then reapplied for custody, now able to afford daycare.

They were quick to wash away all the harshness of the system with apologies and gifts and quality time. Overall he would say he had a good childhood. He wanted to provide the same to others.

He got his foster license as soon as he could. It was hard, as a single man, but he knew what he wanted. He took a few kids in short term before Technoblade arrived.

He was eleven and covered in bruises. Phil would luckily soon learn he played baseball, and just wasn’t very good at it.

Phil was told his diagnosis, and immediately realized he was in over his head. But the kid needed help, and giving up was never in the blonde man’s nature.

So he researched.

He was Technoblade’s third family. The first two had tried really hard, but they just didn’t know what they were doing. They mistook meltdowns for tantrums and punished behaviors they didn’t understand.

It wasn’t truly their fault, Phil supposed; he system did nothing to educate parents on the needs of neurodivergent kids. How were they really supposed to know the difference between a stubborn kid and one with special needs? They often appear the same from an outside perspective.

Phil wasn’t going to be like them though. He learned and he researched and he worked with Techno, and it wasn’t long before they had a strong bond and a functioning system for living together. Things were good.

It was a few months later that Wilbur Soot arrived on his doorstep.

Phil only had two days notice. Sitting Technoblade down and asking if he would be okay with a brother was shockingly easy. He didn’t appear to mind very much, and even said he liked new people, which appeared to be very off-brand for him. Phil was very confused, but relieved.

Wilbur was eleven, the same as Technoblade, and so thin it was a wonder he was still alive.

Phil would later learn he had spent the past year in a house which used him as an unpaid and unfed servant. Fortunately they had forgotten about an upcoming visit from Wilbur’s social worker, and lost custody and their foster license.

Phil never found out how their trial for abuse and neglect went. He hoped horribly.

Wilbur had been harder to work with than Technoblade. He was more distrustful, more anxious, and less open about his needs, wants, and feelings.

He was very jumpy for awhile, convinced every hand that came near him would end up leaving bruises on his skin.

It took months before Phil felt like they were all in a good spot. Wilbur warmed up to Techno first, and then eventually the now pink-haired boy convinced him that Phil could be trusted.

There were ups and downs throughout the years.

Both his sons were high achieving students. They were both incredibly stressed as a result. Techno had to be put into therapy when he started having meltdowns in the school bathrooms every day. Wilbur had to be put into therapy when he started cutting. Therapy also dredged up the eating disorder Phil was ashamed to say he hadn’t noticed. Wilbur also landed in rehab very briefly when he was caught doing drugs.

Phil could admit he made mistakes along the way. Rehab was honestly unnecessary— Wilbur had been doing weed, not meth. He could’ve stayed home and avoided quite a bit of pain. It took a long time for Phil to find the balance of properly accommodating Technoblade’s needs without letting him get away with everything.

He tried his best though.

And in the end it worked out.

Wilbur found his love for music, and Techno found his love for all sorts of things. Reading and baking and (oddly enough) fencing, to name a few. He gave up baseball pretty quickly after moving in.

And for six years, everything wasn’t perfect. But they tried every day and Phil liked to think he made good on his promise of being a better foster parent than any of the ones he had had.

On their fourteenth birthday, he gave them both adoption papers. And then they were officially a family. He was their official father and they were his official sons. The picture of the day it was finalized is hanging in their living room to this day.

Things had been going smoothly for a solid few months. Almost weirdly smoothly, if you asked Phil.

And then he received a call from his old friend from college.

A kid needed help, and Sam knew he had both a foster license and a spare room.

So he sat his kids down.

“I’m going to ask you something and I need you to keep an open mind,” he started.

“You want another kid,” Technoblade replied. The other two started at him. “What?” He defended. “That is the exact sentence you said before Wilbur came. Like word for word.”

And yeah, that was true. “Fair enough. So, what do you think?”

Techno shrugged. “Fine with me.”

Wilbur looked more unsure. “Why?”

“His social worker is an old friend of mine. Called me and said he needed help, and thought we’d be a good fit.”

“Why does he need help?”

Phil sighed. “He’s been through… a lot of homes. More then all of us combined. Most of them haven’t been good. Sam, my friend, just needs to put him somewhere he won’t get hurt again.”

Wilbur nodded. “Okay.”

“So you guys are fine with me agreeing? I can still say no.”

The ‘twins’ looked at each other and nodded. “We want him.”

Phil grinned. Kids were sometimes scared when their parents wanted another kid— they saw it as a replacement. But neither of Phil’s sons were insecure about their place in his heart. He loved them, and no new kid could change that.

A few days later he had more information to share with them.

“His name is Thomas Innit and he’s fourteen.”

“Ew, freshman,” Wilbur said.

“Or middle school,” Technoblade reminded him.

“Even worse.”

Phil snorted. “He’s a freshman.”

“Can we change our mind still?” Technoblade asked. He was clearly joking, and Phil laughed slightly.

“I’m afraid not. We’re getting him no matter what now.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Don’t say that while he’s here,” Phil reminded them. “There are some things you need to know before he gets here.” His sons say up straighter “He’s coming straight from the hospital. Broken arm and looks, to quote Sam, ‘beat to shit.’”

“Oh,” Wilbur said.

“Yeah. I think it’d be better if we don’t make a big deal about it. I don’t want to tell you too much about his story without his permission, but he just got out of a really bad house, not for the first time either. He’s gonna be pretty skittish, at least at first. Try not to scare him any more than he already is?”

“Only show him half my knife collection, got it,” Technoblade said, nodding.

“Techno,” Phil said seriously.

“I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“Please don’t say that in front of him?”

“I wont, chill.”

“I mean, to be fair, you did show me your knife collection on day one,” Wilbur reminded him, and they all laughed. It was funny now. At the time? Not so much.

“Yes, and we all remember how that ended,” Phil reminded them. It ended with Wilbur hiding in the closet for hours, while Technoblade frantically tried to apologize and convince him it was a joke, not quite understanding that yelling through the closet door was scary regardless of how reassuring his words were intended to be.

“Won’t happen again, scouts honor.”

“You were kicked out of boy scouts for stealing their knives.”

Like Phil mentioned, there had been ups and downs in their lives together.

“And I don’t regret it.”

“You should.”

“Nah.”

The oldest just sighed. Why exactly was he signing up for another one of these creatures again?

He remembered as soon as Tommy walked through the door.

He was almost as thin as Wilbur had been when he first arrived. He had a broken arm and awful bruises covering his face. Phil could only imagine what lay under his ratty clothes.

Wilbur gave him a tour while Phil talked to Sam.

Sam described the different types of abuse Tommy had suffered through over the years. It pretty must consisted of all of them. If there was a way to hurt someone, chances were Tommy had been hurt that way.

He was officially diagnosed with ADHD, PTSD, and several types of anxiety summed up under GAD.

He was somewhat of a flight risk, but only when things were really bad. He was also somewhat of a suicide risk and Phil was supposed to keep a lookout for self-harm. Luckily, he was all too familiar with the signs of that.

“Any questions?” Sam asked him at the end.

“Does he talk?” No form of mutism had been mentioned but he hadn’t said a word so far. Not that it’d been long, but Phil had kind of expected a hello. He wasn’t upset about not getting one, just surprised.

“He will if you tell him to.”

“Does he not like to?”

Sam huffed. “No, he definitely does. He’s just going to be on ‘don’t speak unless spoken to’ mode until he gets comfortable with you guys.”

“Any idea how long it usually takes for him to get comfortable in a new house?”

“He hasn’t had many houses where that’s possible.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, Phil. I’m trusting you here. The kid means a lot to me personally. I know I’m not supposed to get attached in my job but I am. Don’t hurt him,” Sam said seriously.

“I won’t,” he promised.

And by Prime did he intend to keep that promise.

Chapter Text

When they left Mr. Craft’s office, Tommy followed with his head down.

“You can sit at the table if you like, mate,” Mr. Craft told him.

Tommy obeyed. He always did. He thought the last time he intentionally didn’t do as he was told must’ve been months ago. It didn’t matter who it was: doctors, or police officers, or foster parents, or foster siblings, or teachers, or schoolmates, or anyone else? He obeyed.It was safer that way.

There were eight chairs at the table, which seemed weird for such a small family. Why would three people need so much space?

“What’s your favorite food?” Mr. Craft asked him as he went through the small pile of mail on the kitchen counter.

Tommy froze. He had to talk. Okay, okay, he could do this. What even was his favorite food? When was the last time he ate anything but scraps? “Um. I- I don’t know, sir, sorry.” He cringed inwardly at how scared he sounded.

Mr. Craft looked up at him, not moving for a moment, and Tommy began to panic. Fuck, what did he say wrong this time? “You don’t need to call me ‘sir,’ Tommy. Phil is fine.”

Tommy nodded. “Sorry, uh, Phil.” That felt weird, he wasn’t used to calling adults by their first name. He hadn’t even called Sam by his first name until recently.

“It’s no problem, don’t worry about it. Anything in particular you want for dinner?”

Tommy shook his head. “No s-Phil. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said calmly, pulling out his phone. To call Sam? To send him back already? To— “I texted Wil and Techno to come down, they can help us decide.”

Tommy furrowed his brow— wasn’t Technoblade supposed to be at practice? What was he even practicing for? And why was he back already? It couldn’t have been that long since he first got here. Mr. Craft noticed his look of confusion.

“Something wrong?” He didn’t ask it threateningly, his voice was as perfectly calm and genuine. Tommy quickly shook his head, looking down again.

It wasn’t long before his new foster brothers came down together. They each sat at the table. Wilbur sat on the same side as him, but one seat away. Technoblade sat in the middle, on the other side of the table, and turned around to face Mr. Craft.

“Anything you guys want for dinner?” Mr. Craft asked.

They both just smiled, wide and devious. It was creepy, yet horribly infectious, and Tommy had to fight to keep from smiling with them.

Don’t do that, that’d be so weird of you, Tommy! You’re not invited to join in on their joke, if you intrude they’ll hate you, and you know what people who hate you are capable of.

He kept his face carefully blank, praying Mr. Craft would take his neutrality as innocence.

“No.” Mr. Craft said.

“Please Phil?”

“No.”

“Cmon, for us?”

“No.” Each time he said it he seemed a little less resolved in his decision. He was giving in, but to what Tommy had no idea.

“What if Tommy wants it?”

“He doesn’t.”

“You don’t speak for him.”

“And you guys do?”

“Tommy can we speak for you?” Wilbur asked. Tommy stared at him wide eyed before shrugging slightly. “That was clearly a yes, he wants it.”

“He doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to.”

“Tommy you’re agreeing to heaven on Earth,” Technoblade told him. That didn’t sound too bad.

“You mean hell,” Mr. Craft corrected. That did.

“I absolutely do not.”

“I don’t see what you guys like about that place, it looks like it hasn’t been remodeled in the last century.”

“You must feel right at home then,” Tommy whispered for some reason.

Unfortunately, they heard him.

Fuck.

No one spoke for a moment. And then:

“PFFFFF—“

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“OOH!!! Get rekt, Phil.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“UNCALLED FOR!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

They were all laughing. Tommy sat there, slowly curling in on himself. Sure, they were all laughing, but for how long?

He would obviously need to be punished for that. He couldn’t believe— what was wrong with him? He couldn’t even object to the beating he was about to receive, it was well deserved.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t scared though. He was shaking and churning out apology after apology as if one of them would finally convince them not to hurt him too badly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

“Tommy,” Mr. Craft said loudly, cutting him off, but not angrily. In fact he still seemed slightly breathless from laughing. “It’s fine, calm down, just— Prime, I was not expecting that.” He stated laughing again, calmer than before though.

“Phil, I like him,” Technoblade declared, making Tommy’s brain short circuit. Techno liked him? After he said that about his adoptive father? Not to mention— oh dear Prime. That was the first thing Tommy had ever said in front of him. And the second in front of Wilbur. And the… fourth (he was pretty sure) in front of Mr. Craft.

What a first impression.

“Yes, Techno, I like him too.”

“Enough to treat him to a once in a lifetime—“ Wilbur started.

“You drag me there against my will weekly.”

“Once in a lifetime meal?”

Mr. Craft sighed. “I don’t like any of you that much, sorry Tommy. We’re ordering pizza.”

“Phil how could you!”

“Wilbur you can drive! Go there yourself!”

“Okay, I will! I’m taking them with me though, and then you’re going to be all sad and alone.”

“I’m better off alone than in that place, mate.”

Wilbur sighed, suddenly looking very sad. “Please come? It’s just—“

“LALALALA NOPE!! You will not guilt trip me today, soot boy!”

Tommy was beginning to wonder who the children in the room were and who was the adult. He was too caught up in their theatrics to even remember he was supposed to be preparing for his punishment.

“I promise to eat 3% less sand if you come with us.”

“You promise to— what? You’re eating sand again?”

Again? What was wrong with everyone in this house?

“It’s so crunchy and good, Phil.”

“You need serious professional help.” Tommy couldn’t help but agree.

“All I need is a warm meal with my family, in the restaurant of my dreams.”

“I hate you.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“I really, really, hate you.”

“Whoo!! Everyone in the car!” Wilbur yelled, jumping up. Tommy flinched back, hard. Wilbur and Technoblade ran out the door like if they waited a second longer Mr. Craft would change his mind. Maybe he would.

Soon it was just Tommy and his foster father in the room, as the older grabbed his keys off the hook by the door.

Mr. Craft was about to leave when he realized Tommy was still sitting at the table. “What are you waiting for?”

“Oh, um. Am— am I allowed to come, sir? Sorry, I’m sorry, Mr. Craft, I meant- I didn’t mean to say sir.”

“Yeah? We’re not gonna leave you here alone. And you don’t need to apologize so much, it’s fine, mate.”

“Sorry,” Tommy replied in instinct.

“It’s not a problem. Cmon, let’s get this over with.”

Tommy nodded and stood up, carefully making his way over to Phil. He made sure to stand just slightly out of arms reach.

“And Tommy?”

Tommy snapped his head up from the floor to look at him.

“It was a funny joke. You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

Tommy nodded. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Besides, I would say this restaurant is punishment enough but I have to sit through it too,” Mr. Craft joked as they made their way outside. Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he stayed silent. If he’d proven anything tonight, it was that that was for the better.

Chapter Text

They climbed into the car, Mr. Craft in the drivers seat and Tommy in the back, next to Technoblade. Wilbur took the passenger’s seat, but immediately turned around to face Tommy.

“So, I bet you’re wondering where we’re going.” Tommy nodded fearfully. “We’re going to The Essempii!”

“It’s this shithole—“

“Shit up Phil it’s amazing! It is the single best restaurant ever placed upon this divine Earth.”

“Since when are you religious?”

“When you taste their pasta, you’ll know Prime is real.”

“Because the food poisoning will send you to him,” Mr. Craft replied, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let them corrupt you, Tommy.” Huh. Usually people threatened Tommy not to corrupt their kids. It’d been awhile since he was considered the innocent one.

“No, Tommy, don’t let him corrupt you, right Techno?”

“Yep.”

“Why don’t we let him decide for himself?” Phil finally suggested. The other two begrudgingly agreed. “Unfortunately, they are always like this,” Phil said, and Tommy assumed it was directed toward him. He let out a small amused huff from his nose.

The whole car went quiet for a moment, and Tommy worried if he had done something wrong. Before his anxieties could build too far, Mr. Craft turned on the radio and the silence was cured.

“So, Tommy,” Technoblade started. “I’m sure it’s been a confusing day, with everyone being themselves and all that.” Okay, this guy was blunt as hell. Tommy could work with that though. He nodded carefully. “Ask me a question. About anything.”

Tommy thought about it. There were some questions he wanted to know the answers to, but… he couldn’t resist. “Where do babies come from?”

The other three all burst apart laughing and Tommy smiled in accomplishment, glad the dark night was masking it. Okay, a house with a sense of humor, Tommy could definitely use this. If he was funny enough and didn’t cross any lines he could probably make it out with minimal damage.

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that too, Phil.”

“Yeah me too. Please enlighten us.”

“Why don’t I explain that as we pull through McDonald’s instead of the Essempii?”

“NO!” The ‘twins’ shouted in unison, causing Tommy to tense up. No one noticed in the dark.

“Nevermind, who wants to know that anyway? No one. Tommy ask a different question.”

Oh Prime, he was being put on the spot again. Uhhh “I- I, um- what- what did you have practice for today?” He asked hesitantly.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I just—“

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Well, I, sorry, it’s just— I- I- I didn’t know if that was too personal? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tommy resisted the urge to do just that. “I just didn’t get what you meant at first— I didn’t have official practice today, me and my friend went to practice for our fencing match on Sunday.”

Tommy nodded. That explained why it might’ve been shorter than a real practice.

“Can we ask you questions?” Wilbur asked from the front seat. Tommy nodded. There were very few scenarios in which he would risk saying no. It was easier to go along with things.

“Cool. What’s your middle name?”

“Um. I have three.”

“Three middle names?”

He nodded.

“That’s excessive,” Technoblade commented. Tommy tended to agree, but couldn’t help the spark of defensiveness within him. He kept it buried. “What are they?”

“Careful, Danger, and Kraken.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He is not,” Mr. Craft confirmed from the front seat.

“So your full name is Thomas Careful Danger Kraken Innit?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy just nodded.

“Weird. Wibur’s middle name is Crime,” Technoblade said. “Mine is David.”

“I don’t have one,” Mr. Craft chimed in. Tommy just nodded along. These people were weird.

They continued asking him questions, and occasionally telling him to ask them back until they eventually arrived.

“Tommy, your life is about to change forever,” Wilbur told him.

“It’s gonna get so much worse,” Phil added.

“You have no taste.”

“I wish I couldn’t taste this place’s food— if you can even call it that.”

“It’s much closer to the ambrosia of the heavens, I agree.”

“Why are you on such a religious kick tonight? That’s usually Techno’s thing.”

“Can you not smell it?”

“The rotten meat?”

“The magic! We have a new person, we’re at our favorite place—“

“Your favorite place. I would rather be anywhere else.”

“We’re at our favorite place,” Wilbur repeated as if Phil hadn’t spoken at all. “It’s a religious kind of night.”

“You know most religions support fasting as a sign of faith.”

“And most support feasting for the same reason,” Technoblade countered.

By now they were out of the car and approaching the doors to the restaurant. They walked through, the oldest three still bickering. Tommy stood silently, looking around the restaurant. It looked like a 50’s diner mixed with a hunter’s cabin. It was ugly as… he didn’t know. It was so ugly Tommy couldn’t actually think of an apt comparison. Despite what Phil said it didn’t smell bad though, so that was a plus.

As Mr. Craft got in line to talk to the hostess, everyone kept giving Tommy weird looks, causing him to hunch in on himself. It took a moment before he remembered the bruises on his face. He quietly went up to Wilbur.

The older looked down at him. “Can I- can- can I put my hood up? Um. Please?”

“Uhhhhh yeah, sure I guess? Why are you asking? And why are you asking me specifically?”

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Craft and— uh, sorry. Um. Thank- thank you.” Tommy flipped his hood up, hoping to hide his face a little more. He went back to staring at the ground. It was a fuzzy brown carpet, something that belonged in a living room rather than a restaurant if you asked Tommy.

“Tommy?” Wilbur said. The blonde hesistsntly glanced up at him. “Listen, I’m sure Phil has already given you the whole spiel, but we mean it. You’re safe here. If you want to put your hood up, that’s your decision, you don’t need permission, especially not from me or Tech. Okay?”

Tommy nodded. Sure, it was just one of those things people said to be nice. Maybe to trick him into letting his guard down if they were particularly manipulative people. But it felt nice to hear, so he kept quiet about his doubts.

That, and he was well aware of the consequences talking back could have.

Before he knew it, he was following everyone to a booth in the far back corner. He slid in until he was pressed to the wall. Mr. Craft slid across from him, and Wilbur sat next to him.

He folded his hands in his lap and made sure not to draw attention to himself. This only lasted a minute.

“Tommy you should get a bottled drink; they can’t poison you with a sealed bottle,” Mr. Craft said.

Wilbur gasped as though he had just committed blasphemy. “Phil, are you trying to ruin his life? Tommy you need to try their milkshakes they are incredible.”

“Better than drugs,” Techno commented, earning a snort from Wilbur and the eye roll from Phil. “Are you a chocolate or vanilla person? There is a wrong answer.”

“Or strawberry,” Wilbur added.

“That’s the wrong answer.”

“Let the man have all his options!”

“No.” He turned back to Tommy. “Chocolate or Vanilla?”

Tommy just stared with wide eyes. “I— um, I, it, um— V-vanilla?” It seemed like the safer option.

“Heathen,” Tehcno declared.

“Excellent choice,” Wilbur countered.

Further conversation was cut off by a figure arriving at the head of their table. “Hi guys! My name is Hannah and I’m gonna be your sever tonight! Can I get you guys started off with something to drink?”

“I’ll grab a bottled water, please.”

“Large chocolate shake, please.”

“Large vanilla shake please.”

“Um, vanilla shake please.”

“Of course, what size?”

“Sm-small is fine.”

“He’ll take a large, actually,” Wilbur told her.

“Alright, those will be right out.”

“Trust me Tommy, you want a large,” Wilbur told him once the waitress was gone. “Besides, the price is practically the same anyway.” Tommy nodded, not knowing what else to do. He risked a glance at Mr. Craft, who smiled with what seemed like reassurance.

“You should look at the menu, you can get whatever you want,” the man told him.

“Oh, I- I’m fine with just a, um, uh, just a drink. Thank you though.”

“You haven’t eaten since you got here,” Technoblade said, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m not very hungry?” He just didn’t want to waste Mr. Craft’s money, or make them mad by ordering the wrong thing. They’d all been shockingly nice so far, he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he could before he inevitably ruined it.

“That doesn’t make sense. You haven’t eaten.”

“Agreed, it doesn’t make sense,” Mr. Craft said. “You have to at least get something.”

“They have breakfast all day here, you look like a french toast kind of guy.”

“Wilbur he clearly looks like a pancakes guy,” Technoblade argued.

“You’re wrong. Tommy tell him you like french toast more than pancakes.”

“I’ve never had french toast,” Tommy admitted quietly.

“You— okay that needs to change. You’re getting the french toast.”

“You can choose anything you like, Tommy,” Mr. Craft said, giving Wilbur a pointed look.

“Right, right, sorry. You can get whatever you want.”

Tommy cautiously flicked opens the menu. He proceeded to shut it almost immediately.

“That fast?” Mr. Craft asked.

“There’s way too many words on there. French toast is fine.”

They all laughed lightly, and Tommy forced away the proud smile that wanted to force its way onto his face. Laughter was generally good, it usually meant he was doing well. Unless of course they were laughing at him, but he got the sense that wasn’t the case just this once.

The waitress soon came back with their drinks, and they all ordered. Phil got a cheeseburger, Wilbur got spaghetti and meatballs, Technoblade got baked potatoes, and Tommy of course got french toast.

After the waitress was gone, Tommy waited until they all took sips of their drinks before trying his own. It was unbelievably amazing.

“Good, right?” Wilbur asked. Tommy nodded.

The three of them mostly talked around him as they waited for their meals to come. Tommy decided he was, in fact, way more of a french toast guy than a pancakes guy. He didn’t say as much until he was asked.

“Whoo! Yes, I knew it!” Wilbur exclaimed, before swinging a hand towards Tommy.

Tommy practically slid off the seat, using his arm to cover his head. Oh Prime, he’d fucked up, and now he was being hurt and he shouldn’t have ducked that always made everything worse— he needed to just sit there and take it, and, and, and—

And everyone froze. No one reached to try to hit him again, and no one yelled. The loud clamor of the patrons around them continued, feeling out place in such a eerily still booth. Tommy didn’t dare move.

“Shoot, I- I’m sorry,” Wilbur eventually said. “I was going for a high-five, I promise. Shoot, I didn’t…I didn’t mean to….”

“It’s alright, Wil,” Mr. Craft said in a voice that made Tommy very sure it was decidedly not alright. Prime, how had he already messed up so many things? “Tommy, cmon, you can sit up.” He sounded gentler this time. Tommy barely took a second to hesitate before sitting up straighter, keeping his hands in his lap.

He leaned into the wall for support, almost unconsciously pressing himself as far away from Wilbur as possibly.

“Let’s all keep eating,” Mr. Craft said. Tommy looked up to see if this applied to him too: normally he wasn’t meant to eat after getting in trouble. Phil nodded at him with a small smile, and he tentatively picked up his fork again. He wasn’t hungry anymore, but it’d be stupid to turn down food on the rare occasion it was offered to him. “The sooner we’re done with this place the better.”

“Actually I think we should get dessert,” Technoblade countered.

“Why would you want desert? You already got a milkshake.”

“I’m carboloading for my match.”

“You’ll feel sick afterward.”

“They give it to you free for your birthday.”

“You already used that in September.”

“They won’t remember.”

“I think they know us by name here.”

“They don’t know Tommy.”

“And if I can help it, they won’t.”

What did that mean? He was already planning on sending him back? Or would he just be left at their house from now on? Hopefully he would at least be allowed to roam the house, he hated being locked up.

“You don’t mean that.”

“They overcook my burger every time.” Oh. Maybe Mr. Craft just wanted none of them to come back. Tommy couldn’t tell if that made sense or if it was just wishful thinking.

“Except that one time!”

“That one time when they gave me raw meat?”

“To be fair, me and Will paid them to do that.”

“And do you remember what came after?”

Technoblade grinned. “Joy.”

The elder just sighed. “It’s not Tommy’s birthday.”

“You don’t know that. Tommy when’s your birthday?”

Tommy jumped when he was addressed. It took him a second to process the question. “Uh, A-April 9th, sir.”

“Sir?”

Mr. Craft mumbled something in Techno’s ear, before turning to Tommy: “You don’t need to call either of them sir, okay? In fact, please don’t, neither of them need bigger heads.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“It’s pretty much April,” Technoblade said.

“It’s November.”

“It’s closer to being April than not being April.”

“That…doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“We’re not getting dessert.”

“So you don’t love me?” He asked, mockingly affronted.

“Why are you and Wilbur acting like each other tonight?”

“Would you prefer I read you a chronological list of mythological inaccuracies in the Percy Jackson series?”

“If it means we can leave here sooner then yes.”

“Remember this moment, Phil. You will hear my list when we get home.”

“I love hearing your lists.” It sounded like a reminder. Like too many people had taught the pink-haired boy that no one wanted to listen. Tommy hoped he’d be allowed to join; he’d loved those books when he was younger.

Technoblade hummed in response. “Tommy have you ever ready Percy Jackson?”

Tommy nodded.

“Good. Do you want to hear my list?” He sounded unsure. Tommy hesitantly nodded. Technoblade smiled with an almost childlike excitement, and Tommy saw him sit on his hands and tap his feet under the table. “Wilbur you‘re invited too.”

Tommy looked over to the taller man just in time to noticed his slight slump of relief. Huh.

It wasn’t long before they were handed the check, and Mr. Craft paid it. They were soon back in the car, in the same seats. Wilbur didn’t turn to face him this time.

Everyone was much calmer on the ride back then the ride there. Tommy found the quiet relaxing, and he almost wanted to fall asleep. He forced himself not to, it was far too early to let his guard down like that.

Still, it was nice. The feeling of being full wasn’t one he’d had in a long time.

He let himself imagine, just for a second, that this could be one of the good homes. Then he built his walls back up, and pushed that fantasy down where it couldn’t work its way into his heart to hurt him.

He’d fallen for it far too many times already.

Chapter Text

Wilbur was anxious the whole car ride home. He kept screwing up today. He resisted the urge to rush out the door the moment they were parked. He waited for everyone else and walked normally.

Once inside, Technoblade was quick to announce he was tired, and so his Percy Jackson inspired rant would have to wait until tomorrow. Phil and Wilbur were quick to assure him they looked forward to it, and he saw Tommy nod in agreement.

Technoblade went to his room, and the three of them were left alone.

“Tommy, it’s been a long day, why don’t you head up to bed? You can come get me in a little bit if you need anything.”

The blonde nodded, and silently made his way up the stairs. Wilbur noted the way he rolled his feet while he walked to avoid making is footsteps loud. Prime, this poor kid.

“Wilbur,” Phil said once they were alone.

“I know.” And he did.

“You have to be more careful with him.”

“I know.”

“You can’t tell him what to do or move too fast like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad, I promise. I just need you to try harder.”

“I know, I will.”

Phil sighed. “How are you doing?”

Bad. “Fine.”

“Wilbur,” he said in that knowing tone he always used.

Wilbur sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “How did you guys deal with me? I mean I know I wasn’t this bad, but…”

“It took time, Wilbur.”

“I meant when I first got here, not…all the other stuff.” He winced guiltily. He’d put his family through a lot.

“Wilbur?”

He looked up at his father.

“None of that was your fault. You’ve been through a lot. Yeah, you made some bad decisions, but neither me nor Techno hold that against you.”

Wilbur nodded, not quite able to agree, but not wanting to listen to his father’s rants if he protested.

“It wasn’t. And as for when you first got here… you weren’t this bad, that’s true. But we took it minute by minute. That’s all we have to do now. He’s going to be fine if we give it time. You can’t rush these things.”

“I am not that patient.”

“Neither was Techno. But he managed to be when it mattered. You will too.”

“I haven’t so far.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t patient!” They both laughed slightly.

“But for real. You’re doing fine, this is just an adjustment period. For all of us. It’s gonna be okay.”

Wilbur nodded, feeling somewhat at ease.

“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you head to bed?”

He nodded, and stood up. “Thanks, Phil.”

“Anytime, mate.”

Wilbur made his way up the stairs, rubbing his hand over his face. It wasn’t all that late, but he was so tired for some reason.

He stopped in front of his door, before sighing, and moving across the hall to the room that would be known as Tommy’s from now on.

He knocked.

“Come in….?” He sounded scared.

Wilbur opened the door. Tommy sat on the still-made bed, knees curled up to his chest. He wore the same clothes as earlier but his (frankly) ratty shoes sat on the floor in front of him.

“Hi,” Wilbur said, weirdly breathless.

Tommy nodded in response, curling up tighter into himself.

“Can I…?” Wilbur gestured at the bed.

Tommy nodded, and moving over slightly. He bowed his head once again.

Wilbur sat down with his legs crossed, making sure to leave a few feet of space between them. “I, um, I wanted to say sorry. For earlier.”

Tommy furrowed his brow, but didn’t respond. Wilbur could only barely see the motion from his angle as the blond stared resolutely down.

“I just…wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I want you to feel safe here, we all do, and I definitely didn’t help with that.”

This was awkward. He stood up before Tommy even had a chance to respond, wincing when the smaller boy flinched back. “Um, yeah. That’s all. I’m gonna go, but, yeah, sorry. Um….” He backed up as he spoke and he got to the door before he saw Tommy’s bag on the floor. It was a simple school backpack, the same dull red as the cast on his arm. It looked mostly empty. “Tommy?”

The blonde looked up at him.

“Do you have a change of clothes for tonight?”

The blonde hesitated before shaking his head, looking down again. Wilbur wanted to hurt whoever trained that habit into him.

“That’s okay. I’ll go grab you an old pair. I’ll be back.” He smiled with what he hoped was reassurance, before backing fully out of the room and closing the door.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Wilbur went to his room and grabbed an old set of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a sweater. They were all going to be huge on the younger, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

He took the time to carefully fold each item on top of each other, making it look as nice as his hand-me-downs possibly could.

He slid into the hallway, and knocked again on Tommy’s door. He waited for the signal that he was okay to enter.

This time the blonde opened the door, before quickly stumbling back, apparently not expecting Wilbur to be so close. He quickly backed off and made note of that for next time.

“Sorry,” Wilbur said.

“No, sorry, that- that was, um, my fault sir— Wilbur, sorry, Wilbur. Sorry.”

Wilbur wanted to kill whoever made this boy the way he was. Though that could be a lot of murders, seeing as Phil said he’d been through a lot of houses. He never did say how many exactly. Wilbur would have to ask once the younger felt more comfortable sharing.

“You’re fine, don’t worry about it,” Wilbur assured him. “I got you some of my old clothes— they might be huge, but uh, kinda all I’ve got.” He laughed awkwardly. “Phil will probably take you to get some stuff tomorrow.”

Wilbur carefully extended the pile towards him. He took it with shaking hands, before stepping backwards again. “Thank you.” His voice was practically a whisper.

“No problem. I mean it, Tommy.”

He nodded, and then: “I—um. About- about earlier. You didn’t need to apologize, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

Wilbur smiled sadly, not that the younger could see it. “Hey, look at me?” Tommy slowly, almost fearfully, unbowed his head. “It does matter. You might not believe it yet, but it does. I never want you to be scared here, okay?” He waited for Tommy to nod before finishing. “I need to go to bed— I have school in the morning. Good night, feel free to knock if you need anything.”

“Night, thank you.”

Wilbur carefully closed the door before retreating back to his own room.

He laid on the bed and thought.

He hadn’t had a great childhood. From age nine to eleven he had been bounced around various hell holes. Most of them were neglectful, with a few being outright abusive. The worst had been the last one. He didn’t like to think about it.

Then he landed here.

And he’d been so scared. And Technoblade and Phil had been so weird. But they’d been nice. And they’d never tried to hurt him. It’d only taken a couple weeks for him to begin to break out of his shell. And the more he did so, the more he was encouraged to, until all his defenses were down.

And then, when he was weak and vulnerable, Phil and Technoblade continued to treat him the same. They didn’t take advantage of him. They were his first real family since his own died.

He wanted Tommy to experience the same relief and happiness he did.

Someday, he wanted the blond to high-five him with ease. He wanted him to laugh freely, and make jokes that weren’t followed by an anxious wait for approval. He never wanted to be called ‘sir’ again.

He didn’t know how long it would take to get there. But Wilbur was nothing if not stubborn. He got what he wanted.

And if he wanted Thomas Careful Danger Kraken Innit to be happy?

Then he would be.

Wilbur rolled over and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke up in a warm and comfortable bed for the first time in…he didn’t know. The last good house had been awhile ago.

He woke up to the sounds of everyone moving around downstairs. He could assume from the chatter and clanging of metal that they were having breakfast. He wasn’t sure if he was invited or not.

He didn’t want to intrude, but would they get mad if they thought he was sleeping in and being lazy? Probably. Maybe he should go down but not eat? And just…stand there? Would that be weird? Yeah, that would be weird.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by soft knocks on his door, clearly intended to be so quiet they wouldn’t wake him up if he was still asleep.

He shot out of bed and threw the blankets back to make it look like he at least tried to make it. He opened the door to Phil, before stepping back and looking at the floor. It was the same wood as downstairs.

“Oh, you’re up!” Phil said. “We’re having breakfast if you’d like to join.”

Tommy couldn’t guess the right answer from his tone. He braced himself to be hit, and didn’t answer.

“Tommy?”

“I’m sorry.” He could barely get his voice above a whisper.

“It’s alright. Why don’t we head downstairs, okay?” He lead the way out of the room. Tommy followed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Phil is fine, Tommy.”

“I’m sorry.” Shoot, why did he keep forgetting that?

“No worries.” For now, Tommy knew.

They entered the kitchen to Wilbur and Technoblade cramming for some kind of test.

“No books at the table,” Phil told them.

“I thought the rule was no D’s on report cards,” Wilbur sassed.

“You are nowhere near having a D in any class, stop being dramatic.”

“I have never once in my life been dramatic.”

“You are quite literally in the drama club,” Techno reminded him.

“Meh meh meh, I’m Technoblade and I’m a know-it-all.”

The pink haired man rolled his eyes is response.

“You can sit down,” Phil told him. Tommy nodded and went to sit as far from the ‘twins’ as he could.

“No!” Technoblade exclaimed, distressed. Tommy would not admit to jumping as high as he did. “Sorry, no, no that’s not your seat. You have to sit there,” he pointed to the chair diagonal from himself, across from Wilbur.

Wilbur just nodded as him, and Tommy cautiously moved to the other chair. Why they wanted him closer was beyond him, but he wasn’t about to make them mad by disobeying.

“You have a cereal preference, Tommy?” Phil asked.

Tommy shook his head.

“Alright, I’ll see what we have…uhhh…. not much,” he said as he looked through what Tommy assumed to be the pantry. “How do…blueberry cheerios sound?”

Tommy nodded. That was fine. It wasn’t long before he was given a good sized bowl filled with purple cheerios and milk. Weird. He took a bite only after being given permission. It was good.

The other three people talked around him for the most part. Both Techno and Wilbur would be home late due to various practices, as he learned. At some point Phil sat down beside Tommy.

Eventually: “Alright, you guys should probably get going if you don’t want to be late.”

“Wait,” Technoblade said. “Now that it’s not his first day can I show him my knife collection?”

Tommy felt his blood run cold as terror pooled in his stomach.

Both Wilbur and Phil started laughing hysterically, while Technoblade just looked confused. These people were psychopaths. They were going to let Techno cut him and they were just going to laugh.

“Tech, you have to realize that sounds like a threat,” Wilbur managed out through his laugh.

“It wasn’t a threat! I just want to show him my knife collection.”

“It sounds like you’re gonna stab him, mate,” Phil said, coughing as he tried to stop laughing.

“But I’m not.” He turned to Tommy. “I’m not.”

This just set Wilbur and Phil of laughing again. Tommy was so lost. He really didn’t need any more carvings made into his skin though— house 34 had given him enough of those.

“Go to school,” Phil told them, wiping tears from his eyes.

“But—“

“Cmon Tech, I’ll explain in the car. Sorry Tommy.”

Technoblade grumbled, but slung his bag in his shoulder and followed Wilbur out the door. The three said their goodbyes and then it was just Tommy, Phil, and half of a bowl of blueberry cheerios.

Phil just started laughing again, and moved down one chair. He was now at the head of the table, leaving an empty space between them. “I’m sorry mate, it’s just…oh sweet Prime.” He took a deep breth and began speaking seriously. “He genuinely wants you to see his knife collection— he’s worked really hard on it for years. He showed Will on his first day here and couldn’t understand why that freaked him out. We told him not to that to you and I guess he took the ‘first day’ part literally.”

Tommy nodded. He supposed that made sense. It didn’t do much to cure the shaking in his hands nor the sick feeling in his stomach though. Was he going to be cut or not? Did the tour of Technoblade’s knife collection include a demonstration?

“You don’t have to look at it, but he’ll probably keep asking till you do. I can tell him to back off if you want.” Tommy nodded but didn’t respond. Phil sighed. “He really is harmless though.”

He nodded, despite disagreeing. The pink-haired man was huge, and Tommy didn’t doubt he could kill him if he wanted to.

“Anyway, not that I have a problem with it, but what’s with Wilbur’s clothes?”

Oh no. Tommy had forgotten. Phil must’ve sensed his fear.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I was just wondering.”

“He gave them to me,” Tommy said quietly.

“Oh, I know, I didn’t think you stole them or anything, don’t worry. But why?”

“I…he felt bad because I didn’t have anything to change into. He offered, I didn’t ask, I promise.”

“It would be fine if you did ask. The worst that could happen is he says no.” The worst that could happen is he’s beaten within an inch of his life and then kicked out, actually. He should know, it’d happened more than once before. “Why don’t you have a change of clothes?”

“My last house, um, they- they burned them.” It had been quite a crap-shoot, in all honesty. So much smoke. So much property damage. As it turned out, you can’t just throw anything in a fire and expect it to end well.

“They…burned them.” His voice took on a certain, not quite angry, but definitely negative quality that made Tommy tense. Phil must’ve noticed, because his voice was calmer the next time he spoke. “Why?”

Oh no. Now came the time when Tommy had to tell what he did, and Phil would realize how bad he was, and then he’d get sent back. “I didn’t finish my chores in time, but- but they got home early so it wasn’t… I- I- I mean it was my fault, but it won’t happen again sir, I promise.”

“You… that… I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It- it was, um, it was my fault.”

“No.” His voice was sharp, and Tommy flinched. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. “They shouldn’t have done that.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say so he stayed quiet.

“It’s alright, we can always get you new stuff. I know I said we’d wait till the weekend but I didn’t realize you had nothing. We can go in a little while.”

“I don’t want to waste your time, sir.”

“Phil,” he corrected.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. And it’s not a waste of time, it’s things you need and as your guardian I’m responsible for you and your needs.”

Oh.

“And, more importantly, I want to.”

Wait— what? Why would he…

“You deserve nice things.”

“Eh. I’m aiming for ‘things’ in general.” He kept his voice as quiet as possible while still getting the tone right enough for the joke to land.

Phil laughed lightly, shaking his head. “In the best way, you are something else.”

Tommy looked up and gave him a small smile.

Phil stood up and ripped a page off a notepad on the kitchen counter, and placed a pen on top of it.

“Why don’t you go make a list of everything you have, and then we can go get everything else, alright?”

Tommy nodded while standing up and clearing his plate, before grabbing the pen and paper and making his way upstairs. He nodded his respect to Phil on the way by.

He quickly listed everything in his bag.

- toothbrush
- deodorant
- meds
- 1 shirt, 1 jeans, 1 par of socks, 1 sweatshirt, sneakers
- charger + phone

The only other thing was his stuffed cow, Henry. He didn’t know whether or not to list it. He knew he’d be in trouble if he got caught lying, but how was he supposed to add that to his list? He couldn’t just say ‘henry,’ that wouldn’t make sense.

He debated for another moment before deciding on adding ‘stuffed animal’ to the list. He hoped Phil wouldn’t make fun of him, or Prime forbid, take it away. He needed Henry more than anything else.

He’d never told another house about him, because he’d never been asked. Lying by omission was one thing. He was not about to outright lie to the first family to show him kindness, even temporarily, in what felt like forever. Phil asked for a list of everything, and Tommy didn’t dare disobey.

He quickly took the list downstairs, where Phil was doing dishes.

“I’m sorry, I- I would have- I would have done those,” he said once the older looked up at him.

“It’s no problem. Did you finish your list?”

Tommy nodded and handed him the paper.

“That’s all?”

Tommy nodded, stepping back slightly. Was he paranoid or did Phil seem mad?

“Okay, no problem. Give me like twenty minutes and we can leave? Or wait, you probably need new clothes to go out.”

“I- I- I, um, these- these are fine. Or I can- I can change back into mine— um. Whatever’s easier for you.”

Phil thought for a moment. “I’ll go look for something that’ll fit you, no promises though; we recently cleaned out their closets.”

Tommy nodded.

“You can sit down or do whatever while you wait.”

Tommy nodded and sat down at the space Technoblade had assigned him that morning.

Phil left and Tommy took the opportunity to really look around the house for the first time. He’d been taught to keep his head down around his superiors, so beyond the floor he really hadn’t gotten a good look at much.

There were family photos on all the walls. Lots of papers were stuck to the fridge, though Tommy couldn’t quite make out what they were from this far away. One of the windowsills had a row of succulents on it. It was nice. Homely. Not the kind of place where Tommy belonged.

Phil came down shortly after, sporting a small pile of clothes. “This is the best I could do. You can get dressed in your room and then we’ll leave, alright?”

Tommy nodded, standing up. He thanked Phil as he took the clothes, and made his way upstairs.

The clothes did not fit very well, but Tommy had had worse. The sweater went down to his mid-thigh, and the jeans went well past his feet, but it was fine. He rolled up the legs, and hooked the button of the jeans through one of the belt loops before buttoning it in order to keep them from falling down. He bunched up the sweater, threw on his shoes, and quickly made his way downstairs before Phil could get mad at him for taking too long.

“Oh, hey!” Tommy turned to see Phil holding a belt out towards him. Shit.

He felt his eyes go wide, and he took a step back. Fuck, fuck, what did he do wrong now? He wracked his brain, but couldn’t think of anything he’d done besides what he was told to.

“You okay? I figured the jeans must be huge, and—“ he pushed the belt towards Tommy as he spoke, and the blonde jumped back, nearly falling over. “Are you alright, mate? Oh. Shit.”

He seemed to realize the source of Tommy’s fear as he pulled the belt back towards himself.

“I wasn’t…fuck. The belt is for you. For the jeans, I know they’re too big for you. Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking there.”

Tommy hesitantly nodded, his heartbeat slowly coming down to a more normal level.

“Um, yeah. My bad, mate.” His voice picked up an obviously forced cheer. “Anyway, I have to pull shoes on, you can use the belt if you’d like, and then we’ll leave?”

Tommy nodded, and Phil left the room. He decided to use the belt, if only so it couldn’t be used against him later. Or, well, it’d be harder to do that at least.

It wasn’t long till they were in the car, heading towards Prime knew where. Probably the mall though— Tommy had seen one on his way here only one day prior.

He felt sick with anxiety, but that was just the norm these days. He wondered how long it would be until the other shoe dropped or their kindness ran out.

It was only a matter of time.

Chapter Text

Shopping was awful. Tommy once lived in a literal sewer for three days and it wasn’t this bad. At least in the sewer he couldn’t bother anyone.

He felt so guilty as Phil bought him more and more stuff. So much clothing, and nice clothes too! Not to mention the new shoes and the thick winter jacket. Nor any of the personal care items he got— why the hell are hairbrushes so expensive? And why are there so many kinds of toothpaste? Tommy couldn’t help but notice the only thing he wasn’t given was a razor. Sam had told Phil about his…habits, apparently.

And don’t get Tommy started on the school supplies: a separate binder for every class was unreasonable. Who actually used that many binders? No one.

Tommy would never be able to repay him, and this wasn’t even their last shopping trip! Phil said they had to go again over the weekend.

Tommy didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. He was incredibly grateful. He was just also unbearably guilty. He wasn’t worth all this. So much of Phil’s time and money was being wasted on him, and he didn’t deserve it.

When they got home, Phil helped him carry everything to his room (because there was so much it couldn’t be carried in one trip, Tommy was sickened upon realizing). Phil also wouldn’t let him hook any bags onto his broken arm, claiming it could mess up the healing or something. Tommy wasn’t sure why he cared.

He didn’t want to unpack it all, but he didn’t know what else to do with it. It would be rude to just leave it sitting in a pile, but he didn’t feel comfortable making himself at home here. It was only a matter of time before he had to leave, and he didn’t like not being ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Still, Phil told him to put it away. He did, albeit anxiously.

By the time he was done he was being called down for lunch. He barely took a few bites, still full from the morning.

He then managed to open his phone and mindlessly scroll for a few hours while Phil did work in his office. He wondered if he actually had to wait till Wednesday to start school: he was bored. Hell, he’d accept chores at this point just to have something to do.

Eventually Wilbur and Technoblade came back. Tommy watched as two boys came running out of one of the neighboring houses to greet them. He figured they were the ones Wilbur was talking about.

The two boys stayed outside even as the ‘twins’ entered. Were they waiting on something?

“Tommy!” Wilbur yelled from downstairs. Tommy flinched, before jumping up, and quickly making his way downstairs, careful not to run though. Running generally wasn’t allowed inside.

He heard Phil lecturing his son about yelling as Tommy made his way down the stairs.

Once in the same room, he looked expectantly at Wilbur for a moment, before remembering his place and turning his head to the floor.

“Can you go talk to the neighbors? We made the mistake of mentioning you and they won’t leave us alone.”

Tommy risked looking up then, eyebrows furrowed.

“They’re the ones your age I mentioned. They’re really nice—“

“But so annoying,” Techno finished.

“Techno! They’re not annoying they’re just… enthusiastic. All of the time.”

“Annoying.”

“Shut up. Do you want to meet them, Tommy?”

“If you want me to,” he said as quietly as he could.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Phil reminded him. If only that were true.

“But they won’t leave until they get to meet you,” Technoblade protested.

“Okay,” Phil replied simply.

“Okay?”

“Who cares? Let them sit there if Tommy doesn’t want to talk to them.”

“But—“

“No buts.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy interjected. “I- I can go talk to them.”

“You don’t have to. They are really nice though; it might be a good idea to make friends before you start school,” Wilbur told him. As if anyone would want to be his friend.

“Feel free to go over their houses or around the neighborhood or wherever; just stick together,” Phil told him. He was pretty sure they’d be sick of him before they could do anything like that.

He nodded nevertheless, and took a half-step towards the front door, waiting for someone to yell at him. He mumbled a goodbye, and slid out the door.

Distantly he remembered he looked like he’d been recently hit with a car.

He barely made it down the first step when two figures came running towards them. The height different between them was almost comical. He fell back, arms coming up to protect his face: “Sweet ever-loving Prime!”

They stopped short when they saw him on the ground. “You good?”

“What? Yeah, sorry, I- I’m good.” He stood back up and looked at them. The shorter one was closer and looked excited, while the taller hung back with apparent anxiousness.

“If you’re sure. I’m Tubbo,” the shorter one said.

“Ranboo,” the other called out.

“Tommy.”

“Cool. You’re a freshman?”

He nodded.

“Sick! Wilbur said they got a new brother our age.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say to that.

“Do you have your schedule yet?” The taller one, Ranboo, asked.

Tommy shook his head.

“You should tell us when you get it— actually can we have your number— guys we should make a group chat!” Tubbo said.

“Tubbo I think you’re overwhelming him.”

“No I’m not.”

“I don’t really think that’s your decision.”

“Didn’t ask don’t care— Tommy what’s your number?”

Tommy just stared at them. He could definitely see why he’d been sent to deal with them.

He recited his number for Tubbo, who put it in his phone. Tommy soon received a text from a small group chat, and made sure to put their numbers in correctly.

He decided to push his luck and asked for their last names— it bothered him not to have them in for all his contacts. They didn’t get mad, and easily let him know, and he made sure to hide his relief as much as he could.

“Wanna come back to my house?” Tubbo asked eventually.

He shrugged, but Ranboo said sure, so they went.

“Are you guys hungry?” He asked once they were inside. It was a nice house. Slightly smaller than the one Tommy was staying at, but with lots of expensive-looking things Tommy made sure to shy away from.

“I ate this morning,” Tommy said. He also had lunch, but barely.

“This morning was forever ago though.”

“I’m just not that hungry.”

“You’re supposed to have 3 meals—“

“Per week, I know, but that- that’s just a myth the food industry bribes doctors to push out.”

“W- what?” Ranboo stuttered. “That’s— it’s three meals per day, and doctors are not being paid to say that.”

“That- that- that- that’s what they want you to think.”

“Tommy- I- No! That’s not true!”

“Sure.”

“Tubbo, help me!”

“Nah, I think he’s on to something here.”

“Thank you.”

“You people are unbelievable.”

Tommy just smiled.

“You sure you don’t want anything though?” Tubbo asked.

He nodded.

“Suite yourself, man. When do you start school?”

“Uh, W-Wdnesday I think.”

“Why so late?” Ranboo asked.

“So i can ‘settle in’ or- or something? I don’t- I- I don’t really know.”

“Odd. I hope we have classes together.”

Tommy nodded. He did too, surprisingly. It’d been a long time since he’d gotten along with people. Was it too early to hope they’d stay in contact once Tommy was sent away again? Probably. He shook the thought out of his head— now was not the time to be getting his hopes up.

Just then the door opened, and three boys, seemingly a few years older came through, laughing loudly about something. Tommy jumped, holding his breath.

“Who’s this?” One of them asked.

“Tommy,” Tubbo replied. “He’s Techno and Will’s new brother.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about you. Hi, I’m Quackity. How do you feel about drugs?”

“Shut up. That’s my brother, he’s a junior and if he tries to sell you drugs it’s a scam,” Tubbo said. Good to know?

“It is not!”

“Yes it is, be quiet,” one of his friends said. “I’m Karl and that’s Sapnap. None of us do or deal drugs.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Quackity stage whispered to him. He was so lost. “Ooh! Can we sign your cast?” He asked, tone changing from devious to excited with almost impressive speed. He was even more lost now.

“Uhhhhh sure?” He said quietly.

“Let’s go!!” Quackity yelled, and Tommy flinched hard. The older made his way to the kitchen and began rummaging through a draw, pulling out a thick black sharpee like it was a hundred dollar bill.

While he was searching, Ranboo leaned over and whispered in his ear: “You good?” Tommy jumped again, but then nodded. Was it true? That much was debatable. But he wasn’t about to admit anything, not when people finally seemed to be tolerating him.

“I call going first!” Quackity said.

“No! We met him first,” Tubbo protested.

“Well I have the pen.”

“Well I have a video of you sneaking out last week.”

That made the older pause. “Touché.” He handed the pen to Tubbo, who grinned.

“Can I put my name?” He asked Tommy. He nodded.

One by one they all added their names. Tubbo’s was large across the top of his forearm. Ranboo’s went across the top of his hand. Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity’s names were in a heart on his inner arm, the way lovers might carve their names into a tree.

Later, Tubbo would explain that the three of them claimed to be dating, and no one could tell if it was a joke or not. They could just be really close friends who committed too hard to a bit. They were caught making out more than once, but always in situations where they had no chance of not getting caught. Were they stupid or was it intentional? No one knew.

Time flew, and before he knew it several hours had passed. Shit. He couldn’t be staying out too late, they would kill him! He wondered what time his curfew was. Did he have one? Or was he just not supposed to leave at all? It didn’t matter right now, what mattered was returning to then as soon as possible.

He quickly said his goodbyes, and made his way back to where he was staying. He hesitantly opened the door, creeping inside.

“Oh, you’re back!” Tommy jumped, spinning to see Phil and his son’s eating dinner. Some kind of pasta. “Did you eat there?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Come eat then.”

He nodded, and carefully made his way to his seat, surprised that a plate was already set out for him. He took the smallest scoop he could, and ate it slowly.

If he looked up he might’ve noticed Phil frowning at that. He didn’t.

The night would surely cement itself as one of his favorite memories. After dinner he was herded into the living room, where Technoblade talked for well over an hour about the first Percy Jackson book. It was really interesting, and Tommy was disappointed to learn he hadn’t catalogued the others yet. He claimed to be working on it though.

That night, Tommy would guiltily change into his own clothes to sleep. And when he checked his phones it would already be blown up with messages from Ranboo and Tubbo.

He read through them with a smile— they were so unbelievably chaotic. It reminded Tommy of how he used to get sometimes, when he was really comfortable somewhere. It was less entertaining and more annoying when he did it though. He had the proof of that written across his body.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest. They actually wanted to keep talking to him— that was a first.

For once he didn’t let himself suck the joy out of it. He pretended this could last longer than a few days. He pretended they would keep texting even when he was eventually kicked out. He pretended they could be his first long-term friends.

He fell asleep happy, for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

The next morning found Tommy bored out of his mind and stuck in the room he’d been assigned.

Well. He wasn’t stuck. The door was unlocked and he hadn’t been explicitly told he couldn’t leave. But he hadn’t been given permission to either. He decided not to risk anything.

He listened to their voices as they ate breakfast, though he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He listened to them clean up and then disperse. He was bored.

Ranboo and Tubbo hadn’t texted him yet that day, and he didn’t know if they’d get annoyed by him texting first. He didn’t want to come off as clingy so soon. Scrolling mindlessly was becoming his best pastime.

It wasn’t till a little after noon that there was a soft knock on the door. He immediately jumped up to open it. It was Mr. Craft.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t know if you were awake. How long have you been up?”

“Um, since eight, si—.“ He cut himself off with a wince before he could finish the word. He didn’t dare look up to see if Phil was affected, but the man didn’t mention it.

“Why didn’t you come down for breakfast?”

Fuck, was he mad? He didn’t sound it, but Tommy never was good at reading people. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t know if- if I was allowed to.”

Mr. Craft paused for a moment. “You… okay. Tommy, look at me?” He did. The man’s eyes were an almost unnaturally vivid shade of blue. “You don’t need permission to leave your room, okay? You can wander the house however you’d like. Of course, knock before going in any of our rooms or the office, but you don’t need to stay in here. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear earlier.”

Huh. That was a first. He’d had houses that allowed him to leave his room, but he only found that out through trial and error. No house had gone out of its way to let him know he could have freedom. He pushed down the spark of happiness this brought him. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Do you want lunch?”

Tommy froze. He wasn’t overly hungry, having eaten last night (distantly, he knew he should be getting hungrier much more than he did, but that was a problem for another time). He didn’t know what the right answer was though. Would saying yes be greedy? Would saying no be ungrateful? Mr. Craft seemed to notice his internal conflict.

“Why don’t you come down and eat what you can?”

Tommy nodded, relieved to not have to risk making the wrong choice. He silently followed his latest foster father down the hall and stairs and into the kitchen. He stood awkwardly while Phil rummaged through the fridge.

“You can sit if you’d like, mate.” Tommy rushed to obey, sitting at the counter. “The kitchen is open to you too, you know. I don’t know if Wilbur mentioned on the tour, but as long as something doesn’t have someone’s name on it, you’re welcome to it. You can always grab snacks between meals or whatever.”

Tommy nodded, though he didn’t ever see himself doing that.

“Turkey and cheese sound good for lunch?”

Tommy nodded. Phil pulled out the materials for sandwiches.

“This is pretty much the only sandwich all of us like,” Phil said almost absentmindedly. “Makes lunch so much easier.” Tommy absorbed the message: you better like it, don’t be difficult. He nodded.

It wasn’t long until Mr. Craft sent him, for some reason, to get Techno and Wilbur.

He was noticeably shaking as he made his way upstairs. He had the absurd urge to cry, but forced himself not to. This was absolutely not something worth crying about. It would be easy. He could do this, no matter what the growing pit in his stomach told him.

He debated for a moment, before deciding to knock on Technoblade’s door first.

“Come in,” he called out. Tommy hesitantly opened the door. He watched Techno’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, clearly not expecting him to be the one there. “Hi.”

Tommy quickly faced down before responding. Now was absolutely not the time to forget what he’d learned at his previous houses. “Hi. I, um, well, I, M-Mr— Mr. Craft says it’s um, he, um, he says it’s time for lunch. Sorry.”

Technoblade just stared at him for a moment. “You have issues, kid. I’ll be down in a minute.” His words weren’t angry or even judgmental; he was just stating facts. Tommy tended to agree with him.

He took the older’s words as his queue to exit, nodding slightly before he did. He closed the door as silently as he could, before leaning against the wall for a moment and taking a deep breath. He made his way to Wilbur’s room and knocked.

“Yeah?”

Tommy didn’t know if that meant he could open the door. He was too scared to talk too loudly either. Taking his chances, he began speaking through the door. “I, um, Mr. Craft told me to tell you—“

He was cut off by the door opening suddenly. Tommy jumped back so hard he nearly hit the wall behind him, putting his arms in front of his face for protection.

He messed up, he shouldn’t have come here, why did he bother Wilbur? He was such a fuck up, and now he was going to be hit and he deserved it but it’d hurt and—

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” Wilbur said. “I couldn’t hear you through the door.”

Tommy barely registered his words. He didn’t dare move or respond.

“Are you okay?” Wilbur asked slowly.

Tommy carefully looked at the taller man from behind his arms, before slowly lowering them, backing away further on shaky legs as he did so. “Sorry,” he eventually said once he was back in his natural position (standing up straight with his head bowed), now several feet away. “Um. It’s— Mr. Craft asked me to, um, well, it’s- it’s- it’s- it’s, um, it’s- it’s time for lunch. Sorry.” Even he cringed at the stutter.

“Okay…” he said carefully. “Thanks for getting me, sorry I opened the door like that, I didn’t know it was gonna be you. You can open it next time, you know.”

Tommy nodded, and stored that information for later.

“Alright then,” Wilbur said awkwardly before leading the way down the hall. Tommy hesitated for a moment before following. He felt almost dizzy with anxiety. He hadn’t been hit yet though. That was a good sign.

They arrived downstairs to Phil and Techno very obviously cutting off whatever conversation they were previously having.

“Secrets secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone,” Wilbur said, grabbing one of the two plates on the counter and moving to sit at his seat at the table.

Mr. Craft rolled his eyes. “There’s one on the counter for you, Tommy,” he said in lieu of responding to his son. “You can come sit at the table if you’d like.”

Tommy wasn’t sure why the man phrased everything like it was his choice. Tommy ‘could’ come sit at the table ‘if he liked.’ What did that even mean? Sure, it was kind of nice to have the illusion of choice for once, but he didn’t understand the point of it.

Nevertheless, he nodded and took his plate to the spot Technoblade had assigned him yesterday. He spared a glance at the pink-haired man, who nodded at him. He took that as a sign he was doing the right thing.

Tommy couldn’t help but sit tense on the very edge of his seat, leaning away from Mr. Craft as much as possible. He was aware if himself doing it, and tried not to, but he couldn’t help it. He hated being in such close proximity to anyone.

It was quiet for a few minutes, and Tommy could himself completely and totally focused on chewing as silently as he could. He was relieved to say he liked it, not that he would admit it if he didn’t. He was so lost in his own head he almost didn’t realize when he finished.

He didn’t notice anyone trying to get his attention till they knocked on the table. He flinched, looking up to see what he’d done wrong now.

“Can I show you my knife collection?” Technoblade asked him. This again? Really?

Tommy nodded, hesitantly. This family was nice, he had decided. He didn’t want to mess it up, and that meant being on his best behavior. And if he had to add a few more scars to his collection in order to do that?

Well. He didn’t think it would break his clean-streak if someone else was making the cuts.

Chapter Text

Technoblade grinned when Tommy agreed to see his knives.

He’d been working on his collection since the day he met Phil. The older man had let him “have” a certain knife he hadn’t been able to look away from all day. Of course, it was kept downstairs and he couldn’t touch it without supervision, due to being eleven and severely unpredictable. Eventually he got to keep it in his room though, along with several others.

He’d even made some himself!

Theoretically, he understood why someone you’ve just met wanting to show you their weapons collection could be scary. He understood especially that he met Tommy and Wilbur at bad times in their lives, when they’d already been hurt by so many people.

It was difficult to apply what he knew to be sound logic to real life though. Sure, in a hypothetical situation he’d be scared. But Technoblade knew he wasn’t a threat, and it was hard to remember that other people didn’t know that.

But Tommy had agreed to come see it, despite his obvious fear. Technoblade was hoping to use this time to prove that he wasn’t the threat the poor kid clearly saw him as.

He wondered if said fear was fixable. Wilbur had been scared at first, and he got better eventually. He was never like this though. He was scared, not terrified. Techno hoped it was still fixable.

Once everyone was done, they cleared their plates and Technoblade lead the youngest boy up to his room. He followed, silently and with his head bowed.

Unfortunately, once they got there nothing changed; he just stood in place, eyes trained on the ground. Technoblade really wished he didn’t do that. Hmm. He tried to think how Phil and Wilbur had been phrasing things.

“You can look around if you want,” he offered. That was good, probably. No commands; make sure he knows he has a choice. That’s what Phil said.

It worked. Tommy raised his head and looked around his room. It was pretty cool, if Techno did say so himself. The walls were red, and the decorations were a mix of red and pink. Wilbur said it ‘clashed’ but he disagreed. One wall was entirely a bookshelf, filled with his favorites. There were of course, some knives and swords mounted on the walls, including his fencing ones. There was a swing, and lots of fidget toys. The ground was thick carpet. It was Technoblade’s favorite spot.

He went to the closet and pulled out a large box. He sat on the floor and opened it. Tommy just looked down at him. “Sit.” He did. “Oh, wait, shoot, no. I’m not supposed to tell you what to do. Um. Stand back up.” He did. “Do you want to sit and look at them with me?”

Tommy just blinked at him, an odd expression in his face. Techno noted that his bruises were slightly faded. He almost looked like he was trying not to laugh. He nodded though, and sat back down, staring at his lap again.

“Why do you do that?”

Tommy looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed, silently asking for clarification.

“You always look down. It’s weird.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry, it’s fine, it’s just…why?”

“I, um, I don’t know. It’s just what I’m supposed to do? Or, um, I-I’m usually not allowed to look up? Sorry.”

Technoblade chose to ignore his painfully anxious stutter. “Says who?”

Tommy shrugged meekly.

Technoblade frowned. “You’re allowed to look up.”

“Oh. Um…thanks. Thank you, I mean.”

Technoblade nodded. “Now look at my knives.”

Tommy bit back a laugh and nodded. Technoblade counted it as a win.

They methodically went through each one. Techno was careful not to let the younger cut himself, and not to point any blades towards him.

He listened intently to Techno’s rambles in a way no one except Wilbur and Phil ever had before. He nodded along, and only touched things when Techno offered for him too. He seemed genuinely interested, despite the stiff way he sat, almost frozen in place.

About halfway through he seemed to get restless. “Are you bored? We don’t have to keep going.” Sure, he’d be disappointed, but he didn’t want to trap the poor kid.

He shook his head though, eyes wide.

“Do you…have a question?” Techno asked, trying to figure out what the problem was.

He paused, and then nodded timidly. “Are- are you gonna, um, use them?”

Use them? What did he mean- oh. Oh. Shit. “On you? No. Never.” He channeled all the decisiveness he could into his voice, wanting, no, needing Tommy to hear how serious he was about this.

The younger slumped slightly in relief, and Technoblade felt his concern for the boy in front of him grow exponentially. He’d though Techno was going to hurt him, and still agreed to this?

“I promise, I just think they’re cool to collect. I’d never use them on anyone— especially not you, Wilbur, or Phil.”

He nodded. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Can I keep showing you them?”

He nodded, settling down again.

Technoblade took him through the rest of his collection. The blonde was calmer this time— he even cracked a few hesitant jokes. He seemed vaguely excited when Technoblade showed him the throwing knives and offered to teach him someday.

“Do you have a favorite?” He asked at the end.

Tommy hesitated, and Technoblade gestured to the box in a way he hoped conveyed the message that Tommy could touch them. He picked up Technoblade’s 4th favorite. “I- um. I liked the story behind it. And- and the mmmmmmmme-me-metal work is r-really cool. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for stuttering, it’s fine.” He continued before the younger could apologize for apologizing. “That’s one of my favorites too.” Internally, Technoblade lit up that he remembered the story— he’d actually been listening! Almost no one outside of his family paid attention to his rambles. Even his best friends tended to tune him out when he went on for too long. Which he understood; not everyone had a long attention span. It still felt incredible when someone bothered to listen though.

They left the room on much better terms than they’d entered it on. Technoblade would go so far as to call him a friend. He’d even got to sign the younger’s cast!

He was so gonna rub this in Wilbur’s face later.

“Well, Tommy, you see, they’re terrible people and they hate me,” Phil said as Techno and Wilbur got ready to go out with their friends that night. The two rolled their eyes.

“It’s called having a life, Phil. You should try it.”

“And you have to abandon me in my old age in order to have a life?”

“Yes.”

“Tommy you should see if the neighbors are free,” Texhnoblade chimed in. The younger had to work to suppress a smile, much to Phil’s excitement.

Tommy didn’t respond, not that any of them really expected him too. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, watching Phil and Wilbur pretend to fight. He was slightly curled in oh himself, but not as bad as usual.

Earlier that day, Technoblade had told Phil to give Tommy permission to keep his head up, and he (of course) had. The youngest had spent a few minutes nervously glancing at Phil for approval, but seemed used to it now. Phil was glad; he didn’t like the idea of the youngest practically bowing to them all the time.

Though he did keep glancing down every time Wilbur looked at him. Maybe he needed permission from all of them? Phil would have to ask Wilbur to confirm what Techno and himself had already said later on.

“Stop trying to corrupt the youth, Technoblade.”

“Having friends isn’t corruption.”

“Yes it is. I should be your only friend.”

“That’d be weird, Phil,” Wilbur told him.

“You’re weird.”

“I’m leaving.”

Phil sighed dramatically. In truth he was looking forward to having alone time with their newest family member, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Not in front of the others, at least. “Stay safe, answer your texts, stick together, if you commit a crime don’t get caught.”

“Yes sir,” Wilbur said with a mocking salute.

Technoblade mimicked him. The twins said goodbye and then it was just the two of them.

“Thank Prime,” Phil said. “For the record, you can always go out with your friends, I just like to bother them,” he added, more seriously this time.

Tommy nodded.

“Also on the record, you can talk, mate. No one’s gonna get mad. It’d be nice actually.”

He nodded: “sorry.”

Phil waved him off. “Don’t be sorry. Like I said, no one’s mad. You don’t have to talk if you’re not comfortable, I just want you to know you can.”

Tommy nodded, eyebrows furrowed as if this were an exceptionally complicated idea. Maybe it was; it was entirely possible no one had told him this before. “Okay.”

Phil smiled. “Anything in particular sound fun to do tonight? We’re probably gonna be alone till late.”

Tommy just shrugged.

“Well Wilbur isn’t here to force us to go to the Essempii, thank Prime.”

Tommy smiled a little, and Phil grinned in return.

“Hmmm. What’s your favorite drink?”

“Vodka,” he answered without hesitation.

Phil spluttered out a laugh. What the fuck? The kid says nothing for hours and then does that? Phil wondered what he’d be like fully out of his shell. “But really?” He eventually asked, once his laughs died down. It’d be good to know.

“I- um- diet coke,” he answered, more unsure now that he had to be genuine.

He almost wanted to comment that Tommy was the last person who needed ‘diet’ anything. That’d be rude though— he was sure the kid wouldn’t appreciate comments on his body. “Alright. We have regular cokes in the fridge, I’ll make sure to pick up diet next time I’m at the store.”

“Oh- no- you don’t- you don’t need to do that just for me, sir— Mr. Craft! Mr. Craft, sorry. That’s um, um, it’s it’s fine- I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

That was…a lot to unpack. Later. “If you like diet better I’m buying diet. It’s important to me that you have something to drink.”

Tommy just looked at him for a moment, tilting his head as if this was a foreign concept to him. “Oh. Um. Thank- thank you,” he whispered.

Phil nodded, scanning his brain for something else to talk about. “What are your hobbies? Do you play sports or anything?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Does it look like I play sports?” He asked, flexing his arm to show off the bone you could see through his skin. Sweet Prime his tone could switch fast. And sweet Prime he was far too thin.

Phil winced. “You need to eat more. Do you have a dinner preference?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Hmmm. Would you rather stay here or go out?”

Tommy shrugged. Ugh. Phil would complain to hell and back about his other sons’ stubbornness, but at least they didn’t do this. Well, not anymore. He’d forgotten how frustrating it was to get no response from someone. He tried to remind himself that it would come with time.

“Well, if you’re up to it I wouldn’t mind going out,” Phil suggested.

Tommy nodded.

“Wanna leave here in around…” he checked the time. 6:28 PM. “Twenty minutes?”

Tommy nodded and Phil smiled. The younger then pointed towards the stairs with a questioning expression, and it took Phil a second to realize what he was asking.

“Yeah, you can go get ready. You don’t need to ask.”

Tommy nodded, slipping off the chair and silently making his way upstairs.

Phil sighed. It was only day three, he tried to remind himself. He couldn’t expect instant progress— not from someone who’d been through as much as Tommy.

He went and put his shoes on, debating where to take the boy. He didn’t appear to have any kind of preferences; so far he’d done nothing except what he was told. He’d have to fix that.

Soon enough the two of them were in the car.

“Do you like music?”

Tommy shrugged. Fair enough, Phil thought. That was a stupid question.

“Wilbur makes music. He’s pretty good.”

Tommy nodded.

Phil turned on the radio. “You can change the station if you want.” He didn’t think Tommy would actually do so. He was right. The Jeopardy theme song played in the back of his mind as a commercial became the only sound in the car. This was unnecessarily awkward.

“You never answered what you like to do for fun,” Phil eventually said.

“‘Not sports’ wasn’t enough for you?”

Phil snorted. “Cmon, you have to like something.”

Tommy shrugged. “I used to like videogames.”

Okay, that was good. Phil could work with that. “Why used to?”

“I- um- I just haven’t been able to, um, to- to play for awhile.”

Phil nodded. “We have a few different gaming systems in the basement you could use if you wanted.”

Tommy nodded. “Thanks— thank- thank you, I mean.”

“Techno would be happy to have someone to play with again, Wil has been getting wrapped up in his music lately. Which is good, don’t get me wrong, but still.”

Tommy nodded.

“You have any interest in music?”

“I- um- I-I can play piano.”

“That’s cool.”

By now they were in the downtown area Phil had been heading towards.

“Feel free to mention if anything catches your eye, I’m down for whatever.”

Tommy nodded. Phil began searching for a parking spot, and luckily managed to find one relitively quickly. He pulled in and then paid for his spot. He then lead the way down the crowded sidewalk.

Eventually they (he) decided on a restaurant to go to. It was small and relatively uncrowded, and had terrible lighting. Phil hoped this would set Tommy more at ease, as no one would be able to see the marks on his face. Both he and the younger were aware of the not-so-subtle stares that had been on them since they arrived.

Not much happened throughout their meal. Tommy ordered a diet coke, and tried to refuse a meal again. Phil insisted, and he got curry, of all things. He said it used to be his favorite, and Phil made sure to note that for later.

They made conversation which mostly consisted of Phil asking questions, and Tommy stuttering out short answers along with the occasional joke.

It was going surprisingly well. Tommy’s voice got more steady as time went on, and he seemed to gain slightly more confidence.

Phil was glad.

He couldn’t help but be proud of both himself and the boy in front of him. Three days in, and they had already made progress. Not much to be fair. But Tommy kept his head was up and his stutter was slightly lessening.

It was too soon to be attached, Phil knew. It had only been three days, and anything could still happen. His heart had decided without consulting his brain though: this child was his. He’d felt the same way far too quickly with both Technoblade and Wilbur, and they’d stayed with him. Maybe his heart had a knack for being right.

Prime he hoped so.

Chapter Text

Wilbur didn’t like waking up early. Any time before 11am was wholly inappropriate to be getting out of bed.

However, he had things to do today.

Last night Phil had reminded both him and Tommy that they’d be alone together today. Phil was taking Techno to his fencing match.

Wilbur was excited. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with the blonde so far, and he wanted to make the most of it. And that is why he, very unhappily, got out of bed at 9am to have breakfast with his family.

He took a moment at the top of the stairs to observe. Techno and Tommy sat at the table, plates filled with scrambled eggs, while Phil stood at the stove. Tommy was stifling giggles listening to Technoblade talk about something. Wilbur smiled, glad the kid was feeling more social. He made his way downstairs.

Tommy’s eyes widened and he snapped his head down once Wilbur came into the room though. He felt guilt churn in his stomach, despite not having done anything. Right? Right. No, he hadn’t. It was okay. It was.

Techno turned around to see what had caused this. He winced. “Hey Wilbur.”

“Good morning.”

Tommy briefly glanced up at him, but quickly looked down again.

He hoped this wouldn’t last all day. He knew the others had gotten to spend time with him yesterday, and that was the only reason Wilbur was currently the least favorite. It was wholly likely that by the end of today Wilbur could get Tommy to be at least as comfortable around him as Phil and Technoblade had. He still felt like shit when the kid didn’t look up for the rest of the meal. Not that it was much of a meal, considering he barely had half of it.

Soon enough, Phil and Techno were gone. And now Wilbur was babysitting.

Tommy stood stiff, bowing his head like his life depended on it.

“You can look up, you know,” Wilbur told him. It was one of a few things Phil had instructed him to give the younger permission to do, along with talking. What the kid must’ve gone through to make him think he couldn’t do these things wasn’t something Wilbur particularly wanted to think about it. “I know Phil and Techno already said that, but I figured I should clarify.”

Tommy timidly raised his head partway, still tilted down a bit. Wilbur jumped up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs under him. Tommy flinched at the sudden movement. Neither of them mentioned it.

“Anything sound fun to do today?”

Tommy shrugged, looking back down.

“I think we should go out, the weather app says it’s weirdly warm, and by that I mean not literally below freezing. It’s probably the last time that’s gonna happen for a few months.”

Tommy nodded. This was awkward.

“Alright, why don’t you go get ready and we can figure it out once we’re not here anymore, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, and silently slipped up the stairs. Wilbur resisted the urge to bang his head against his hands. Why was this so difficult?

He sighed. Now was not the time to be giving up.

His phoned chimed. It was Quackity, with a picture of himself in an old food truck they had been warring over for a few months now. Wilbur thought about it: he didn’t have anything better to do.

Game on, then.

However, neither of them had the keys. In fact, no one had them; they were just gone, a fact which was immensely frustrating to all parties.

Tommy came back downstairs.

“Tommy?”

The kid looked up at him.

“Do you know how to hotwire cars?”

He nodded, tilting his head to the side. He seemed wary, but Wilbur could see the spark of interest, possibly even excitement, within him.

He grinned. “Can you drive?”

He furrowed his brow and lifted his hand only to shake it. Wilbur understood that to mean ‘kinda.’

“Perfect. Cmon, I’ll explain in the car.” Wilbur squinted at him. “You should grab your coat.”

The younger paused. “We’re stealing a car, and you’re worried I’m gonna get cold?”

“What? We’re not— okay, well, we are stealing a car, but it’s justified! It’s my car!”

“Mhm. And that’s why you- you- you don’t- you don’t have the, um, the keys?” He seemed amused, but still cautious. He was visibly leaning away and Wilbur would bet anything he was mentally planning different escape routes.

“I…I said I’ll explain in the car. Grab your coat.”

Tommy ducked his head and obeyed, but something about these actions seemed more lighthearted than before.

Soon enough they were in the car, and Wilbur connected his phone to the radio. One of his own songs started playing and he didn’t bother to change it.

“Okay, so you’ve met Quackity— Tubbo’s brother, right?”

He glanced over at the blonde, who nodded.

“So, a few months ago we bought this food truck together, right? And this other guy, Schlatt, he helped us. And then we immediately disagreed on what kind of food we should sell. And then —just because I disagreed with him— he started making shit up about how we ‘can’t sell food without a permit’ and how ‘wait Wilbur this is actually illegal’ or some bullshit.”

He glanced over at Tommy who was clearly trying not to laugh.

“So I did what any reasonable person would do. I took the truck, drove it into the woods and hid it there.”

The younger broke and laughed a little. Wilbur grinned.

“If I can’t have it no one can, you know?”

He nodded, still stifling laughs.

“But then the two of them found it, and moved it to a different area in the woods so I couldn’t have it. Like: what the hell dude? Who does that?”

The blond shook his head, and Wilbur took pride in how red his face was.

“So naturally I stole it back,” he said as if it were obvious. “And now we’ve been going back and forth for months, and it’s my turn again.”

Tommy opened his mouth but closed it again.

“No, cmon say it, tell me I’m a genius.”

Tommy laughed. “Can- can- can I- can I, um, can- can I, um suggest something? Sorry.”

“Please.”

“Once you steal it back we should siphon all the gas out so they have to buy more to move it.”

Wilbur blinked. “Oh dear Prime. How have I never thought of that? Okay, okay, detour, we need to go to the hardware store, Tommy you’re a genius!”

Tommy smiled slightly. “That, or chain the doors shut.”

“Why not both? This is gonna slow them down so much, oh Prime, I’m gonna be winning for weeks!”

“How do- how do- how do- how do- how do, uh, how do you win? Sorry.”

Wilbur shrugged, electing to ignore his stutter and apology for now. “By keeping it in place for the longest period of time.”

“Why can’t you just chain it somewhere?”

“Chains can be cut.”

“Pour cement in the gas tank.”

Wilbur spluttered.

“What? It’d work,” Tommy defended.

Wilbur couldn’t even begin to formulate a response. “You’re giving me way too many ideas.”

“We should put it in one of their front lawns too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Tommy nodded.

“Okay, I have a better idea. We’re gonna put it in our backyard. And we’re gonna sell burgers out of it. And Quackity will have to look at it every day from his bedroom window. This is genius. We are so good.”

“Won’t- won’t Phil get mad?”

“About the truck? Nah, you’ll see, there’s a spot he won’t mind if we put it.”

Tommy looked wary but nodded.

“First we have to find it though.” They pulled into the parking lot of a large local hardware store. “We need cement and…whatever you use to siphon gas. Do you know how to do that?”

Tommy nodded.

“Do I want to know why you know how to do that?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Alright then. Let’s do this.”

They exited the car, and walked into the store. Tommy kept a careful distance between them, and Wilbur didn’t comment.

They bought what they needed, and Wilbur made a bit out of paying in cash so as to ‘not leave a trail.’ It got a laugh out of Tommy, which made it worth it.

Before long they were back in the car, driving towards their house. It wasn’t long till they were back in their driveway.

They deposited the siphon and cement inside, and then took off towards the woods again. Wilbur was practically shaking with anticipation— he was finally gonna win!

“So you said you were a good driver, right?”

“Um. No.”

“Are you good enough to probably not get pulled over?”

“I- I- I….” He seemed uncomfortable, suddenly.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to. We’re just gonna have to do a bit of walking then.”

“I, we don’t—“

“Nah, this is better anyway. Phil will experience negative emotions towards me if I rope you into too much crime too early.”

Tommy nodded, relaxing a bit. Good.

They were in the woods before long, and Wilbur parked his car off on a little trail where it hopefully couldn’t be spotted. They then got out and Wilbur locked it.

They took off into the woods.

Wilbur had a bunch of where it was going to be, and they headed there. He was, of course, correct.

“You see, me, Quackity, and Schlatt found this place a few weeks ago, and I got bit by a snake. I’m fine, but made a huge deal out of never coming back.”

“And they just fell for that?”

“I know, right? Idiots!”

They entered the truck to find nothing different from last time. Good— Wilbur was always worried about ambush. Tommy began fiddling with the exposed wires under the wheel. They’d stopped bothering to put the car fully back together a long time ago.

“Normally Techno has to wire it for me, and knowing he was out of town they texted me earlier to rub it in that I can’t try to get it back today. However, they are idiots and we are geniuses and they are never recovering from this defeat.”

Tommy nodded, squinting at the wires, and soon enough the engine started up.

“Whoo! You’re the best!” Wilbur cheered. Tommy flinched, but had a huge smile on his face. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

Wilbur drove them home in the truck, driving it straight across their lawn and towards the woods behind their house. There was a small area on the edge of the woods without trees or grass. It would fit without damaging the lawn. It was perfect.

Tommy showed him how to siphon gas, which might be useful someday. He was more there to be the younger’s second hand than to learn, he supposed.

“Oooh! That’s not good!” He winced when they accidentally poured gas onto the younger’s cast.

Tommy shrugged.

“That smell is never coming out.”

He didn’t appear to care.

“Stay away from candles,” Wilbur said, semi-jokingly. He honestly had no idea if the cast was going to remain flammable for any amount of time.

Tommy nodded though, and they moved on to mixing cement once all the gas was removed. Would mixing them cause problems? Hell if he knew, but it was better safe than sorry. Plus this way he got free gas for his real car.

It wasn’t long until they were done, and this truck was never moving on its own again. Wilbur resisted the urge to high-five the younger boy. They took a few minutes to revel in their success anyway.

“Alright, it is…..12:30pm. We have to walk back and get my car at some point. Do you want to do lunch before or after?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Alright, I’m voting after. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

Tommy nodded.

They took off into the woods. It’d be faster than going by street.

Wilbur took to thinking out loud to fill the silence left by the younger boy. He talked about how they should set up the grill within the truck, and what they should name it.

“L’manberg is perfect, Tommy!”

“L-l-l-l-“ he took a deep breath. “L’manberg sounds like a country, not a burger place.”

“It could be a country!”

“It’s a food truck with cement in the gas tank.”

“And who’s idea was that?”

“Yours.”

“What? No it wasn’t.”

“And who, exactly, is going to believe you?”

Wilbur spluttered. “What the fuck? You’re betraying me already?”

Tommy shrugged, not quite suppressing his smile.

“Okay, well, traitors don’t get a say in the name, so L’manberg it is.”

Tommy didn’t protest.

It took awhile for them to reach the car. He noticed a thin layer of sweat across Tommy’s head by the time they finally arrived.

“You good?”

He nodded, before promptly stumbling over a root. Wilbur reached over to catch him, causing the blonde to flinch away and almost lose his footing completely. He leaned against the tree for a minute, breathing hard.

“Sorry,” Wilbur said. “Are you, like, actually okay though?”

He nodded, shoving himself back up into a standing position, swaying slightly. Wilbur raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. It was probably fine, and it’s not like Wilbur could do anything in the middle of the woods anyway. He’d get the kid back home and he could reassess from there.

He unlocked the door and they got in.

By the time they were at their house again, Wilbur had practically forgotten about the mishap. After sitting for a few minutes, Tommy seemed perfectly normal again. Well, for himself at least.

They walked into the house, and immediately put the back door when Wilbur saw Quackity and Schlatt in the backyard. “Oh this is gonna be so funny. Come with me, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded and followed him outside.

“This is private property,” Wilbur yelled.

“Oh, fuck off, Soot,” Schlatt yelled back at him.

“You’re in my yard!”

“Because you stole my truck!”

“What makes you think it’s yours?”

“We each own a third, and me and Schlatt outnumber you,” Quackity told him.

“Take it then,” Wilbur said, smiling wildly.

They paused.

“What did you do?” Schlatt asked, attempting to be threatening. It might’ve worked if Wilbur hadn’t already known him for so many years.

“Me? Absolutely nothing.”

“What the hell did you do Wilbur?” Wilbur noticed Quackity slip into the car, likely thinking he could hot wire it.

“Nothing, I’m surrendering. The car is all yours.” His voice was dripping with a perfect parody of innocence.

“You’re full of shit.”

The engine roared to life. “Ha! Idiot! Whatever you did to it didn’t work!” Quackity yelled to him.

Wilbur just grinned. “Take it then.”

The engine died seconds later.

“You’re dead, asshole,” Schlatt yelled. “This wasn’t your car to destroy!”

“Wasn’t it though? It was my idea, I bought it, my brother dueled Dream for it. I don’t see what claim you have to it.”

He didn’t want to turn around, but he hoped Tommy was getting a kick out of the show. Schlatt was probably genuinely annoyed, but he’d calm down eventually. It wasn’t like they were ever actually going to start a business, and Wilbur really had been the one to do almost all of the work for it. Most of this ‘fight’ was just for fun.

“We helped with all of that!”

“Barely.”

“I am going to kill you slow—“

Tommy collapsed from behind Wilbur.

Wilbur turned around just in time to see him land on his injured arm.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Tommy stood, on the verge of a panic attack, as everyone around him yelled. He was sure it was only a matter of time before it escalated even further, and prayed he wouldn’t get caught up in it. He could feel sweat dripping down his temple, and his vision, which had been slowly whiting out for the past few minutes, was now darkening rapidly. He couldn’t move, he could physically feel his blood pressure dropping, and he wasn’t even sure what was real. He was scared. And he was dizzy. And he was—

Tommy blinked.

He was lying on his back, staring at the sky. Well, what he could see of the sky. Most of his vision was still blacked out.

“Holy shit, he’s alive!” Schlatt yelled, and Tommy flinched away. Quackity hit the bearded man on the arm.

“Dude shut up.”

“Am I wrong? He’s alive!”

“Tommy, holy shit, what the hell was that?” Wilbur asked, breathless. Tommy flinched.

“Sorry.”

“What? No, don’t be sorry, just… dear Prime, I thought something was seriously wrong. Is something seriously wrong?”

Tommy shook his head. It was just his blood pressure— he’d been standing and doing physical activity for too long. All the yelling hadn’t helped. Prime, he’d kill for a soda right now.

“People don’t pass out for no reason,” Schlatt said. Why was he calm now? Him and Wilbur had been screaming a minute ago.

Tommy shrugged, an awkward motion considering he was still flat on his back.“Doesn’t matter.”

“What? Yes it does. If you know why you have to tell us,” Wilbur said. Shit. Was he mad? Why did Tommy have to tell him?

“I- um. I have, um, I have- I have low blood pressure.” And also you guys were scaring me.

“Low blood pressure?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy nodded, eyes wide.

“Do you…take something for that? How do you fix it?” Quackity asked.

Tommy shrugged.

“Cmon there has to be something.” There was. Should he ask for it? No that’d be rude. He could just confirm that it exists, and then let them decide if he deserved it? Yeah, yeah, that’d be good. Probably. Hopefully.

“Uhhhh soda?”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. He knew why, but he didn’t think they would actually appreciate a biology lesson at the moment.

“This feels like a scam so we’ll give you soda,” Schlatt said.

Quackity hit him.

“We have cokes in the fridge, I’ll go grab you one, Wilbur said.” What? No. He couldn’t let Wilbur do that for him.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I- I- I- I- I- I can get up.” He said before sitting up. He felt his body sway slightly, and black spots clouded his vision once again.

Wilbur winced. “Yeah I don’t think that’s a great idea. Are you okay if I leave you here?”

“I-I’ve got it.”

“Just wait here, okay?”

Tommy nodded, and let himself lay back down on the grass. He looked up at Quackity and the man who was apparently called Schlatt. “So. You guys come here often?”

They both snorted, luckily. Tommy really shouldn’t be making jokes while in such a defenseless position. Then again, he shouldn’t have done most of the things he did today. He talked and joked and participated way too much. His existence was too much.

But he’d been helpful, and he hadn’t talked too loudly. Wilbur didn’t seem mad, he didn’t think. Then again he could just be waiting. For what? Tommy had no idea.

Maybe he just wasn’t in trouble? He’d thought this house had a sense of humor, and he’d helped Wilbur get his truck. He’d done good. Or at least okay enough not to get hit. For now. Hopefully.

“So you’re….Tommy?” Schlatt asked.

Tommy nodded.

“Sick. I’m Schlatt.”

Tommy nodded. He figured that much out himself but wouldn’t say it.

“We’ve met,” Quackity said.

Tommy nodded. This was true.

Wilbur came back out with a can of coke. Tommy braced himself and then sat up, wincing when his vision went out and waiting till it came back before moving at all again.

Wilbur extended the can towards him, and he hesitantly took it. It was cold. He cracked it open and took a sip. Prime he loved soda. He hadn’t been able to have one in months. It wasn’t even his favorite kind but it was so good.

“Does this happen often?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shrugged, before nodding.

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not good. We’ll have to mention that to Phil.”

Tommy just shrugged noncommittally. Wilbur apparently decided it could be dropped for now, and turned back to his friends.

The older three talked around him, seemingly still discussing the truck. Schlatt no longer seemed angry about it, which was a relief. He seemed ready to kill someone a few minutes ago— Tommy was extremely unsure if he was joking or not. It didn’t seem like a joke in the slightest, but Wilbur remained completely unbothered throughout the ordeal.

He figured he should probably stand up, as it was weird to just be sitting next to all of them while they stood. But no one seemed mad at him for sitting, and he really did not want to get up. He chose to stay where he was. It wasn’t often he got the privilege of choosing what to do with himself; he spent most of his time following orders, only going where he was told. He got an odd rush of excitement from the simple act of sitting down.

Eventually, the other two had to leave, and he and Wilbur were alone again. Tommy tensed, was now when Wilbur got mad? Was he secretly pissed Tommy had embarrassed him in front of his friends? Was he—

“Are you okay to stand up?” He asked gently.

Tommy nodded, and did so. His vision dimmed slightly for a moment, but that was honestly pretty normal for him. Maybe he should go to a doctor. No, it wasn’t important enough to waste anyone’s money on. He was fine.

“Alright, let’s head inside.”

He pointed for Tommy to go first, and so he did. What speed was normal to walk at? Tommy normally just followed whoever was in front. Was he going too slow? Too fast? Why did Wilbur make him go first? Was he gonna surprise attack him? Why bother? It’s not like Tommy could —or would— fight back if he just attacked him outright.

They were inside before long, and Wilbur sat at the kitchen counter. Tommy stood awkwardly until the older noticed him. “You can sit, dude. You don’t need permission or anything for that.”

Tommy nodded, and moved to sit down. “Sorry.” He looked down while he was at it. Sure, today had been fun. The most fun he’d had in a long time, in fact. However, he hadn’t exactly been on his best behavior. He needed to remind Wilbur that he was still obedient and therefore worth keeping around at least a little longer. He was hoping they’d let him stay here until all his injuries healed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He paused. “Any interest in a late lunch?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Alright, I think I’m just gonna grab a snack. Phil left me money to get us dinner later.” Tommy nodded. “Do you want anything right now?”

Tommy shook his head. He was actually hungry for once, but didn’t want to be greedy.

“You should eat, you haven’t all day.”

Tommy shrugged.

“Granola bar or yogurt? Pick one.”

“I-I-I-I-I-I’m fine. Thank you though.”

“You have to have something. Granola bar or yogurt?”

Tommy tensed. “I-um- I- gran- granola bar?”

Wilbur hummed. “Chocolate chip okay?”

Tommy nodded.

“You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

Tommy shook his head. Wilbur pulled out two granola bars and slid one across the counter to him. He hesitantly unwrapped it and took a bite. It was good.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until they were both finished. Wilbur reached for his wrapper, and he flinched away harshly. It took him a second to regain his sense of reality. Once he did he pushed the wrapped over with a quiet apology.

“It’s alright,” Wilbur assured him. He paused. “Can I ask you something?”

Tommy nodded.

“Why’d you go all quiet again? We were having fun earlier.” Tommy didn’t quite process the question before the older rushed to fix his statement: “Not that we’re not having fun now, or that you can’t be quiet. There’s nothing wrong with quiet! I’m not trying to, like, force you to talk or anything, I’m just asking. Sorry.”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t wanna annoy you.” He could be fun in small doses, or so he’d been told. Very small doses. Like an hour at the absolute most before he became Too Much^TM. He didn’t want Wilbur to get sick of him so soon.

“You’re not annoying.”

Tommy didn’t respond. Sure, maybe he wasn’t annoying to the other yet. He knew he would be eventually though. And everyone knew what came next. He rubbed absentmindedly at his still damp cast. Despite what he said (or didn’t say) to Wilbur, the smell of gasoline was gonna drive him crazy if it didn’t wash out.

“You’re not.”

Tommy shrugged.

Wilbur sighed. “Cmon, let’s find something to do. I would say we could work on the truck but I’m kinda done with the whole ‘physical activity’ thing for the day.” Tommy nodded: he quite literally could not agree more. “Um. We could play videogames. Have you ever played Animal Crossing?”

Tommy raised his hand and shook it in a so-so motion. One of his foster sisters used to let him watch her play, but he’d never done it himself. It looked fun though.

“Ooh we should make you an account! If you want to, of course.”

Tommy shrugged. He didn’t quite get why Wilbur would make him his own account, he wouldn’t be here long anyway. Still, he wasn’t going to protest.

“Alright, to the basement we go.”

Tommy waited till Wilbur was in front of him to silently follow behind. Down the stairs and onto the couch, where Wilbur pointed for him to sit while he went about setting up the consol.

It took awhile, but Tommy had a nintendo account set up and his island was created for him. Wilbur then gave him one of the remotes before joining as player two.

Wilbur brought him around and showed him how to do everything. Tommy listened. Well…mostly.

“Tommy this is not aesthetic in the slightest.”

“You want me to kill the villagers for aesthetic? You’re a monster.”

“They’re not real! And they’re ugly!”

“They’re real in my heart! I can’t just kill them!”

“Yes you can!”

Tommy shook his head: “never.”

“Do you want an aesthetically displeasing island?”

“Better than a morally displeasing island.”

“They’re NPCs!”

“They’re my children!”

“I think most of them are, in the context of the game, much older than you.”

“And?”

“They can’t be your children if they’re older than you?”

“Says who?”

“Uhh everyone?”

“Well sorry I’m not a conformist, Wilbur.”

“You- What?”

Tommy shrugged, trying to suppress a smug grin. Half of his brain was screaming at him to shut up already; he was being horribly disrespectful. He was in for one hell of a punishment once the older finally reached his limit. The other half remembered that Wilbur thought he was fun earlier, and desperately needed him to let go just for a few minutes. He just needed to rest. He could take his guard down slightly for a bit. Right?

Wilbur sighed. “Fine, it’s your island, have it be ugly then.”

“It’s not ugly, it just has personality.”

“That’s what ugly people say.”

“Rude. What does your island even look like? Communism?”

Wilbur laughed, and Tommy grinned. “Wanna see?”

Tommy nodded. They saved the game and switched around accounts and controllers. Soon enough, Tommy was player two on Wilbur’s island.

It was very pretty. Tommy was absolutely not going to say that out loud. “Boring.”

“What do you mean boring?!” He shrieked in what Tommy perceived as mock-offense. He flinched anyway.

“It’s all- it’s all- it’s all- it’s all- it’s all- it’s all—“ he cut himself off. Fuck him and his stupid fucking brain. “Sorry. It’s- it’s all the- the- the same. Boring.”

“Don’t apologize for stuttering, apologize for insulting my island. I put so much work into this.”

“Mmm I can tell,” Tommy deadpanned.

Wilbur gasped. “How could you? Tommy you wound me!”

“Kinda like you did to those villagers?”

“No! Nothing like that! I’m actually real!”

“‘Real’ is a bit subjective, don’t you think?”

“What? You- Tommy I am not the guy for that conversation, go talk to Techno.”

“Is his island as lifeless and uniform as yours?”

“One: I resent that. Two: even more so. He’ll know if we log into his account though, you can ask him to show you some other time.”

Tommy nodded, not expecting to ever really do that.

They continued playing around on Wilbur’s world for awhile, before switching back to Tommy’s. It didn’t feel like long before Wilbur was checking the time and exclaiming that they should go back out.

“Phil gave me dinner money, we shouldn’t waste that on take-out,” he said as he shut down the console, saving everything first.

Tommy nodded, prepared to go along with whatever the older asked of him. It was the least he could do after the older put up with him all day. Tommy was sure he had better things to do than babysit a fourteen-year-old who didn’t know when to shut up.

“Hmm. The Essempii isn’t fun unless Phil’s there to whine about it. Don’t tell him I said that.” Wilbur lead the way upstairs, and Tommy followed.

He was surprised to see all of the light gone from outside by the time they got up.

“Ugh I hate winter,” Wilbur said. Tommy silently agreed. “We could just go to the downtown and see what looks good?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Alright, let’s do that I guess.”

Wilbur grabbed his keys and they left. In the past few days alone he’d left the house more times than in the past few months, Tommy realized absentmindedly.

“Is that- is that- is that- is that- sorry. Is that you singing?” He asked after a few moments of them quietly listening to music.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah! I’m in a band.”

“That’s so cool,” Tommy said genuinely.

Wilbur seemed to light up. “Thanks! This song is actually one I did by myself before the band, but I think I like what we’re making now a lot better. It’s more fun, especially since I can only play guitar and having other people for more instruments means we can do so many cool things!”

Tommy smiled slightly as the older rambled. He seemed so genuinely excited, and Tommy made sure to remember to ask him more if they ever hung out again.

“Our first album is coming out in a few weeks actually— do you want to hear it when we get home?”

Tommy nodded, trying not to cringe at the word ‘home.’ Sure, that’s what it was to Wilbur. It was just house 48 for Tommy, no matter how badly these people made him want to forget that.

Wilbur beamed at his response. “Do you play music at all?”

Tommy nodded. “Piano.”

“Oh sick, are you any good?”

Tommy shrugged. He was. An old house had trained him into a prodigy, and let him be their dancing monkey for guests. He’d learned to play everything perfectly first try, and even the most difficult of pieces came easily enough to him. They had to, or else…He hated the piano after that house. But damn if he wasn’t great at it.

“I have an old keyboard I never learned how to play, you can have it if you want.”

Tommy shrugged: he hated being offered things. Saying yes would be greedy and saying no would be ungrateful. Neutrality was usually his best option, but even that could be taken as dismissive.

“We can look at it later maybe.”

Tommy nodded.

They eventually got to the same area Phil had taken Tommy the previous night. This time Wilbur took him into a different restaurant, one with unfortunately better lighting.

Tommy, as always, tried to get out of ordering food.

“Cmon, you have to get something.” He sounded slightly frustrated, and Tommy could help but look down and shrink away a little bit.

“I’m really not hungry, it-it-it it-it’d just just be a waste of mon-money.”

“How are you not hungry?”

“I ate earlier?”

“Eggs and a granola bar is not enough for a whole day.”

Tommy shrugged. “It’s more than what I’m used to.”

There was a small pause. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

The blonde hesitantly glanced up. “What? No. Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he trailed off. He didn’t mean to make Wilbur feel bad or anything, he’d just been staying a fact. Fuck, what was he supposed to do now?

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not, but it’s not your fault. You still need to order something: food is good for you.”

“Are-are you sure? I don’t- I don’t wanna- I don’t wanna waste your-your money. Sorry.” Prime, he needed to get control of his mouth, this was getting obnoxious.

“It’s not a waste: you deserve to eat, Tommy.” Huh. No one had ever said that before. They’d said the opposite many times. The good houses sometimes said he needed to eat. He’d never been told he deserved it before. That was…something to think about.

Tommy nodded timidly, and opened the menu. He asked if he could just get a burger off the kids menu. It was smaller and cheaper than regular meals. Wilbur frowned, but agreed.

The meal passed in peace; Tommy managed to get Wilbur talking about his music again, and the man rambled for over an hour before it was time to leave.

The drive back was spent discussing school, and whether or not Tommy was excited to start soon (he wasn’t).

Before long, house 48 was in sight. All the lights were on now. Tommy was sure they’d shut them off before they left, which could only mean one thing: Phil and Technoblade were home.

And Tommy smelled like gasoline, and there was a truck with cement in the gas tank in their backyard.

This was gonna be interesting.

Chapter Text

“Hi Phil. Hi Techno,” Wilbur greeted as he opened the door. Tommy followed him silently, head bowed.

“Hey guys,” Phil responded.

“Hi,” Techno said.

Tommy looked up and gave them all a small smile in lieu of speaking, before immediately training his eyes back on the ground.

“You guys have a fun day?” Phil asked, warning evident in his voice. Tommy tensed.

“Yep,” Wilbur said with forced casualness.

“Did you do anything interesting?”

“Nope.”

“Do you care to explain the truck in the backyard?”

“No, not really. Techno, how’d your match go?”

“I won!”

“Hey, congrats, we should celebrate, and talk about that and nothing else for the rest of the night. How’d Dream do?”

“Pretty good. He got third— probably would’ve been second but he twisted his ankle in the last round.”

“Ahh, that sucks.”

“It does.”

“Wilbur,” Phil said seriously. Tommy flinched. “What’s with the truck?”

“Why do you assume it was me? This town is full of various criminals.”

“No it isn’t? Will name one major criminal offense someone here has done in the past, like, five years.”

“Um, you aren’t believing your dear son at this very moment.”

“That’s not a crime, and my dear son is a liar.”

“Phil, I would never!”

“Then why is there a truck in the backyard?”

“No idea.”

“What kind of criminal gives you a truck instead of stealing one?” Techno asked.

“Maybe we’re being framed,” Wilbur suggested.

“What would literally anyone gain from that?”

“We’d all be thrown in jail. It’s like murder but without the death part.”

No one, not even Tommy, could refrain from laughing slightly at that.

“‘Murder but without the death part?’ So not murder?” Techno asked.

“Well if you want to be boring about it.”

Phil sighed, and got up. While he did so, Wilbur backed up till he was beside Tommy and whispered in his ear: “he’s not actually mad, don’t worry. It’s a joke.”

Tommy nodded, though he wasn’t quite convinced. The older seemed at the very least extremely annoyed. Then again, he’d thought Schlatt was enraged earlier when he apparently wasn’t.

“Anything I should know about happen?” Phil asked, rummaging through the cabinets for something.

“Tommy fainted,” Wilbur said. Everyone paused. Shoot. He hated when people focused on him. He curled in on himself as much as he could, an anxious pit growing in his stomach.

“Is he— Tommy are you okay?”

Tommy nodded.

“Why’d you faint?”

Tommy shrugged.

“He said he has low blood pressure,” Wilbur said.

“Does that happen a lot?”

Tommy shrugged.

“That’s not good,” Phil said. “Have you seen a doctor about that, mate?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Remind me to get you an appointment.”

Tommy nodded.

“Anything else?”

“We stole a truck,” Wilbur said.

“Oh really? I didn’t notice.”

“You’re losing your vision in your old age, Phil.”

Phil sighed. “You are a menace.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it really stealing if you own the truck?” Techno asked.

“For the purpose of maintains my ‘dirty crime boy’ status: yes.”

Tommy pictured Techno to be rolling his eyes. “If you’re a dirty crime boy then doesn’t that make Tommy one too?”

“Sure, absolutely. We are partners in our dirty crime boyishness.”

What the hell did that even mean? And why did it make him feel so…strange? He was weirdly proud of being someone Wilbur would want to partner with, even if it was to steal cars.

Techno sighed, and then sniffed. “Why does it smell like gasoline?”

“Huh?” Phil said, alarmed.

“I don’t smell anything,” Wilbur said.

Because we’ve been together all day and you’re used to it by now, Tommy thought.

“No, I smell it too.”

Wilbur turned to Tommy: “Tommy do you…?”

Tommy hesitatantly lifted his cast towards Wilbur.

“Oh. Right. Funny story.”

“Wilbur.”

“Nothing bad! While stealing the truck we just may have possibly accidentally soaked Tommy’s cast in gasoline a little tiny bit.”

“You—“

“It was an accident!”

“Tommy are you okay?”

Tommy nodded, confused. Why wouldn’t he be?

“That can damage your skin after awhile,” Phil said, as if that mattered. “Did you guys at least wash it?”

Silence.

Phil sighed. “Tommy, go take a shower.”

Tommy nodded, and silently went upstairs to do so. He could hear Phil lecturing Wilbur as he left.

The hot water felt amazing on his dirty skin, and he could practically feel the grime for earlier being washed away. He made sure to try to wash his cast a little more than usual.

He completely avoided looking at the marks on his body. The scars carved into his side. The uncountable amount of straight lines on his thighs. The purple and black bruises on his ribs. The handprints on his arms. The — nope. Nope, he wasn’t looking at them.

Soon enough he was out, and changed into pajamas: sweatpants and a t-shirt. And socks— anyone who chooses to go barefoot is a heathen.

He cleaned up the minimal mess he’d made in the bathroom and then hesitated.

He hadn’t been told what to do next.

He didn’t particularly want to sit in his the room they’d given him and kill time till he could sleep. Was he welcome downstairs? He could hear them talking. Maybe he shouldn’t interrupt. But Phil had said he could leave his room whenever he wanted. Had he meant that though?

There was a knock on the door.

Tommy opened it, stepping back and keeping his eyes down. He could tell from the legs it was Wilbur.

“Hey,” he said. “You should come back downstairs, we might watch a movie.”

Tommy furrowed his brow. Why exactly would they want him there for that? Whatever, he wasn’t going to turn it down. He nodded.

“Cool.” He lead the way out of the room. “You have to take my side against Technoblade when he tries to force us to watch a documentary.”

Tommy nodded on the chance Wilbur was looking back at him.

“Cmon,” Wilbur whined. “Stop going all quiet, you’re more fun when when you let yourself exist, Tommy Innit.”

What did that mean? “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Nothing to be sorry about. What’s your favorite movie genre?”

He hummed in the pattern that somehow everyone knew to mean ‘I don’t know.’

“Well I’m hoping it’s not documentaries. I can’t be the only non-boring person in this house.”

Tommy snorted.

“What? I’m not boring!”

“Tell that to your Animal Crossing Island,” he whispered, barely loud enough to be audible.

“Tommy how could you!”

“I’m just stating facts, big man.”

“My island is aesthetic, you just don’t get it.”

“Well my island is sexy.”

Wilbur spluttered. “What?”

“All the ladies love my island, Wilbur.”

“Tommy- no. No. You can’t say that, that sounds so wrong.”

“But it feels so right.”

“W- no! Nevermind, stop talking, I never want to hear this again. You are a child.”

Tommy laughed, but shut up nonetheless.

“Your island is ugly and not sexy,” Wilbur told him.

“That’s not what the ladies say.”

“What ladies?”

“All of them.”

“Every lady?”

He hummed affirmatively, as they were now within earshot of Phil and Technoblade. He wasn’t entirely sure what the rules were yet. They hadn’t minded him yesterday, but anything could change at any time.

Wilbur sighed. “Are we watching a movie?”

“If we can agree on one,” Phil said.

“No documentaries.”

“What if it’s a really good one?” Technoblade asked.

“No such thing.”

“What? What about Hamilton?”

“That— Techno, Hamilton is not a documentary.”

“Sure it is. It’s just a very bad one.”

“I- no. No! That’s not true!”

Tommy was finally beginning to understand their method of disagreeing with each other as a form of humor. So Schlatt had been playing the part, as had Phil earlier. And now Techno and Wilbur looked like they were going to physically fight over Hamilton, but they probably wouldn’t. Okay, okay, he’d have to remember this. It was a relief that no one had been seriously angry today, but it meant he’d have to be very careful to tell what was real as time progressed.

“Tommy, is Hamilton a documentary?” Wilbur asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Ha! Get fucked Wilbur!” Techno yelled, and Tommy jumped.

“Traitor.”

Tommy shrugged.

“You’re stupid. All of you are stupid. Phil, please tell me I’m not alone here?”

“I don’t know, Wilbur. If sand is a food, then I think Hamilton might be a documentary.”

“That’s completely different.”

Phil tisked.

“Are we gonna decide on a movie or not?” Technoblade asked.

“I refuse to settle for The Office re-runs again,” Phil said.

“The Office is Prime tier, Phil.”

“Not for weeks at a time it isn’t.”

The three of them ended up bickering until they decided it was too late for a movie anyway, and all of them were sent to bed.

There, Tommy checked his phone for the first time in too long. He had so many missed messages from Tubbo and Ranboo.

Some were complaining about him vanishing off the face of the earth. Some were from Tubbo congratulating him on how mad Quackity was about the truck. Some were complaining about school, and how lucky he was not to have to go yet.

There was one from an unknown number.

###-###-####
here’s the picture from earlier :)
Attachment: 1 Image

It was him and Wilbur grinning in the truck. He’d already forgotten they took that. He smiled at the picture, a warmth growing in his chest.

No! No! He couldn’t be doing this! None of the good houses ever lasted long! He couldn’t fall for this again! He’d made that mistake far too many times, but never in the last two years. Why the hell was he losing his mind now? They weren’t going to keep him. No one ever did. He couldn’t afford to forget that.

He only saved Wilbur’s contact in his phone in case he needed it in the time before he was kicked out.

And he only saved the picture to his camera roll for memory’s sake.

Tommy Innit
cool, thank you

Wilbur Soot
also i still have to show you my music!! and i wanna hear you play piano. we should do that this week, i’m too tired rn

Tommy Innit
can’t wait (:

He only said it to be polite. He wasn’t excited to spend more time with the older. He wasn’t. That’d be stupid, something he decidedly wasn’t.

He responded to Ranboo and Tubbo, making fun of them for having school, and of Quackity for losing the truck.

And no, he did not hope every ding was from Wilbur, and he definitely did not irrationally hope it was from Phil or Techno despite them not having his number.

He was well-versed in the reality of foster care. He was not the kind of kid anyone adopted.

And these people certainly did not making him pray to be wrong. He wasn’t that naïve.

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

Right?

Chapter Text

The next morning, Techno knocked and invited him down for breakfast. He accepted.

They went through all the motions, and Tommy was slowly becoming g accustomed to their routine. Soon enough it was just Tommy and Phil again.

Mr. Craft told him they had a meeting with the school to set up his schedule later, but until then he was free to do anything he wanted. Tommy nodded, and Phil went into his office to do…whatever it was he did in there.

Tommy figured he might as well make himself useful.

He put his laundry in the wash, as he hadn’t had time to do that until now. He then did all the dishes and put them away. He made his bed. He switched the laundry over to the dryer. He wiped the dust off the shelves in the living room. He put all the shoes piled by the front door into a neat row. He retrieved his clean laundry, folded it, and put it away. He cleaned all the bathrooms. He watered the plants on the windowsill, before cleaning that too. He cleaned the whole kitchen, not that there was much to do. He did the same for the living room and basement, finding a similar problem there. He straightened the pictures on the walls.

What time was this meeting? He was bored.

He understood Phil giving him time to adjust before school started, but a whole week? Ugh.

After a few years (four hours) Mr. Craft called him downstairs. Tommy had been lying on the floor doing nothing for awhile at that point. He quickly made his way to where the older man stood in the kitchen.

“Tommy did you…clean?”

He nodded timidly, backing away just a little.

“Okay. Um, thanks I guess, mate? You didn’t have to do that though.”

Tommy nodded.

“I mean don’t get me wrong, thank you, really. But don’t feel like you have to do anything like that to earn your place here, alright?”

Tommy nodded.

“Okay, we have to leave in about ten minutes, you should get ready.”

Tommy nodded and went back upstairs. He got dressed in his favorite outfit— the only one he had when he got here. Light wash jeans and his classic red and white shirt. He threw the coat Phil bought him on over it.

He briefly combed his hair and brushed his teeth, wanting to make a good impression. Well, as good of an impression as he could considering he was both himself and had visibly taken a beating recently.

He went back downstairs to meet Mr. Craft, who was throwing his own coat on.

“You ready?”

Tommy nodded.

“Sick.”

They got in the car.

“So, Tommy.”

The blonde tensed.

“You’re eligible for an IEP. Do you want one?”

“I- um- what-what-what-what’s what’s that?” He dug his nails into his arms. Why could he not just talk fucking normally?

“You don’t…okay. Basically, mate, you have ADHD and a few other things that make you eligible to get extra help in school. Like extra time on tests and assignments and passes to leave the room when needed.”

“Oh. Um. I guess? Is it a lot of work to get one? I- I don’t want you to have to do anything extra for me.”

“It’s no big deal mate. Just one form. If you want one I’ll get you one, okay? It can’t hurt.”

Tommy nodded. “I- sorry. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m never not gonna get you something you need.”

“Thank you,” he whispered again.

“Don’t mention it. Anyway, you’re guidance councilor is gonna take you through course selections while I work out enrollment with the front office. Choose whatever classes you want— I’m not gonna care either way. I mean you have to get your graduation requirements, but other than that go crazy. Do whatever interests you, alright? I don’t want you to chose what you think will impress me.”

Tommy nodded. He had no idea what that meant though. What interested him? Did he even have interests? For as long as he could remember his only ‘interest’ had been surviving, and even that waned at times.

Just then, his phone started ringing. “Oh, hold on I have to take this.”

Mr. Craft began talking to someone, and Tommy took that as a sign he could afford to stop paying attention to the man. He opened his phone, and then opened his group chat with Tubbo and Ranboo.

Tommy Innit
course selection time. what classes am i supposed to take?
help me

Tubbo Underscore
oooh take intro to comp sci with us

Ranboo Beloved
don’t take level one english the teacher is terrible

Tommy Innit
level one?

Ranboo Beloved
yeah

Tommy Innit
Thank you, Ranboo Beloved. That was so incredibly helpful and totally answered my question.

Ranboo Beloved
don’t use ur correct grammar on me

Tommy Innit
try to stop me then

Tubbo Underscore
u can take wrestling as a class lmao

Tommy Innit
ahh yes, because i look like such a good wrestler

Tubbo Underscore
i wouldn’t say you look like a *good* wrestler

Ouch. He resisted the urge to rub at the bruises on his face.

Ranboo Beloved
tubbo!! you can’t just say that to someone!!

Tubbo Underscore
WAIT NO
I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT
SHT
NO
NO
TOMMY
I’M SO SORRY
NO

Ranboo Beloved
you are: dumb

Tommy Innit
none of u are answering my question

Tubbo Underscore
IM SORRY

Ranboo Beloved
idk man, here’s my schedule
Attachment: 1 Image

Tommy Innit
thank

Ranboo Beloved
just one singable thank? cmon i think i deserve at least two
singular*

Tommy Innit
don’t be greedy

Tubbo Underscore
here’s mine
Attachment: 1 Image

Tommy Innit
thanks

Ranboo Beloved
WOW
OKAY
I SEE HOW IT IS

Tubbo Underscore
HAH
IN YOUR FACE
LOSER

Ranboo Beloved
):

Tubbo Underscore
(:

Tommy Innit<
(:
also tubbo i am a gr8 wrestler
you should see the other guy
you don’t even wanna know where he is rn

Tubbo Underscore
where is he….?

Tommy Innit
jail.

While technically he hadn’t been convicted, he didn’t have anyone to pay his bail. He was most likely sitting in a holding cell at this exact moment. Tommy wondered how the trial would go. Probably not very well, regardless of the outcome.

Ranboo Beloved
PFFFFFFF

Tubbo Underscore
bro WHAT

Tommy glanced up just as they pulled into the school parking lot and Mr. Craft started to say goodbye to whoever called him.

Tommy Innit
(:
gtg

He clicked his phone shut. He then reopened it, remembering he had to actually look at their schedules if he wanted to have classes with them.

Mr. Craft hung up and turned his attention back to Tommy.

“You excited?”

He shrugged timidly, biting down the sarcastic remarks bubbling up in his throat.

“Cmon, you’ll be fine.”

They made their way into the building, and soon enough Tommy was sitting across a large desk from a woman who could not have been more than twenty-three.

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Puffy,” she greeted him.

“I’m Tommy.”

“Alright, and you’ve brought Phil! Nice to see you again.”

“You too, Captain.”

The woman laughed. “You have his transcripts?”

“They’re a bit patchy,” he said, handing them over.

That’s an understatement, Tommy thought. Both his attendance and his grades had been ‘patchy’ at best over the past several years. He had periods of time where he had straight A+s, because any less would result in horrible beatings. He had periods with entirely Fs because he wasn’t allowed to leave the house to go to school. Those houses were the stupid ones: obviously someone was going to notice if he was absent for weeks at a time. He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for their stupidity.

“It’s no problem, I’m sure we’ll work it out.”

“You always do.”

“Mhm. Alright, Tommy why don’t we take a look at your schedule, and Phil….”

“I’ll wait for the principal,” he said.

“Perfect.”

With that, Mr. Craft stood, causing Tommy to jump, and made his way out of the room.

“Okay, Prime, this is patchy,” Puffy commented. “No problem, we’ll get you situated.”

She sat with him and talked through graduation requirements with such ernesty that he almost forgot he wouldn’t be here that long. Almost.

He took all honors level classes, in hopes that it would impress Mr. Craft enough to keep him around a bit longer. Also, Tubbo and Ranboo were in several of them.

He chose interesting electives while still being impressive. Sorry, Mr. Craft, but Tommy was nothing if not desperate for validation, and that came easiest in its academic form.

Puffy tried to talk him out of overloading his schedule like that, but he insisted. School had never really been hard for him, in all honesty. He could handle it.

Puffy talked to him about the IEP he apparently qualified for. What did that even stand for? It probably didn’t matter. Basically he just had a bit of leeway with deadlines and timed tests, and could leave the room when needed. He supposed that was cool.

Soon enough they were back in the car and then the house. Tommy really needed to get a hobby or something. He wondered if he was allowed to use the gaming systems without supervision. Probably not.

He went up to the room they gave him and laid on the floor.

Tommy Innit
Attachment: 1 Image
success

Ranboo Beloved
bro ur gonna die
what’s with all the honors classes??

Tubbo Underscore
wait ur smart??

Tommy Innit
lmao no not at all

Tubbo Underscore
why are you in high classses then?

Tommy Innit
cuz

Ranboo Beloved
good luck with that man

Tommy Innit
thank you i will need it

He probably wouldn’t, actually. If anyone needed proof that school was not an accurate measure of intelligence, they would just have to look at him. It was all about delivering what your teacher wanted, and he had no choice but to be an expert at reading people.

The day passed slowly.

It did not pick up when Wilbur and Technoblade got home, after dark due to various practices. They each went to their rooms for homework.

He spent most of the afternoon and night digitally distracting Tubbo and Ranboo from their own homework.

The next day passed better. At breakfast Technoblade asked what he’d been doing all day with his time off.

“Banging my head against the wall.”

The twins laughed. “Actually though?”

He shrugged. He was about ten more minutes alone with his thoughts until he resorted to that.

“Want me to give you that keyboard?” Will offered. “Or you could work on making your Animal Crossing island less shitty?”

Tommy glared at him until the older cracked and smiled a little.

“You could make a Minecraft account?” Techno said. “Or you could borrow a book from me?”

Tommy just shrugged and looked down. “It’s fine, it’s just one more day.”

“Still. You’re supposed to be enjoying your time off. I don’t even know why you’re awake right now— I wouldn’t be.”

Why was he awake? He supposed he just wasn’t in the habit of sleeping in. He shrugged.

“Okay,” Wilbur said, standing up. I’m gonna move the keyboard to your room if that’s alright? I wont touch anything else in there. And then you can totally use the gaming stuff in the basement if you want.”

Tommy nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Wilbur came back downstairs a few minutes later, and then he and Techno left for school.

Tommy washed the dishes and generally cleaned the downstairs again until he figured he should do as Wilbur said.

Unhappily, he practiced the keyboard for awhile, using the lowest volume possible so as to not disturb Phil. He himself could barely hear the notes. He couldn’t be rusty if Wilbur ever decided he wanted to hear him play. He went through scales, and then the easier pieces he had memorized. Then the harder ones. Wilbur also left him a box of horribly unorganized sheet music, and he played through a few of those. He then alphabetized the papers.

This was not curing his boredom.

Tubbo and Ranboo were in class, so their responses were limited.

Mr. Craft had told him to make himself lunch whenever, but he wasn’t going to actually do that. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

He attempted to learn one of the songs it looked like Wilbur was writing himself. It was too easy to hold his interest for long. He checked the time. He had a few hours before they would get home.

Tentatively, he made his way to the basement, and sat on the couch. He breathed for a few minutes, listening for any movement from upstairs. Eventually, he turned on the television and managed to navigate to Animal Crossing.

This held his interest for longer than anything else. About twenty minutes before the twins would return home he managed to check the time. He quickly saved and exited, before shutting everything off and making sure there was no evidence of his existence left behind.

He paused before leaving the basement, making sure Mr. Craft wasn’t outside the door. He made it upstairs without incident, and went back to the piano. Prime did he hate the piano.

When asked what he did that day, Tommy mostly told the truth. Wilbur would obviously realize that he’d worked on his island next time he logged on. No one seemed mad, which was nice.

The night before school started may have been the first time he was excited to leave a good house.

He’d taken any excuse to leave the bad houses with glee. However, he was still a normal kid. He didn’t like going to school.

Still. If he had to stare at these blank gray walls for another minute he was going to lose his mind. Sure, he’d been locked in far worse conditions for far longer. But just because it wasn’t the worst (it wasn’t even close) didn’t mean it wasn’t boring.

Don’t get him wrong, he was incredibly grateful to be able to use that nice of a room. He really was. It was better in every way than anything he’d had in years. He just couldn’t stress enough how much he hated having nothing to do.

Luckily, he would have nothing but things to do starting tomorrow. He’d had to catch up with everyone else in terms of work, and then he’d have his honors classes

He was only slightly worried about the social aspect of everything. Tubbo had begrudgingly admitted that Quackity was popular. If the whole popular crowd was like him, then Tommy could likely fly under the radar. Maybe Tubbo and Ranboo would talk to him a little. If not? He’d been through worse than a little isolation. He could handle it.

He shut the lights off early that night, fairly confident that everything was going to be manageable.

School-wise, that was.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke up early on his own, as per usual, and went through his normal morning routine. He showered the night before, so he brushed his teeth, made his bed, got dressed, took his meds, and double checked that his bag was packed. He realized it was still early, and so he stayed in the room they’d given him.

He scrolled on his phone until Wilbur knocked and told him to go downstairs. It brought up something he’d been confused about lately. He knew he had been told he could leave the room without permission, but they all kept coming to get him anyway. Did that mean that he actually couldn’t? Or did they just get him to be nice? He wasn’t sure.

He carefully made his way downstairs and sat where Technoblade had instructed him to on that first morning.

He found himself much more nervous than he had been the night before. His stomach was practically in his throat.

Was this really going to be better than sitting alone in the room they’d given him all day? He wouldn’t mind a few more days of that. Or forever. He found himself digging his nails into his palms.

Still, he steeled himself. He quietly thanked Phil when he was given lunch money, and silently looked out the window throughout the short car ride.

“Me and Tech have practice after school, so you’re gonna have to take the bus home,” Wilbur told him.

He nodded.

“You could wait in the library if you really wanted,” Techno said. “Just text us to let us know if you do.”

He nodded, already knowing he wouldn’t.

Soon enough they were parked, decently far from the school. He assumed they were in the junior lot, with the closer one being for seniors.

When they got to the door, Wilbur turned to him. “Do you know where you’re going?”

He didn’t. He nodded.

“Are you sure?”

He wasn’t. He nodded.

“Okay. See you tonight, text if you need anything.”

Tommy nodded, and with that the twins left him. He pulled out his schedule. He was in homeroom 215. Whatever that meant.

He assumed it’d be on the second floor, so he managed to find a staircase and go there. Then, luckily, he realized the numbers went in order, so he just walked down the hall until he reach room 215.

He silently handed the teacher the form he’d been given. She did a horrible job of pretending not to stare at his face. He morbidly wondered what she’d think if she saw the rest of him.

He went and sat in the very back corner, trying not to draw attention to himself. Unfortunately, this plan was thwarted by—

“TOMMY!” The blonde flinched so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, head snapping up to the door. It was Tubbo, followed closely by a sheepish-looking Ranboo. Tommy took a deep breath as his heart rate slowly descended back to normal.

He waved.

Tubbo and Ranboo sat in the desks next to and in front of him. “We didn’t know you were gonna be in here,” Tubbo said.

Tommy shrugged. He knew they had a lot of other classes together today, he honestly hadn’t thought to ask what homeroom they were in.

“Anyway, how excited are you to be here?”

Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Cmon why are we getting the silent treatment?”

“Tubbo!”

Tommy froze. “I- uh- I-I-I-I-I-I um I- sorry.” Great job, Tommy, you really nailed that one, he thought to himself. Tubbo and Ranboo exchanged a look Tommy didn’t quite understand the meaning behind.

“Sorry about him,” Ranboo said.

“I’m a delight!” Tubbo protested. “Sorry though,” he said, turning to Tommy.

“It-it-it’s okay.” Tommy cringed. He remembered when he wasn’t like this. What he wouldn’t give to go back to then.

Tubbo and Ranboo took over the conversation easily enough, discussing random classes and pieces of gossip and filling Tommy in on the parts of the stories he wouldn’t know.

Eventually the bell rung and it was time for class. Tubbo and Tommy had Geometry. Yippee.

The teacher talked to him briefly about catching up with the rest of the class, and introduced him to everyone, much to his embarrassment. He wasn’t forced to talk though, so he counted it as a win.

They took notes on things Tommy already knew, but that was fine with him. It meant he could zone out and still be fine with homework.

Tommy went through his schedule, having most classes with either Tubbo or Ranboo. He was taking eight classes, with four per day, every other day.

Computers was second period, which he had alone due to already having taken an introductory class at another school.

Lunch block was third period, which was Biology with both Tubbo and Ranboo. Tommy sat silently at their table with a bunch of other people no one bothered to tell him the names of. He was too scared to ask.

Him and Ranboo finished the day with English.

He got through all his classes, his homework pile slowly stacking up. Luckily he would have a study tomorrow, as he was excused from gym due to his arm.

At the end of the day Ranboo asked if Tommy wanted to walk home with him and Tubbo.

“Cmon dude, you don’t want to take the bus, trust me.”

“I…”

“It’ll be fun.”

“Walking?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Let me ask Wilbur.”

Ranboo furrowed his brow. “Why do you need to ask Wilbur’s permission?”

“He told me to take the bus.”

“He’s irrelevant.”

“Well I- I don’t I don’t I don’t, um, have Mr- Mr. Craft’s number.”

Ranboo shrugged.

Tommy Innit
can i please walk home with tubbo n ranboo

Wilbur Soot
the neighbors?
why are tou asking me

Tommy Innit
i don’t have mr. craft’s number

Wilbur Soot
why

Tommy Innit
idk

Wilbur Soot
do you even have techno’s?

Tommy Innit
no

Wilbur Soot
that’s unsafe
what if i died while we were together
you’d have no one to call

Tommy Innit
9-1-1?

Wilbur Soot
in *this* economy?
also yeah yuo can walk home wiht them

Tommy Innit
thank you

Wilbur Soot
np
also you need to get tech and phil’s numbers

Tommy Innit
okay
will do
thank you

“He says it’s fine.”

“Sick.”

When the bell rang, Tommy followed Ranboo outside, where they sat on a wooden bench and waited for Tubbo.

“So…how was your first day?”

Tommy shrugged. “It was- it- it was- it was fine.”

Ranboo nodded. “That’s nice. Let me know if you need help catching up with anything.”

Tommy nodded. He wouldn’t be doing that, but refusing might be seen as rude. Asking would surely be ruder though.

They sat there, semi-awkwardly, until Tubbo arrived.

“Hey guys!”

“Hey,” Ranboo said.

Tommy waved.

“Okay, so, I was in a group project with Purpled, right? Tommy, you know Purpled, he sat with us at lunch.”

Tommy absolutely did not know who that was. He nodded.

“Right, so he’s not doing shit because he’s annoying, but it’s fine because he’ll do it at his house…”

Tubbo proceeded to tell them how him and Purpled rigged miniature ‘bombs’ in Chemistry (they released harmless purple smoke) and we’re planning on putting them in Purpled’s brother’s backpack.

“That is such a bad idea,” Ranboo said. “He can and will kill you guys.”

“Pffff. Yeah I know.”

“So why….?”

“Cuz.” Tubbo shrugged.

“You’re not allowed to drag me into this.”

“I would never.”

“Mhm. Tommy, Dream can and will kill you, don’t let Tubbo get you involved.”

Tommy nodded: “noted, big man.” Where had he heard the name Dream before? He definitely knew that name. Everyone in this town had such weird names, but he thought it better not to comment.

They took a weird path through the woods, and somehow ended up in Tubbo’s back yard. Tommy was pretty sure that didn’t make any sense. He would have to make sure to to look up a map later.

“Wanna come over?” Tubbo asked him. “We usually just do homework for awhile.”

“O-oh I, um, I’d have to- have to- have to- have to- dang it. I’d have to ask. Sorry.”

“Wilbur comes over all the time, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I- I- should...” he trailed off. Fuck. He didn’t want to disobey them, but he couldn’t just go missing, Phil would kill him.

“It’s alright,” Ranboo cut in easily. “You can ask and then text us?”

Tommy nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

With that they split ways; Tubbo and Ranboo went through Tubbo’s back door, and Tommy went up to Phil’s front door.

He carefully slipped inside, relieved to see Phil in the kitchen. He couldn’t stand the thought of knocking on his office door— what if he interrupted something important?

“Hey Tommy, how was school.”

“Uh, good,” he said, steeling himself to ask permission to go to Tubbo’s.

“I picked up diet coke earlier, do you want one?”

Tommy hesitated before nodding. What was he supposed to be doing right now? He had a question— no, two questions. What were they?

Phil handed him a silver can from the fridge, and he walked forwards to grab it. He cracked it open and took a sip. It was so good. Wait he had something to ask Phil.

“I- um- thank you.”

“No problem, mate.”

“I- um, can- can I- can I- um, Tubbo- the- he- he lives right there, I- um, can- can I-“ he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Phil said slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “You want to… go to the neighbors house?”

Tommy nodded, slightly embarrassed. Phil shouldn’t have to guess what he was saying and try to interpret his nonsensical ramblings. He wasn’t a child; he should be able to talk normally by now.

“That’s fine. Are you gonna be back for dinner?”

He shrugged timidly.

“Alright, let me know.”

Oh! That was the other thing he needed to ask for. “I- um- Wil-Wilbur told me I have to- to get your number. Um, can- can- I…?”

“What? Oh yeah, sure thing. Not gonna lie I forgot you didn’t already have it.”

Tommy nodded. They exchanged numbers, and Tommy put another member of one of the strangest families he’d had in his phone. He then very awkwardly walked out the door, and over to Tubbo’s.

Shit, he forgot to text. Oh well. He knocked. Tubbo answered.

“Hey, you made it! With a diet coke, for some reason?”

Right. He forgot. He shrugged, taking another sip. If he was ever put on death row his last meal would be diet coke.

“Come in!”

He did. Tubbo lead the way to the living room, where Ranboo was surrounded by papers. The taller man waved at him, before turning back to the work. Tubbo went to the other part of the room covered in papers, and told Tommy to sit wherever. He ended up sitting on the floor, and pulled out a blank notebook.

Resisting the urge to groan, he made a to-do list and go to work. It was better than sitting inside doing nothing for another day.

Or so he told himself.

Chapter Text

Listen, call him crazy, but Tubbo was pretty sure there was something wrong with Tommy.

Barely over a week ago everything had been normal in Tubbo’s life. Well…that much was debatable, but everything had been the way it’d always been.

Then his older brother’s friends said they were getting a brother his age. And then his parents sat him down and explained that the kid was coming from foster care, and that he probably had not had the greatest past.

And then he got there.

And he was tall, which Tubbo was only a little bitter about. But he was too thin and the little skin that could be seen between his bruises was too pale.

And he was quiet, almost weirdly so. But every now and then he would just say the funniest things out of nowhere. And Tubbo resolved to see that side of him more.

He was different over text than in person. He was much bolder on their group chat. He’d make jokes and insults and match their energy perfectly. It would seem like he was the perfect final puzzle piece in Tubbo and Ranboo’s friend ‘group.’

But then they’d see him in person, and he could barely stutter through half a sentence. He was hunched in on himself, flinching every time someone moved and constantly scanning his surroundings for imagined threats. He was injured, in more ways than one.

It did nothing but further Tubbo’s determination. They were going to be friends, and Tommy was not going to be scared of him or Ranboo. Tubbo wouldn’t let him.

But for now they were all gathered in his house, and he was trying to finish a literary analysis on To Kill a Mocking Bird.

“I hate English.”

“Get literate then,” Ranboo said.

“Fuck you! I have a disability!”

The older sighed. “Do you want help?”

“No. I want to stab someone.”

“Ugh, I volunte-teer as tribute,” Tommy said, putting down his work.

Tubbo snorted.

“No, no stabbing here. This is a new carpet,” Ranboo said.

Tubbo blinked. “Dude, you have got to stop spending time with my parents. It’s getting weird.”

“I’m just saying, your mom put a lot of thought into this carpet.”

“You shouldn’t know that! I barely know that!”

“It’s not my fault I’m your moms favorite.”

“Your wrong, Karl is my mom’s favorite.”

“I wasn’t counting him; obviously everyone’s mom likes Karl the best. I’m second though.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Then who is?”

“Me.”

“I disagree. Tommy do you think Tubbo’s mom loves him?”

“I mean, she-she is a one of a kind woman.”

“Thank- HEY WAIT!” It took him a minute to put the insult together. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” Tommy flinched back, but it seemed to be more out of instinct than fear.

Ranboo laughed hysterically. “Get owned, man.”

“Fuck you both, get out of my house.”

“It’s your parents house and I’m their second favorite.”

“No one likes you.”

“Okay,” Ranboo said easily.

“Stop agreeing with me, asshole.”

“Okay.”

“I’m divorcing you.”

“Sure thing, babe.”

“Stop it.”

“Okay.” Tubbo hated his stupid accepting tone.

“Tommy make him stop.”

“Uhhhh. Stop. Or-or else.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Tubbo he- he says he’s not- not- not- not- not, um, not- not doing anything.” Tommy cringed at the stutter. Tubbo made sure to continue as if nothing happened.

“But he is!”

“Mmmm, Ranboo doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to lie.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” Ranboo said.

“You are both terrible awful unlovable people.”

“Your mom says the opposite,” Tommy said.

“You haven’t even met my mom!”

“Listen, Tubbo, we were waiting for-for the right time to tell you,” Tommy said, as if he was about to break awful news to him.

“Shut up!”

Ranboo laughed loudly at their antics.

Tommy held his hands up in surrender, still giving Tubbo a falsely sympathetic look.

“I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” Ranboo said cheekily.

Tubbo glared at him for a few moments before turning back to his homework. The other two followed suite easily enough.

They all finished around the same time.

At one point Tubbo started (softly) banging his head against his binder until Ranboo helped him read the paper. Otherwise it went smoothly. He noticed Tommy flying through assignments that took the other two forever. He had some kind of check-list that shrunk rapidly as time went on.

Was he a genius or just not trying at all? Tubbo somehow doubted it would be the second option.

Nevertheless, having more work than the two of them, Tommy finished last. Only by a few minutes though. Weird. Tubbo oddly couldn’t wait to see what his grades were.

By now it was around 4pm. Perks of not having after-school activities; you finish early.

“Tommy do you play videogames?”

He lifted his hand in a so-so motion.

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged.

“Well do you like Minecraft?”

Tommy shrugged. “They, um, let us play education edition at, um, one of- one of my old schools.”

“You’ve only ever played education edition?” Ranboo asked.

Tommy nodded. “It- it- it was fun I guess.”

“No. Unacceptable. You need to play for real,” Tubbo told him. “You have to make an account later, you can play as a guest on the x-box.” Tommy nodded, though Tubbo got the sense it was more out of obedience than agreement. “Unless you… don’t want to?”

Tommy shook his head, and rushed to reassure him. “No, no, that, um, that-that sounds good.”

“Okay…” Tubbo said, carefully setting up, he glanced at Ranboo, but the taller just shrugged.

Soon enough they were sat in front of the television, and Tubbo was trying to explain the controls to Tommy.

“No, don’t—“ he tried to correct, before realizing: “you’re doing this on purpose,” Tubbo said, almost in disbelief.

Tommy cracked and started laughing.

“I just— you just made me spent like ten full minutes going over this, and you— you fucking asshole,” Tubbo shoved Tommy’s shoulder, causing the other to fall over with a quiet:

Fuck!” He clutched his shoulder dramatically. Tubbo couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Shit dude, are you alright?”

“Awww, screw you, man,” Tommy whined. “I’m fine,” he admitted, wincing while he sat up.

“Are you sure? Sorry, I didn’t mean to actually hurt you.”

He nodded, turning back to Minecraft.

Tubbo and Ranboo shared a look. That…wasn’t good. It didn’t seem like either of them knew what to do about it though. They went back to the game as well.

Tubbo forgot just how much of the game wouldn’t be known to regular players.

“Ranboo, he doesn’t know what the nether is.”

“I know, Tubbo.”

“Listen, it- it’s not- it’s not my fault.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Uhhhh the system.”

“What system?” Tubbo scoffed.

“The system.”

“A system of equations is when two lines intersect at a point on a graph,” Ranboo recited. There was a beat of awkward silence following his declaration.

“Why did you just say that?” Tommy asked, sounding almost offended.

Ranboo shrugged. “Felt like it.”

“Well…don’t- don’t do that again. That was terrible.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Are you gonna define that too?”

“Maybe I will! What are you gonna do about it?”

“I know where you live, Ranboob.”

“W- don’t call me that! And I know where you live too.”

“That- that- that- that’s what you think, Ranboob.”

“And I know Wilbur leaves the basement door unlocked.”

“T- what the fuck man?” Though his tone obviously tried to stay jokingly affronted, he seemed genuinely uncomfortable all of the sudden— as if this statement had genuinely shaken him. Tubbo decided to intervein.

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty. Now can we please just try to beat the End already?”

“He just threatened me!” Tommy complained.

“You started it.”

“No I didn’t,” Tommy lied obviously.

“Yes you did!”

“Prove it.”

“We all just heard you!”

“Did we though? I- I- I didn’t hear anything.”

“You…suck.”

“Tubbo, he just insulted me,” Tommy whined.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!”

“Prove it,” Ranboo said with a smug grin.

“Oh you bitch! Don’t quote me to myself.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!”

“Do you have any proof of this?”

“No one likes you.”

“No one likes either of you,” Tubbo said. “Cmon help me, I’m trying to gather resources so we can, you know, beat the Ender Dragon.”

“Wait- what? The Ender Dragon is real? I thought that was made up.”

“What? No, you defeat the Ender Dragon to beat the game.”

“You can beat Minecraft?.”

“Tommy, what?”

“I thought you just played till you got bored!”

“No. That’s so wrong. First of all, you can beat it. Second of all, there is no ‘getting bored’ of Minecraft. Minecraft is life. How do you not know anything about this?”

The blonde shrugged. “I’m sorry for not assuming the block game finished with a battle to the death against a dragon?”

“You should be,” Tubbo said. “Now cmon, help me finish the nether portal already.”

“The what?”

Tubbo sighed. This was gonna take awhile

They did not beat the Ender Dragon.

None of them were especially good at the game, and Tommy didn’t even know what he was doing. They all put their stuff in chests and agreed to finish trying sometime soon. Maybe tomorrow.

Ranboo and Tubbo alternated houses fairly irregularly throughout the week, but they always did homework and hung out after school. Tubbo was hoping Tommy would be a regular part of that from now on, and he was pretty sure Ranboo felt the same.

It wasn’t long before Ranboo had to leave and Tommy followed suite, not remaining inside a moment longer than he perceived himself to be welcome for.

Tubbo waived goodbye with a smile, and promised to see them both tomorrow.

Closing the door, he finally had a few moments to unpack everything.

Tommy had been…odd. He’d spent most of the time (when he wasn’t silent) fighting with Ranboo, in a way that would normally annoy the taller, but he’d just seemed…endeared, almost.

Tommy had spoken, and his stutter got better as time went on. Tubbo wondered if that was an anxious thing or if he just had one. Maybe both?

Tubbo cringed when he remembered pushing the blonde. He honestly hadn’t stopped to think that there could be more injuries than what could be seen. He didn’t like that.

He didn’t like a lot of things about Tommy. He didn’t like the flinches, or the apologies, or the eyes carefully tracking his every move. He didn’t like the quietness, the hesitance, the injuries, or the obedience.

It wasn’t all bad though, Tubbo supposed. He liked the jokes, the laughs, and. the way he fit their little group perfectly. He liked the small glimpses of his true self, and the times he managed to speak clearly. He liked the boy he saw under layers upon layers of something dark.

He figured it would just take time for Tommy to adjust to being here. Tubbo wasn’t stupid. Though it came mainly from overdramatized TV shows, he had a good grasp on the fact that the foster system was fucked up. And at least he could acknowledge that the shows were inaccurate. Tubbo knew he didn’t know what Tommy had been through, and knew he didn’t know how to help the blonde recover. He was gonna try though.

If he hadn’t already promised that to himself, then he would’ve done so at that moment, mere minutes after the front door to his house closed.

His mom always said he needed more friends anyway.

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t view himself as smart. He did, however, have the life skills one would expect of him considering he’d made it this far.

He remembered things.

And so when the next day, in study hall, when a man they called Dream was being annoying with his friends, Tommy quickly put several things together. This was Techno’s fencing friend and Purpled’s older brother, and he was (most likely) in study because he twisted his ankle over the weekend. That, or athletes just didn’t have to take gym at this school.

Oh, and Ranboo said that he could and would kill him if given the chance.

Tommy made sure to steer clear. He sat at a table in the back of the room, and silently grinded out as much work as he could. Which was a lot— he probably wouldn’t have much to do tonight.

Then a group of three people, Dream included, sat down at his table, for some reason. He recognized one of them as Sapnap, who may or may not be dating Karl and Quackity. Tommy prepared for the worst, already feeling the panic well up within him.

“You’re Techno and Will’s new brother,” Dream said. Not a question but a statement.

Tommy nodded, body completely stiff and eyes wide with fear.

“Cool, I’m Dream.”

“I’m George.”

“We’ve met, I’m Sapnap.”

Tommy nodded.

“What, you’re not gonna introduce yourself?” Dream scoffed.

Tommy flinched. Oh Prime, oh fuck, he made them mad, he made them mad. This was bad.

“Don’t be a dick, we already know his name,” Sapnap said. He then turned to Tommy and said in a less annoyed voice: “sorry about him, I’d make an excuse but he’s just like that.”

Tommy nodded, slowly, eyes never leaving Dream for more than a fraction of a second.

“Well does he talk or not?” Dream snapped.

Tommy flinched again. Distantly he noticed Sapnap pulling out his phone, and beginning to type something.

“Don’t do that,” Dream said angrily to Tommy.

Tommy couldn’t help it. He flinched again, and then felt even more fear spring up in his stomach. His chest was so tight it hurt and he felt like he might burst any moment now.

“Dude, knock it off,” Sapnap said, equally angry. Despite being pretty sure the anger was addressed at Dream, Tommy couldn’t help but jump the tiniest bit.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re being an asshole for no reason.”

“He’s being fucking annoying! He—“

“Dream,” George said, cutting the blonde off. To Tommy’s shock, Dream appeared to listen to him. “You can’t keep doing this.” This listening only lasted for a second.

“I’m not doing shit!” He slammed his hand on the table, and suddenly Tommy wasn’t in study hall anymore.

The house was dark; only one of the several lightbulbs in the cheap chandelier still worked.

Tommy was seven. He was silently cleaning the filthy kitchen while his foster father screamed at him.

“What is wrong with you? How dare you make such a fucking mess in my house!” Tommy hadn’t; none of this mess was his own. He didn’t say this, he just kept cleaning.

Suddenly the man slammed his hand on the counter, and Tommy jumped. He dropped an empty beer bottle, and it shattered.

Time slowed down.

“Oh you worthless piece of shit!” Tommy was grabbed by the back of his collar before he could even process what happened. His head was slammed against the hard counter, and then he was thrown down into the ground, landing on glass shards.

He was then kicked, and he felt the shards dig in deeper on his back. He didn’t feel connected to his body. He knew he was crying, begging for it to stop. He couldn’t feel himself doing that though. All he could feel was excruciating pain as the man kept kicking him over and over again until no part of his body had been spared.

The last thing he heard before he blacked out was: “This was your own fucking fault, kid. You got what you deserved. Don’t you ever forget that.”

He was right, Tommy realized. He then lost consciousness.

Tommy zoned back in to his study hall. Several things had changed.

He was on the floor, with Sapnap and George leaning over him. That was about all he could see.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Sapnap asked him.

He blinked. “What the fuck…?” He murmured.

“Oh my— thank Prime,” Sapnap said. “You went completely catatonic there.”

Oh. Yeah, he did that sometimes. He went into states where he was so lost in his head he would just stare straight ahead and not move or speak or react to anything. Oops.

Now that the older two boys were no longer leaning over him, but rather sitting beside him, he sat up as well.

Technoblade had Dream pinned to the wall. When had Technoblade gotten here?

“I texted him,” Sapnap said, as if reading his thoughts. “Dream wasn’t gonna calm down. He um. You weren’t responding, so he pushed you over. That’s why you’re on the ground. He uh, landed one hit, but me and Geogre pulled him off after that. He didn’t really do much else before Techno got here.”

Tommy nodded; that made sense. He’d have to make sure not to zone out like that anymore. That was against the rules, apparently. Along with refusing to speak even when spoken to, and flinching, if Dreams reactions to those were any indication.

“He, um, he doesn’t mean to be the way he is,” Sapnap said, awkwardly.

“He’s just….going through it at the moment,” George said. “It’s not your fault.”

Huh? It was always his fault. He zoned out and didn’t respond to Dream, and so he was punished. That’s how it worked. He didn’t see the problem.

Technoblade suddenly punched Dream in the face, knocking him clean off his feat. “You are never coming near him again. Cmon Tommy, we’re leaving.”

Tommy nodded and quickly packed his bag, before standing still, head bowed, waiting for his next instruction.

Technoblade turned to Sapnap and George. “You guys need to get your shit together. He can’t be acting like this, and you can be enabling him to. Grow the fuck up.”

Oh Prime, Technoblade was mad at him. He flinched when an arm was put around him, and he was lead out the door. He walked ridgidly, fearing any misstep would cause Technoblade to snap and hurt him like he had Dream. Why did he hurt Dream? The older hadn’t done anything wrong— it was just what Tommy deserved.

This was confusing.

Technoblade was angry enough to kill someone.

He’d been in his last period of the day: mythology ‘class.’ It was more of an independent study on mythology than a class, which he loved. Then, he received a text from Sapnap.

Sapnap
come to room 312 rn

Technoblade
why

Sapnap
tommy is here
and dream is being himself

Shit. Shit that was not good.

Technoblade didn’t fully understand the issues Dream was working through. Or, rather, not working through. Him and the other weren’t especially close, they just fenced together. Outside of that they didn't talk much, and they were much more rivals than friends.

Still, while he might not know much about whatever was wrong with Dream, he knew it was bad. And he knew what happened when the blonde lost even the slightest bit of self-control.

Technoblade all but ran from the library up to the third floor, and burst in the door. There was no teacher, as apparently high schoolers should be able to handle themselves. They evidently couldn’t.

He would later curse himself for freezing, but he did. The scene in front of him was not one he liked.

Tommy was lying motionless on the floor, while Sapnap and George held Dream against the wall. The rest of students in the study hall were standing off to the sides, staring with a mix of disbelief and morbid curiosity.

He unfroze.

“What the hell?”

He ran into the room, and Dream’s friends easily moved out of the way so that Techno could take their place.

“Dream, what did you do?”

Dream smiled. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

Techno slammed him against the wall as much as he could. “What. Did. You. Do?”

Dream just laughed, almost hysterically.

Techno turned to George, who was kneeling over Tommy’s still motionless body along with Sapnap. “What happened?”

George filled him in, nerves obvious within his voice and body language.

“What the hell is your problem?” Techno asked. He hit a child recovering from abuse? Who does that?

Dream grinned manically. “He is.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes.”

“What could he possibly have done?”

“Exist.”

“You’re fucked in the head. I told you— I fucking told you not to do this to him.” Not in so many words, but he had. While practicing for their fencing match, Techno had vented about everything. How scared he was of hurting the kid, and how he had clearly suffered so much. Later, he’d talked even more about how worried he was about Tommy, and how overly timid the boy was.

“No, all you did was point out that he’s weak.”

“He’s not weak.”

“He’s the perfect target, don’t you see it? He’s so young and so broken and so fucking desperate for approval. I could make him do anything.” He laughed again, high pitched and loud and insane.

Techno punched him. As hard as he possibly could. And he did not feel bad about it.

He looked over to see Tommy sitting up. Good; they were leaving.

He cursed out Sapnap and George as he left, not quite knowing whether or not he meant it. On one hand, definitely did. On the other, he knew it wasn’t their fault that Dream was the way he was. He didn’t know if it was anyone’s fault.

He wrapped an arm around Tommy, noting the way the younger stiffened but too emotional to recognize what exactly that implied.

He lead him all the way to guidance, and into Puffy’s office.

“Hey you can’t— oh hello Techno, hi Tommy. Maybe try knocking next time?” She said, her voice light and joking.

Techno nodded.

“What brings you here?”

“Your son is a psychopath,” Techno spit.

Puffy sighed, smile dropping from her face. This was definitely not the first time she’d heard those words.“What’d he do now?”

“He attacked Tommy in their study for no reason.”

Puffy rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Do you know what his reason was?” Techno opened his mouth to object (he’d literally just said that he didn’t have a reason) but Puffy held her hand up to stop him. “Even if it wasn’t a valid reason, can you just tell me?”

Techno slumped. “Because he’s ‘the perfect target.’”

“What does that mean?”

Techno pointedly glanced at Tommy’s small form. The younger had his head bowed, and so he didn’t notice. Had she seen the poor kid? Despite being psychotic, Dream wasn’t wrong. Tommy would be easy to control if someone was cruel enough to want to.

Puffy nodded, seemingly accepting that as an answer. “And did you…?”

“I punched him.”

“Okay. Well, we’ll call it even and no one gets suspended?”

“No.” That was bullshit; Dream was not going to get away with this. “I’ll take a suspension if it means he’ll get one too.”

Puffy nodded. “Fine. He’ll be suspended for a few days, I’ll decide exactly how long once I do an official investigation. You’ll probably have detention for a few days.”

“Thank you. And I want Tommy moved out of that study, he’s not safe there.”

“Okay.”

“Can you put him in the library?”

“Why?”

“That’s where I have class this period.”

“Okay, that can be arranged.”

Techno smiled. “Thank you.”

“Tommy, does that sound good to you?” Puffy asked. Right, Tommy. The whole reason they were here. It was hard to remember that he was even in the room when he was being so quiet and still. Techno made a mental note to get better at that.

Tommy nodded obediently.

“Okay, is that all for now? You’ll both be called back down later once I start officially investigating this.”

Techno hesitated. “Dream needs help, Mrs. Puffy. The way he laughed telling me how easy it would be to manipulate Tommy…” he trailed off.

“I know,” Puffy said, sounding tired. “I know. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’m still trying.”

It took everything in him not to tell her to try harder. This wasn’t her fault. He had to remember that.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she said.

With that, Technoblade stood. “Cmon, Tommy.” The younger stood and followed him out the door.

Soon enough they were in the guidance hallway, and Techno pulled Tommy into a small soundproof room. They were more closets than rooms, but the school had a few of them in this hallway, as a place for students to hide when needed. Techno was one of a few lucky enough to have a key.

“Are you okay?” Technoblade finally asked him.

Tommy nodded, not taking his eyes off the floor.

“You’re allowed to look up,” Techno reminded him.

The younger did so, albeit hesitantly. There was a red mark on his face, hardly distinguishable from all the other overlapping marks.

“You’re always allowed to look up, talk, move— anything, okay?”

Tommy nodded.

“Alright, are you okay?” He repeated.

He nodded.

Technoblade sighed. “That guy… Dream… he has issues, okay? None of what he did was your fault; Dream needs professional help. He hurt you because he’s not getting that help. It’s not anything you did; if he said you did something wrong I promise it was just an excuse to do what he already planned to.”

Tommy nodded, not quite seeming to believe him.

“Cmon, let’s go home.”

Tommy furrowed his brow at him.

“There’s only like thirty minutes left in the day, we’re not going back to class. We can leave the car for Wil and walk, it’s not that far.”

Tommy still looked confused.

“Unless….you don’t want to? Do you have something you need to do here?”

Tommy opened his mouth and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Don’t- don’t- don’t- don’t- don’t- don’t— um, um, don’t- don’t you have, um, pr- practice?” He practically whispered.

“Meh, I can skip one day. The coach loves me.” Actually, it would kill him not to go. He had his routine and he hated breaking it, especially last minute like this. But for his family? He would. Some things were more important.

Distantly he thought it was weird that he already thought of Tommy as family, considering they only met a week ago. But…cmon. Just look at him. How could he not?

“But…” Tommy whispered, before flinching, seemingly from nothing. Technoblade waited a few moments to see if he would continue. He didn’t.

“I’m sore anyway,” he lied. “I could use a day off.” Not true. “Is there anything you want to stay here for?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Great. So we’re leaving. You should text your friends to tell them you’re not going home with them.”

Tommy nodded obediently and did just that. Once he was done Techno lead the way out of the room. He then lead the younger down the hall, out one of the back doors, and into the woods.

They made it home soon enough, to Phil in the kitchen.

“Hello?” He asked. “Why are you guys here? And where’s Will?”

“Dream is having another episode.” That’s what they called these periods when the aforementioned teenager started acting like this. “He took it out on Tommy.”

“Shit. Are you okay?”

Tommy nodded.

“Did he….?” Phil looked at Techno.

“Not badly, I don’t think. But yeah, he did.”

Phil’s eyes darkened, and Techno was glad Tommy was looking down and couldn’t see. “Is it wrong that I want to hurt a teenager?”

Techno shrugged. “I did.”

“You did? Oh Prime, are you suspended again?”

“Nah, Puffy said she’d try to get me off with a few detentions. And cmon, give me more credit than that— I haven’t been suspended in like three years.” The last time had also been for fighting Dream, interestingly enough.

Phil sighed. “Still. Preferably don’t resort to violence next time?”

“Phil, if you heard what he said…”

Phil nodded. “Okay, you’re not in trouble with me. Are you going back to school for practice?”

Techno shook his head: “nah.”

“Are you sure?” He asked carefully. That was fair— Techno didn’t always react the best to having his plan for the day changed. Even if it was fine in the moment, later on he could sometimes become upset.

He nodded. “I’ll be fine, I think I’m gonna go to the basement though.” He had pretty good coping mechanisms by now.

Phil nodded. “Have fun, don’t get too sucked into it.”

“I wont. Tommy, do you want to come?” Techno thought he could benefit from this. It was calming.

Tommy shrugged.

“Why don’t you come down and then if you’re bored you can always leave, alright?”

Tommy nodded.

“Okay, I’m grabbing a drink, you want one?”

Tommy shrugged. Very helpful.

Techno opened the fridge, and spotted diet coke. Those were new, they never bought diet soda. Phil must’ve bought it for Tommy. With that in mind, he grabbed one of those and one of his sports drinks. He handed the soda can to Tommy, not commenting on the way he flinched from Techno’s hand, and then lead the way down to the basement.

“Bye Phil.”

“Have fun.”

Techno lead the way down to the basement and sat on the couch, motioning for Tommy to do the same.

He then turned on the television.

This was gonna be fun.

Chapter Text

“So, Tommy, you may not know this about me, but I actually hold the world record for Minecraft potato farming.”

Tommy looked horribly confused, but nodded slowly anyway. “Congratulations?”

“Want to help me farm Minecraft potatoes?”

Tommy shrugged before nodding.

Techno booted up Minecraft, and gave Tommy a controller, before opening hypixle and navigating to his potato farm.

Tommy stared at it for a moment, seemingly in shock. Which was understandable, honestly. This was the product of years of work, and his potato farm was the largest in the world.

“Cool, right?”

“Literally how…?” He whispered in what Technoblade could only interpret as awe. It was a nice change from Wilbur, who informed him he needed to ‘get a life’ last time he showed his twin the progress he made. As if Wilbur and him didn’t have an identical social life.

“Dedication,” he informed the younger.

Tommy nodded.

“Cmon, I’ll show you how to help.”

Techno turned up the background music and took him through the controls, and soon enough they were quietly working side by side.

It was nice. Calm. They preformed simple, repetitive tasks that they both could get lost in. Fun might not be the right word, but it was extremely enjoyable. Even Tommy seemed to get lost in it, relaxing his muscles and losing the hyper-aware quality he tended to carry.

It took awhile, an hour at least, but eventually Tommy seemed to get restless. By that point Technoblade had worked off the nerves caused by missing practice.

“Wanna explore the rest of the game?” He asked.

Tommy shrugged. Techno frowned— he always did that when asked what he wanted. He’d have to find a better way to phrase those types of questions.

“Cmon, we can go in the mines, I’ll get you some weapons.”

Technoblade gave him his second best armor and weapons, using the best for himself. He’d have to set up a separate account for Tommy soon. He then took the kid through the easy levels of the mines, teaching him how to fight off mobs and gather resources.

They talked more during that, and Tommy seemed to be calming down and getting more comfortable with him again. Good.

His voice still never went louder than it had to in order to be audible, and he was still jumpy, but he was better than earlier.

Eventually, Technoblade checked the time, and realized Wilbur would be leaving rehearsal soon. They were getting bored anyway, so he took Tommy back to his base and pulled out his phone to text the other.

He had several missed messages.

Wilbur Soot
techno
techno
techno
wtf happened with tommy and dream
did they fight?
where are you
are you going to practice
wtf
is everyone okay???
answer me
answer me
techno pleaseeee
okay fine, be like that then
phil said you guys went home early
what happened??

Technoblade
sorry, wasn’t on my phone
dream is having another episode
he took it out on tommy
everything is fine now
you need to not be angry when you get here
i finally got tommy to calm down and start talking again
don’t upset him

Wilbur Soot
what did dream do exactly?

Technoblade explained what George had told him, and then what had happened after.

Wilbur Soot
fucking asshole
i’m gonna kill him

Technoblade
as you should, i will help
but if ur gonna be angry stay upstairs

Wilbur Soot
how are you not pissed

Technoblade
i am
but i got to punch him
:)

Wilbur Soot
no fair

Technoblade
you snooze you lose
anyway
come play minecraft with us when you get home
unless you’re gonna be all pissy
if you make him scared again i will throw rocks at you

Wilbur Soot
fair enough, be home soon

Technoblade didn’t bother to respond, instead turning back to the TV. Tommy was jumping around from block to block around the base.

“We should play parkour warrior,” Techno said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like an obstacle course— you’ll like it.”

Tommy nodded, and Techno navigated to the right server to play.

It was unclear if Tommy liked it.

He silently raged every time he fell, but was still laughing and competing with Technoblade.

He threw his head back, pretending to slam the controller against the couch when he fell again.

Techno laughed. “It’s okay, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Tommy nodded, and sat up straight, starting again from his latest checkpoint. He made it through this time.

“Nice!” Techno congratulated him. He fought down the instinct to high-five him.

Tommy smiled. It was small, but Technoblade could tell he was proud of himself. Good. Techno had finished the course by now and was starting over.

They continued playing until Wilbur got there.

Technoblade gave Tommy many pointers, and joked around a bit too. The younger made some quiet jokes, and Techno realized he was ridiculously funny when he wanted to be.

Eventually Wilbur arrived. When the basement door opened Tommy jumped so high it would have been comical if it wasn’t so sad.

“Chill, it’s just Wilbur.”

Tommy nodded, though Techno noted his hands were shaking.

Wilbur jogged down the stairs, stopping for a moment at the bottom when he saw them.

“Hey guys.”

“Hey,” Techno greeted.

Tommy gave a timid waive, which Wilbur returned.

“Ugh, parkour warrior? Really?” He critiqued, never having been a big fan of the game. He walked over, and after a quick moment of deliberation, decided to sit next to Techno, leaving the pink-haired man in the middle. He didn’t think Tommy would react well to being stuck between them.

“Wanna switch?” Techno asked.

“To what?”

“Uhhh bed wars?”

“Sure.”

Techno set up another remote and switched servers again, while Wilbur explained the game to Tommy. It was slightly awkward to have someone in between them as they talked (well, really as Wilbur talked) but oh well.

Soon enough, they were set up, in a team to start. Maybe they’d play against each other later on, but probably not. Both Wilbur and Technoblade could get extremely competitive, and they didn’t want to accidentally scare their youngest member at all.

“Now Tommy, I’m actually also the world record holder for longest bed wars win streak,” Technoblade said once they were in the waiting lobby.

Tommy nodded.

“It’s true,” Wilbur confirmed. “He’s also the world record holder for shortest amount of time without bringing it up.”

Technoblade laughed. “Nooooo, I am incredibly humble about it, what are you talking about?”

“It’s called the truth.”

“Irrelevant. Ooh yes we’re red team!” He pumped his fist, and Tommy flinched back. “Sorry,” he said, quieter.

“It- it- it’s fine,” Tommy whispered, barely audible.

Wilbur frowned. Techno had made it seem like the younger was doing better now. Maybe it was because Wilbur showed up? Should he leave? No, that’d raise suspicions. Maybe Tommy just needed a few minutes.

They started the first round, and the youngest was shockingly good at it for never having played before.

They won, and then they won the two rounds after that.

It was difficult to remain calm. Wilbur was very…expressive, most of the time. He couldn’t scream at the TV while sharing the couch with someone who was terrified of him. He could tell that Technoblade was having the same issue.

It didn’t matter though. They could both manage to summon some basic self-control if it meant they could make Tommy more comfortable with them.

Yeah, if only Dream could do the same, he thought bitterly, before pushing that thought down. He didn’t know if he would ever forgive Dream for what he did, but that didn’t mean Wilbur wasn’t fully aware that the guy couldn’t help being the way he was.

Dream, in moments of clarity, was a mess when he remembered the things he did during his ‘episodes.’ Wilbur genuinely felt very bad for him— he was the only person outside of Sapnap and George who knew even half of the extent of the war going on in Dream’s brain. It didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed that someone went near his little brother though.

The first time they lost, Wilbur genuinely thought Tommy was going to have a panic attack.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What?” Wilbur asked, confused. What was he sorry about?

“I- the- the- the- the game, I- I didn’t mean to.. I’m sorry.”

“Tommy,” Technoblade said, gentler than Wilbur had ever heard him. “It’s just a game. It wasn’t even your fault anyway; Wilbur’s the one who left the bed unguarded.”

Wilbur quickly picked up on what the other was doing, and played along. “What? No, you’re the one who died like four times to the blue team.”

“You say that like you didn’t walk directly off the edge of the platform.”

“I misclicked!”

“You say that every time.”

“You. Are. Annoying.”

“And you are shit at bedwars.”

Wilbur gasped dramatically. “How could you say that to your own brother?”

“The same way you told me you hate potatoes.”

“I said I hate potato farming in Minecraft.”

“Same thing.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.” Techno continued before Wilbur could respond: “Oh will you look at that, the next round is starting. Try not to mess it up this time.”

“You are a terrible person.”

“And you are a terrible Minecraft player, right Tommy?”

They turned to look at the blonde, who just shrugged at them with wide eyes.

“That was clearly a yes,” Technoblade said.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but decided to focus on playing the game rather than continuing to argue.

They won again. And then they lost, and this time Tommy didn’t freak out. Something something small victories.

Eventually Phil called them up for dinner. He made curry, for some reason.

“Just wanted something different,” he said when asked.

Wilbur shrugged. It tasted good, he wouldn’t mind having it more often.

After dinner, he and Technoblade were all but forced from the room under increasingly pointed mentions of how much homework they must need to get done. Upstairs. Not where Tommy and Phil were. Go away. Leave.

They both got the hint, and left their oldest and youngest family members alone. Wilbur wasn’t even shocked by his own mental admission that he saw Tommy as family— he had since Phil announced he was coming.

While he understood in theory that this wasn’t necessarily permanent, he couldn’t imagine Tommy actually leaving ever. Despite having left several families behind, Wilbur just couldn’t imagine being on the other side of that. It simply wasn’t going to happen. Tommy was theirs. Maybe he didn’t consider them to be his quite yet, but he would.

Right?

Sure, nothing was perfect. And he had fainted and been physically attacked within the span of his first week here. And he was obviously terrified of all of them. But somehow he just…belonged.

Wilbur hoped he wasn’t the only one who saw this.

Phil and Technoblade were not nearly as emotional as he was, it was entirely possible he was the only one already planning the perfect time to present Tommy with adoption papers (was his birthday too soon? They should probably wait at least a year. Right? Yeah, definitely). But they were both definitely attached.

Technoblade had missed practice for him. Technoblade hadn’t missed practice for anyone besides Phil and Wilbur before today. And Phil was memorizing all his favorite things and trying to set him up to be comfortable here in the long-term. They liked this kid, he knew they did.

And on the rare occasions Tommy managed to peak through the cracks in his normally iron-tight shell, Wilbur was pretty sure he liked them too.

Now they just had to convince him not to be scared of them.

Easier said than done.

Chapter Text

Tommy felt guilty. He didn’t understand why everyone was being so nice to him.

Technoblade basically saved him from Dream, and then both of the ‘twins’ played Minecraft with him for hours. Then Mr. Craft made his favorite meal, and he was allowed to eat it and— why were they so fucking nice?

If any of his past families, even the best ones, found out he’d gotten into a fight at school they would have been furious. Not that it was really a fight, considering he didn’t throw a single punch, but still. He didn’t understand why this family was being extra nice.

Were they trying to lure him into a false sense of safety? Was it a trick, and it’d all be ripped away from him in a moment? Were they just nice? For some reason?

He didn’t deserve it if they were. He should leave, and let them take in a kid who wasn’t such a fuck-up. It was his second day of school and a classmate already had to punish him.

But… Techno had said it wasn’t his fault. So had Sapnap and Dream’s other friend— George? Maybe? He couldn’t remember.

It didn’t matter anyway. What mattered right now was that he was alone with Mr. Craft and he didn’t know what was coming next.

“How are you doing?” Mr. Craft asked him, standing up and clearing plates from the table once Technoblade and Wilbur were gone. Tommy moved to help him without being asked.

“Good,” Tommy said as quietly as he could. He needed to get better at responding to people; Dream had said that. He still needed to be quiet though.

“Cmon mate, be honest.”

Tommy shrugged. He didn’t know what else to say.

“How bad did he hurt you?”

Tommy thought about it. “I- I don’t remember?”

“You…don’t remember?”

Tommy nodded. “I kinda zoned out I guess. That’s why he, uh, go-got mad, I think.”

“You zoned out so hard you don’t remember being physically attacked?”

Tommy nodded. “I’m sorry, it- it won’t- it won’t happen again.”

“Huh? No, don’t be sorry, mate. I’m not mad, I’m just worried about you.”

Oh.

“Does that happen often?”

Tommy shrugged, before remembering he was supposed to talk now. Was he? Techno had said not to belive anything Dream told him. Techno was probably more right than Dream about that; no one ever wanted Tommy to talk. He decided not to elaborate, leaving his shrug to speak for itself.

“That’s not good. What happens when you ‘zone out,’ if you don’t mind me asking?”

Large hands sat heavily on Tommy’s shoulders as he— nope, nope! He wasn’t doing this here, not now, not again. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing? I don’t really notice I’m doing it till I come back,” he practically whispered. It wasn’t a complete lie. Well, the second part was true. He knew exactly what happened though, and it definitely wasn’t nothing.

“Hmm. Odd. We’ll have to keep an eye on it, maybe get your meds adjusted. That could be dangerous in the wrong situation.”

Why do you care? Tommy wanted to ask. No one cared if Tommy was in danger— they never had. Why was this family so determined to be the first?

“So we’ll obviously switch you out of that class, and try to put a note in both you and Dream’s files to keep you separate,” Mr. Craft said. “That’s the only time you see him, right? No other classes or lunch or anything?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, I’m sure Puffy can check for us.”

Us. Right. Tommy felt his stomach twist at the reminder that, for once, he wasn’t dealing with this alone. He didn’t know if it was graditude or guilt or something else, and he didn’t know if he wanted it to stop. “Thank- thank you,” he whispered.

“No problem, mate. I’ll take the morning off from work and talk to Puffy with you.”

“Oh- I- um. Tech-Techno kinda already, um, he, uh, uh, I- yeah.” Tommy had never wanted to be a motivational speaker, but at that moment he permanently gave up on the dream he hadn’t technically had.

“Oh what’d he say?”

“We’ll, uh, his-his opening line was ‘your son is a psychopath,’ so not-not-not as bad as- as it could’ve been.”

Mr. Craft let out a long-suffering sigh, though Tommy could sense the humor behind it. “So I don’t need to come in?”

Tommy shrugged. “I, um, probably not? I think- I think- I think- I, shit,” he cursed quietly enough that he hoped Phil didn’t hear. “I think my schedule is already changed.

Mr. Craft nodded. “Alright, I’ll probably just call her then if that sounds good.”

Tommy nodded.

“Are you alright?”

Tommy nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“I- I’m not sure if you can tell, but I’ve had worse,” Tommy joked quietly.

Phil laughed a little. “Yeah, yeah. Fair enough, mate. Still, we’re here if you need anything. Things can still suck even if they’re not the worst.”

Tommy nodded, feeling his stomach twist again. Why was this family being so nice to him? He’d asked himself that question so many times today, and he was no closer to an answer.

The conversation seemed to be over, but Phil didn’t dismiss him. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He decided to remain in place.

“Mate?” He asked eventually.

Tommy looked at him in lieu of a response.

“You good?”

He nodded.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“I- um. I- I don’t know what else to do. Do you want to do do something?”

Mr. Craft looked at him for a minute. Tommy resisted the urge to fidget under his silent gaze. “You don’t just have to stand there until someone tells you what to do. You know that, right?”

Tommy shrugged. What was the other option?

“You don’t. What I said about leaving your room applies to everything; you can move around however you want, alright? You’re the one in control of yourself, not anyone else.”

Tommy nodded, still not moving.

“So….?”

“Sorry, I just- I- I- I just- I- I really don’t know what else to do.” He figured that must be pretty pathetic: he was fourteen and couldn’t even figure out where to stand without instruction.

Mr. Craft frowned, and Tommy braced for the worst. How would Phil react to realizing he’d opened his home to someone as stupid as him? “That’s okay,” he said kindly.

What? That wasn’t right. He was supposed to be mad. He was supposed to tell Tommy to get a brain, or try to beat some sense into him. He wasn’t supposed to be kind.

“What do you want to do right now?”

Tommy thought about it, but turned up blank. He just wanted to do whatever would make the least amount of people mad at him. He shrugged helplessly.

“Well, I can’t help you there, mate.”

With that, Mr. Craft walked out of the room.

Tommy stayed still for a minute. Now what? Since his arrival he’d always been given at least some kind of instruction for what he was supposed to be doing. Even if it was phrased like a question or an offer rather than an order, they told him what to do. He needed to be told what to do.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t.. he couldn’t make decisions for himself. Could he? No, he wasn’t allowed to. His breathing picked up, and he began scratching at his arms. He didn’t know what to do. Someone needed to tell him what to do. Was the room spinning? Was it just dark? He couldn’t remember if Mr. Craft turned off the lights.

He hesitated for a moment longer before suddenly being overcome with the urge to run to the room they were letting him use. He ran up the stairs silently, the way he’d learned to do in house 4. He made it to the room, and closed the door softly before practically collapsing to the floor.

Why…why..why…?

He laid flat on his back and stared at the ceiling, trying desperately to calm his racing heart.

It took a ling time, but eventually he was calmer. He managed to crawl to his closet and take an anti-anxiety pill. He laid back down on the floor, and in another few minutes he was fully calm again.

That was… not his finest moment. He almost laughed: he’d really had a panic attack because Mr. Craft hadn’t given him clear enough instructions. That had to be a new low for him. He’d like to say it was caused by the leftover stress from earlier, but he knew it wasn’t. He simply didn’t know how to be his own person anymore— it’d been so long since he’d had a chance to try.

It didn’t take very long for his mind to connect the dots around why, exactly, Mr. Craft had done that.

Telling Tommy he could do what he wanted was one thing. Forcing him to choose what to do with himself was another. Oddly, despite pushing him into a panic attack, it made Tommy feel better about the man. He apparently meant what he said.

Tommy decided that Phil was worth putting a little bit of tentative trust in. If nothing else, he was honest.

He then sighed. He needed to check his phone— he hadn’t all day. Not since he left school at least.

234 unread messages.

Fuck.

About eight of them were from Wilbur, to which he replied with a quick ‘sorry.’

He then opened his groupchat with Tubbo and Ranboo and didn’t bother reading any of the messages before replying.

Tommy Innit
i’m not reading everything i missed
what’s up

Tubbo Underscore
HES ALIVE
HOLY SHIT
DUDE WGAT HAPPENED

Ranboo Beloved
^^^^

Tommy Innit
would you kill me if i said i don’t remember?

Tubbo Underscore
yes

Ranboo Beloved
without hesitation

Tommy Innit
fine

He told his side of the story, and distantly realized this was the first time anyone actually asked. In everyone else’s defense, he did have a reputation for not talking.

He remembered back when the opposite was true. He used to quite literally never shut up. He was glad he was better now. People tolerated him for longer when he was quiet and obedient. If some part of him missed the freedom to be himself, then he’d never admit it. He was happy when he was making other people happy. And if it took only speaking when spoken to to accomplish that, then that was fine by him.

Totally fine. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t. Why would it? He was better this way. That’s what everyone else said at least.

Ranboo Beloved
are you okay???

Tommy Innit
i’m worried he might’ve left a bruise on my face :(

Tubbo Underscore
oh no that’d be so bad

Tommy Innit
ikr
idk how i would cope with that

Ranboo Beloved
you are: annoying
glad ur alive tho
people made it sound like you were taken out in an ambulance or something

Tommy Innit
maybe next time

Ranboo Beloved
no next time please

Tommy Innit
i make zero promises
also is everyone gonna like…pay attention to me tomorrow?
because i would rather they didn’t

Tubbo Underscore
i am very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but yeah man

Why did the universe hate him? What had Tommy done to deserve this? Well, he probably should’ve just responded to Dream. Then this all could’ve been avoided. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he only had himself to blame.

Tommy Innit
kill me

Ranboo Beloved
i think one attempt on your life is enough for today

Tommy Innit
there can never be enough

Ranboo Beloved
well that’s dark

Tubbo Underscore
cry about it
anyway
very glad you’re alive tommy

Tommy resisted the urge to tell him that that made one of them. That might actually be a bit too dark for right now.

Ranboo Beloved
me too
good luck tomorrow
ur a celebrity now

Tommy Innit
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Tubbo Underscore
it’ll be fine
dream used to do crazy shit like monthly
it’ll blow over

Ranboo Beloved
yeah it’s been awhile but tbh it’s not all that unexpected
actually damn it’s been almost a year since he’s attacked someone

The more Tommy learned about Dream the more confused he got.

Tommy Innit
well it was 9 days since i was last attacked, so what’s more impressive?

Ranboo Beloved
dude you need help
like actually

Tommy snorted.

Tommy Innit
nah

Ranboo Beloved
yes
also tubbo it’s now past your bedtime go to sleep

Huh?

Tubbo Underscore
fuck you i don’t need sleep
but thanks
bye, see y’all tomorrow

Ranboo Beloved
night

Tommy Innit
night??

Ranboo then messaged him privately:

Ranboo Beloved
he has a set sleep schedule and u do not want to see what happens when he breaks it

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. What was wrong with this place?

Tommy Innit
is everyone in this town just constantly one second away from committing murder?

Ranboo Beloved
what?
no he’s not like dream
he’ll just get so messed up
he woke up at 8pm for like a month last summer
it sucked

Tommy Innit
ahhh
makes sense

Ranboo Beloved
yep
i’m probs gonna go to sleep too
night
i’m glad ur okay

‘Okay’ was a bit of a stretch, but Tommy chose not to mention that. If it made Ranboo feel better to pretend Tommy was doing good, then he wasn’t going to ruin that like he did everything else.

Tommy Innit
thanks
night, man

Ranboo Beloved
night

With that, Tommy clicked off his phone and plugged it in. He resisted the urge to groan: what a fucking day.

He decided that whatever homework he hadn’t finished was a problem for future him.

With hardly another thought, he turned off his light and promptly passed out.

He needed it.

Chapter Text

Phil Craft
Come down for breakfast when you’re ready; I told Wilbur and Techno not to come get you.

Tommy had two thoughts:

One: Phil was trying to ruin his life.

Two: Phil texted like a dad.

The second one was more surprising than the first. Why did a man who spoke so casually type like he was being graded on it?

Tommy Innit
okay, thank you

He had no idea what he was thanking the other for, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

He considered waiting until the last minute before leaving in order to get out of eating breakfast. Technically, Phil had never said he couldn’t do that, but he wasn’t sure if the smart-ass challenger to Phil’s authority would go over well. He didn’t want to risk it.

Instead, he got ready, and then listened carefully by the door. Once Wilbur went downstairs (he could tell by the footsteps) Tommy followed a few moments after. That way he didn’t arrive first or last, but in the middle, and it wasn’t overly clear he had waited for someone else before making his move.

He kept his head down when he arrived, just in case. They’d made it clear that they didn’t care for this particular display of respect, but it was better safe than sorry. He was already downstairs without explicit permission, he didn’t need to risk anything else.

He sat where he was supposed to, and whispered out a quiet expression of thanks when Phil was done with his food. He only managed to eat around half his meal, and he did so quietly.

He was not looking forward to school.

Phil liked to think he was a good father. He was undoubtedly an experienced one, considering the amount of challenges Wilbur and Technoblade faced growing up.

But Tommy was an entirely new challenge.

Both his ‘official’ sons had adjustment periods before they got comfortable around him. Then he had thought they faced every problem under the sun: from school bullies to drug addictions to eating disorders to borderline unhealthy obsessions.

But then there was Tommy. And he had some of the same problems as his other sons. He suffered from mental illness. He was absurdly hard on himself for small mistakes. He had been abused.

But here was so much that Phil didn’t know how to handle.

He was terrified of not only his own shadow but everyone else’s. Not that it was a competition, but the amount of trauma he’d been through dwarfed all three of them combined (which was a terrible thing to say, he knew, and while he would never say it out loud for that very reason, it was true). He was unnervingly respectful— he’d called them all ‘sir’ when he first arrived and still wouldn’t use Phil’s first name. He had a potentially dangerous need to obey orders.

Phil had watched Tommy after he left the room last night. Yeah, that was kinda weird, he knew. But he was curious as to what the kid would do.

He’d just stood in shock for a moment, which wasn’t unexpected. The panic attack that followed kind of was. Phil had almost stepped back in when he’d started clawing at his own skin, but then he’d ran upstairs. Huh.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. At least Tommy had eventually moved on his own, he supposed. And it would definitely be good for him to get used to being allowed to do things on his own.

But a panic attack and hurting himself because he was scared to do anything without permission was an extreme reaction. Plus he’d been back to staring resolutely at the ground this morning.

Phil didn’t know what to do.

As soon as his three sons left for school, he called Sam.

“Hey Phil. What’s going on?”

“It’s Tommy.”

Sam sighed loudly. “You’re not sending him back, are you?”

“What? No, no, Prime no, never,” he said quickly. How many times had that happened that that was Sam’s first assumption? “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Sam sighed, apparently understanding what he meant. “I don’t know how much you can do, Phil. He’s… there are some things you just can’t recover from.”

“Screw that!” Phil said angrily. “Sam, he won’t even move without permission.”

“I know.”

“And you just— Sam I need to make it better. I can’t… he doesn’t deserve this.

“I know. Believe me, I know. But we can’t change the past.”

“So how do we fix it from here?”

Sam sighed, seemingly accepting that Phil wasn’t going to drop this. “You could see if he’d be willing to try therapy again? Though he’s been pretty against the idea in the past.”

“Why?”

“Well his last therapist…you know…wasn’t the best towards him.”

Right. That was one way to say it. Or not say it, he supposed.

Phil didn’t blame him for skirting around the truth: there really was no polite way to say Tommy’s previous therapist had beat and blamed a child for all the problems he’d been seeking help for in the first place.

“Why don’t you pitch that idea to him, and if you can convince him then I’ll set him up with someone, yeah?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t want him to feel pressured; I know last time was…. enough to make anyone want to give up on therapy.” Like Phil said, he really couldn’t blame Sam for not wanting to say what happened out loud.

“I think it’d be good for him.”

“I do too, but…”

“Listen, it’s a starting place, okay? We can always figure something else out if that doesn’t work.”

Phil nodded, despite the other man not being able to see him. “Okay.”

“Alright, I have to go, call me when you ask him.”

“Will do, see you soon.”

“You too.”

Phil put down his phone and stared into space for a moment. He thought he would feel better than this after talking to Sam.

There are some things you just can’t recover from.

No. That was stupid. It’s true. Phil shook the thought out of his head. He wouldn’t accept that— he couldn’t accept that.

Even if it was a fool’s mission to try, it was a villain’s mission not to.

He sighed and turned on his computer— he had things to do, regardless of his emotions. He sent an email to Puffy to call him later, and then tried to lose himself in his work.

He didn’t quite succeed.

Ranboo had thought he was joking when he said Tommy was a celebrity now. Apparently he had been cursed with the gift of prophesy. Gifted with the curse of prophesy? Whatever.

No one actually came near him, but when Tubbo and Ranboo walked into homeroom everyone was ‘discreetly’ watching the blonde. Tommy himself sat completely stiff and did something on his phone to distract himself.

Tubbo and Ranboo quickly sat around him in a way that largely blocked everyone else’s view.

“Damn you really are famous,” Tubbo said.

Tommy snorted, though there was little humor in it.

“I mean it’s not all bad?” Ranboo said hesitantly. He had no idea where he was going with this.

Tommy looked up at him, deadpan expression on his face. Which— sweet Prime. Ranboo hadn’t thought any bruise he may have gotten would be visible while overlapping with all the others, but it most definitely was. While the others had faded to brown and greens and yellow without Ranboo really taking notice, this one was dark blue and purple, right over his cheekbone.

“Okay, maybe it’s all bad,” Ranboo adjusted. “But hey! Fame!”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but cracked a small smile despite himself. Ranboo couldn’t help but do the same.

“How are you gonna handle this, big man?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy shrugged, before finally deciding to speak. “Ignore it till it goes away?”

“What? No! Don’t be boring, cmon. We could have so much fun with this!”

Tommy raised his eyebrows in question.

“You know! Exaggerate the story! Tell everyone you got stabbed! Say Dream made it his mission in life to kill you. Tell everyone you’re in witness protection!”

“What exactly did I witness?”

“Uhhh Dream.”

“If I was in witness protection from Dream then why would I still be here?”

“Because no one would ever suspect it! It’s genius.”

“Genius isn’t exactly the world I would use,” Ranboo said.

“Shut up, you don’t even know your words.”

“I don’t think that’s me, actually.”

“Ranboo it’s very offensive for you to mock my disability.”

“You brought it up!” He defended.

“No I didn’t, I don’t remember that, are you sure you’re not making things up again?”

“Don’t gaslight me!”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!”

“I would never! I think you’re gaslighting me into thinking I’m gaslighting you. That’s like… gaslighting squared.”

“You are a horrible person.”

“Thank you.”

Tommy was watching them, faintly amused expression on his face. Ranboo noticed he’d relaxed his previously rigid muscle. He pushed down a grin; part of him couldn’t help but soar at the realization that Tommy, even unconsciously, felt at least somewhat safe around them.

Unfortunately, homeroom couldn’t last forever. The bell rang, and Ranboo separated from his friends.

He went through his first two periods more or less alone. Normally he wouldn’t talk to anyone, but everyone had apparently figured out he was friends with Tommy. He liked to think of himself as a fairly calm person, but the next time someone asked him what happened he felt like he was going to lose it.

He didn’t.

He kept it together until third period, when he finally saw both Tommy and Tubbo again. They sat in the back of the room and worked on a project. Something about macromolecules? To be honest Ranboo wasn’t much help— Biology was decidedly not his best subject.

It was fun though. The whole class was doing separate projects and being overly loud, so they were all able to blend into the background for the first time all day.

Tommy didn’t stop working the whole class, but he was still quietly joking around, and once again didn’t seem as tense as normal.

“Listen, I- I- I’m- I’m just- I’m just saying, it can’t be that bad.”

“You’ve never tried it!”

“I just don’t see why you’re so against it.”

“Because it’s terrible!”

“I don’t know if I agree.”

“Tommy you are not going to stand here in the year of our Lord and tell me you like fortnite,” Ranboo finally cut in.

“I don't! I- I’ve never even played, but it- it- it- it- it- fuck. It can’t- it- it can’t be that bad.”

“I disagree,” Tubbo said.

“Well prove it then.”

“I know you think only way to prove how bad it is would be to let you play, but the fact that I’m not willing to put you through that pain should be even better proof,” Tubbo said with all the false sincerity in the world.

Tommy laughed. “Oh how gracious, I am forever indebted to you.”

“I know.”

They all laughed. Ranboo tried to focus on the project, but he really did not get it. Plus Tommy was done with his own section and had wordlessly moved on to Ranboo’s. Oh well, he wasn’t going to complain.

Somehow they finished early, and were just sitting there by the end.

The teacher shushed the class when the phone rang.

“Yes?” A pause. “Yes.” Another pause, longer. “Right now?” Another pause. “Alright, he’ll be right down. Bye.”

The whole class knew who ‘he’ was, and had their eyes trained on Tommy. Ranboo watched in real time as he shrunk in on himself. It made him mad. He felt the absurd need to fight the entire class as retribution. He held back.

“Tommy, Mrs. Puffy wants to see you. Do you know where her office is?”

Tommy nodded, and silently backed his bag. He waived to Tubbo and Ranboo before leaving with only a quiet thanks to the teacher. And then he was gone.

The rest of the class quickly became loud again, but it just felt empty to Ranboo.

Tommy did not like attention. When people paid attention to him, it meant he was doing something wrong. And all anyone had done today was stare at him. When he was alone in computers a few people had tried to talk to him, but he hadn’t said anything interesting until they gave up.

There had actually been one really nice girl who sat next to him and asked him about random topics which weren’t Dream, which was a nice break. He decided he liked her, though he was pretty sure she was a junior. Was her name Niki? It was definitely something like that. Maybe Wilbur or Technoblade would know.

Luckily, when Tubbo and Ranboo were with him no one went up to them. He wondered why. Just because it was harder to approach a group than one person? Or did the two of them have some kind of reputation Tommy didn’t know about? Tubbo had planned to drop smoke bombs in Dream’s backpack the other day: that radiated ‘don’t mess with me’ energy. He wondered how it went.

Nothing interesting happened in Puffy’s office. He gave his side of the story, she said she was sorry, officially moved him to the library for his study, and moved Dream out of his lunch. Tommy hadn’t actually noticed they had lunch together. He thanked her, and went back to class.

Well, he tried to at least.

But in the hallway, he was yanked into one of the soundproof rooms Techno had taken him into the previous day. He barely managed to contain a yelp.

Once he gained his bearings he realized he was stuck in there with Dream. His eyes widened and he pressed himself to the wall. Oh Prime, please no. Please tell him this wasn’t actually happening. Though he supposed he’d have bigger problems if he was hallucinating.

He forced himself to focus. Dream’s rules appeared to be that he needed to respond when spoken to and he couldn’t zone out or flinch. He could do that.

He flinched when Dream finally spoke. Great job, Tommy, he thought to himself.

“You got me suspended,” Dream said darkly.

“I- I- I- I -I’m sorry, I- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.”

“No, you’re not sorry, Tommy.”

What?

“But you will be.”

What?

Then Dream was moving his fist towards Tommy’s face again, and he ducked, putting his arms over his head for protection. Dream punched the wall. “Ow! Fuck you!” He yelled.

He grabbed Tommy by the shirt before he could react, and brought him up to his own eye level. He then landed a punch on his face, and Tommy felt his lip split and start to bleed. He then threw Tommy to the ground as hard as he could. He delivered one last harsh kick before leaving, closing the door quietly so as to not raise suspicion. Tommy almost laughed at how out of place the gentle action seemed.

He let himself lay there for a few moments. Ow. Eventually he had to get up though. He quickly did a self assessment: he was fine.

Split lip, sore body from being thrown to the ground, maybe a bruise on his leg from the kick. He’d live.

He grabbed his bag and walked out. He stopped in the bathroom to wipe the blood off his face and realized there was noticeable swelling on his bottom lip.

Oh well. He couldn’t do anything about that.

He went to English and passed in his late slip. Luckily she didn’t read it, since according to the time on it he should’ve been here like ten minutes ago.

He sat in the very back corner, where Ranboo had saved his seat. The taller gave him a weird look and he just shrugged. He’d explain later.

He got out his notebook and took notes on the essay they were being assigned. The grind doesn’t stop for a few mild injuries.

Ranboo was not a fan of the people who were important to him getting hurt. Unfortunately, that was all Tommy seemed to do. The second the bell rang and the class exploded into noise he asked the other what the hell had happened.

“Ranboo. I am simply too cool.”

“You’re too cool? And that’s why you… what did you even do?”

“Why do you assume this is my fault?”

“I didn’t mean it…what happened?”

Tommy sighed, looking down. “I- uh. I- I- um. Dream?” He said the last word timidly; it was more of a question than a statement.

“Dream?”

“What about Dream?” Tubbo asked, suddenly appearing next to Tommy, who jumped a mile. “Ooh what happened to your face?”

Tommy gave him a look.

“Oh. Dream?”

“Dream.”

“Shit that’s not good. What’d Mrs. Puffy say when you told her?”

Tommy didn’t respond.

“You did report him, right?”

“I…”

“Tommy!” He flinched.

“I didn’t think of it, okay?”

“You are: not smart.”

“I’m aware,” he said miserably.

“That’s good at least. Cmon, let’s go to guidance.”

“What? Schools already over.”

“Barely, she’ll still be there.”

“I don’t want to bother her.”

“It’s her job.”

“I- I- I don’t- I don’t- please, it’s- it’s really not a big deal,” Tommy said, genuinely panicked out of nowhere. Why was he freaking out?

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Ranboo said. “We can just go home, it’s fine.”

“But—“ Tubbo protested, before being silenced by Ranboo’s glare. The two of them had a silent conversation quite literally over Tommy’s head as Ranboo looked over it to Tubbo.

Ranboo glanced between Tubbo and Tommy with an obvious pointedness. Eventually Tubbo seemed to get the message that Tommy was scared and now wasn’t the time.

“Fine. But we’re not playing fortnite and you’re reporting him tomorrow.”

“If you want to,” Ranboo finished, despite knowing Tubbo absolutely did not intend that last part to be added.

Without waiting for Tubbo to object, Ranboo started complaining about his math homework, and the conversation moved naturally from there.

Tommy remained noticeably anxious, but there wasn’t much anyone could do about that right now.

They went back to Tubbo’s house for homework once again. Just the two of them went to Ranboo’s house the day prior, but they hadn’t gotten much done in all honestly.

Tubbo practically had to be held back from going to Tommy’s house and demanding to see him— if he was even there. It’d been a confusing afternoon.

Today… wasn’t much better. But at least they knew what was happening now.

That was something.

Chapter Text

Wilbur and Technoblade arrived home from school together as they always did. Both of them were extremely upset.

That morning, in the car, Tommy had finally raised his head, and revealed a large bruise. They hadn’t commented, but Wilbur knew they were both furious.

And then they’d both heard rumors during their respective practices that their brother came into his last block class with injuries that hadn’t been there before. And as they both knew Dream’s suspension didn’t start till tomorrow, it didn’t take long for them to figure out who was (most likely) at fault.

So maybe upset wasn’t the right word. Pissed would be far more appropriate. Wilbur was the kind of pissed that made him feel moments away from showing up at Dream’s house and trying to fight him.

Phil seemed to share the same sentiment when they told him.

“I called his social worker today.”

“What? Why?” Wilbur asked, panicked. He genuinely did not know if he could forgive Phil if he sent Tommy away.

“Calm down, just to ask if there was any way to help him. We’re looking into therapy.”

Oh. Okay.

“I was wondering if you guys could maybe hint that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about?”

“Hasn’t he gone before?”

Phil hesitated. “Yes, but it didn’t go well.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know, there’s not a lot I can tell you without his permission, but basically his therapist was shit.”

“So then why is embrassment the main reason you think he wouldn’t want to go,” Technoblade asked.

“It isn’t, I just think it would help if he didn’t feel like he was somehow letting any of us down.”

“That’s stupid though.”

“Try again?” Phil prompted him. Technoblade rolled his eyes, but corrected himself.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Better, good job. I know it doesn’t, but he doesn’t know us well enough to know that. He’s had a lot of time for far worse people to get in his head and convince him of things that aren’t true.”

“Like we’ll judge him for going to therapy?”

“Yeah, along with other things.”

Techno nodded.

“Where even is he? Quackity’s?” Wilbur asked. He supposed Tommy probably saw it as Tubbo’s house, but same difference.

“Yeah— no idea when he’s coming back.”

Wilbur nodded. They all chatted for a few minutes before Wilbur decided to go upstairs and get some work out of the way before some assortment of his friends showed up annanounced, as they almost always did on Fridays.

It would probably be more of them than usual, actually, since he told everyone not to come last week so as to not freak Tommy out.

He wondered what the blonde was doing with his friends right then.

“I was wrong, okay?” Tommy admitted.

“Say it again.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“No, no, that’s not what we want to hear,” Tubbo chided him.

“I hate you.”

“Mmmmm not quite.”

“I hate you and also fortnite sucks and I regret forcing you to let me try it.”

“Whooo!” Tubbo and Ranboo cheered and high-fived each other.

Tommy glared, even as he had to fight down a smile.

“Now- now- now- now-“ he cut himself off before he could get stuck in a loop for too long. “Now that- that we’ve established that you suck—“

“You’re the one who got last place.”

“Are you bragging that you’re good at fortnite? You really think it’s a flex that- that you- that you- that you- you- you’ve- you’ve practiced?”

“I haven’t practiced, I’m just naturally this good.”

“What- whatever you have to tell yourself.”

Tubbo was likely about to retort, but Quackity walked into the room.

“Sup children.”

“You’re barely older than us,” Tubbo responded. Tommy twitched slightly against his will. He tried to remind himself that it was (usually) different when ‘real’ siblings fought. No one was gonna get hurt. They weren’t. It was fine.

“Did I ask?”

“Did I?”

“I don’t care. Anyway— ew why are you guys playing fortnite?” He physically recoiled at the sight of the television.

“Tommy wanted to.”

“That- that- that- that- that- that’s- that’s- that’s— fucking hell! That’s not fair,” Tommy protested, making sure to keep his volume down.

“Yes it is. You wanted to play!”

“Only because I didn’t want hate on it before I tried it.”

“Did you know the two of them had a huge fortnite phase?” Quackity asked, evil grin speeding across his face.

“No we didn’t!” Tubbo practically yelled. Tommy flinched and felt complete fear for an awful second before remembering where he was.

“You so did. Big Q wouldn’t lie to me,” he said, not trying too hard to suppress a smile. He had no idea where the nickname nor the confident statement came from.

“Exactly! Tommy gets it,” Quackity said.

“Shut up, no he doesn’t.”

“Tommy, did you know that for his birthday he made our parents buy him a 75 dollar fortnite giftcard?”

“That is not true! Tommy do not listen to him!”

Tommy had to stop himself from laughing hysterically. He didn’t want to be annoying, but— Oh sweet Prime, I am never letting him live this down, Tommy thought. “I think he’s tell-t-t-t-tell-telling the- the truth.”

“Noooo!” Tubbo protested.

Tommy glanced back to Ranboo who had his head in his hands and looked like he was experiencing every emotion at once.

“Quackity you need to leave. Go away,” Tubbo said.

“So you hate me?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, rude. I’m going to Tommy’s house to bother his brothers anyway. Bye.”

“Thank Prime.”

“Bye,” Ranboo said.

Tommy waived, before turning to his friends with a smile.

“Shut up,” Tubbo said.

And finally, Tommy cracked, and laughed at him. It felt good.

“Hello father.”

“Quackity,” Phil greeted. “We missed you last week.”

Of course, Quackity had his own parents who he loved, but it was funny to pretend to think Phil was his father.

As Quackity liked to put it, there was no proof he wasn’t, seeing as he’d never met his biological father. He’d been raised by his mom and stepfather, Tubbo’s dad, and anyone could be his biological father for all he knew. They couldn’t be his dad, as he already had one (related or not) but Phil could be his father.

“I know you did, I’m your favorite.”

“Karl is my favorite,” he deadpanned.

“Oh screw you!” Quackity whined.

Phil laughed. “Wilbur and Techno are upstairs.”

Quackity nodded. “Thank you.” What? He could be polite every now and then.

He went up and knocked once on Wilbur’s door before simply opening it. He said ‘every now and then,’ not all the time.

“You’re doing homework on a Friday? Fuckin’ nerd.”

“Say that to me on Sunday, dipshit.”

“Fuck you.”

“What’s your hourly rate?”

“Wha….oh screw you!”

Wilbur laughed, and closed his binder, finally turning to face him. “What are you doing here, Quackity Underscore?”

“Here to bother you.”

“You are succeeding.”

“Thank you.”

Wilbur pulled out his phone, probably to tell Technoblade to come join them. They chatted about nothing important for a few minutes until Technoblade knocked.

“Come in,” Wilbur said.

He did. “Quackity, what a… treat it is to have you hear,” the pink-haired man said with distain.

“Technoblade, my man, how ya doin’?” Quackity replied with enthusiasm, as if oblivious to the other man’s tone.

“Worse now that you’re here.”

“Awwww, you’re so funny.”

Wilbur shook his head at their antics. “Neither of you are funny.”

“Wilbur you wound me!” Quackity said, clutching a hand to his chest as if he’d been shot.

“Who else is coming?” Technoblade asked.

Quackity shrugged. “No idea. Oh! Your brother is at my house!” He told them excitedly.

“Yeah, we know,” Wilbur said, voice sounding genuine for once. “How’s he doing?”

“Good, I think.” He wasn’t entirely sure, but the blonde hadn’t seemed too bad? Definitely better than other times Quackity had seen him— those being the first time they met and the time he literally fainted. So yeah, that was a low bar, but still.

“Does he talk?” Technoblade asked.

“Huh?”

Techno shrugged. “He barely talks here, I just wanted to know if he was like that all the time.”

“Oh. No he was talking. Really quietly though— also does he have a stutter or something? Doesn’t matter, yeah, he was talking.”

“That’s good, and yeah I think he might. I haven’t asked, but…”

Quackity nodded: it was obvious. He wondered distantly who else would come tonight. Karl usually did, but he was grounded. The ‘Dream Team’ probably wouldn’t be making an appearance here for awhile, which was disappointing. Not that Quackity wasn’t pissed at Dream, he definitely was, but George and Sapnap were two of the people he was closest with. Maybe someone else would come though. Though Eret and Fundy were both busy, and while Prime might be the only one to know what Jack was doing, not even he wanted to see what Schlatt was getting up to.

The three of them talked relatively quietly (by their own standards at least) until they got bored.

“Is it a stay in or a go somewhere kind of night?” Quackity asked.

“Go somewhere, definitely,” Technoblade said.

“Where?”

“I dunno. If we took Phil’s car we could kidnap Tommy and his friends.”

“You’re trying to make me hang out with my brother? You’re a monster.”

“You guys like each other.”

“Yeah but he can’t hang out with us and find out I’m lame. He needs to think I’m cool.” Tubbo very much did not think he was cool, but he didn’t need to admit that.

“Quackity I hate to tell you this but you used to be in the school band. No one thinks you’re cool,” Wilbur told him.

“Hush. Where would we even go?”

“Uhhh skate park? Then your brother could think you’re cool.”

“What? I can’t skate?”

“You’re always at the skate park.”

“Sapnap skateboards.”

“Oh. Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’ Also even if I could skate why would you want to go sit there at night in Prime-damned November?”

“What, are you scared of a little temperature? No wonder Tubbo doesn’t think you’re cool.”

“Ooh we should call Tubbo and ask where to go, he always has good ideas,” Wilbur said.

Quackity hated to admit it, but it was usually true. He sighed dramatically, as if this was killing him. “Fineeee. You have to talk to him though.”

Wilbur nodded, and Quackity navigated to his brother’s contact before handing the phone to Wilbur.

“Tubbo Underscore, younger brother of Quackity Underscore?” Wilbur asked when someone finally answered the phone. He was on speaker so they all could hear.

“Uhhhh no. Ranboo Beloved, younger brother of no one,” a shockingly deep voice answered. “Do you want Tubbo?”

“I want a beer,” Quackity said loudly.

The voice on the phone laughed: “Don’t know if I can help with that one. I’ll grab Tubbo though.”

There was rustling on the other end, followed by muffled voices and then finally:

“Hello?”

“Heyyyy Tubbo!”

“Wilbur…?”

“Yes! The one and only.”

“Uhhh hi?”

“Hello. How are you doing?”

“What do you want…?”

“We want to go somewhere. Where should be go?”

“What?”

“Cmon you always have ideas, where should we go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Boring. Cmon, if it’s a good enough idea we’ll take you with us.”

“I’m, uh, kinda busy right now.”

“No, Tommy and Ranboo can come too but only if it’s a really good idea.”

“Oh Prime, this is a lot of pressure. Uhhhhhh Oh! We should go to that place with all the broken cars?”

“The junkyard?”

“Yeah but it’s for cars not trash!”

“Literally why?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then hang up.”

A pause.

Wilbur looked up at Techno and Quackity. They both nodded. “Fine. We’re kidnapping you all in a few minutes, be ready. And we’re getting food first.”

“Okay, bring coats.”

“You too, bye.”

“Bye.”

Wilbur hung up the phone and instinctually put it in his pocket before remembering to give it back to Quackity.

“Is this going to go horribly?” Wilbur asked no one in particular.

Technoblade shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

“Awesome.” Quackity said.

Wilbur sighed, and said a quick prayer to whoever was listening that none of them were gonna die.

He could see Phil do the same as they walked out the door a few minutes later.

Chapter Text

Tubbo observed an instant change in Tommy the moment they decided to go out with his brothers. Where before he had been whispering (for some reason) jokes and generally messing around with them, he went back to being completed tense and silently staring at the ground.

He glanced at Ranboo, who was absolutely no help. The taller just shrugged.

Soon enough they were in the car. Wilbur and Technoblade sat in the front, Quackity and Ranboo in the middle, and Tommy and Tubbo in the back.

The vast majority of talking was done by Quackity and Wilbur though, with some input from Technoblade. Tubbo didn’t say much, and Ranboo said even less.

But they were actively trying to get Tommy to talk. Wilbur kept asking his opinion and Quackity kept addressing things to him in specific. But he still didn’t speak, and as it was dark his nods and shrugs weren’t having the effect they normally did. Tubbo wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed the way he flinched at each of the louder yells from the older trio.

Soon enough they pulled into a McDonald’s, and all got out to order. Tubbo forgot his wallet, but managed to bully Rambo into paying for him. The taller offered to buy Tommy something after discovering he faced the same problem as Tubbo, but he said he wasn’t hungry.

Ranboo frowned. “Are you sure? You didn’t have lunch or anything after school.”

Tommy nodded. “I’m good.”

“Okay…”

Tubbo thought about it— had he actually seen Tommy eat anything since he got here? The younger hadn’t bought lunch any of the past few days. He said he had money but just wasn’t hungry. He said the same thing after school.

It’d only been a few days though, and he was probably eating at his house. Tubbo made a mental note to keep an eye on it, but didn’t push him for now. Maybe he was just reading into it too much.

“Tommy, what do you what?” Wilbur called out, and the blonde flinched. The older of the two was standing at the machine trying to order there instead of talking to the people at the counter. Fair enough— talking to people is awful.

“Oh- I- I- um— I’m- I’m not hungry. Um, thank- thank you though,” he said back. The two were far enough apart that Tommy had to speak loudly for the first time that Tubbo heard.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re never hungry, come here.” Huh, so Tubbo wasn’t the only one who thought something might be wrong.

Tommy obeyed, though anyone could tell he was scared to. Luckily the building was pretty loud despite them being the only customers inside, so no one was watching besides Tubbo. Probably, at least.

The two of them debated for a few minutes.

“You have to eat.”

“I- I’m just not hungry, I- you don’t- you don’t- you don’t- um, you- you don’t have to waste your money.” His voice was back to its usual state of barely not being a whisper. Tubbo tried to inconspicuously move closer to hear better.

“It’s not a waste, I want you to get something. Doesn’t have to be anything big.”

“I…”

“We need to get a sampling of all the food near here so we can improve the L’Manberg menu,” he said. Tubbo had no idea what that meant.

Tommy seemed to though, as he smiled slightly. “Are you sure? I- I really don’t wanna..”

“I’m sure.” He gestured to the screen in a way that signified ‘all yours.’

Tubbo moved so he could see the screen, curious. Tommy added one small fry to the order.

“Really?” Wilbur said, his tone not overly discernible.

Tommy flinched. “I- I- sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to, to, um, I- I didn’t- I’m sorry. Um, I- I can, um, I can just— I- I’m sorry,” he said, leaning away from Wilbur. This finally attracted the attention of the rest of their group, but a glare from Wilbur sent them all back to pretending to mind their own business. Wilbur then turned back to Tommy with a much less angry gaze.

“Woah, hey, calm down, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound angry or anything. It’s okay— you’re okay.”

Tommy didn’t respond.

“Cmon, you need to get a little more than that— you’re gonna starve yourself at this rate,” he said gently, laughing slightly at the end.

Tommy shrugged, looking resolutely at the ground. His entire body was stiff, as if he was somewhere between bracing for an attack and trying to make himself as small of a target as possible.

“How does chicken nuggets and a drink sound?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Would you rather anything else?”

He repeated his early actions.

“Alright then, good talk.” He didn’t sound annoyed, his tone was more… resigned, if Tubbo had to assign a word to it. Tommy flinched the tiniest bit, but Wilbur didn’t mention it.

By this point everyone else had finished ordering at the counter.

They all got their drinks from the machine, and then Technoblade didn’t want to eat in the car, so they chose tables while they waited. Wilbur, Techno, and Quackity sat down at the closest table while Tubbo and his friends sat far away in the back corner.

Tommy was still silent and small following his conversation with Wilbur. Tubbo decided he was determined that by the time they left the building the blonde would be talking again.

It didn’t end up being all that hard.

Wilbur couldn’t help but get sad while watching Tommy with his friends.

The second they stepped into the harsh McDonald’s lighting, Wilbur quickly scanned Tommy for injuries. The only visible one was a fairly nasty split lip. Wilbur took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he would absolutely never win a fight against Dream. Technoblade on the other hand… now wasn’t the time to being thinking about this.

Tommy didn’t appear to be doing so consciously, but he practically hid between Tubbo and Ranboo once they were out of the car. It was honestly concerning how well it worked— both of them were pretty thin, and yet standing behind either of them at almost any angle completely hid his form (besides a few inches of his head peeking up above Tubbo).

Wilbur had tried to be nice and put him at ease, but ended up scaring him even more.

He watched as they talked from across the room. Tommy, despite being hunched in on himself and only occasionally glancing up from the table, was clearly responding to what they said and letting out small laughs.

Tommy sat against the wall and next to Ranboo, while Tubbo sat across from them. Tommy and Tubbo were tapping some weird rhythm against each others feet. Wilbur couldn’t quite figure out what is was.

He wasn’t jealous, he really wasn’t. He was happy Tommy had people he felt at least relatively comfortable with. He was so happy those were people the blonde was able to spend so much time with. He just wished he could be one of them.

Eventually their food came out, one at a time. Wilbur’s came out last, annoyingly enough. He smiled and thanked the worker, before going over to the other table to give Tommy food. His order was tiny, less than half the size of everyone else’s. Somehow Wilbur still doubted he would finish.

The younger awkwardly stuttered out a thank you, and Wilbur said it was no problem before reatreating back to his own friends. He dramatically dropped his head into his hands once he sat down.

“There there, Wilbur,” Quackity said, patting him on the back. It sounded sarcastic, but Wilbur could hear a string of genuine sympathy underneath that.

He sighed, but sat up. Just in time to watch Tommy mumble something, and Tubbo and Ranboo practically fell apart laughing. Tommy had a small satisfied smile on his face.

Maybe Wilbur was slightly jealous.

He turned back to his food and ate.

“Tubbo, what the hell are we doing here?” Quackity asked as they went through a random path in the woods.

“Just trust me.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because you suck?”

“You’re the ones who couldn’t come up with an idea on your own.”

“This isn’t seeming much better than doing nothing.” Technoblade was inclined to agree— it was cold. He didn’t want to mention it though; people sometimes took the things he said too seriously, treating mild complaints as if it was the end of the world.

It was nice most of the time, but he didn’t want to make everyone go home when it wasn’t really all that bad. He wished there was a way for people to simply be able to tell when he was being dramatic and when something actually bothered him. Sure, he could always just tell them, but who wanted to do that? Healthy communication? Disgusting.

“Have some patience!”

“No.” Despite his protests, Quackity kept walking forwards, as did the rest of them.

They soon arrived at a chain-link fence and Tubbo grinned, before beginning to climb it.

“Uhhhh……” Ranboo said. “Tubbo? Bud? Whatcha doing?”

“Give me a minute!”

“Tubbo, if you die mom and dad are gonna blame me,” Quackity said.

Tubbo jumped down on the other side of the fence, before unlocking it for the rest of them to come through. “No one’s gonna die, stop being dramatic.”

“Never, it’s part of my charm.”

“What charm?” Technoblade deadpanned.

“No one likes you,” Quackity matched his tone.

They walked through, and Tubbo hit some kind of switch to make flood lights come on.

“Isn’t this gonna get us caught?” Ranboo asked worriedly.

“Nah,” Tubbo said, and then did not elaborate.

“Are you sure?”

“You can’t see it from the street, plus I know the owner. It’s fine.”

“Do you come here a lot?” Quackity asked.

Tubbo shrugged. “Pretty often.”

“How have I not noticed this?”

“Yeah, me too,” Ranboo jumped in.

Tubbo shrugged again. “I am simply a man of mystery.”

Tommy went on his toes and whispered something in Ranboo’s ear, causing the taller to laugh. Techno frowned, but understood. If Tommy didn’t want to talk in front of the group then that was up to him.

They continued walking forwards until they arrived at some kind of dirt street.

“What is this?” Ranboo asked.

“This,” Tubbo answered. “Is a race track! We got these dirt bikes and those… uh… what’s it called when a dirt bike has four wheels?”

“A quad?”

“An ATV?”

“Yeah, yeah, ATVs. We have a few of those too,” Tubbo said.

“Who is ‘we?’” Quackity asked, sounding utterly bewildered.

Tubbo smiled.

“That very much does not answer my question.”

“K? And? Just trust me.”

“You keep saying that, do you see how your actions tonight might cause us not to trust you?” Wilbur asked.

“What actions?”

“We are in the middle of the woods where you and other mysterious people apparently built a dirt-bike racetrack without anyone noticing.”

“I’m not seeing the problem. Cmon, it’ll be fun. The ATVs are really easy to ride. Plus I really do know the guy who owns the land so we aren’t gonna get in trouble.”

They all looked and each other and shrugged. What else were they gonna do tonight?”

Tubbo lead the way to a shed that had a large tent next to it. Under the tent were three dirt-bikes and four ATVs.

“So the ATVs are actually really easy to ride, so people like Quackity should use those so they don’t kill themselves.”

“Hey!” Quackity objected. “I’ll have you know I can ride a dirt-bike!”

“Can you ride it well?”

“…yes.”

“Mom and dad will be mad at you if you die.”

Quackity sighed. “Fine.”

“I can ride a dirt-bike,” Technoblade volunteered.

“Sick. You and me can do that and anyone else if they really want to.” He paused to wince. “Actually, Tommy you probably shouldn’t with your arm.”

Tommy nodded obediently.

“Actually, Tommy, should you be riding at all?” Ranboo asked, worry evident in his voice.

Tommy shrugged, looking down.

“It’s probably fine,” Tubbo said. “They’re pretty stable, just go slow, at least at first.”

Tommy nodded.

Technoblade felt like he should be the responsible one and say no, but honestly it’d probably be fine. The track looked fairly flat and Tommy wasn’t stupid. He would also feel bad excluding the blonde or trying to exert too much control over him. Wilbur probably shared a similar sentiment, as he didn’t say anything either.

Tubbo gave them all a quick tutorial they resulted in many more questions he shrugged off instead of answering. Technoblade was pretty sure there had to be a pretty logical reason Tubbo could do all of this, and he was just playing up the mystery for fun. He still really wanted to know.

They put on helmets, with Quackity being the only on who tried to resist. Tubbo had to get him an extra large on so he could keep his hat on. They took off fairly evenly spaced and everyone took it slow at first. Over time they warmed up and got used to the controls, and just went for it. It was too loud to hear each other, so for the most part Technoblade simply did his own thing and vaguely kept an eye out to make sure no one was doing anything stupid.

Tubbo was actually weirdly good at it— he kept going off the jumps and even did a spin off of one of them. Sick. Technoblade probably could if he tried, but now didn’t seem like the best time to test that.

It could have been any amount of time before they started to get bored. This manifested mostly in Quackity trying to fuck with people.

He kept cutting Tubbo off and then slamming the breaks. Never too close in front or in an area where there wasn’t room to get around him if he could t stop in time, but it was aggravating enough to make the younger annoyed. He cut other people off a few times, but was smart enough not to slam the breaks in front of someone inexperienced (or someone who ‘radiated vaguely threatening energy,’ as Technoblade had been told he did).

Wilbur and Quackity got in some kind of race. Tubbo started trying to show Ranboo how to use the dirt bikes, but the poor kid was so uncoordinated that that didn’t last long.

Technoblade started going off the smaller jumps, as did Tommy to a lesser extent.

Speaking of Tommy, the younger was doing fairly well, actually. Technoblade would kill to see him on a dirt bike once his arm was healed— you definitely needed a stronger grip for those though.

They must’ve passed a good couple hours before anything went wrong. This came in the form of Quackity slamming the breaks in front of Tubbo again.

However, he did so withour realizing that Tommy was also right behind Tubbo.

And Tommy was going too fast to stop.

And so he swerved to avoid crashing instead.

And the vehicle flipped.

And Tommy went flying.

And then he landed.

Technoblade didn’t know how to describe the sound he made.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Tommy laid flat on the ground, with only one thought on his mind:

Ow.

It seemed like somehow the only part of his body he hadn’t hit was his head, which he supposed was good, but he couldn’t really appreciate it because, well, once again:

Ow.

He was vaguely aware of people talking to him but he couldn’t be bothered to try to listen for the first few moments. Eventually he managed to force himself to tune in to what was apparently a heated argument.

“We have to take him to the hospital,” Quackity said, panicked.

“He’s alive.” Technoblade said. Tommy became aware of a hand on his neck, at the spot where you should take someone’s pulse. Wait— did they think he was dead? He supposed it made sense considering he fell off a moving ATV and was now lying unresponsive on the ground. He knew he should probably move, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself to try just yet.

“And? He might not stay that way. Look, I get that we might end up in trouble, but—“

“It’s not just that you fucking idiot,” Wilbur snapped. Tommy didn’t even have the will to flinch. “If he gets hurt and they decide that it was our fault they can take him away— he’s not actually our brother yet.”

Yep. Wait— yet? What did he mean yet?

“What?” Tubbo asked.

“We messed up, and if they decide he’s in an unsafe environment they’ll take him away. We don’t have any control here, he belongs to the state,” Technoblade explained. A long time ago, Tommy might have rolled his eyes at the phrasing; he never liked the idea of ‘belonging’ to the something. He had since learned that he was closer to being unwanted property than a person though, and he’d accepted that awhile ago.

“But it was an accident? They can’t take him away if it isn’t your fault.”

“Phil let him go ATV riding for the first time in the middle of the night, in…wherever the fuck we are without any adult supervision,” Wilbur said.

No one disagreed.

“Shit,” Quackity said quietly. “Listen, man, I get that that sucks, and I would miss him too if that happened—“

“And you still want to do it?” Wilbur asked, incredulous.

Tommy was confused: why did everyone seem so upset at the idea of him leaving? They would be having so much more fun right now if he hadn’t insisted on tagging along and then ruined everything. He should’ve just listened to Ranboo and not participated.

“Would you rather him have to leave, or fucking die because you wanted to keep him so badly?” Quackity snapped.

Tommy began to try to open his eyes— as much pain as he was in this was beginning to get out of hand. It didn’t quite work.

“He might have a point,” Technoblade started.

“What?” Wilbur asked.

“I’d rather risk him leaving than dying.”

“He’s not dying!” Wilbur said.

“Not yet. His pulse is stable, but—“

“Why can’t we get someone to help him under the table? Ranboo, your moms a nurse, isn’t she?” Sweet Prime, they were being dramatic. He wasn’t dying, and his lack of mobility was definitely more of a mental block than a physical one. He just needed a minute.

“She’s on a business trip with my dad right now.”

“And you’re just home alone? Don’t lie to me.”

“My grandparents are around if I need anything, but they left yesterday, I swear,” Ranboo rushed out.

Wilbur was breathing hard, seemingly on the verge of a complete panic attack. Tommy braced himself and used all of his strength to open his eyes.

Everyone went silent for a moment.

“Ow,” Tommy groaned. His pain was lessening, but it was nowhere near gone.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

“Tommy, I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to—“

“Thank Prime.”

“Oh, you’re awake! Did you hit your head? Wait you have a helmet on, that was a dumb question. Well I mean I guess helmets aren’t fool proof so you could’ve still hit your head, but…”

“Are you hurt badly anywhere? Do you think you need a hospital?”

Everyone spoke at once. It hurt Tommy’s ears and so he closed his eyes. Because that made perfect sense.

“Guys, shut up,” Technoblade said loudly.

Shockingly they all listened.

“Tommy are you okay?”

Tommy tried to nod but the action made him want to scream in pain, so he settled for speaking. “Yeah.”

“Really?” He sounded skeptical.

“I- I- I think so.”

“Can you stand up?”

Tommy wanted to cry just thinking about going through those motions. “Um. No, no prob-probably not.”

If he was in this much pain with different people he might try to power through it, and he probably should now so they didn’t get mad at him. But he just wanted a few minutes to rest, and for some reason he felt like they would let him have that. He was already slowly starting to feel better, and while he’d definitely permanently fucked up his back and arm, he figured he would be able to walk out of here with some difficulty in a few minutes.

“Okay, umm, I can carry you? Probably?”

Tommy managed to shake his head. “I- I- um. I’ll be fine, I just- I just need a minute.” It took him a long second to realize the problem with that he said. “If that’s okay of course, sorry, I don’t want to bother you, I- I- can just get up now, sorry.”

He bit his lip and forced himself to sit up, ignoring the way his whole body screamed in protest.

Technoblade stopped him with a delicate hand on his shoulder. Tommy looked at him, and the older slowly lowered his body back to the ground.

“We can wait here for a bit, we’re not in a rush.”

Tommy wanted to insist he was fine, but he was so relieved to not have to move that he could do anything but nod and let his eyes slip shut again.

He listened to everyone move around him. Tubbo said he was gonna go put everything back, and left the group. He heard one engine start and then fade away as the shortest of them presumably drove it back under the tent.

He didn’t move as the rest of them made quiet conversation. He decided to give himself until Tubbo came back to lie still and try to ease the pain.

“How do we explain this to Phil without him killing us?” Wilbur asked. It was said semi-jokingly, but Tommy couldn’t tell if he was imagining an undertone of anxiety in his voice.

“He’s not gonna kill us; we’ve done worse,” Technoblade said.

“That’s debatable.”

“Wilbur. It’s Phil. He barely yelled at me when I literally stabbed you.”

“That was an accident.”

“This was an accident. And if it was anyone’s fault then it was Quakcity’s, not yours.

“I deserve that,” Quackity said.

“Yes you do,” Technoblade confirmed.

“I am really sorry Tommy, I didn’t know you were behind us.”

“It’s good,” Tommy mumbled, not opening his eyes. He was just glad no one seemed mad at him. At least not yet.

He zoned out of whatever happened next. He might have fallen asleep, he didn’t really know. When he next opened his eyes Tubbo was sitting with them again.

Shit.

He wasn’t supposed to keep them waiting longer than necessary. He shot up irhour waening, causing a few people to jump.

“Sorry, sorry, I- I didn’t- I didn’t- realize Tubbo was back already. I wouldn’t have made you guys wait any longer, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Wilbur assured him.

“I just got back a minute ago boss man, don’t worry about it.”

Tommy nodded, the pain coming back to him as adrenaline wore off.

“Are you gonna be able to walk? Or we could ATV you to the car.”

Tommy shook his head, he was fine. Probably. He wasn’t a doctor. He was pretty sure he’d make a bad doctor, his hands were too shaky. Though did you really need steady hands if you weren’t a surgeon? It was possible that—

Why was he thinking about this? He didn’t want to be a doctor.

He forced himself to focus on what was happening around him again.

Everyone was standing up and he forced himself to do so as well. He was once again rendered unable to have more than one thought:

Ow.

He discovered that his legs actually weren’t in all that bad of shape, nor was his lower back or ribs, for once. It was always his ribs that got injured every single time. Now was a much needed break for them.

His upper back and shoulder were awful. All the way down his broken arm, where he could now distinctly feel the bones were… not how they were supposed to be.

“You okay?” Tubbo asked.

“I don’t think I have bones anymore,” he said before he could fully process what exactly that meant. In another context this might’ve been funny, but it just alarmed the people he was with.

“Um…”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, hoping that would clarify what he meant to them. They still looked confused, but he had tried his best so it wasn’t his problem if they didn’t understand. He was tired, would this be a bad spot to sleep? Probably, considering he was standing up and another fall would either kill him or make him wish it did.

They were supposed to leave now. Tommy started waking forward, but immediately tripped and had to be steadied by Ranboo putting a hand across his chest.

“You good?”

Tommy nodded as best as he could.

“We definitely need a hospital,” Quackity said.

“No!”

“Listen, you can blame the whole thing on me! I made all of us come here and I made him crash and you guys and Phil had no idea what was happening and it was all my fault— okay? Then they can’t take him, but he needs a doctor.”

Tommy couldn’t find it in himself to protest, so he just stood there.

“Let’s just get back to the car before anything else,” Technoblade said, seemingly calm.

They all listened, and slowly left. It took a lot longer than is probably should have, but Tommy was uncoordinated and everyone was hovering around him like he was going to keel over at any minute. When they finally reached the exit, Tubbo shut off the lights and locked the gate from the inside before climbing back out.

As they walked down the narrow path, Tommy’s head slowly cleared, and he got a better idea of what was happening. He had definitely broken his arm worse than before, but he was pretty sure everywhere else was just bruised. That was fine, he’d had worse.

He was made to sit in the front of the car on the way back so that he would have to hunch over to get in the back. He said it was fine, but was secretly relieved when they insisted. The pain had dulled from a fire down to a strange numbness, but it still flared back up whenever he moved.

The way home was quiet, and soon enough they were in Phil’s driveway.

“I can come in and make sure he doesn’t blame you guys,” Quackity offered.

“Yeah, me too,” Tubbo said.

“No, it’s fine,” Technoblade replied. “He’ll believe us.” Tommy thought it was odd that he was able to say that with so much confidence. Tommy was used to having to accumulate piles of evidence just for someone to consider the possibility that he wasn’t lying.

“Are you sure?” Quackity asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, text if you need anything, man.”

Technoblade nodded. Quackity awkwardly turned to Tommy. “I, um, I’m really sorry dude, I was being stupid.”

“It’s all good, big Q; my bad anyway,” Tommy mumbled. He wondered if Phil would let him have ibuprofen; everything hurt. It hurt in a more detached way than before, but still. Ow.

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Tommy was lead into the house. He wondered what time it was, would Phil even still be awake? Hopefully.

Wait— why hopefully? He was about to get in so much trouble, he should be praying that Phil was asleep. Somehow his brain had jumped to the idea that Phil was going to help. And yeah, he probably would. Hopefully he would call Sam and they’d go to the doctor and Tommy could get fixed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be punished too. Even Wilbur had sounded slightly nervous about telling Phil earlier.

Which was weird, because he had assumed that when things inevitably went wrong that Wilbur and Technoblade would be on Phil’s side. We’re they actually on his side? Or both? He didn’t know.

He didn’t really have the energy to for a deep breath as Technoblade opened the door and lead the way through.

He prepared for the worst, and entered the best house he’d had in years. If that changed tonight, then, well, it was his own fault.

Wasn’t it always?

Chapter Text

Phil’s sons returned earlier than expected on Friday night.

“I’m in the living room,” he called out when the door opened.

The three boys made their way in, far too quietly for nothing to be wrong. When they finally came into view and both Wilbur and Tommy refused to look at him, he knew something was wrong. More likely, he knew they had done something wrong. Tommy was like this a lot of the time. But Wilbur?

Wilbur, as a general rule, was not afraid of people anymore. He could get into joking arguments and even light physical fights and remain calm— a long way off from the eleven-year-old who wouldn’t let anyone within three feet of him.

However, when he was really guilty he projected it onto other people and assumed they were as mad at him as he was at himself. And then he remembered what used to happen when people were mad at him when he was younger. Hence, he was practically hugging himself and fidgeting. Even Technoblade, who was normally extremely stoic, seemed nervous.

“What happened?” He asked, resigned.

“I need you to not get mad,” Wilbur began anxiously. So this was really bad then.

“Okay, I’m not,” he said, voice perfectly level.

Wilbur opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a long moment.

“Quackity’s brother took all of us dirtbike and ATV riding in the woods, and then Quackity short stopped in front of Tommy and he swerved and fell and should really probably go to the hospital,” Technoblade said, wringing his hands.

Phil blinked. “What?”

“We wore helmets, and Quackity didn’t know Tommy was behind him, and Tubbo seemed like he knew what he was doing, and he promised us it was okay because he knows the guy who owns all the bikes, and it wasn’t dark because there were lights, and we really didn’t mean for anything bad to happen,” Wilbur rushed out anxiously.

“Okay,” he said calmly, still trying to make sense of everything. It took him several long minutes to put the pieces together.

It seemed like they had taken reasonable safety precautions, and not broken any laws if Tubbo claimed to know the man who owned everything. Phil wasn’t sure what Wilbur meant by there being lights in the middle of the woods, but he could ask later. They obviously felt bad, and he was glad they didn’t try to hide it at least. Not that it’s be easy to hide Tommy apparently needing to go to the hospital.

“Okay,” he repeated. “That’s a lot. First of all, never do that again.” They all nodded. “More importantly, Tommy, are you okay?”

Tommy shrugged, and then screwed his eyes shut as if the action had hurt tremendously.

“I’m gonna take that as a no. Can you talk right now?”

Tommy nodded.

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

He nodded again. “I- uh- I- I think I broke my arm again.”

“The same one?”

He nodded.

“Anything else? Did you hit your head?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, that’s not too bad I don’t think. You guys did the right thing coming to me. But seriously: I know it wasn’t your idea, but you should’ve known better.” He decided to leave it at that as far as reprimanding them went— they already knew they screwed up, and the last thing he wanted was for them to not want to tell him next time something bad happened. He turned to Tommy. “We’ll probably have to wait till morning to get any kind of appointment for you, but I’m gonna call your social worker to let him know.”

“Is he… are they gonna…?” Wilbur asked nervously.

“Huh?”

“They can take him away if he gets hurt, right?”

Oh. Oh. That explained a lot of the twins’ nerves. “Technically yes, but they won’t,” Phil said. “It was an accident, so as long as Tommy wants to stay here they’ll let him.”

The older two visibly relaxed a little, and Phil was pretty sure Tommy did too. Good.

“I’m gonna go call Sam,” he said, standing up to leave the room. “Try not to cause any more problems?” He said lightly.

Tommy flinched, but Wilbur laughed slightly with what seemed like relief.

“No promises,” Technoblade said.

Phil rolled his eyes and made his way to his office, leaving his sons to their own devices.

“We’re supposed to stay here, right?” Technoblade asked.

“Yeah,” Wilbur said, before explaining: “he’s gonna be back in a few minutes, it wouldn’t make sense to leave.”

Technoblade nodded; that was what he had thought too. He went and sat on the couch, and Wilbur followed. Tommy remained where he was, leaning against the wall.

“You can come sit down,” Techno offered.

Tommy furrowed his brow. “I’m covered in dirt, I do- I don’t wanna ruin the couch.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“You could go change if you want,” Wilbur offered.

The blonde paused for a moment before nodding and pushing himself off the wall, but not before saying a quiet “thank you.” Technoblade did not hear the sound of him going upstairs, as his footsteps were as silent as the rest of him was most of the time. He heard the bedroom door squeak as it moved on its hinges though.

“You okay?” Techno asked his brother after a long moment of silence. It took a lot to make him be afraid around Phil, and he knew the other was probably drained right now.

He nodded though. “Yeah, fine. You?”

“I’m good.”

They lightly speculated on what Phil and Tommy’s social worker were saying until Tommy himself came back down a few minutes later with clean pants and the same shirt as earlier, minus the dirty jacket.

“Why the same shirt?” Technoblade asked him.

He shrugged one shoulder.

“Ahh. Broken arm. Right. If you want to sit down you can.”

He nodded, and sat on the other couch, keeping a good amount of distance between them.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Technoblade asked.

“Uhhh cow?” He said quietly.

Technoblade nodded: “good choice.”

“What- what- what about- what about you?”

“Pig.”

Tommy nodded.

“Mine’s a sheep,” Wilbur supplied. He then made a strange face. “Is it weird that we all picked farm animals? I feel like at least one of us should like, like, dolphins or something. Or at least dogs.”

“Phil’s is a crow,” Technoblade offered. He supposed it was kind of weird that they all picked farm animals, he hadn’t really thought about that when it was just him and Wilbur though.

“That’s not really a farm animal,” Wilbur said. “It’s also weird though. What do crows really provide for society?”

“Ask not what crows can do for society, ask what society can do for crows,” Tommy said solemnly.

Technoblade and Wilbur laughed, as did Phil who chose that moment to enter the room. They all turned their attention to him immediately.

He looked at Tommy while speaking. “Sam is going to pick you up in the morning and take you to the doctor. He said around eight if that works?”

Tommy nodded.

“Do you want anything to make it hurt less?”

He shrugged, which Technoblade supposed they all interpreted as a ‘yes.’

Phil went and grabbed a few over-the-counter painkillers and a glass of water, and handed each to Tommy.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“No problem, mate.”

Tommy swallowed the pills with an ease Technoblade had still yet to master. He usually had to cut them up. Wilbur nodded at the table beside the couch, and the younger put the glass there and whispered out a quiet thanks to Wilbur too. Phil threw on a movie, and none of them bothered to complain that they’d seen it a thousand times before. Well, maybe Tommy hadn’t seen it, but the rest of them had. Oh well.

Considering the events of earlier, the night could’ve ended much much worse. He shot off a text to Quackity letting him know everything was alright, and then settled in to watch the movie.

By the time the credits rolled, Tommy was ready to fall asleep. He was tired and everything hurt and he just wanted to pass out already. He didn’t.

Luckily, once it was over everyone else seemed equally tired, and the twins announced they were going to bed. Tommy and Phil followed them upstairs after shutting off all the lights and Tommy put his glass away in the sink.

He brushed his teeth and did everything else he was supposed to do before he went to sleep, but let the record state he was angry about it. He would have rather just passed out on the spot.

Tommy was sitting on the bed in the room they gave him when there was a knock. He cautiously opened the door to see Phil. He immediately ducked his head and tensed, waiting for whatever was coming next. Was he going to get mad now that Techno and Wilbur weren’t there?

“Do you need help setting up your bed?” He asked.

Tommy looked up with a furrowed brow.

“I mean do you want help propping your arm up or something so you don’t roll onto it while you’re sleeping?”

Oh. That was… actually really thoughtful. He couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “You’re gonna tuck me into bed?” He whispered, humor evident in his tone.

Phil laughed a little too. “Sure, why not?”

Tommy shrugged his good shoulder. “I’ll be fine, you don’t have to.”

“Still. You’ve had a rough few days, I’d sleep better knowing you’re okay.” Tommy took the hint that he should just hurry up and agree.

He nodded and backed up, allowing the older into the room. He awkwardly got into bed as Phil looked around the room. It looked almost identical to how it was on his first day here. There was a stack of binders on the desk, and a red backpack on the floor. All his other stuff was hidden in draws or the closet.

“We never bought you anything to decorate. We should do that soon.”

“I- I don’t need anything.” They had done way too much for him already, he really didn’t want to waste any more of Phil’s money on pointless things.

“Yeah, but it’s nice to have things.”

Tommy shrugged. He wouldn’t know.

Phil came over and leaned over him, wincing when Tommy tensed. Together they carefully propped up his arm and built pillow walls to prevent him from being able to move while he slept. As embarrassing as it was to be tucked into bed at fourteen, Tommy couldn’t help but enjoy it a little. It was stupid, but it made him feel… safe. Cared for.

Screw this stupid house and their stupid niceness. And screw then for making me fall for it; it’s gonna hurt so much more when it’s taken away now, Tommy thought. And yet, the words fell flat. He couldn’t find it anywhere in himself to be truly annoyed.

He said goodnight to Phil when the older left, and sighed. He’d thought he promised himself not to be stupid anymore. He thought he’d promised himself he wouldn’t get attached to things he knew he couldn’t keep. Not again— never again. And yet here he was, less than two weeks into this house, breaking that promise for the first time in years.

He wished he could mean it when he said he hated them for breaking down years worth of defenses so fast.

But he didn’t.

Prime, he was so screwed when they eventually gave up on him.

Chapter Text

Sam was not supposed to get attached to his kids. He was supposed to care about them and want what was best for them, but he wasn’t supposed to get attached. He wasn’t quite sure he understood the difference, honestly.

He managed varying levels of objectivity with all of his kids. He tried his absolute best for all of them. Some of them he only interacted with because his job mandated that he did so. Most of them he had a soft spot for. Some of them he was entirely soft for. And then there was Tommy.

Sam would have seriously considered adopting Tommy himself if he was able to. He didn’t know what it was, but he cared about the kid so deeply. And yet somehow, he always made the worst decisions for him. 47 (now 48) houses, and not one of them had let him out unhurt.

And then Tommy said something in the hospital almost two weeks ago that reminded him so very much of his old friend Phil. And he knew what he had to do. And he did it.

And as he pulled up to his friend’s house a little earlier than the other expected, he intended to find out whether or not he regretted it.

He knocked, and Phil answered.

“Ahh, Sam, you’re early, come in.”

“Hey Phil, how’s it going?”

“It’s going alright, how about you?”

“”I’m good.”

“That’s good. Want me to go wake Tommy up?”

“I’m actually here early for a surprise check-in,” he said.

Phil paused for a moment. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said, apparently not overly surprised.

Phil was legally required to take him around the house and let him make sure it was up to standard. Considering recent events, this was to be expected.

“Do your thing,” Phil said, gesturing for him to have free reign of the house.

Sam nodded and began checking everything out. The house was clean, the kitchen was stocked, and everything generally appeared to be in order.

“There’s no signs of him anywhere,” Sam said. All the shoes by the door were too big for him, and he knew all the other things which pointed to the fact that teenagers lived here were because of Wilbur and Technoblade.

“He doesn’t want to make a mess,” Phil replied. Fair enough, the kid was always insecure about stuff like that.

“Does he have access to a phone?”

“He has the one he came here with.” That phone was shit, but Tommy wouldn’t ever say that or ask for anything better. It wasn’t Phil’s fault.

“Where are his meds?”

“In his room.” Good. It gave him control, and the bottles were never filled with enough to allow him to overdose, so there was little danger in it.

“Is he eating enough?”

Phil winced. “We’re working on it. He’s eating every day, but honestly not very much.” At least he was honest. That gave Sam some more faith in his answers so far.

Sam rattled off questions, to all of which Phil had easy answers. He didn’t seem annoyed by Sam’s overly thorough examination. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t trust his friend, he very much did. Phil was a great guy and would never hurt a kid. But he had to be sure. Tommy meant too much to him for Sam to rely on blind trust for proof that he was safe. They checked out the basement, which was normal, before Sam was taken upstairs.

Phil knocked on Tommy’s door, and in a moment, the boy answered. He didn’t look too good. Sam had of course been kept up to date with whatever was happening with this ‘Dream’ kid, but still. Tommy immediately stepped back and bowed his head. Sam looked over at Phil, who didn’t appear to be happy with the action. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Good morning,” Phil said.

“Good morning,” Tommy replied quietly. “Hi, Sam.” He was talking more than usual, Sam noted. In most other houses he would have simply nodded at whoever was speaking to him. That was a good sign.

“Hey kiddo, how’re you doing?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Fair enough. I’m doing a check on the house and then we’ll get going alright? Do you mind if I look around your room for a minute?”

Tommy nodded and moved out of the way for him. The room was nice. It wasn’t decorated or anything, but foster children’s rooms very rarely were. Plus it’d only been a little over a week; they probably hadn’t had time to do anything like that yet. Sam glanced at Tommy for approval before quickly glancing in his closet, which had clothes in it. Same with his drawers.

There was a lot, considering he came here with next to nothing. There were school supplies on his desk and a new coat and new pair of shoes in his closet. Good signs, not that he really expected less from Phil.

Also in his closet was a small metal lockbox.

“What’s in there?”

“Medicine,” Tommy said quietly.

“Can you open it for me?” This was less to test Phil, and more to test Tommy. That was the kind of place he would hide blades if he were cutting again. He seemed nervous opening it, but when he did there want much unusual. A few orange pill bottles and a black bag. Sam slowly reached out to open it, and Tommy didn’t object. There was money in there.

Cool. He put it back without a word: Tommy wasn’t the type of kid to steal, so if he wanted to keep this a secret from Phil then that was up to him.

“Looks good,” he said. “Take however long you need to get ready and then we can head out?”

Tommy nodded, and Sam lead Phil out of the younger’s room. It was definitely amongst the nicest Tommy had ever had.

“To your standards?” Phil asked him half jokingly as they made their way downstairs. Techno and Wilbur were down there now, though Wilbur did not look happy about it.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I never doubted you, I’m just doing my job.”

Phil nodded.

“Hey guys,” Sam greeted the twins.

“Hi Sam.”

“Hey.”

He considered making fun of them for the previous night, but decided against it. While he knew them fairly well, they weren’t his kids to parent, and he was sure they didn’t need to hear more about how badly they messed up.

They made small talk until Tommy came down moments later, still in the same shirt and only carrying his coat

“Do you want anything to eat before you go?” Phil asked him.

He shook his head.

“Cmon, at least take a granola bar,” Wilbur insisted.

“I- I- I’m fine,” he said quietly. At least he responded though.

“You need food,” Wilbur said. He went to the pantry and grabbed a granola bar, and extended it towards Tommy. Sam noted the way he was careful not to get too close. The younger still flinched as if Wilbur intended to hit him, before nervously taking the object, mumbling a thanks.

Sam was about to say they should be heading off when he spotted something out the back window. “What’s with the food truck?”

Everyone paused, and then just started inexplicably laughing, even Tommy, as much as the youngest tried to subdue it.

Sam tried to give Phil a questioning look, but as soon as the other opened his mouth he just started laughing and shaking his head again.

“It’s a long story,” Wilbur managed to say.

“Is it bad that I already forgot about that?” Technoblade asked.

No one answered, they just laughed again.

“Alrighty then,” Sam said once he came to terms with the fact that he likely wouldn’t be getting an answer. “We should be leaving now. We’ll probably be back in a few hours, but I’ll text if anything changes.”

Phil nodded: “thanks, we’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

Technoblade, Wilbur, and Phil all said bye to Tommy, who quietly managed to say the same back to them. Sam was honestly impressed: he hadn’t seen Tommy speak this much within earshot of a family in a very long time, never mind fail at stifling his laughs the way he had in the kitchen.

So far, despite the many complications, he definitely did not regret his choice to place Tommy here.

They sat in the car, and Sam asked Tommy all the normal questions. Did he feel safe? Was he being hurt? Was he being fed? Did he have any concerns? Was the story Phil told him about how he broke his arm the truth? What about the marks on his face?

Sam received an entirely positive report.

“So who’d you go out with last night?”

“Um, Technoblade, Wilbur, their friend Quackity, and um, my- my friends Ranboo and Tubbo who’s- who’s Quackity’s brother.”

Sam nodded, proud that Tommy was making friends in this town. He had a track record for getting bullied (not that that had changed apparently), and Sam was glad that at least he wasn’t alone.“That’s cool. How is school going?”

“Good.”

“No issues with teachers or anything?”

“No.”

“What about Dream?”

Tommy flinched at the name, before shrugging. “Ew, you heard about that? It’s fine, it’s just- I- I just- I guess- I guess he doesn’t like me? It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad if you’re being hurt,” Sam reminded him.

Tommy shrugged, looking away.

“You should eat your granola bar.”

Tommy looked at it for a long moment, before unwrapping it and doing just that.

“Have you been eating enough?”

Tommy nodded.

“Phil disagrees.”

“And you’re ju- just- just gonna trust him over me? Wow. Betrayal.”

“On this? Yes, I’m going to trust Phil.” If Tommy weighed any less then very fact that he was alive would be impressive.

“Rude.”

Sam sighed. “You do need to eat more.”

“Okay.”

Sam knew he wouldn’t, but that wasn’t a problem that could be fixed right now, so he let it drop.

They talked about lighter topics until they arrived at the hospital. Apparently he was learning how to play Animal Crossing, and Sam reminded him of Tom Nooke from the game.

“Why?”

“Evil,” Tommy said simply.

Sam burst out laughing, and Tommy smiled at him in return.

Once in the hospital, Sam checked them in and then they waited. Tommy hated hospitals, and so Sam tried to distract him as much as possible. In doing so, he learned more about Minecraft than anyone could ever possibly want to know. Oh well, if talking about videogames set Tommy at ease then it was worth it.

Soon enough they were brought into a room for their appointment. They took one look at Tommy’s abused frame and probably would have called the cops if Sam hadn’t introduced himself as Tommy’s social worker.

His cast was cut off, and Sam noted the many signatures on it and smiled a little. Other times, his casts were decorated with insults crude drawings. It was nice to see simple names for once, and ones Sam recognized as his friends at that. Then he was x-rayed. While they waited for the results they did a regular check-up, despite him having one a few weeks earlier.

They mentioned his blood pressure, and had a long talk about him being underweight for his height and age. It was the same talk Tommy and Sam say through at every appointment. Yes, they knew he was underweight, and yes he would start eating more. They both knew he wouldn’t.

The x-ray showed he had indeed broken his arm into more pieces than Sam had even known was possible. If his bone had shifted one more centimeter they would’ve had to perform surgery. Luckily, he was ready to go with another cast, this one going almost all the way up to his shoulder, and locking his arm in an L position.

They reported his bruised ribs from before were slowly healing, though he managed to bruise most of the muscles in his back. It sucked, but it was nothing that wouldn’t heal with time.

They were told when to come back and then made their way out of the building.

Once in the car, Sam sighed. There was no avoiding this any longer.

“Tommy?”

The boy hummed affirmatively.

“I’m gonna suggest something and I want you to keep an open mind for me.”

“Okay…?”

“Me and Phil think you should try therapy again.”

“No,” he said quickly.

“Tommy—“

“No! No, no, please, no, I’m sorry, I can do better, I just- I just-.”

“Hey, hey, Tommy, calm down, calm down. It was just a suggestion. Cmon, breath with me.” They took a few deep breaths together before Tommy was able to speak.

“Please, I- I- I- I really don’t- don’t want to.”

Sam sighed and nodded. “Okay, you don’t have to. We’re not forcing you.”

Tommy nodded, curling into a ball on the seat as much as he could. “Thank you.”

Sam frowned. “You could try online therapy. You could just call in.”

“Please no.”

“Okay, Tommy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Tommy nodded, and stared out the window.

Sam couldn’t blame him for his reaction. His only past experience with therapy had been… bad. Like really bad. The therapist was now in prison types of bad. Sam no longer allowed foster parents to manage Tommy’s healthcare.

He shook the image of that (ridiculously huge, especially next to Tommy) man out of his mind; he couldn’t imagine how sick someone had to be to be assigned a hurting kid and choose to hurt them more.

He sighed, and pulled out of the parking spot before beginning to drive them back to Phil’s house. He knew Tommy would much rather sit in silence, but then the younger would descend into memories no one should ever have to relive.

So he talked about random things and asked random questions and generally tried to keep Tommy busy enough that he wouldn’t have time to spiral. By the time they completed the fairly long drive back to Phil’s house, he seemed vaguely normal again.

Well, normal for himself at least. It really wasn’t fair that someone so young had been hurt so badly they couldn’t even be judged by the same standards as most people. There weren’t words for how badly he wanted this house to work out for the poor kid.

Sam knocked on the door, and Phil opened it. They exchanged greetings and all the normal pleasantries, before Sam asked Phil to step outside and talk to him alone for a few moments.

“Therapy is a definite no-go,” he reported.

Phil sighed. “Yeah, that’s not unexpected.”

He summarized the hospital report for Phil, who took it all in stride. He also advised the man to try to keep Tommy busy today, as too much time to think wouldn’t be good for him right now. “Any questions?” Sam asked at the end.

“Do you know what he likes?” Phil asked.

“What?”

“Does he like anything? So far he’s admitted to liking videogames, piano, diet coke, and curry. I’m trying to figure out what his interests are.” Huh. By questions, Sam had more meant medically speaking, but this filled him with another boost of confidence in Phil. The man wanted to know these things. That was good. Really, really good.

Sam thought about it. “He hates the piano.”

“Really? He said he knew how to play.”

He shrugged. “He can, he’s really good. Hates it though. Vowed to personally spit on Mozart’s grave someday.”

Phil’s eyes widened in surprise. “Noted. What does he like then?”

He paused to think once again. “He likes animals a lot. Doesn’t matter what kind. He likes challenges— he’s actually incredibly competitive if you can convince him he’s allowed to be. Um. He has a lot of skills, like the piano, but I’m not entirely sure which of them he likes and which he picked up by force. He really does like diet coke, curry, and videogames a lot.” He paused. “I don’t know. I really only see him in between houses; there’s not much time for small-talk.”

Phil nodded. “I meant to ask before you left, but did you know he has a fainting problem? Apparently his blood pressure is really low and the he self-medicates with soda, which seems vaguely unhealthy.”

Sam paused. “I knew his blood pressure was low, I didn’t know he was fainting. I guess look into over-the-counter solutions? The system won’t sponsor another doctor’s appointment so soon. I’ve never looked into anything for it. Let me know before you put him on anything though.”

Phil nodded.

“Listen, Phil, I know things seem bad, but honestly? Watching you guys interact earlier was the best I’ve seen him in years.”

“That’s depressing.”

Sam huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, kinda. But you’re doing a good job, man. It’s just gonna take awhile to get him where you want him to be.”

Phil nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I have to go, but I’ll be in touch, okay?”

Phil nodded. “Yeah, sure thing. Drive safe.”

They did a quick bro-hug goodbye, and then Sam left.

He hoped this was where things took a turn for the better for Tommy. Prime knew the kid deserved it more than anyone.

But, weirdly, more than anything, he wondered what the hell was up with the food truck.

Chapter Text

Time crawled on for Tommy.

Saturday, after he got back to Phil’s house, was spent hanging out with his latest foster family. They beat the End Dragon, and discovered that Technoblade’s Animal Crossing island was actually insanely cool, despite what Wilbur had said. Tommy made sure he texted Tubbo and Ranboo that he was alive and mostly well.

Sunday night he realized he had piles of homework he hadn’t even started yet due to the chaos of the weekend.

He started with the work for his first class, and went from there. It wasn’t hard, but he was tired, and there was far too much of it. Worksheet after worksheet after analysis after problem set after worksheet. He would rather die than write his name and the date on the top of one more paper.

Around halfway through he felt his energy tank. He knew how to get it up. It was a bad idea. He thought about it though. Would it really matter if he…

No. He was clean. He didn’t do that anymore.

But he needed good grades in order for Phil to let him stay. And he knew how to keep himself awake long enough to get them.

With shaking hands, he sat on the floor, and for the first time in a long time, Tommy cut. He didn’t count how many he made. He didn’t look at them. When he felt like he’d done enough he taped a paper towel over his thigh and prayed for the best.

He finished his work on time.

As he laid in bed he told himself that was the last time. He’d needed to get his work done, and that was it. He wasn’t going to make a habit of it. He was going to stay ahead on his homework from now on so that this didn’t happen again.

It happened again.

And again.

And again.

He was weak. He couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was a good thing though. Tommy had a complicated relationship with Prime. He didn’t know if he believed in him or not, but he liked to pray.

Cutting in good houses felt like a bargain with the universe: if he was still hurting then could he please stay a little longer? If he cut, didn’t it make up for all the kindness he knew he didn’t deserve? Please?

He should stop. He should. But then he would have to leave, or so he convinced himself, and he didn’t want that.

He kept paper towels taped around his legs: even if he could find the bandaids, he wouldn’t want to waste them. Paper towels kept the cuts from rubbing and prevented infection well enough. He’d never had a problem with it before.

He was fine.

This was fine.

For once, nothing was going wrong in his life. All he had to do was keep it up. That would be easy enough.

Winter break was Tommy’s least favorite time of year, most of the time. He was always stuck in his latest house with nothing to do for roughly two weeks. He didn’t particularly care about any of the various holidays, but he got annoyed being forced to watch other people celebrate. He was okay with the fact that he would never be a part of the fun, but that didn’t mean it was enjoyable to sit on the sidelines.

By the time break rolled around, it been a few weeks since everything with the dirt bikes, and things had been relatively stable. Tommy’s grades were still high, his arm was slowly healing, everyone re-signed his cast, his face was finally clear of any markings, he was hanging out with friends, and no one in the house had snapped at him yet.

Dream had come back to school at some point. He’d spent a while subtly fucking with Tommy (knocking into his cast, landing hits where they wouldn’t be seen, tripping him in the halls, etc), but had been avoiding him like the plague for a few days now. Tommy didn’t get it, but he wasn’t upset so he figured it was better not to question it.

And now he was here, preparing for the holidays with his 48th foster family and his 22nd ‘long-term’ family. It was slightly pathetic that one month was what he considered long term, but he chose to ignore that.

This house apparently celebrated Christmas in a secular way, as most houses Tommy had been in did.

Honestly Phil was getting a little bit too into the whole thing. Wilbur and Technoblade humored him though, and told Tommy to do the same. He could do that.

He didn’t complain about the cold when he helped Phil put up lights. He just stood quietly and did as he was told. And his lips turned blue and he couldn’t feel his hands, but it was fine as long as Phil was happy.

“And we are done!” Phil said, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips.

Tommy suppressed a shiver, and smiled at him.

Phil furrowed his brow in concern. “You cold?”

“I- I- I- I’m- I’m fine. Sorry.” He clenched his teeth to prevent them from chattering.

“Let’s go inside, we can light them on once the sun goes down later.”

Tommy nodded and followed the man into the house.

Phil pulled off his coat and hung it on the hooks. Tommy debated: was it worth risking keeping his on? He was really cold. But Mr. Craft might get mad. He couldn’t help the fear that this would somehow be what pushed Phil over the edge and made him send Tommy back.

That didn’t make sense, no house had sent him away over something that small— not on his first offense at least. But who's to say this was his first offense? It could just be the first time someone said something to him about it. Maybe they wouldn’t jump straight to sending him back, but they could always punish him.

Was he overthinking this? It was just a coat. But sometimes people got weird over small things, and he didn’t want to be the cause of any problems. Phil took off his coat; he should do the same. Should he? No one told him he had to. But it was implied, wasn’t it?

“Tommy?”

Tommy flinched hard, zoning back into the real world. Fuck— he didn’t mean to do that. “Sorry- I- I’m sorry- I’m sorry, Mr. Craft,” he rushed out, looking down.

“It’s alright, mate, you just zoned out for a minute there. And you really can call me Phil, you know."

“I- I- I’m- I’m sorry.”

“You're okay. Do you want to take off your coat?”

No, not really. He nodded, though, and unzipped it. He pulled it off one arm first before carefully working it off the one in the cast.

“Here, I’ll hang it up for you,” Phil offered.

Tommy hesitantly handed it to him, and their hands brushed.

Phil yanked his hand away, letting out a yelp of surprise, causing Tommy to flinch back too. “The hell is up with your hands, mate?”

Tommy timidly pointed out the window.

“Oh. Shit,” he cursed. “I forgot to give you gloves, didn’t I?”

Tommy nodded slightly. “It- it- it- it- it- it- it-“ he cut himself off. “It’s fine, I- I don’t- I don’t need them.”

Phil frowned. “Sorry mate. Remind me to buy you a pair next time I go out. For now, I’m sure we can find you some old ones.”

Tommy opened his mouth to insist he was fine, but Phil continued.

“Do you like hot chocolate?”

Tommy shrugged. He honestly forgot what it tasted like.

“I’ll make some,” Phil decided, before walking over to the kitchen. He didn’t tell Tommy what to do, so he stayed put.

They got in a lot of these stand-offs lately. Phil said it was bad for his mental health to have every decision made for him. Tommy was terrified of doing anything wrong. He spent a lot of time frozen in place until he worked up the nerve to move, or someone finally took pity on him and told him what to do or where to go.

Today, apparently, Phil was going easy on him. “You can come sit down if you’d like, mate.”

Tommy nodded, and sat at the counter, placing one hand under his legs to try to get the feeling back in it, and tucking the other one between his unbroken arm and the side of his body. He watched Mr. Craft stumble through the process of making hot chocolate. The man told the story of how his parents used to make it for him every time he came in from sledding, before getting distracted and going on a tangent about how they built houses on the best sledding hill in town.

“It’s a disgrace, Tommy! Kids loved it there and they ruined it!”

Tommy nodded along.

“Do you like sledding?” Mr. Craft asked suddenly.

Tommy shrugged. “It’s fun I- I guess?”

“You guess? It’s like the only thing that makes winter tolerable, mate.”

“I- I- I’ve only really been a few times.”

“We should go.”

“If you’re too embarrassed to go alone as an adult, you- you could’ve just said so,” Tommy said condescendingly, biting his lip to suppress his nerves.

“Listen, mate, there’s no need to call me out like that,” Mr. Craft said. Tommy got the impression that he was joking and smiled slightly.

Soon enough Wilbur and Technoblade were texted to come down, and they did so.

Tommy liked it when they were all there. He let himself fade into the background and simply enjoyed the peace for as long as he could.

He wasn’t overly disappointed when he was pulled into the conversation though.

“Tommy, we have to decorate L’Manberg for the holidays,” Wilbur said.

Tommy laughed a little.

“No, I’m serious, how are our citizens supposed to celebrate Christmas without decorations?”

“What citizens?” Mr. Craft asked.

“Um. Us?” Wilbur said.

“Your house is decorated.”

“But our home isn’t.”

“The food truck is your home?”

“L’Manberg, Phil. It’s called L’manberg.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake,” Phil said sarcastically.

“It’s fine this time.”

Mr. Craft snorted.

“Cmon, Tommy, we should decorate it. Think of how mad Quackity will be!”

Tommy barely resisted laughing, and nodded.

“If you’re going back outside, he needs gloves,” Phil said.

Wilbur nodded. “Do we have some in the closet?”

“Probably. You can guys can always borrow mine if need be.”

They managed to find gloves, and went back outside. It was slightly colder now, but Tommy didn’t complain.

They painted ‘L’Manberg’ on the outside in red paint, and put christmas lights all over it, as well as an old wreath on the door. By the time they finished it was dark. It looked pretty lit up.

Quackity disagreed. Tommy barely held back his laughs when Wilbur showed him screenshots of the other man angrily spamming Wilbur about it.

Before heading in for the night, Mr. Craft insisted they all get a picture in front of the lit up house. It took forever, as Phil wanted them all to be in it and kept trying to use the timer feature on his phone. He kept failing.

They got at least one that was deemed half-decent and gratefully made their way inside.

Despite being freezing, Tommy didn’t hesitate to take his jacket off this time. Wilbur made more hot chocolate, and insisted they all watch a Christmas movie together. It was a few days before Christmas still, but they didn’t have much else to do, so they grabbed blankets and went to the living room.

Tommy didn’t voice his opinion, but the other three decided on Elf. He’d never seen it before.

He bit his lip to keep from laughing the whole movie. His laugh was loud and he couldn’t be loud.

Things were going well, and he couldn’t ruin them by getting too comfortable. So far they’d been really nice, but that was only because so far he’d been quiet and did as he was told.

And, he remembered as he uncomfortably rearranged the coverings on his legs later that night, he was fulfilling his promise to Prime.

He just had to keep it up.

Chapter Text

Ranboo Beloved
wanna come shopping with me to get tubbo a birthday present

Tommy Innit
why would i willingly spend time with you?
also yes let me ask

Ranboo Beloved
you are so mean to me
literally what did i do to deserve this

Tommy Innit
have u met yourself

Ranboo Beloved
):

Tommy Innit
all jokes, king
also phil said yes what time

Ranboo Beloved
idk like an hour maybe?

Tommy Innit
okay

Tommy looked up from his phone. He happened to be sitting in the kitchen with Phil when Ranboo texted. Wilbur was out with his band and Technoblade had locked himself in his room and was only letting Phil in to bring him food every few hours, so it was just the two of them.

“Um, can- can I- can I, um, go- go upstairs?” He asked after a moment of silence when Phil agreed to let him go with Ranboo.

Phil just shrugged at him. Asshole. He almost wished he could mean the insult.

In theory he understood that ‘having all his decisions taken away from him’ probably was damaging in some ways. But it was easy. And he liked easy things. He didn’t like constantly being afraid of making the wrong choice.

Tommy hesitantly stood up and pushed his chair in. He jumped when Phil placed his cup down, wondering for a moment if this was where he finally snapped.

Phil gave him a small, almost sad, smile. “You good?”

Tommy nodded, and quietly made his way up to the room they were letting him use for the time being.

He got dressed, and was proud to say he had practically mastered tying his shoes with one hand.He still had a lot of time, so he laid on the floor and scrolled on his phone.

Eventually he went and opened the safe he had in his closet and pulled out the money he had been hiding. He had a decent amount of savings from his past. Not enough for him to make it more than a week or two out on the streets, but still. However, a good portion of his savings was from the lunch money Phil gave him. He couldn’t exactly work out the morality behind hoarding the money instead of using it for its intended purpose, but he tried to convince himself it was fine. Phil had never explicitly said he had to spend the money on lunch.

Though it was getting harder to resist buying it. The longer he stayed here and was forced into regular meals, the more his appetite built up. For the first time in a long time he was experiencing hunger the way he assumed most people did. Disgusting. He felt greedy every time he got hungry despite having eaten a few hours prior.

Nevertheless, he gathered his money, and left when Ranboo told him to. He passed Phil on the way out.

“I- um, can- can- can- can I- can I- can- can I still- still go? Over to, um, to- to Ranboo’s?” Why did he even both speaking?

“Yeah, of course. Do you need money?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Alright, have fun.”

Tommy nodded. “Thank you, sir- uh, thank- thank you.”

He cringed, but Phil didn’t react, so he slipped out the door and made his way to Ranboo’s house. Fuck. It’d been awhile since he’d messed up like that. He was lucky Phil either didn’t notice or let it slide.

Mr. Beloved himself drove them to the mall, and said to text him when they were done and he would come back. Tommy wasn’t sure where he was going in the meantime. He didn’t ask.

Instead, he followed Ranboo around the excessively large building, trying not to be too obvious in the way he scanned the crowd for threats and flinched from people who passed by too closely.

“I want to get my parents Christmas presents too,” Ranboo said.

Tommy nodded. He was hoping do the same for Phil, Wilbur, and Technoblade while they were out if Ranboo would let him. He didn’t expect any in return, but he wanted show appreciation for how good they’d been to him for over a month now.

He carefully picked out gifts for everyone. He got small gifts for Tubbo and Ranboo for Christmas, as well as a larger one for Tubbo’s birthday. He got each member of his foster family a nice gift he hoped they would understand the thought behind. He would have to do some assembly at their house, but that was fine. He spent more money than he would have liked, but they were all worth it.

He got home after dark, and prepared for Tubbo’s party the next day as well as Christmas which would follow soon after.

He hoped he hadn’t made any mistakes.

Tubbo didn’t have the most convenient birthday in the world. Two days before Christmas? Ugh.

But Tommy and Ranboo agreed to come over for the day, which made it okay.

They came at the same time.

Tubbo grinned when he opened the door. They both had presents and thick coats on. Ranboo wore an excited smile, while Tommy was a step behind and looked nervous.

“Hi!”

“Hey, happy birthday!” Ranboo said.

“Happy birthday,” Tommy said, voice somehow enthusiastic despite lacking any real volume.

“Thanks! Ew, it’s cold,” he said as a just of wind blew towards his underdressed frame. He didn’t think he’d need a coat to open the door. “Come in!” He stepped back, opening the door for them to pass through.

Tommy mumbled a thank you as he passed, which Ranboo was quick to repeat. Ew. Polite people. Gross.

“No problem, big men. You can put those, uh, in the kitchen I guess?” He said as he closed the door. They both did so. “My parents won’t be home till tonight so we have the house. Quackity is in his room but he’s not supposed to bother us.”

“Big Q could never be a bother, Tubso! How could you even even say such a thing?” Tommy mockingly scolded him. Tubbo really wished he would speak at a normal volume; the blonde was way too self-conscious all the time.

“So true Tommy!” A voice yelled from upstairs.

“Fuck off!” Tubbo yelled back, causing Tommy to jump.

“Never!”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, but figured the man would leave them alone if they stopped responding.

“Anything you guys wanna do?”

Tommy shrugged.

“It’s your birthday,” Ranboo said.

“Very true. We should commit arson.”

“Uhhh not sure that’s the best idea,” Ranboo said.

“That’s why you should listen to me at all times.”

“I’m actually good.”

“At what?” Tommy asked, incredulous.

“Alright, listen—“ Ranboo started dramatically.

Tubbo laughed. The three of them made their way to the living room, where they sat and chatted for awhile. Eventually Tubbo came to the conclusion that they should build snowmen, and as it was his birthday no one could protest.

Soon enough they were outside.

“You are so bad at this,” Ranboo said.

“Hey now! This is an amazing first attempt!” Tommy defended.

“Have you never made a snow man before?” Tubbo asked, shocked.

“No? I was too busy getting bitches! I know you guys can’t relate, but.” There was a pause as they waited for him to finish speaking. He didn’t.

“But what?”

“Nothing. That was the end of the sentence.”

“You’re annoying.”

“How have you never made a snowman before?” Ranboo asked.

Tommy shrugged. His snowman was undeniably the most unheavenly snow creature ever forced into creation. Tubbo almost wished he had enough self control not to say this out loud.

“That’s not true! She’s lovely! Hottest girl in town!”

“I think she’s pretty cold, actually,” Ranboo said.

Silence.

“Ranboo. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tommy asked, voice completely flat.

“I was just saying—“

“You were insulting my hot girlfriend,” he insisted, his mock anger growing by the second.

“Hey, listen man, there’s no need to get upset!”

Tommy abruptly turned to face Tubbo. “Tubbo. I don’t like him.”

“Okay,” Tubbo said.

“Can we kill him?”

Tubbo looked back and forth between Tommy and Ranboo for a few moments before shrugging. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

“What the heck? I’m being ganged up on!” Ranboo protested.

“Silence, sacrifice,” Tubbo commanded.

“Who am I being sacrificed to?” Ranboo asked, voice rising in pitch and mock indignant.

“Hot Girl,” Tommy said. “Our lord and savior.” He pretended the religious joke didn’t make his stomach squirm, and wondered why he made it in the first place.

Tubbo nodded seriously.

“What? That doesn’t even make sense?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Tommy told him condescendingly, apparently dropping the sacrifice bit.

“What? Tommy I’m like 99% sure I’m older than you.”

“You don’t know my birthday.”

Tubbo thought about it, and realized Tommy was right. They actually didn’t know almost anything about him.

“When is your birthday?” Tubbo asked.

“One day before Ranboo’s.”

“You don’t even know my birthday?!” Ranboo exclaimed.

“I wasn’t here for it! When is it?”

“November 2nd.”

“Perfect. Mine is November 1st.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Prove it.”

“You are intolerable,” Ranboo deadpanned.

Tommy grinned. “Thank you, that’s what all the ladies say to me,” he bragged.

“I don’t believe that’s actually a good thing, boss man,” Tubbo said.

“What would you know about ladies, bitch boy?”

“Bitch boy?” Tubbo exclaimed in mock offense. “Fuck you!”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Listen, man, if you can’t handle the truth that’s not on me.”

Without thinking, Tubbo formed a snowball and pitched it at Tommy. Not hard enough to hurt, just for fun.

“I’m sorry!” Tommy said, ducking out of the way, and covering his head with his good arm. The snowball sailed right by where Tommy’s cheat would have been had he not moved, and landed harmlessly in the snow.

Tubbo stopped short. There was a long awkward pause, during which he could hear the blond mumbling out a long string of apologies before abruptly cutting himself off.

Tommy slowly uncurled himself into a normal position, laughing awkwardly. “My bad.”

“Tommy, I-“ Tubbo began seriously.

“Sorry bout that, big man. Not sure what happened there.” He was trying too hard to act casual.

“Hey, wait, Tommy—“

“Anyway, Hot Girl, am I right? I’m think we make her a companion named Hotter Girl. Though that could cause some—“

“Tommy!” Tubbo said, harsher than he intended.

Tommy flinched away so hard he almost fell backwards out of his kneeling position. “I’m sorry! Please- I’m sorry- please don’t—“ he cut himself off and stared the ground, his entire body tense.

Tubbo looked helplessly at Ranboo. The other didn’t even meet his eye, too busy staring at Tommy. Tubbo didn’t even want to imagine what Tommy was begging him not to do.

“Hey, man, listen, I’m…. I’m sorry,” Tubbo said slowly. He tried to channel sincerity into his voice, but he just sounded awkward to his own ears. “I didn’t mean to…” he looked at Ranboo for help and was provided with none once again. “Yeah. Um. Let’s go inside, it’s cold.”

He stood up and brushed the snow off of himself. Ranboo followed suit, and Tubbo was finally able to make eye contact with him. He just shrugged, eyes wide.

Tommy stood up too, though his arms were crossed defensively and he stared at the snow as if looking at Tubbo would set him off again.

Tubbo wished he couldn’t turn back time to a few minutes ago when everything was still normal and okay.

Instead, he did the next best thing and started a new bit with Ranboo, who played along despite his obvious uneasiness.

They got through the door and took off their coats and shoes and—

“Do you want me to throw those in the dryer for you?” Tubbo asked, regarding Tommy’s sneakers. He’s only just realized the blonde didn’t have snow boots. He was glad his initial reaction wasn’t to ask why or something equally insensitive— he did stuff like that sometimes. Never intentionally, of course, but still. It was a bad habit.

Tommy shook his head. “It’s- I’m- I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Tommy nodded.

“I’m at least grabbing you dry socks,” he said. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed the lack of boots honestly— he’d let him borrow snow pants from Quackity.

He went off to grab a pair before Tommy could protest. He all but forced the other to change, before demanding Ranboo make them hot chocolate.

“Why me?”

“Because,” Tubbo said.

“That’s not a good reason!”

“Sure it is. Tommy, you agree, don’t you?”

Tommy shrugged, not looking up from the floor.

“That was clearly Tommy-speak for ‘do it or else you tall bastard.’”

“I disagree,” Ranboo said.

“Didn’t ask don’t care.”

Ranboo let out a long-suffering sigh. “Because it’s your birthday, I will do it just this once.”

He was full of shit. He always did it because Tubbo couldn’t do anything in the kitchen to save his life. Still, he smiled and played along: “Thank you Ranboo!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

He had Tommy sit the counter with him while Ranboo worked around the kitchen with ease. It was weird to see him in a state where he wouldn’t so much as move without someone’s permission.

The two of them talked easily while Tommy sat still with his head down. Not for too long though, luckily. He seemed to adjust back to normal eventually, making small comments and tapping his foot against Tubbo’s. By the time Ranboo was done they were back to a more normal dynamic. Not quite how they usually were, but better.

They ended up playing stupid games for a few hours till Tubbo’s parent got home with pizza.

He sat there awkwardly while everyone sang to him, and blew out his candles. He wouldn’t realize he forgot to make a wish till later.

They opened presents. Ranboo got him a new game, while Tommy got him… well, it was hard to explain. It was basically this toy that showed messed up patterns and then organized them. Tubbo felt like a baby watching it so intently, but it was really cool.

Later they exchanged holiday gifts. They’d never actually agreed to get each other anything, it was just sorta mutually understood that they would.

Ranboo had gotten them both tiny fridges. They could maybe fit eight soda cans, and even that was a stretch. But they were in their favorite colors and they both knew they’d use them.

Tubbo gave each of his friends beanies, because they were cool and it was cold.

Tommy got them both pins— Tubbo’s was a bee and Ranboo’s was a crown. They were weird. Small, but changed color depending on the light and almost seemed to glow. Tubbo spent enough time simply turning it in is hands that anyone else would’ve definitely started to make fun of him.

Kind of like how Quackity did when he came in the room.

“Leave,” Tubbo said, though he didn’t really mind his brothers presence.

“No. Tommy I got you a present.”

Tommy furrowed his brow at the older. Quackity thrust the box towards him, and he flinched away as though he was going to be hit.

Quackity just continued holding it out to him, looking mildly awkard, until he hesitantly took it. The blonde glanced at each of them as if searching for permission to do something.

“Open it,” Quackity said, still looking somewhat nervous for whatever reason.

He did so, albeit slowly. He pulled out a single envelope out of the large box, and opened that as well. He then pulled out a card, and looked at it for a few seconds until he started silently laughing harder than Tubbo had ever seen him.

“What?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy just shook his head, still laughing without making a sound.

Tubbo took the card from him and read it.

Sorry for almost killing you.
-Quackity

Underneath that was a $20 Tesco gift card.

Tubbo started laughing too, significantly louder than Tommy. “Quackity what the hell?”

Ranboo took the card and had the same reaction.

Quackity was bright red and struggling not to also laugh.

Eventually Tommy calmed down enough to stutter out his thanks, before Ranboo handed him back the card, and he died laughing again when he reread it.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Tubbo told his brother.

“I was trying to be nice!”

He was eventually laughed out of the room, with Tommy barely managing to thank him one more time.

“No problem, man. Get well soon” he yelled from where he was now upstairs.

They didn’t spend much more time together before Tommy and Ranboo decided they needed to leave for the night, as it was fairly late.

As they did so, Tubbo decided that this might have been one of his favorite birthdays. He was never one for huge parties, and going anywhere this close to the holidays was a nightmare. Staying home with his two best friends was perfect, despite the incident with the snowball. At least he had an idea of what not to do now.

Tommy walked over to Phil’s house with gifts and shoes in hand. The thought of putting on wet shoes at the moment simply didn’t appeal to him. Wilbur and Techno were eating cookies in the kitchen. He only felt a fraction of his normal spike of anxiety he got when he saw people.

“Hey Tommy,” Techno said.

Tommy waived.

“Why are your shoes not on?” Wilbur asked.

He shrugged.

“You shouldn’t be in the snow without shoes.”

“Sorry. They, uh, they got wet.”

“Ew, why?” Technoblade asked.

“I, um, we went in- in the snow earlier.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll remind Phil to get you snow boots,” Wilbur said.

Tommy straightened. “No, no, I- I- I’m- I’m fine, I don’t- I don’t need anything,” he rushed out.

“Chill,” Technoblade told him.

Tommy shut up immediately, holding his breath as he waited for whatever came next.

“Do you want a cookie?” Wilbur asked calmly.

Tommy blinked. What? He thought they were gonna get him in trouble, not… offer him a cookie.

“Here, have a cookie,” Wilbur told him.

Tommy nodded and cautiously walked forwards from his spot in front of the door. He put his went shoes on the mat, but carried the bag with presents. He was still kind of surprised they bothered to get him anything.

He took a cookie, watching each of the twins carefully for any signs of disapproval. He took the smallest one, and took a bite.

It was good. It was pure sugar, but good.

“Ooh what’d you get?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy pushed the bag towards him in lieu of answering. Wilbur put one hand in the bag and looked at him for approval, to which he nodded.

The fridge and the beanie were approved of. He squinted at the card that said “sorry” in bold letters on the front.

“What’s this?”

Tommy shrugged, pointing for him to open it. He did so.

It took a moment for him to our all the pieces together and scoff, smiling despite himself. “That man has issues.”

“What?” Technoblade asked, taking the card. “Pfffff. Wow. He really said your entire life is worth a $20 Tesco gift card.”

Tommy shrugged. “I would’ve gone with ten, but.”

“Don’t devalue yourself, king,” Wilbur jokingly scolded him. “You’re worth at least 50 Tesco dollars.”

“Hey cmon. I’d give the guy at least 100 Tesco dollars,” Techno said.

“Three hundred Tesco dollars.”

“One thousand Tesco dollars.”

“That seems like a bit much,” Tommy said.

“No way, king. You’re worth the entire Tesco store,” Wilbur told him.

Tommy let out a quiet laugh.

“Why are we debating Tommy’s worth in Tesco dollars?” Phil asked, coming into the room with an empty mug. Tommy jumped at his sudden appearance.

Technoblade wordlessly handed Phil the card to read.

Phil laughed. “Oh sweet Prime he would.”

“He really would,” Wilbur confirmed.

“Sorry about that, mate,” Phil told him. “Quackity is a bit, uhhh, well he’s himself.”

Tommy nodded, not quite letting himself laugh but failing to fully stifle it either.

They continued talking for a long time that night. It was so nice Tommy almost forgot how bad the actual holidays were going to suck.

Almost.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke up early on Christmas Eve.

He went through his morning routine and then laid on the floor. The next two days we going to suck.

It was a long time before anyone else woke up, and he heard everyone slowly go downstairs for breakfast. Normally he tried to be the second third person down— never first or last.

He didn’t get off the floor.

His phone buzzed.

Phil Craft
Are you awake?

Tommy Innit
yes

Phil Craft
Do u want to come down for breakfast?

What?

Tommy Innit
am i allowed to?

Phil Craft
Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t you be?

Because he wasn’t a real family member? Because they didn’t like him? Because he wasn’t staying here for much longer? Because they didn’t want some random kid intruding on their holiday together?

Tommy Innit
idk

Phil Craft
You can come down if you want, mate.

Tommy thought about it. He had nothing better to do.

Tommy Innit
okay, thank you

Taking a deep breath and clenching his fist so that his nails dug into his palm, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He reminded himself to be on his best behavior. This family might be very tolerant of him most of the time, but that didn’t mean he could ruin their holidays.

Everyone said hi, and he waived in return, giving them an awkward half smile. Prime, was this weird? He shouldn’t be here, they didn’t want him here he should leave, he should—

He should calm the fuck down before they noticed something was wrong. No one wanted a kid with as many issues as Tommy. If he was going to be a mess then he at least needed to be fixable. As he’s learned at many other ‘good’ houses, the moment they realize you aren’t some project or toy for them to fix up like new again is the moment they give you up.

There was a plate at the table for him, not in his normal spot though. Technoblade was there, next to Phil and diagonal from Wilbur.

He tried not to react but he must have made a face because Technoblade explained: “we needed to change.”

Tommy nodded cautiously, though he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.

“Have some pancakes,” Phil told him.

Tommy nodded and hesitantly took one off the top of the pile. It took several long moments of Tommy trying to silently ask permission before he managed to put syrup on it and actually eat.

He listened to all of them talk around him, trying his best to pretend he wasn’t taking up space and bothering everyone.

When he was done, Wilbur forcibly put another pancake on Tommy’s plate. Tommy was too nervous to react in any way. He ate it slowly and without protest.

At some point, Phil’s phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call.

“Tommy, you should try to convince him you still believe in Santa,” Techno said the moment Phil was out of earshot.

“You mean Santa isn’t real?” Tommy asked, eyes wide and voice wobbly.

They both laughed and Tommy dropped his falsely heartbroken face in exchange for one with a small smile.

These were the kinds of quips he struggled to bite back at every house. Depending on any number of things, he would either successfully remain silent and keep the peace, or he would say whatever he was thinking. And in a normal house now would be the time when he would be hit for speaking out of turn, or he’ at least be yelled at or punished in some way. He could almost feel the echo of pain from countless slaps across his cheek, and tensed slightly. They just laughed though. It was weird.

Phil came back into the room: “that was my mom, apparently my dad is sick.”

“Oh, is he okay?” Wilbur asked worriedly.

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine, it’s not bad or anything, probably just a cold. We can’t go over today though.”

“That sucks.”

Since the man was okay, Tommy let himself selfishly disagree; he hadn’t wanted to stay here alone all day. He kept these thoughts to himself— he didn’t need them to see how self-centered he really was.

“Yeah. They’re disappointed, they really wanted to meet Tommy.”

What? Tommy had been invited? He was supposed to go with them to Phil’s parents house? That…he didn’t know how to feels about that. He was relieved, he supposed, that he didn’t have to meet or impress anyone new today. He was confused though: why did they invite him? Did they really want to spend Christmas Eve with some annoying kid they’d be getting rid of within the month?

Phil continued speaking before he could ponder it much more. “We don’t have any other plans though, so I’m open to whatever you guys want to do.”

Everyone shrugged.

Technoblade laughed out of nowhere. Everyone turned to him and he said: “we should go to Tesco.”

Tommy turned his head down to hide the way he struggled not to laugh, while everyone else did it freely.

“What would we do at Tesco, mate?” Phil asked.

Techno shrugged. “What are we gonna do here?”

“Fair enough. Any objections?” He asked, turning to Tommy and Wilbur.

“Sounds good to me,” Wilbur said.

“Cool, Tommy?” Phil asked.

Tommy nodded slightly.

“Sick, we’ll leave soon.”

Everyone stood up and cleared their plates. Tommy glanced anxiously at Phil, who gave him a small reassuring smile. He took that as permission to do the same as as everyone else.

He followed Wilbur upstairs and got dressed in the room he was using. The shoes Phil got him were still soaked from yesterday, so he pulled on his absolutely destroyed sneakers from before. The soles were practically falling off, but at least they were dry.

There was a mirror hanging on the back of the door and he looked in it for a moment. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

He was very clean. His hair was fluffy, and getting a little too long for his taste— he’d probably try to cut it soon. He had on his own clothes which actually fit him for once. His skin was clear, and, as stupid as it sounded, his eyes almost looked brighter. Beyond his cast, he had no visible injuries. Speaking of his cast, despite being covered by a coat, he knew underneath it was covered by signatures of people he considered his friends.

There was a heart with Karl and Quackity’s names in it, with a gap for whenever Sapnap stopped avoiding him (Tommy had been told he felt guilty for what Dream had done). Wilbur, Technoblade, Tubbo, Phil, and Ranboo all signed it. JSchlatt had as well, along with Niki from his computers class and a few of the twins’ friends who Tommy barely knew.

He looked better than he had in a while.

He heard Wilbur going downstairs and was quick to follow so that he didn’t keep them waiting. He grabbed his gift card from Quackity and shut the door softly behind him.

He stood still downstairs with his head down and fiddled with his hands until it was time to leave. He followed them out the door in the same manor.

He knew he was allowed to look up, and even speak out of turn occasionally, but he didn’t want to overuse those privileges. He couldn’t risk being annoying, especially not for the next few days.

He sat quietly in the car, only contributing nods and shrugs when directly addressed.

It was for the better when he was like that.

Phil liked the holidays more than most people he knew.

Could you blame him though?

A very long time ago, he was taken out of foster care two days before Christmas and returned to his family. He was dropped off at a nicer apartment than his family had ever been in. His parents had been there, and the whole place had been decorated— they had a real tree and presents and his room had all the stuff he’d been forced to leave behind in it.

After months in a house that barely acknowledged him, his parents did nothing but shower him in attention for days. They explained that the nice apartment was his home now, and that he wasn’t ever going to be taken away again. They hadn’t lied.

So forgive him if this was his favorite time of the year, and if he tried to push that on his kids just a little bit.

He was sad he wouldn’t get to see his parents for a little bit longer, but that was okay. He could always call them, and they’d meet up later on. He was excited for them to finally meet Tommy— the kid was practically all they heard about lately. He knew they would be great with him, the same way they were great with Technoblade and Wilbur. But he had another family to pass the time with.

And of all things, they were going to Tesco on Christmas Eve.

Phil glanced in the rear view mirror at Tommy. He was looking out the window, rather than down again the floor, for once. Against what he knew to be possible, Phil wished the kid would just calm down. It seemed like one day they’d convince him he was safe and he’d poke his head out of his shell, and then he’d wake up the next day back at square one.

Well, okay. Maybe not square one: he kept his head up roughly half the time and responded when people talked to him almost always now. He even spoke unprompted occasionally, which Sam had been impressed by when Phil mentioned it. It was actually slightly heartbreaking how impressed the other man was: how long had it been since Tommy had had a good family? Still, Phil wished his progress would last. He held back a sigh. They’d get there eventually, he hoped knew.

It wasn’t long before they pulled into Tesco.

It was surprisingly busy for a holiday. Apparently people were taking ‘last minute shopping’ literally.

The four of them mostly wandered around, not really having a clear goal in mind. As per usual, they eventually started up their inane banter.

“You’re wrong.”

“No I’m not.”

“Tommy, can you believe this idiot?” Wilbur exclaimed.

Tommy just looked at them, seemingly amused but too anxious to actually respond.

“Listen if any animal was sent by the devil to torture us, it was mosquitos,” Technoblade said.

“You’re wrong, it was ant eaters.”

“Maybe they were sent to torture ants—“

“And also us!”

“What do you have against them?”

“They suck!”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, they stick their stupidly long tongues into the ground and eat ants but they also eat dirt! That’s gross! You can’t tell me it’s not.”

“Don’t you- don’t- don’t you eat sand?” Tommy asked quietly.

Wilbur paused for a moment. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to the conversation.”

“Dirt and sand are pretty similar I think.”

“Well you’re wrong. They’re completely different: it’s not even comparable.”

“I think he has a point, mate,” Phil chimed in.

“Phil your least favorite animal is wasps. How boring can you possibly be? Pick a more interesting animal.”

“Can’t ants live in sand? What if they’re eating sand?” Technoblade asked.

“That’s even worse than dirt. It’s selfish of them to steal the sand from people who really need it.”

“Like you?”

“Yes.”

Technoblade sighed. “Tommy what’s your least favorite animal?”

“Uhh c- cor- coral.”

“I think that’s a plant, mate,” Phil said, confused.

Tommy shook his head. “Look it up, it’s- it’s- it’s- it’s, um, it’s- fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “It’s an animal, but it doesn’t deserve to be.”

Phil decided to pretend not to hear him swear. Not that he really cared, but the blonde looked scared all of the sudden and Phil had to imagine that was why. “I doubt that.” He said the fact as confidently as he could, but it simply didn’t sound right.

Tommy shrugged.

“He’s right,” Technoblade said, holding his phone. “Coral is an animal.”

“It- it- it- it, um, it- it shouldn’t be,” Tommy said, quiet but mockingly angry, as if coral’s classification was a great offense to him.

“I think the internet is lying to us, the righteous Prime wouldn’t make coral an animal,” Technoblade said.

“If Prime was righteous he wouldn’t have made ant eaters at all.”

“Guys, I think maybe Christmas Eve is not the best time to publicly mock religion,” Phil reminded them.

“Oh, right,” Wilbur said. “Our bad.”

“Oops,” Techno added.

“Sorry,” Tommy said, despite not having said anything bad himself.

“It’s all good. Are we here for anything specifically?”

“I thought it’d be funny,” Technoblade said.

“Fair enough,” Wilbur responded.

They walked around the isles aimlessly for awhile longer.

At one point he glanced behind him to see Tommy was staring over to the side at something, and Phil followed his gaze. Apparently Wilbur did too as he was quick to say:

“Guys we should make gingerbread houses!”

“You cried last time,” Technoblade said.

“Pffff, no I didn’t.”

“You very much did.”

“So what? Men can cry too, Tech-no-blade.”

The pink-haired man shrugged: “I didn’t say they couldn’t.”

“Well, anyway, we should make them,” Wilbur said desively, grabbing one off the shelf.

The last time they’d decorated them had been years ago; the twins were probably thirteen. Wilbur had cried. He was already going through a lot, and when it collapsed… Phil supposed it was the last straw. It had taken hours to calm him down again. Things got a bit better after that though. They were a lot better now.

Technoblade grabbed one of the pre-assembled houses, and switched it out with the one Wilbur grabbed. “I don’t want to listen to you if yours collapses.” It had been long enough that they could joke about it.

“Rude.”

Phil grabbed one more of each kind, intending to let Tommy choose later.

Tommy looked surprised that he got two of them. He glanced between Phil and the boxes for a long moment.

“Don’t worry, one’s for you, mate.”

He looked confused, and for a moment Phil thought he was going to ask why. He just nodded and bowed his head again.

“Tommy, did you bring your gift card?” Wilbur asked.

The youngest of them nodded.

“You should buy something.”

Tommy shrugged.

“If you want to come back another time you always can,” Phil said.

He nodded. Phil wondered if he was saving it for something or if he just didn’t want to waste their time.

It wasn’t long before they got bored and checked out with their gingerbread houses. The store didn’t have a tip jar, but Phil convinced the guy at the register to pocket a few dollars— he deserved it for being here on Christmas Eve.

He glanced behind him to see Wilbur and Technoblade trying to drag a terrified Tommy into their latest argument.

“Boys?” He said, calm but with a small hint of warning in his voice. Tommy flinched. He pointedly glanced at Tommy and then back up at his older sons. “Maybe chill out a bit?”

They all nodded.

“Sorry,” Tommy said, voice hardly audible.

“No, not you, you’re fine,” Phil told him.

He turned back to the register and finished the transaction, before they all made their way back to the car.

The ride home was actually relatively calm.

Then they were faced with the task of building gingerbread houses.

He thought back to last time, and could only pray it would go better.

And as his they set up the table for it, he decided it probably would.

At bare minimum, it couldn’t go worse.

Chapter Text

Wilbur went to bed that night happy. And feeling slightly sick— pro tip: never eat the frosting out of gingerbread house kits.

But mostly he was happy.

After they got home from Tesco, they had made lunch and then spent far too long on a far too competitive gingerbread house competition.

Tommy had doubtlessly won, though Wilbur was pretty sure he cheated. He had chosen one of the houses that you had to put together yourself, and had cut it into pieces instead of putting it together normally. Because of this he was able to build a castle of sorts. It was cool as fuck, but completely unfair in Wilbur’s opinion.

Then, Wilbur was on a bit of a sugar high. He was pretty sure Techno was too. All four of them ended up playing MarioKart for awhile. They all won a decent amount of times, with Technoblade coming in first overall. Tommy wasn’t far behind him though.

They learned that day that Tommy was incredibly competitive. The kid wanted to win. So badly, in fact, that more than once he accidentally dropped his quiet and polite facade.

Wilbur didn’t think he would ever get over the way he said, with more confidence than Wilbur had ever heard from him, ”I am simply better than all you bitches,” when asked how he made his gingerbread house so good.

He had then apologized so profusely Wilbur thought he might have a panic attack, but that part wasn’t as funny to think about.

Who knew a little competition was all it took to force him out of his shell? It made sense, the more Wilbur thought about it. The first time Tommy had really talked to him was when they were trying to win the truck from Quackity and JSchlatt. They’d then compared their Animal Crossing islands. He’d been told Tommy had good grades, which was just another kind of challenge. He was somewhat surprised he hadn’t seen the pattern sooner. He was pretty sure Phil and Technoblade were thinking the same thing.

Still, they were all tired by the end of the night, and finished off by relaxing with a Christmas classic: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: The Movie.

Wilbur rolled over in his bed. It’d been a good day, even without seeing his grandparents. He was excited for a hopefully even better one tomorrow.

It didn’t take very long for him to fall asleep.

Tommy always woke up early, so when he wasn’t downstairs the next morning, Phil knew he was avoiding them again. He was pretty sure the kid had gotten it in his head that he wasn’t supposed to take part in ‘family’ events, such as holidays.

He knocked on the youngest’s door.

As expected, he opened it quickly before stepping back and keeping his head down. Phil couldn’t help but let his eye catch on the small stack of wrapped boxes on the desk.

“When did you have time to buy things?” He asked, so confused he momentarily forgot what he had come here for.

“Oh, I- um, when I, um, when I went out with- with R-Ranboo.”

Phil nodded, though the other likely couldn’t see him do so. “Alright, everyone else is already downstairs if you want to bring them down?”

He nodded, and silently grabbed everything before following Phil downstairs.

“Merry Christmas,” Wilbur said when they came down. They all took turns repeating it back.

“You can throw your things under the tree if you’d like, mate,” Phil told him.

The younger nodded, and did as he was told.

They got through a moderately chaotic breakfast in which everyone had something different simply for convenience.

“You can just grab whatever you’d like,” Phil told Tommy.

The younger froze for a moment. “I- I- I- um, I- I’m- I’m fine.”

“Grab something,” he responded, not unkindly. He felt bad insisting, but the kid would starve himself to death if they let him. It was his job not to.

Tommy shakily grabbed a single granola bar from the pantry, and Phil held back a sigh. It was fine, they’d be having a large dinner tonight anyway.

He looked at Wilbur who was staring at his own plate with great contemplation. Phil tapped his leg under the table, and he looked up.

Phil glanced pointedly between the food and his son, giving him an encouraging smile. The last thing any of them needed was for Wilbur to get the idea that his eating habits needed to be more like Tommy’s. They’d been down that road, and knew where it ended: nowhere good.

Wilbur smiled back and nodded, before resuming eating. Phil would make sure to talk to him for real later, but he’d done as much as he felt he should for now. No one wanted to have that conversation on Christmas.

Once they were all done, they moved to the living room. Phil had to instruct Tommy practically every step of the way; if left to choose for himself, the kid would probably hide upstairs for the rest of the day.

They all chose a spot on the couch (well, Phil told Tommy where to sit), decently far apart. They then took turns passing out their presents. Phil had one gift from all of his children at the end, while they each had a few more, as Phil liked to get them a lot.

Wilbur and Technoblade laughed at him, but he got out his camera. It was an important day, he wanted to remember it.

Tommy would like nothing more than to go back to bed and forget this entire day ever happened.

He sat ramrod straight on their couch and watched the twins open presents.

“Tommy?” Phil asked quietly, leaning over.

Tommy didn’t notice he was there until he spoke, and nearly jumped out of his skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Sweet Prime why was he such a fuck up? He needed to leave, he couldn’t be here.

“You’re fine, mate. Do you want to open anything?”

Tommy just stared at him, eyes wide and body only moving to tremble ever so slightly. He didn’t know what to do. He had never been in this position before. What was he supposed to do? Were they going to punish him for not knowing? He felt his breathing start to pick up.

He flinched when Phil moved a random box onto his lap. “Here you go, open this one.”

Tommy looked between the box and Phil for a moment. Was he serious?

Phil reached his hand out towards him, and Tommy flinched hard, thinking for a moment that the older had finally run out of patience with him.

The hit he was preparing for never came though. He tentatively looked back up at Phil.

“Go on,” he said gently, pointing to the box. That was likely what he had been trying to do all along.

“Sorry,” Tommy said. He glanced at the twins, who were doing a terrible job of pretending not to watch him. He curled in on himself a little more. He wanted to leave.

“It’s all good, mate.”

Tommy nodded, and braced his hands as if to tear of the wrapping paper. He looked at Phil for approval one more time, and decided he must be the most patient man alive, as he just smiled and nodded his permission again. Tommy couldn’t detect even a hint of annoyance or impatience.

He tore open the paper as silently as he could, anxiety nearly putting his stomach through his throat. It was a water bottle. Huh. That was cool, he’d just been reusing a plastic one for a few weeks now. Sure they were supposed to be single use, but he didn’t want to waste anything. They were supposed to be saving the turtles, or something like that.

“Um. Th-thank you,” he said quietly.

Phil opened his mouth, but then—

“TOMMY!”

“Ahhh I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushed out on instinct, flinching away from the sound of Wilbur’s voice. What had he done wrong now?

“Was that really necessary?” Phil asked, annoyed.

Tommy saw Wilbur wince from where he was hiding behind his hands. He slowly lowered his arms from their defensive position in front of his head and sat back up straight. “Sorry. But look what Tommy got me!” Wilbur proudly held up a large rectangle of fabric. Tommy remembered painstakingly stitching it together a few nights ago.

“Uhhhh a small blanket?” Phil asked.

“What? No! It’s the L’Manberg flag, Phil,” he said condescendingly. “How did you even make this?” He asked, turning to Tommy.

Tommy just shrugged, not feeling like he could get a word out even if he wanted to.

“Can you sew?”

He nodded.

“Sick. This is cool, thank you.”

Tommy nodded, still feeling shaky from the jump-scare he got only a minute ago.

“Why does a non-functioning fast food truck have a flag?” Technoblade asked.

“Because,” Wilbur said.

“Because…?”

“Because.”

Techno rolled his eyes, and picked up another box.

Wilbur carefully folded the flag, and then turned to look at whatever Technoblade was trying to show him. Tommy couldn't see from this angle.

He glanced over to Phil. The older just shook his head with a somewhat exasperated smile on his face. He pointed for Tommy to take another present off the pile.

He reminded himself to breath as he hesitantly did so, keeping his eyes on Phil as much as he could in order to catch any signs of disapproval. The older gave him one more look of reassurance before turning to take a picture of the twins, who were leaning together reading something.

Tommy stared at the box in his lap. He glanced around the room at everyone doing other things, and decided to risk opening it. Phil had made it seem like it was okay, and he didn’t want to take up any more attention than necessary.

He felt guilty for hating this so much. This was more than he’d ever gotten, and more than he’d ever get again, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry. He was so despicably ungrateful.

He slowly ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a few sets of LED strip lights. Most likely for the room they were letting him use. That was cool, Ranboo had them.

He put it to the side and turned back to watch whatever everyone else was doing.

Technoblade had on an incredibly large pair of headphones, and looked awe-struck.

“I can’t hear anything,” he said, a little louder then necessary, tapping on the side before pulling them off.

“Glad you like them, mate,” Phil said.

Technoblade nodded. “Thanks.”

Phil glanced back at Tommy and pointed to his pile again. Tommy nodded obediently and picked up another. He could do this. Part of him screamed about how he was ungrateful for not enjoying this. The other part just needed to get through it. He waited a moment for someone to yell at him before cautiously opening it when no one did.

It was large and flat box, and he wasn't quite sure what would fit in it. He pulled off the top piece of the box to reveal a poster of a man falling into the ocean from atop a cliff. Well more accurately, he was pushed.

Tommy recognized it as the death of Theseus; Technoblade liked to tell him Greek Myths when they were both bored. He turned to the older boy, who apparently noticed what he had.

Tommy gave an awkward smile and a thumbs up. Technoblade moved over to sit with him. Tommy tensed even further. It was fine— he was fine. He wasn’t going to be hurt. This was Technoblade, he wouldn’t do anything bad, he tried to reassure himself. Tommy didn’t have time to contemplate when, exactly, he started trusting the pink-haired boy so much.

“That one was your favorite, right?”

Tommy nodded. “How- how did you— what- um, what store even sells these?”

Techno laughed slightly. “It was custom.”

“Oh. That- that- that, um, that- that makes sense. Thank you.”

Techno nodded. “Theres more underneath.”

Tommy furrowed his brow, but hesitantly lifted the top page up to reveal that there was, in fact, another underneath. This one was Minecraft themed.

They flipped through a few more before they reached the end. There was one of Animal Crossing, one of Hamilton and one of Bo Burnham. There were also smaller ones clearly intended to be more like gag gifts: the queen of England, a ‘hang in there’ cat, and a poor-quality picture of a cow pasture amongst them.

He barely stifled a laugh. “Th-thank- thank you.”

Techno nodded. “Whats your favorite?”

“Is that even a question? It’s my dearest Lizzie of course!” He joked quietly. He pretended to hug the poster, careful not to bend it at all.

Techno laughed. “I should’ve known.”

He clapped Tommy on the shoulder as he stood up, wincing when the younger flinched, and made his way back to his previous seat. He really only flinched out of surprise, he realized. Sure, there was a horrible moment of fear when they connected. But once he remembered where he was… he was fine.

The rest of the morning passed in roughly the same manor.

Luckily Techno and Phil also like the presents Tommy got them, which was a huge relief.

Wilbur had given him a CD player along with several disks. One was his own, one was his band’s, and the rest were just ones he thought Tommy would like. He was also given a new backpack, a pair of headphones, snow boots, a warm hat and gloves, a large duffle bag, and a framed picture of the four of them from a few days ago in front of the lit up house.

He smiled at the picture. You could barely see them in the dark, and they were slightly off-center. It was weirdly nice.

For some reason, out of everything, he latched onto the water bottle. It was his. Everything he’d ever been given could be taken away in an instant. They could pry this water bottle out of his cold dead hands though.

It was irrational. It was a simple navy blue plastic water bottle— it probably cost all of ten dollars. He was being stupid. But, aside from the things Tubbo, Ranboo, and Quackity gave him the other day, this was the first gift he’d been given in a very long time. And it was his.

His intense attachment to it defied logic in so many ways. It could be taken away just as easily as anything else. It was easily replaceable. It wasn’t even a good water bottle— he could tell by looking at it that the insulation was going to be terrible. But it was his, and as someone who’d gone years with nothing, that meant a lot to him. Plus it was an arbitrary thing for anyone to confiscate, so he could probably get away with keeping it.

If he didn’t already consider himself a head case, he definitely would now.

Even after they all finished exchanging gifts, Tommy was not granted his wish of melting into the ground forever, unfortunately. He cleaned the living room, before moving all the stuff they gave him upstairs. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to at first, but Wilbur said it was okay.

They then all cooked dinner together. Tommy just tried his best to stay out of the way, doing what he was told and standing off to the side if not given instruction. He was infinitely grateful that Phil wasn’t trying to push him into making his own decisions today. Everything was stressful enough, plus he knew he’d made the wrong choice at breakfast earlier.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong with the granola bar— Wilbur gave them to him a lot, so he assumed they were allowed. Maybe he was wrong? He didn’t know.

Making dinner went fine enough. It was horribly anxiety-inducing, but otherwise fun. Thinking about it, that statement should be paradoxal, but somehow it wasn’t. Tommy was able to overlook the twisting knots in his stomach and enjoy himself a little.

Technoblade taught him their recipe for baked potatoes, and Phil showed him the trick to make the oven heat up faster. Wilbur insisted on showing off with the sauté pan, flipping vegetables with an unnecessary amount of skill.

The food itself was really good too. Phil insisted he take a larger portion than normal since they all missed lunch in favor of a very early dinner. He took slightly more than normal at the older man’s insistence. He ate just enough to fill himself, making sure it was less than everyone else.

Phil seemed happy enough, so he counted it as a win.

After dinner they cleaned up, and had yet another movie night, not that Tommy was complaining. It was a cheesy Hallmark flick that the older three ruthlessly made fun of. Tommy bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing at some of their quips.

He wasn’t sure how he felt when he finally went to bed that night.

Guilty, definitely, looking at all the stuff he’d gotten. But also… content? He couldnt put a name to it.

It was like when someone congratulated you for something you didn’t do, and their pride in you destroys you inside. Yet you like the attention, and cant bear to tell them you don’t deserve it.

He felt happiness, and guilt, and a nearly debilitating paranoia that it could all come crashing down around him at any moment.

And he felt tired.

It wasn’t long before he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

The day after Christmas Wilbur was bored. He decided to bother Tommy, something which was becoming an increasingly common pastime for him.

He knocked on the door, not realizing it wasn’t fully closed. It swung open. Tommy was sitting at his desk scrolling on his phone. All of the stuff he’d gotten yesterday was in a neat pile in one corner.

“Oops, sorry,” Wilbur said.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “What- um, what- what can I do for you, big dubs?” His voice has an almost showmanship quality to it, but that was undercut by his refusal to speak at a normal volume. Wilbur hardly even registered his stutter anymore.

“Big dubs?”

Tommy shrugged.

Wilbur just shook his head, glad to see he was doing better than yesterday. “What are you doing today, Tommy Innit?”

Tommy shrugged.

Wilbur was about to offer to make plans with him, but he stopped as looked around his room from his spot still in the doorway. “What do you even do up here all the time? It’s, like, empty.”

Tommy shrugged. “Not much.”

Wilbur frowned. “You need a hobby or something.”

Tommy jokingly saluted him.

Wilbur looked back to all the stuff in the corner. “Ooh we should put up your posters!”

Tommy just looked at him.

“Cmon I’m bored and you need someone tall to help you anyway.”

Tommy sent him a half-hearted glare: “I’m tall.”

“Tommy, Quackity is taller than you.”

“I- I disagree.”

“What? You can’t just disagree with facts.”

“Who’s- who’s gonna stop me then?”

Wilbur sighed dramatically. “You are not acting like the man Lizzie knows you can be.”

“You don’t- you- you- you don’t- you don’t know what, um, what Lizzie li-likes in a man.”

“And you do?”

“Yes. She likes me.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”

“I’m sure,” Wilbur said sarcastically. “Anyway, let me help!”

“I- um- if- if you want to I guess?”

“I do! I’m gonna go grab tape.” He left immediately, already in a better mood. He loved when Tommy was in these moods where they could jokingly fight and bicker and the younger wouldn’t get scared off. They were rare, but so much fun.

He returned to what used to be the guest room, to see Tommy had pulled out the box of posters and placed it on his desk. Wilbur knocked on the side of the doorframe to alert the blonde that he was there.

He practically jumped out of his skin.

Wilbur winced: “sorry.”

“It- it- it’s all- it’s all good,” he said.

Wilbur nodded, before finally fully entering his room. “So, where were you thinking of putting everything?”

Tommy shrugged. Wilbur had a good idea of what he thought might look good, but he kept quiet. It’d be easy to take over, but Phil had been trying so hard for force Tommy to take an active role in his own life again, and Wilbur didn’t want to undermine that. Plus, he was well aware that Tommy didn’t really consider his room to be his. Having him decorate it himself might help.

“Hmmm. Okay. One at a time? Where do you want..uh… whatever this is.” It was one of Techno’s greek myths, but to be honest they all looked the same to Wilbur. The man was falling, so it might’ve been Icarus? Though he didn’t have wings, so maybe not. Or did Icarus’s wings melt completely off his body? Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Tommy shrugged.

Wilbur handed him the poster. “Come on, put it somewhere and I’ll help you tape it.”

“I thought you were here because you’re tall,” Tommy whispered sarcastically.

“Tall people can hold tape too, Tommy. Don’t be height-ist.”

Tommy laughed a little, before quickly stifling it. Wilbur wished he knew why the kid wouldn’t just let himself.

“Are you sure Mr. Craft won’t be mad?”

Wilbur nodded. “Positive.”

“Tape could damage the- the paint though.”

“He won’t care, I promise.”

Tommy still looked uneasy.

“We broke your arm and he didn’t get mad, I can guarantee some chipped paint won’t be the final straw.”

Tommy smiled nervously.

“Come on: he would’ve said something when you opened them yesterday if you weren’t allowed to hang them.”

That logic seemed to finally do the trick, and he nodded. He timidly moved to hold the large sheet of paper to the wall above his headboard, before looking back to Wilbur for approval. Wilbur nodded and went to help tape it up.

Tommy’s room was in the shape of a rectangle. The doorframe was in the corner, with the rest of the room extending to the right. The wall closest to the door held his closet on the far side of it. Along the wall opposite the door were windows, which overlooked the front lawn. When the windows ended, his bed was also pressed against that wall, in the corner. Against the wall with the door was his desk. The floor was a light wood, and the walls a medium gray.

They spent far too long trying to get the poster to hang straight before ultimately giving up and calling it good enough. They tried their best, and that counted for something.

They had similar success with the other posters. The Minecraft and Animal Crossing ones were put side by side, mostly evenly spaced on the wall with his closet. He was clearly scared to put them up, which Wilbur could understand. It was like he was truly claiming the room as his, which he definitely didn’t feel comfortable enough to do yet. Without a push, he probably never would though.

They continued trying to hang the rest of the posters.

“Why are you trying to hide him?”

“He’s cringe, Wilbur.”

“He’s not cringe!” Wilbur protested, holding up the poster of the cat. It was absolutely cringe.

“Yes he is.”

“So you’re going to lock him in your closet?” Tommy had wanted to hang it on the inside of his closet door. Wilbur didn’t particularly care, but he loved to disagree with people.

“Yes.”

“After you judged me so harshly for my Animal Crossing island—“

“This is c-c-c-com-completely- completely different!”

“How so?”

“He’s a piece of paper, he doesn’t even have a name!”

“His name is Kyle.”

“That’s a douchebag name.”

Wilbur gasped, coving the cat’s ears. “How could you say that right in front of him?!”.

Tommy laughed slightly, before shaking his head and forcing himself to be quiet. “I’ll say even worse things if you- if you, um, if you don’t let me put him in the closet.”

“You say this during pride month nonetheless,” Wilbur said, his voice rich with faux disappointment.

“It’s December?” Tommy said, incredulous.

Wilbur tisked. “Homophobia is not a good look on you, Tommy.”

“W- what? I- I just- I- I- I just- I just- I- I just want the cat to go on- on the- on the closet door.” His stutter got worse as he tried to talk faster to get his point out.

“You want to force him into the closet? And not let him be his truest self?”

“That— it’s- it- it’s a picture of a cat, I- I don’t think it has a sexuality!”

Wilbur put the poster up to his face and raised his voice a pitch to imitate the cat: “I’m attracted to men, Tommy!” He pulled the poster away from his face and dropped his voice again: “nooo, Kyle, don’t say that in front of Tommy, he’s homophobic!” He then re-impersonated the cat: “oh no, not Tommy!”

The younger laughed. Quietly, but he couldn’t actually stop himself for a long few moments, during which Wilbur laughed too. “Listen, Wilbur, what-whatever’s going on between you and Kyle, I- I don’t- I don’t want any part of it,” he said, hands up in surrender.

Wilbur laughed.

“I mean, love is love and whatnot,” he said placatingly. “But a cat?”

He laughed even harder— this fucking kid was going to make him suffocate. “That is not what I meant, Tomathy,” Wilbur managed out, before finally calming down. “Fine, if you want him in your closet he can go there; grab the tape.”

“Hey, I don’t want to get between you guys, if you’d rather take him back to your room I won’t say anything…”

Wilbur lost his composure again. “Shush, grab the tape, child,” he managed out, hardly able to breath.

Tommy obeyed easily and they taped it up.

They managed to put the Hamilton poster on the wall opposite his closet, which his bed rested along.

The image of cows went above his desk, and then all that was left was Tommy’s beloved Lizzie.

“You are not putting her on the ceiling above your bed.”

“Why not?” Tommy asked, jokingly defensive.

“That’s creepy, she can’t just be there watching you sleep.”

“She can see me from anywhere in here.”

“She can’t go above your bed.”

“Where else should she go? I will only accept the best for my Lizzie.”

“She could also go above your desk, there’s room.”

“What if we compromise and she goes across from the bed?”

Wilbur looked: there was a decent amount of space there, and they were running out of those— it wasn’t a very large room. He sighed loudly. “Fine, if you must.”

“Yes!” Tommy pumped his fist, and Wilbur laughed at his act.

They taped it up, and finally stepped back to look at their hard work.

It actually wasn’t bad. It definitely could’ve been better, don’t get him wrong, but unless you were looking then nothing was noticeably out of place.

“Do you want to put up the lights?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy glanced at him, looking slightly confused. “D- don’t you have um, o-other, um, other things to do?” His voice was quiet again, and Wilbur realized that he had actually been talking almost normally for awhile. He pushed down a satisfied grin.

Wilbur shook his head. “Literally nothing. I’m down if you are.”

Tommy shrugged, which was about as close to a yes as he ever got.

Wilbur went over to his stack of things and pulled out the lights.

“Do you think we need a ladder?” Wilbur asked.

“I thought you were tall,” Tommy mocked, voice still quiet.

Wilbur sent him a weak glare, turning around just as Technoblade walked into the doorway. Huh, Wilbur hadn’t even noticed him getting home.

“They’re crooked,” he said.

“Hey, we worked hard on these,” Wilbur defended.

“And?” He asked. “They’re crooked.” He turned to Tommy. “Can I fix it?”

Tommy shrugged, eyes wide, and suddenly he seemed so much smaller. Wilbur wasn’t too worried— he had gotten used to the way Tommy took a while to warm up when a new person arrived.

Technoblade took his shrug as a yes. “I’ll be back,” he said, before walking out of the open doorway once again.

Wilbur made eye contact with Tommy and shrugged. Tommy mirrored him, and they opened the two boxes together. Almost in sync, they picked up the directions, looked at them for all of a second, decided they weren’t needed, and threw them in the trash can sitting by the side of Tommy’s desk. They made eye contact once again and let out small laughs. That was weird.

Technoblade came back with two meter sticks that he got from who knows where, and began fixing the posters.

“We don’t need a ladder,” Wilbur decided.

“That’s a good decision,” Technoblade deadpanned.

“Shush,” Wilbur said back. “Alright, what do we think the perimeter of the room is?” He asked Tommy, preparing to estimate it with him.

After a moment of thinking, Technoblade told them.

“Actually? Or did you just say a random number?”

“Actually,” he confirmed. “I have the floor plan memorized.”

“Why…?”

He shrugged. “Seemed useful at the time.”

Wilbur shook his head. He should be used to Technoblade pulling random facts out of nowhere by now, but every time he thought he’d memorized all the man’s interests, he pulled out something completely different.

“Okay then.” He read the box. “We’ll have enough,” he told Tommy, who nodded.

Wilbur pulled the desk chair over to the window, deciding to start there. “This way the battery box can rest on top of the windowsill,” he explained to Tommy as he got up on the chair. The blonde nodded.

Wilbur mostly put up the lights, as Tommy really couldn’t put his injured arm above his head at all. He followed Wilbur around the room ‘incase he fell’ though. He wasn’t sure what exactly the youngest would do if he fell, but he supposed it was the thought that counted.

The three of them talked casually as they worked, Tommy slowly calming down and joining in more as time went on. Eventually they were done, and stepped back to look at it once again.

The posters really did look a lot better now, all at the same height and perfectly straight. The lights were nice too. The room finally didn’t look so damn depressing. It looked like it was Tommy’s, instead of a guest room he happened to be staying in.

“So, boys. Uh. Would you like a refreshment. We- we have diet coke,” Tommy said, opening his mini fridge to reveal it was, in fact, filled with diet coke.

“Why…?” Technoblade asked.

He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do with it? Mr. Craft gave me permission to bring them up here.”

“Fair enough.”

Neither of them actually took one, and so Tommy closed the fridge. They ended up getting distracted talking about not much.

At some point they all moved so that Tommy was sitting on the floor, Wilbur was sitting on his neatly made bed, and Techno was at his desk, all facing each other. Technoblade was telling Tommy some story about Quackity.

Wilbur couldn’t help but notice the way they were mirroring each other perfectly: Tommy was rocking back and forth with his knees curled loosely to his chest, while Technoblade was sitting on his hands, leaning forwards, and rocking back and forth in time with him. It was strange, and he wondered if either of them had noticed it.

It was ruined when Phil appeared in the open doorway. Immediately Tommy was sitting completely still, literally holding his breath. It took Wilbur a moment to remember they just decorated his room, and that was probably why he was so anxious; he was wondering if Phil would be mad.

“Huh. Cool. It looks good, Tommy,” he said easily.

Tommy barely nodded, eyes still wide and body deathly still. He was breathing again though.

“What are you guys doing?”

They all shrugged. They weren’t doing much of anything. “Nothing really, you?” Wilbur asked.

“I’m feeling too lazy to cook, any interest in going out?”

Wilbur smiled, and looked at Technoblade.

“No, not this shit again!” Phil whined.

“Phil, you always give in, why fight it?”

“I do not always give in.”

“Yes you do,” Technoblade said.

“Lies,” Phil stage whispered.

Wilbur made a big show of rolling his eyes. “So when are we leaving?”

“We are not going there.”

“Yes we are,” Technoblade said.

“I’m like 90% sure you guys aren’t the ones in charge here,” Phil said.

“Yes we are,” Wilbur said.

Phil rolled his eyes, though Wilbur had known him long enough to know he wasn’t truly annoyed. He knew this was going to happen, and if he was really against it then he would have prepared a backup option instead. “You’re both horrible horrible children.”

Wilbur happened to choose than moment to glance at Tommy, who seemed genuinely afraid. He was curled up into a much tighter ball than before, and was completely still as he glanced between the three of them. Could he not tell it was a joke? That would be fair, honestly. Wilbur knew they sometimes played the bit a little too well.

Phil followed his gaze and softened slightly at the sight of the youngest. “Tommy is my favorite. We’ll leave around…” he paused to check his watch. “5:30?”

Wilbur nodded. “Thank you, Phil,” he said, voice overly sweet.

Phil shot him once last dirty look before leaving. Wilbur hoped he didn’t see Tommy’s slight slump of relief when he was gone.

“Tommy, do you like the Essempii?” They hadn’t actually gone back since his first night.

He shrugged, still pretty tense.

“I like it, if you couldn’t tell,” Wilbur told him.

“Me too,” Technoblade said.

Tommy nodded, slowly uncurling back into a looser position. Not quite relaxed, but better. Eventually Wilbur and Technoblade left so they could all put on shoes and generally get ready.

They were going to their favorite spot after all.

Well.

Wilbur’s favorite spot at least.

Chapter Text

Break passed far too quickly, in Tommy’s professional opinion. He enjoyed spending every day with his foster family and his friends.

There were only a few memorable days, but each of them meant the world to Tommy.

Dinner at the Essempii went almost how it did the last time, though Tommy knew he had been much bolder this time. He tried his best to keep himself toned down, but it was difficult.

They were weird. He was not only allowed, but encouraged to speak whenever he wanted. Jokes that should’ve ended in bruises ended in laughs instead. He didn’t get why.

He still mostly just listened to them joke around, only chiming in when he found time for a good one-liner. He was careful not to talk any longer than that, and kept as his voice quiet as he could in the loud restaurant.

It was fun. Spending time with them always was. Prime, he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t let himself want things— that was a one way road to disappointment. But fuck if he didn’t want to stay more than anything.

That night, like many others before it, Tommy cut. The Queen of England stared at him as he did so, and he almost laughed.

What had his life come to?

For the first time in awhile, he looked at his legs. The top few inches were awful. Everywhere was an angry blood red with far too many scars and and scabs and cuts overlapping. It looked terrible.

He remembered when the look was very important to him. Each cut was perfectly straight and in-line. He no longer cared, he just did what he needed to. But this…. this was a bit much.

He made it his New Years resolution to cut less. Not to stop, but to cut back (no pun intended) a bit. It was getting bad, and even he knew the part of his brain screaming that Prime would be mad was irrational. He couldn’t risk being found out, and he definitely would if he continued like this.

Eventually he cleaned up and went to bed, intending to savor as much of the time he had left here as he could.

One day Phil took them sledding. It was kind of awkward, as they all considered themselves a bit too old, but when Tommy mentioned he’d never been they decided they had to. It was fun. Weird, but fun.

They drove to a hill while Phil half-jokingly bitched about the one that had been ruined a few years back.

Sledding was, as he said, really fun.

Tommy had once lived with a family who loved to ski. He had always been left at the lodge to watch the little kids, but he wondered if that was what this was like. He could ask: he was pretty sure he still had the father’s number, and that hadn’t been a bad house. He wouldn’t actually, but he could.

They stayed outside until none of them could feel half their bodies, before getting in the car and blasting the heat the whole way back to Phil and the twins’ house.

Tommy wished soda could be hot. He wanted a coke, but the thought of holding the ice-cold can sounded terrible to him. He did it anyway once they were back at the house.

“Literally how?” Wilbur asked him.

“It’s called not be-be-being weak, you- you should- you should try it,” Tommy said quietly, even as his hand burned from the cold.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but Tommy could tell he wasn’t actually annoyed.

Tommy remained cold for the rest of the day, but he found it wasn’t so bad when everyone else was too.

Plus Wilbur convinced Phil to light the fireplace.

Tommy, the twins, and Phil all had separate New Year’s eve plans. Tommy was going to Ranboo’s house, the twins were going to a party at Schlatt’s house, and Phil was going out with some of his friends.

He hung out with Wilbur until it was time for the older to leave.

“What are you gonna do at midnight, Tommy Innit?”

He shrugged.

“I know what I’m gonna do.”

Tommy made a pained face. “If you’re gonna make out with Kyle, do- do -do me- do me a favor and don’t put him back after.”

Wilbur laughed, and Tommy let himself smile too. “I meant we were gonna watch the thing they show on the news every year.”

“Oh. Boring.”

Wilbur laughed again: “what? You’d rather I make out with Kyle?”

“Will, you’re running out of time in- in your prime bachelor age.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Seventeen i-i-is- is- is the- the new twenty-nine.”

“Says who?”

“E-ev-everyone.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Tommy shrugged.

Wilbur sighed dramatically and checked the time. “Oh, I gotta get ready.”

Tommy nodded: “see ya.”

“Bye Toms.”

The nickname barely registered for a moment. When it did, he leaned back in his chair for a long moment, before getting up as well.

He had to get ready too.

New Years was fun

Him, Tubbo, and Ranboo played video games for awhile. They then baked cookies of all things. Ranboo and Tubbo then did something Tommy still found kind of odd. They referred to it as ‘taking turns.’

They would just take turns going on these long rants about various topics. Sometimes they would change, but mostly they were the same. Ranboo was currently into astrology and the mystic arts. He said he didn’t necessarily believe in all of it, he just found it interesting. Tubbo talked about different animals a lot. Bees were the most frequent, but he had had a short dinosaur phase too.

It kind of reminded Tommy of Technoblade and all the things he would tell Tommy about.

They both told Tommy if he ever wanted to take a turn then he could, but he held back for now. He didn’t want to be annoying.

They ended up watching the news for midnight, counting down and everything.

Tommy didn’t say anything after midnight. He liked to challenge himself: how far into the year could he make it without talking? His record was March 18th, but that was the only time he’d made it through January. Of course, that was not counting the year he’d gone without speaking at all.

He wasn’t aiming for his record though, and broke barely a few minutes in, before anyone could notice he tried.

Ranboo’s mom gave them sparkling apple cider in champagne glasses, as if they were still old enough to find that cool. They played along though and jokingly toasted.

“Any new years resolutions?” Ranboo asked once they settled down. His parents had gone to bed, and the three of them were making quiet conversation in his living room, the TV still softly displaying the news.

“I wanna finish a book,” Tubbo said. They both nodded: fair enough.

“That’s a good one,” Ranboo said. “I think I want to take more pictures.”

Tubbo and Tommy smiled in encouragement. “That’d be nice,” Tubbo said. Ranboo had his hand or hood over his face in every picture they had together. Tommy understood, but it was sad. “What about you, boss man?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy shrugged. He couldn’t exactly say his out loud.

“Cmon, you have to have one,” Tubbo said.

Tommy just shrugged.

“Oh! Tubbo!” Ranboo said excitedly. “We did our one from last year!”

“Wha…. Oh Prime you’re right we did!” Tubbo exclaimed.

Tommy furrowed his brow at them.

“Well, you see, Tommy,” Tubbo started.

“We wanted to make another friend because only hanging out with each other was getting a little pathetic,” Ranboo finished.

Tommy laughed breathily.

“You should make one Tommy,” Ranboo told him.

Tommy shrugged. He didn’t have any ideas. Not ones he could tell them anyway.

“You’re basic,” Tubbo told him, speaking as though it were a fact. “What are the really common ones?”

“Well I- I- I think if I lost weight I would sssimply die,” Tommy joked.

They both winced.

“Too much?”

“Just a bit,” Tubbo said.

Tommy nodded. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Ranboo said.

“You should talk more,” Tubbo told him. That was the first time he’d ever heard that sentence. Well, he supposed his latest foster family had said similar things for whatever reason, but still. They, as a collective, were the first.

“T-Tubbo, I do nothing but talk.”

“What?”

“Tommy that’s…. not true. Like that is factually incorrect,” Ranboo said.

Tommy shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t true anymore, but if you hear something enough times you start to believe it.

“You don’t have to, it’s just an idea,” Tubbo said following a slightly awkward pause. “What do you want to do?”

Stay, Tommy thought desperately. He just shrugged again.

“Fine, be lame then,” Tubbo told him.

“Will do, Big T.”

They moved on to lighter topics of conversation, and had a fun rest of the night.

And morning— they did not sleep a wink. They then had to keep Tubbo awake all day so he didn’t fall asleep and end up napping till 10pm and completely screw up his schedule.

Tommy wasn’t complaining though— this was the best start to the new year he’d ever had.

One day it was unseasonably warm and the snow mostly melted, and he and Phil took down all the lights.

Tommy still didn’t say much around Mr. Craft, so the older man talked about the book he was reading. It sounded horribly boring: who reads nonfiction books for fun?

“Adults,” Phil said.

“Remind me to- to never become one- one of- one of those,” Tommy said. He winced a little, maybe his New Years Resolution should have been to learn how to talk like a normal person.

He then, promptly, tripped and would have fallen off the stairs if Phil hadn’t grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him back upright.

“Oh, shoot, I- I- I’m sorry,” he said, tensing as he feared the worst.

“No problem, mate. You’re not close enough to adulthood to be throwing yourself down steps though,” he joked.

“How- how old do I have to be for that?” His voice was breathless and shaky, and he was still preparing for punishment. Phil had a tight grip on the back of his coat and despite the man just saving him from the same fate, he couldn’t help but feel like he was about to be thrown to the ground.

“Very.” He finally slowly let go of Tommy’s jacket, leaving his hand close by for a moment while he stabilized. Tommy finally relaxed a little. It was fine, he was fine.

The rest of the lights didn’t take long to remove, and soon enough they were done.

It turned out they took the lights down just in time, because another snow storm hit that very night. The power went out.

Technoblade tried to insist they play monopoly. Phil refused, claiming he had a headache and couldn’t deal with the fighting that would ensue.

“We won’t fight.”

Phil raised his eyebrows.

“We won’t!”

“I disagree, mate, maybe another time.”

“Boring.”

“What if Tommy wants to play?” Wilbur challenged.

“I don’t think Tommy wants to see you break another chair.”

Oh, that’s what this was about, Tommy realized. They didn’t want to scare him. He’d never played himself, but he’s heard of the absolute rage monopoly could invoke. Yeah, he was good.

In general he didn’t like being babied, but he might genuinely cry if Wilbur got so angry he broke a chair.

“Tommy,” Technoblade said, “is right there.”

Tommy smiled awkwardly and quietly assured them it was fine when Wilbur and Mr. Craft apologized. Honestly, it didn’t really bother him when they talked around him: he was used to it.

It made Technoblade mad though, and he always made a point to talk directly to Tommy when possible. He even forced their other friends to acknowledge him, something it was hard to do when Tommy barely spoke around anyone who didn’t live on this street.

They ended up playing Clue with a few battery-powered lanterns stationed around the room for light.

They got distracted partway through, as the case reminded Wilbur of one he had read about and he began ranting about serial killers in borderline disturbing detail. It didn’t help that Technoblade joined in.

They didn’t finish the game, and Tommy was still confused as to how exactly it worked by the end.

He didn’t care all that much though— this was more fun than any moderately confusing board game could ever be.

Lying in bed that night, he wasn’t sure what he felt. Maybe it was happiness, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was something else entirely. He was feeling too many things, he couldn’t sort them apart.

He knew he what he didn’t feel though: his feet. Man it was cold without the heating.

The night before break ended, Tommy stared at his legs once again. He’d successfully been cutting less than he had been before.

He went from doing to multiple times every day to a max of once per day, and sometimes even skipping a day or few.

He supposed that was good.

He didn’t know how much more he could or even wanted to reduce his habit, but this was good for now.

Or so he hoped.

He was dreading school the next day, but at least he would have a good distraction again. Wilbur was right: he really did need to get a hobby or something.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep that night.

Chapter Text

The first few days back at school weren’t bad. He had lots of work but he was handling it well enough.

Well. In all honesty he was starting to get very stressed out, but his grades stayed high, and that was all that really mattered. High grades make happy foster parents, and happy foster parents don’t beat you as hard. Usually.

All that was wrong was Dream. The guy was creepy. He never came near him, but Tommy constantly felt green eyes trained on him. It was unnerving, and made him feel wrong in his skin. Like he was being inspected and taken apart within the asshole’s twisted mind.

“What’s his problem?” Tommy grumbled, ducking his head as they passed the older man, and he continued to stare Tommy down.

“No idea,” Ranboo said, rearranging them so Tommy was out of Dream’s line of sight.

“Guy ne-needs to- needs to get a fucking hobby.”

Ranboo laughed a little, as they entered their next class, and Tommy smiled despite himself, hiding it by looking down. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly accomplished every time he made someone laugh.

English was fine, him and Ranboo did the work together, and then they were meeting Tubbo to walk back to his house.

Walking home was much more annoying now— they had to actually take the street route using sidewalks. The woods was much faster, but none of them particularly wanted to hike through two feet of snow. He tried to suggest they just take the bus once but was immediately shot down for reasons he didn’t think he’d ever know. Maybe he’d ask Wilbur or someone.

He didn’t let himself spend too long pondering when, exactly, he began to feel like he could just go up to Wilbur and ask him a question. He never would’ve even dared to consider something like that until recently.

He shook his head, forcing himself to zone back in to the present.

Tubbo’s house was fun, as it always was. Even if they were just doing schoolwork, something about it made him happy. Maybe it was because, as sad as it may sound, he’d never had this close of friends before.

“I’m getting chips, you want something Ranboo?” Tubbo asked, getting up to go to the kitchen.

“Wow, so- so you’re just gonna leave me to- me to starve?” Tommy complained dramatically.

Tubbo gave him a weird look. “Do you want something?”

“No, but it’s nice to be included,” he said, pretending to be annoyed. He actually was kind of hungry, but he didn’t need more food.

Tubbo rolled his eyes. “Ranboo?” He prompted again.

“I’ll take chips.”

Tubbo nodded.

“You really should eat,” Ranboo told Tommy.

“I do,” Tommy said truthfully. He did: breakfast and dinner every day. Small ones, so as to not appear greedy to his latest foster family, but still. He’d survived on far far less before.

“Really?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes, mother-boo.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes, but the topic was dropped. Tommy really didn’t get why some people obsessed over his eating habits. He’d gained weight since coming here, wasn’t that good?

Apparently not good enough, if the looks he got during meals were any indicator. He just wished he understood why.

They all finished their homework, and then messed around for a while before finally separating before dinner.

Tommy entered Mr. Craft’s house quietly, with some paranoid part of his mind still saying he didn’t know what he was walking into.

“Hey Tommy,” Mr. Craft greeted. He was standing behind the counter, leaning down to rest his forearms on it, scrolling on his phone. He placed the object down when he saw Tommy though.

Tommy waved.

“I’m gonna wait till the twins get home and then call in pizza. Does that sound good?”

Tommy nodded.

“Cool. How was your day?”

“It, uh, it- it was fine. How was, um, how- how was yours?”

“Pretty good.”

Tommy nodded. There was a brief pause, in which Tommy stood awkwardly by the door. He was getting better at figuring out what he was supposed to do without instruction, but there were still a lot of weird moments like this throughout each day.

“You should invite your friends over here tomorrow,” Mr. Craft said suddenly.

Tommy tensed. That was…. new. He didn’t like new things. They were scary— they were just things he could do wrong. He didn’t want to do anything wrong. He didn’t want these people to get sick of him.

“It’d be good to meet them,” he continued. “It’s Tubbo and Ranboo, right?”

Tommy barely managed to nod. Fuck. Shit. This was bad.

“Sick, I think it’s probably about time we take a turn hosting. They can stay for dinner too if they’d like.”

Tommy nodded, feeling his eyes stay unnaturally wide. He pointed at the stairs, silently asking if he could leave.

Mr. Craft shrugged, ‘refusing to give Tommy permission for something he didn’t need it for.’ He picked his phone back up though, which was close enough to dismissing Tommy from the room for the shorter blonde to take the out.

He nodded, and made his way to the room he was using.

He sat on the floor, finally allowing his breathing to pick up in volume. This wasn’t good, he didn’t like this, he didn’t want this, he— he— he— he—

He needed to calm down.

Desperately he reached for his razor, pulling down his pants and quickly adding a cut to his collection. The pain brought instant relief to the anxiety within him.

He winced; it was slightly deeper than he normally went. It shouldn’t cause any problems, but he made note to be more careful next time.

He created two more cuts in a much calmer manner, before replacing the paper towel with a clean one.

He then turned his focus towards his other problem.

This was fine. He could do this. It wouldn’t be that bad.

He pulled out his phone.

Tommy Innit
want to come here tomorrow

Tubbo Underscore
depends, are you going to kill us and sell our organs?

Tommy Innit
not this time

Tubbo Undeescore
aww man, why not?

Tommy Innit
the organ market is flooded right now
i have to wait till i can make maximum profits
supply and demand and all that

Tubbo Underscore
ahh makes sense
smart

Ranboo Beloved
wtf is wrong with you guys

Tommy Innit
move about 200 feet towards me and find out

Ranboo Beloved
i sincerely doubt our houses are only 200 feet apart

Tommy Innit
didn’t ask + don’t care

Ranboo Beloved
you’re annoying

Tommy Innit
nvm only tubbo is invited

Ranboo Beloved
HEY

Tubbo Underscore
YES

Ranboo Beloved
NOT FAIR

Tommy Innit
cry about it
but fr mr. craft told me to ask you guys to come here
i think he wants to meet you? idk

Tubbo Underscore
sounds good to me, boss man

Ranboo Beloved
ew i hate talking to adults
but yeah okay

Tubbo Underscore
ranboo you talk to my parents more than i do

Ranboo Beloved
shhhh

Tommy Innit
okay cool
sick, even
maybe a little pogchamp, if we’re feeling spicy

Tubbo Underscore
we are not

Ranboo Beloved
yeah definitely not feeling spicy rn
oh gtg

Tubbo Underscore
yeah me too
bye

Ranboo Beloved
bye

Tommy Innit
bye

He leaned back against the wall with a sigh. It was stupid how much better these stupid people could make him feel.

Don’t get him wrong, he was still anxious, but he felt better.

They agreed to come over, that was step one: doing what Mr. Craft wanted. Now he just had to make sure nothing went wrong tomorrow.

Eventually he had to go have dinner. He couldn’t make himself finish the second slice Wilbur forced onto his plate.

While they were all at the table Mr. Craft told his sons about the plans for the next day.

Neither of them seemed bothered by it, which Tommy supposed was good. Wilbur seemed almost excited, which was odd considering he probably wouldn’t see them very much.

He went to bed early, desperate to escape the twisting in his stomach.

The entirety of the next day dragged on until it was time to leave school. Tommy was not having fun. He was stressed and he was scared and fucking Dream wouldn’t stop staring at him.

Seriously— what was with the guy? Tommy would rather just take a few hits every day and be done with it than deal with whatever mind game he was playing.

“You good?” Technoblade asked him in his study last block.

He nodded.

“Are you really that stressed Phil is making you have friends over?” He didn’t sound judgmental, just confused.

Tommy shrugged.

“It’ll be fine.”

Tommy couldn’t summon the energy to try to look less miserable.

“What specifically are you worried about?”

Tommy shrugged. Everything?

“Listen, if Phil likes Quackity, I don’t think there’s anyone he won’t like.”

Tommy shrugged, not even able to crack a smile at Techno’s jab at Quackity.

Technoblade apparently decided to keep saying things until one of them made him relax: “You’ve seen how many people just show up unannounced at our house over the weekend.”

He had, it was a lot. Tommy usually hid upstairs unless the twins came to get him so they could force him socialize.

“If Phil’s okay with that many people then your friends will be fine.”

Yeah, but when everyone came, that wasn’t Tommy’s doing. He couldn’t be held at fault for whatever happened.

“They’ll probably have fun? We have lots of games in the basement.”

Yeah, they did. Tommy never used them without permission and/or supervision though.

“Dream once intentionally blew up our microwave.”

Tommy spluttered, caught off guard. It was finally enough to make him talk:“What?”

Technoblade grinned: “yeah, we used to be friends. Sorta. And one time he put something in the microwave to blow it up because he thought it’d be funny. Phil wasn’t mad at me though.”

Tommy barely held in a laugh. What the actual fuck was this place?

“I think he was too far in shock to really be mad. But the point is, there is very little your friends could do that would make Phil mad at you. Them, maybe; It depends on how many explosives they bring. But not you.”

Tommy nodded, feeling slightly more assured. Tubbo and Ranboo weren’t rude or ‘too much’ or anything. But they were a lot ‘more’ than him.

Tommy made a point to be quiet and have a barely-noticeable presence. They did not. However, they were unlikely to bomb the microwave. Well, Tubbo actually might do that to someone else, but probably not to him.

Then again, it was Tubbo. He did smoke bomb Dream’s backpack, so who knew what else he would do?

“Thank you,” he said as quietly as he could.

“No problem.”

Eventually the bell rang, and he and Techno left the library together. It wasn’t long before they had to split directions, and Tommy waived goodbye.

Soon enough he saw his friends and took a deep breath.

He really had to stop hating what should be good things so much.

Chapter Text

It had actually been Quackity, funnily enough, that first figured out why Tommy never invited anyone to his house.

Their mom had asked Tubbo why he never went there while their family sat at the dinner table one night.

Tubbo shrugged. “He’s never invited us.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t asked.”

“I mean, it’s kind of obvious,” Quackity said. Huh? It hadn’t been obvious to Tubbo.

“What do you mean?” Their mom asked.

Quackery shrugged. “He’s not gonna ask Phil to let him have friends over.”

“Why not?”

“He’s scared of him— you’ve met him, he’s scared of everyone. Plus in his mind he’s just living in Phil’s house, and you don’t invite people to someone else’s house; that’s rude.”

That… made sense, actually. Tubbo wasn’t dumb enough to not notice the way Tommy did refer to the house nor anything in it as his own.

“That’s sad,” their dad commented.

They all nodded in agreement before changing the topic.

“Since when do you have manners?” Tubbo asked his brother.

“F…” their mom gave him a pointed look. “Screw you.”

Tubbo snorted. The rest of dinner was.. interesting.

But now, Tommy had invited them over. Or, from the sound of it, Phil had invited them over through Tommy. It was the same difference really.

Tubbo wasn’t really sure what to do once there. The first time at someone’s house was always awkward, so he normally followed the hosts lead. However, he highly doubted Tommy was even capable of leading.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ranboo asked as they finally walked up the street.

Tommy nodded, though he didn’t seem overly confident in his answer. “Y-yeah. It’s just… yeah.”

“Whatever you say, boss man,” Tubbo told him. “It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Tommy took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself as they walked up the porch. “Just don’t fuck up the microwave.”

“What?” He furrowed his brow at Ranboo— literally what was that supposed to mean? They did some stupid things, but he couldn’t remember ever ruining a microwave. Maybe he should. The taller just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it.”

With that, Tommy opened the door and stepped through, holding it open for both of them. He quietly closed it once they were through.

“Um. Do- do you- do you want to- to go upstairs I guess?”

“Sure,” Tubbo said, attempting to be encouraging.

“Oh, hey!” Another voice says. Tubbo was too distracted by the way Tommy jumped out of his skin to look right away.

The blond spun around and only looked towards the source of the sound for a short moment before looking down, his entire body tense, all of this happening within the span of a second.

“Hey, I’m Phil,” the voice said again, and Tubbo finally tore his eyes away from Tommy. It was a blonde man he recognized to be Phil, from the few times he’d seen him outside his house.

“Hello,” Tubbo said.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Ranboo replied.

Tubbo spared a glance at Tommy, who was watching all of them through his eyelashes, his head still tilted down.

Phil gave Tubbo and Ranboo a sympathetic look. “Well, I have to go back to work, I was just saying hi,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to where Tubbo assumed his office was. “Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen, and you guys can set up wherever you’d like.”

They all nodded, semi-awkwardly. “Th-th-thank- thank you, Mr. Craft,” Tommy said quietly.

Phil hesitated, like he was about to say something, but then merely nodded and told them to have fun before returning down the hallway from which he came.

“Uh- do- do- do you guys want, um, want- want anything?” Tommy asked.

“Sure,” Tubbo said, and Ranboo parroted him.

Tommy nodded and went to what was apparently a pantry. “Uhhh. They- they have, um, whatever, really.”

Tommy pulled out two snack-sized bags of chips and held them up for approval. Tubbo noted the way he said ‘they’ and not ‘we,’ and for the first time considered that this wasn’t necessarily permanent.

He shook the thought out of his head— the twins obviously loved him, and Tubbo had to assume Phil was the same. Even if it hadn’t been very long, he couldn’t imagine them ever actually giving the blonde up. He didn’t want to imagine it.

“Thanks,” Tubbo said, grabbing both bags of chips and handing one to Ranboo, who was behind him.

Tommy closed the door and went to the fridge, pulling out a diet coke. He pointed at the fridge, which Tubbo interpreted as asking if they wanted a drink.

“Uhhh,” he looked at Ranboo. “Water?”

Tommy nodded and gave him a cold plastic bottle. He then looked expectantly at Ranboo who nodded, and so he got another bottle out and handed it to the taller before leading the way upstairs.

Tubbo made eye contact with Ranboo and they made the same facial expression in sync. This was weird. Well, maybe weird wasn’t the right word, but it was definitely slightly uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, they followed their friend, and were lead into a small room Tubbo assumed was his bedroom.

“Sick,” Ranboo said.

It was.

Tubbo didn’t expect it to be so personalized. He’d always pictured Tommy’s room to be as plain as possible: the younger practically made it his mission to be unnoticeable. It was odd to see his personality represented on the walls like this.

Tommy nodded, moving to sit on the floor. “You guys can…” he waved his hand around the room, gesturing to everywhere, “what- whatever.”

Tubbo and Ranboo both agreed and sat on the floor in a circle with the blonde.

They pulled out their homework and began pushing through it. Tommy, as always, made a long list of everything he had to do and began grinding out assignments.

The semester ended in a few weeks, and Tubbo really wanted to see his grades for some reason. When asked he just said they were ‘fine’ and didn’t elaborate.

Tubbo got to his own work, of which he luckily didn’t have very much.

They all talked as they worked, careful not to get loud. Tommy didn’t say anything, but Tubbo knew both he and Ranboo saw the way he tended and looked around every time they reached a volume that Phil might be able to hear.

“Not to judge, but what’s with the Queen of England?” Ranboo asked, looking at the poster across from Tommy’s bed.

“Are you insulting Lizzie?”

“Lizzie?”

“She’s the love of my life.”

“…The hundred-year-old Queen of England is the love of your life?”

“She’s not 100, but yes.”

Ranboo just blinked and shook his head, clearly not wanting to extend this fight longer than necessary. Tommy didn’t appear to care.

“What, do- do- do you- do you have something against my beloved Lizzie?”

“I’m the Beloved.”

Tommy was silent for a moment. “That was a cringe thing to say Ranboo.” Tubbo bit back a laugh at how threatening and devoid of emotion he sounded.

“You can’t call me cringe while pretending to have an affair with ‘Lizzie.’”

“Don’t call her that, that- that’s our thing.”

“Is it now?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“You make it so easy.”

“At least I’m not Wilbur.”

“Why, is Wilbur in love with the Queen of France?”

“France hasn’t had a monarchy in over two- two- two hundred years. I- I’m talking about Kyle.”

“Kyle?”

Tommy stood up and opened his closet door, before pouring to a poster of a cat hanging into a tree. “This is Wilbur’s boyfriend, Kyle.”

“That’s… kinda weird. Why is he dating a cat?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy shrugged. “That’s what I said, and then he accused me of homophobia.”

“As he should. Love is love,” Ranboo said.

“Oh Prime, not- not- not- not- fuck, not you too.”

“I mean, are we result surprised?” Tubbo asked.

“What’s the supposed to mean?” Ranboo asked.

“Oh…. you know….”

“I do not know, actually.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll worry about what I want, thank you very much.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes. By now Tommy had turned back to his work, and he followed to do the same. Ugh. He knew vacation just ended but was it too early to want another? With no insignificant amount of annoyance, he turned back to his work; it wouldn’t go away the longer he waited.

Tubbo and Tommy finished before their third member, and began messing around.

They played a free knock-off version of Minecraft on their phones and tried to kill each other for about fifteen minutes until Ranboo had to ask Tommy for help on something.

Then, finally, they were all done.

Which left a question: what now?

Tubbo hadn’t come here with any expectations, so he was fine to just sit and talk in Tommy’s room if that was all the younger was comfortable with. And that was what they did for awhile.

However, eventually the front door opened and closed loudly. Tommy got up to look out the window. “Oh. Wi-Wil-Wilbur and, um and- and Techno are back.”

The blonde cringed at his own stutter. Truthfully it wasn’t that bad: even when he said every word twice, he spoke so fast it practically canceled out. Not that Tubbo would really mind if his friend did take more time to say things, but still. Tommy was clearly insecure about it though, so he didn’t mention it.

“Cool,” Tubbo said.

They could hear talking from downstairs, but couldn’t quite make out the words. Eventually there was a knock, and Tommy got up and opening the door, habitually bowing his head as he did so.

“Ew, freshmen,” Wilbur said, wrinkling his nose. Tubbo flipped him off. They were actually fairly close friends by now, as Wilbur had always been at his house a lot and now Tommy was too. Wilbur and Tommy liked to hang out, and by extension the older because friends with Tubbo and Ranboo too. He would never (ever) admit to it, but he also saw Wilbur as a kind of older brother figure.

Tommy looked up at Wilbur and made a big show of rolling his eyes, stepping back so the two of them weren’t blocking the doorway anymore.

“What’re you guys doing?”

“Nothin’ much,” Ranboo said.

“You’re boring. You guys can use the basement or something if you want,” he offered.

"A-are you sure Mr. Craft won't mind?" Tommy asked.

WIlbur furrowed his brow: "You know you don't need to call him that, right?"

Tommy shrugged, shrinking into himself a little more.

Wilbur didn't push it further: "I'm sure he won't care; you're allowed down there. Scout's honor."

Tommy nodded: "Thank you," he said quietly.

“Of course. Anyway, I was just saying hi, I have things to do, bye.”

“Bye,” Tubbo and Ranboo said in sync. Tommy waved.

“Do- um, do- do you guys want to, um..” he pointed towards the door.

“Whatever you want,” Ranboo said.

“Ugh. Stop- stop trying to- to be agreeable,” Tommy complained.

“Okay, will do,” He replied, his voice obnoxiously cheerful.

Tommy glared, before turning to the door. He didn’t say anything as he lead them to the basement, so they did the same. If he was with anyone else then Tubbo might’ve made fun of them: no one here would be mad if they were slightly loud. But this wasn’t anyone else, and so he did what he could to keep Tommy comfortable.

They made it to the basement, which was actually a pretty cool room.

“I- I don’t actually know how to- how to- to use these,” he said, staring at the various gaming consoles they had.

“Have you never played?”

Tommy shrugged. “Wilbur or Tech always set it up. I, um, I’ve- I’ve only ever played Animal Crossing alone and- and- and that- and that was because it- it, um, it- was already open to that. I couldn’t, um, I- I couldn’t find it myself.” He looked deeply annoyed with himself. Tubbo, not for the first time, wished he knew the words to assure him it was fine.

“I can do it,” he offered instead. “What do you want to play?”

Tommy shrugged. “You can uh, you- you can pick.”

“Don’t give him that much power,” Ranboo warned.

“What do you mean? I’ve never done anything wrong or bad ever in my entire life,” Tubbo said.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Did someone ask?”

“I didn’t hear anyone,” Tommy confirmed.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Why are you so mean to me?”

“Cuz.”

‘“Cuz?’”

“Cuz.”

Ranboo sighed. “I hate you both and I’m leaving and I’m never coming back.”

“Noted,” Tommy said uncaringly.

“You should move away while you’re at it,” Tubbo suggested.

“Wow. Just wow.”

“Love you babe.”

“I think I want a divorce.”

Tubbo gasped dramatically. “What? How could you say that?”

“I mean it. And I’m taking our son.”

“No! Not Micheal!”

Michael was an eight grade art project in which they worked together to create a two-foot-tall cardboard cutout of a pig. It was their son, and they split custody of him on a schedule of ‘whenever they remembered to trade him.’ He was currently with Ranboo.

“Yes, Michael.”

“You’re cruel.”

“Thanks.”

Tommy looked horribly confused, and so they went back and gave him context on everything. Ranboo showed him the picture (taken on his Nintendo DS and later uploaded to his phone, somehow) of their platonic ‘marriage’ in fourth grade. They had just learned that gay marriage was legal, and decided (at the ripe age of ten) that they simply had to take advantage of it.

“And yet you judge my Lizzie,” Tommy said at the end of their explanation, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Yes,” Tubbo and Ranboo confirmed in sync.

Tommy rolled his eyes.

Tubbo then returned to trying to figure out the TV. He managed to turn on the Wii, and from there they decided on Super Mario Party. Tubbo has wanted Wik Sports, but Tommy claimed that that wasn’t fair to him due to his ‘disability.’

“Are you ever getting that off? It’s been like…forever.”

“No idea,” Tommy said.

“Did they not tell you when your next appointment is?”

Tommy shrugged. “If- if they did then I- I- I don’t- I don’t- fucking hell. I don’t remember it.”

They both nodded, dropping the topic. They focused on the game, and managed to get pretty far into it.

They played until they were called up for dinner.

Tommy warned them that Techno had ‘a thing’ about where people sat, and to just do what he said. Sure enough they were put into specific spots, though it wasn’t bad at all.

Tubbo was next to Wilbur, who was between him and Phil. On the other side, Tommy sat between Technoblade and Ranboo, with Techno sitting across from his father and Ranboo sitting across from his oldest friend.

They were having lasagna.

One by one everyone served themselves. Tubbo couldn’t help but notice Tommy went last and took a lot less than he probably should have. From the look of it, everyone else noticed too.

They didn’t comment though. Maybe someone should. Someone who wasn’t Tubbo though. Anytime him or Ranboo tried to talk about that it was shut down as soon as possible.

“Do you guys have any plans for the weekend?” Phil asked.

“There’s a hockey game tomorrow,” Wilbur said.

“Ew,” Technoblade cringed.

“You don’t have to go,” Wilbur said as if reminding him.

“No I’m going. I just don’t want to.”

“I’m sure other people aren’t going,” Phil said.

“No, I want to, it’s just… you know. I’m gonna go,” he said, clearly having made his decision.

They all gave up on trying to talk him out of it.

“What about you?” Phil asked, turning to the younger three at the table.

They all shrugged.

“You could come to the game with us if you wanted,” Wilbur offered.

The three of them made eye contact and shrugged. They had nothing better to do.

“Sure,” Tubbo answered, knowing the other two wouldn’t. It was kind of sad that Tubbo was more capable of talking to Tommy’s family than he was.

“Cool,” Wilbur said.

The conversation moved on to other things, and eventually it was time to leave.

Tubbo and Ranboo got their stuff from Tommy’s room and left. Tommy walked them out the door, whispering a goodbye, which they returned.

“That was…”

“Interesting,” Ranboo finished for him.

“Honestly I was expecting worse,” Tubbo admitted.

Ranboo nodded. “Yeah, it was a little awkward but…” he trailed off.

“I had fun,” Tubbo said.

“Me too.”

By this point they were stalling in front of Tubbo’s driveway.

“I should probably go,” Tubbo said.

“Yeah me too. Night, see you tomorrow.”

“Night.”

With that, Tubbo walked the short distance to his own house.

“HEY!” Quackity yelled as soon as Tubbo opened the door.

“AHH WHAT THE FUCK!” He yelled, jumping. “Asshole!” He exclaimed, shoving him slightly.

Quackity laughed. “How was your night?”

“Good till I had to see you,” he said, moving to go upstairs. Quackity followed.

“Awww, Tubbo, you wound me!” He clutched his hand to his chest.

“Fatally?” Tubbo said hopefully.

“Not this time.”

“Damnit.”

“Rude.”

“No, this is rude,” Tubbo said, walking into his room before spinning around and closing the door in Quackity’s face. He made sure to lock it.

“Okay, fine. I guess you don’t love me,” he shouted through the door.

“Correct.”

“What if I needed you for something important right now?”

“Do you?”

“….I might.”

“Go away, I’m sleeping.”

“It’s 7pm.”

“And?”

“Okay Grandpa.”

A beat of silence.

“Want to go get ice cream?”

“At 7pm on a school night when it’s like 17 degrees out?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Tubbo agreed, reopening the door.

They then left the house to do just that, their parents reminding Quackity to drive safe before they left. He wouldn’t. There was a reason Wilbur drove the man everywhere.

While in the car, they had the sort of conversations only siblings really can, where the mood switches seamlessly every few minutes and they somehow understand each other’s nonsense perfectly. Sometimes Tommy and the twins would talk like that, and it was hard to remember none of them were actually related. Not that blood relation really determined how much of a family people could be (something he was well aware of given Quackity was technically only his half-brother by blood), but still.

Quackity bitched about Tubbo tagging along to the hockey game, and Tubbo told him to cry about it. They decided to buy their dad a new cooler for his upcoming birthday. Tubbo pulled up pictures of Quackity’s emo phase. Quackity threatened to crash on purpose if he didn’t stop. Tubbo didn’t stop. They mocked each other’s flavor of choice.

They made it home safely though, albeit with numb hands from holding the ice cream.

Overall, it was a good day, and tomorrow was Friday which made it all the better.

It didn’t take Tubbo long to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

“The air feels like plastic in here,” Tommy said without thinking as soon as they walked into the ice rink. Before he could even be embarrassed or apologize for speaking out of turn—

“YES! TOMMY GETS IT!” Technoblade yelled, practically jumping with excitement, while Quackity and Wilbur gave him a weird look. Tommy only had a brief flash of fear from the loud sounds and sudden movements before slowly calming himself back down without letting anyone notice. Well, they probably noticed the way he jumped, but irrelevant. “Tommy, you have no idea how many times I have said that exact sentence only to receive judgement and scorn. But finally, someone who gets it! The natural heir to my throne if hating ice rinks!”

Tommy let out poorly-stifled laughs throughout his dramatic speech. What was happening?

He’d had an average day at school. Classes, doing his homework when he probably shouldn’t be, hanging out with Tubbo and Ranboo.

Weirdly Sapnap came up to him and finally signed his cast in the heart with his other maybe-boyfriends. Why now? Prime only knew. Maybe he thought he was running out of time, as it had been quite awhile since the accident. Tommy wanted to ask Mr. Craft when his appointment was, but couldn’t quite work up the nerve. He was only supposed to call Sam in an emergency.

Dream had once again been staring at him like his life depended on it, but even that was fading from a large concern to a moderate annoyance for him.

After school he had gone straight to Mr. Craft’s house to get the last of his homework done before the game. Tubbo had been pulled out of school early for a dentists appointment, and Ranboo had a headache he wanted to sleep off, so they went their separate ways after walking home together.

He managed to get a lot done. He put in the headphones he’d been given for Christmas, and didn’t look up from his work for a solid few hours until he finished everything he could possibly do. Nice.

He was then forced to consider Wilbur’s insistence that he needed a hobby. He considered texting the man himself for entertainment, before ultimately chickening out.

Wilbur, for whatever reason, seemed to like spending time with him. But he was already going to have to do that tonight, and Tommy didn’t want to tire him out. He had, stupidly, gotten attached, and if Wilbur stopped liking him… he didn’t know what he would do.

He scrolled on his phone until it was time to leave.

Tommy shook his head, zoning back in to the present moment.

“I seriously don’t get what you guys mean,” Quackity said.

“It’s because you suck,” Technoblade said helpfully.

Quackity glared at him.

“Seriously, Tommy, did he pay you to say that?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shook his head. He really wasn’t sure why he said that, but couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. He was getting far too used to speaking when he shouldn’t, he’d have to cut back on that.

They all continued talking for a bit, but it wasn’t long before the two trios separated.

“I hate hockey,” Ranboo announced once the game started.

“We know,” Tubbo said.

“I really hate hockey.”

“We know.”

Ranboo had been complaining all day about how much he hated hockey, but insisted that they still go to the game. He had apparently been forced to play one season by his parents and it was ‘the most miserable winter of his life.’

“I’m having PTSD.”

“I could make one of- one of those- those jokes you guys dont like about that,” Tommy commented. They very much did not appreciate any dark humor about himself, as he’d learned. Apparently it was ‘concerning.’

Ranboo sighed. “Go to therapy.”

“I would rather play hockey.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I assure you I do, boob boy.”

Ranboo scowled at be nickname.

The first period of the game was uneventful. They watched from the stands, and it was pretty self-explanatory. Any time they didn’t understand a call, Ranboo could explain it, though he did so quite angrily. It was to the point that Tommy actually started to get kind of scared. People being angry within his general vicinity had a history of not going well. Nothing bad happened though. This time.

Between the first and second periods were when things, as they always seemed to do around Tommy, went wrong.

Tubbo and Ranboo had gone to the concessions stand while Tommy went to the bathroom.

Somehow, a fee people suck up behind him and grabbed him right by the arms, threatening him not to make a sound. He was dragged into another room, off of the main lobby. Nowhere anyone would find him.

When they finally released him he realized it was three appearingly older boys from the other team’s school.

What had he done wrong? Prime only knew. He wasn’t even wearing anything to indicate where he went to school. However, they didn’t care and appeared to be preparing to beat the shit out of him. He honestly couldn’t hear anything beyond blood rushing through his ears.

“Ayo! Earth to Idiot,” one of them shouted, slapping Tommy across the face. Tommy blinked and zoned back in. “Finally.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, voice shaky. No zoning out, Dream had said that once. He just had to be good and he could make it out with minimal damage.

“Yeah you should be. Now, you see. I’m sure you’ve heard of our little tradition?”

Tommy didn’t answer, pure confusion cutting through some of his terror. Was this guy doing a fake Brooklyn accent? There was no way he actually sounded like that.

“First game against our rival school of the season, we gotta make an example out of somebody.”

Yeah he was definitely faking an accent. Literally why? Was he trying to be threatening? He’d be a lot scarier if he wasn’t making a fool out of himself.

“That’s gonna be you tonight.”

That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. What kind of movie do these guys think they’re living in?

Tommy nodded, eyes wide with fear, prepared to do whatever they wanted so maybe it would end sooner. He scanned for escape routes but found none.

“What? Baby’s too scared to even try to fight back?”

Is this guy trying out for a school play or something?

“Ignoring us won’t make us go away,” one guy said.

And then, just when Tommy thought things couldn’t possibly get worse—

Dream appeared at the other side of the room, behind the the three boys. And Tommy made prolonged eye contact with him.

Shit.

That was why they were targeting him— Dream told them to. What an asshole.

The man himself pulled out his phone and typed for a moment before putting it in his pocket. He then walked towards them, his hideous signature green hoodie on full display. He was smiling in an incredibly creepy way.

“What’s going on over here?” Dream asked, and for the first time, the boys turned to see him. They looked pissed though— not the type of faces you see from people working for the man in front of them.

“Oh fuck off, don’t tell me you’re here for him?” The tallest of them asked. Okay, so Dream wasn’t responsible for this? Unless it was all an act? He was back to being confused.

“Nah,” Dream said lightly. “I’m just here for the show.”

Tommy kept himself silent and still, some irrational part of him believing it wouldn’t be as bad if he could just stay quiet and obedient. That’s what people wanted from him, and he learned how to deliver.

“Oh we’ll give you a show,” one of them said in a voice he must’ve thought sounded tough. If Tommy wasn’t so terrified his bones hurt he might’ve laughed.

“Oh, no, that’s not the show I meant,” Dream corrected, still smiling. It was unnerving.

“Huh?”

“Well I texted his brother,” Dream said. Against Tommy’s will, he lit up slightly inside at the idea of Technoblade or Wilbur being called his brother.

“Pfff, you really think one guy can take us?” Ugh. This genuinely might’ve been the cringiest thing Tommy had ever had to hear. Like he was genuinely afraid for his life and still had to pause to cringe every few moments.

“Oh sweet Prime. You don’t know,” Dream laughed.

“Know what, Dream?” One of them sneered, clear distain in his voice as he spit out the name like an insult.

“His brother— oh Prime. Do you know who his brother is?” Tommy was throughly confused.

“Should we?”

“Oh well, you’ll see in a minute,” Dream said. “If you want to beat him up you better go fast.”

“What the hell is your problem?” One of them asked, thankfully not faking an accent like the others. Tommy had been wondering the same thing, actually.

Dream shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re about to have a bigger one.”

Tommy was confused. Did he mean Technoblade? Because, try as he might, Wilbur could not throw a punch to save his life. But even Technoblade couldn’t take three guys at once, nevermind all of them being roughly the same size as the pink-haired man.

“You’re bluffing,” one of them said.

“Do you want to test that?” Dream asked.

They all looked at each other for a long moment.

“Ahh, and here he is, the man of the hour,” Dream said as Technoblade came into view. Despite his best efforts and greatest fears, Tommy couldn’t help the rush of relief that swept through him.

“What; you think ‘bubblegum’ over there is gonna stop us?” One of them mocked, obviously referring to his hair.

Dream laughed humorlessly. “His name? Is…” he said quietly. “Technoblade,” he called out loudly, beckoning the other man over. Tommy jumped hard from the sound, causing the corner of Dream’s mouth to quirk up slightly.

Tommy watched in real time as all three of them froze up. What kind of reputation did Technoblade have, exactly?

Techno turned to them, and immediacy looked even more pissed. His strides were long and purposeful, and Tommy made sure to bow his head before he reached them.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, we’re just hanging out,” one of them said.

“They were gonna beat him up,” Dream corrected, pretending to inspect his nails.

“No we weren’t, right..:you?” One guy said, apparently addressing Tommy.

Tommy didn’t respond, and the guy kicked his leg. He couldn’t take it anymore, he started silently laughing.

“Did… did you really just kick him while trying to convince me you weren’t going to hurt him?” Technoblade didn’t even sound mad anymore, just confused.

Tommy was silently shaking with the effort to not laugh out loud.

“Are you guys, like, stupid or something?” He asked, his tone implying it was a genuine question. Tommy shook harder.

“No,” one of them said defensively.

“Did you guys really need my help?” Technoblade asked Tommy and Dream. “I think if you asked them to spell their own last names their brains would short circuit long enough for you to get away.”

Even Dream laughed a little at that.

“I honestly feel to bad too even try to get revenge, I don’t want to knock out their remaining brain cell.”

“Hey—“ one of them started, apparently deciding he was ready to fight back.

Technoblade took a single step forward and the other man instantly shut up and stepped back. This was just embarrassing, Tommy almost wanted to offer them a free hit just to save their poor egos.

“Cmon Tommy, let’s leave. Anything you want to say to them?”

Tommy shook his head. He had several absolutely brutal roasts in mind, but none he could get through without embarrassing himself. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing him stutter.

Technoblade turned to Dream for a moment and they finally made eye contact. Techno nodded but then shook his head, and Dream simply nodded in return. Tommy had no idea what that meant.

Technoblade beckoned for Tommy to follow him out of this weird…wherever they were, and he did.

“How the hell are they related?” Tommy heard one of them whisper.

“Who would’ve though ‘the’ Technoblade’s brother would be so pathetic.”

Techno turned around power walked over and pushed the last one who spoke against the wall. “You want to see pathetic? You needed three people just to fail at beating up a freshman with a broken arm. Look in the fucking mirror.”

“Told you so,” Dream said, seamingly still amused as the pink-haired man walked back to Tommy and wrapped his arm around him. Tommy let himself be lead back to the main rink.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “T-Techno, that was so cringe.”

Technoblade laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“No- no, you’re- you’re just- you’re just lucky they stopped doing accents once you got there.”

“They were doing accents?”

Tommy nodded. “So badly, Technoblade. So, so, badly.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“This is the least based bullying experience I’ve ever had.”

He laughed even harder. “That one’s going in the quote book.”

“Why? It- it- it- it’s- it’s true!”

“I’m telling Wilbur as soon as we find him.”

Tommy sighed. “It’s always the ones closest to you.”

As far as he was aware there wasn’t a physical quote book, but Wilbur claimed to record the more ridiculous things Tommy said.

Soon enough they sound everyone, including a lot more of Techno and Wilbur’s friends, sitting in the stand again.

“Where’d you go?” Ranboo asked.

That was not a story Tommy particularly wanted to recount at the moment. He shrugged.

“We’ll explain later. I have a new favorite Tommy quote now.”

“What? Cmon you can’t just leave us hanging like that,” Quackity complained.

“If you can make me sit in plastic for like two hours, I think I can hide whatever I want from you.”

“We did not make you come here, and I really don’t get what you mean about the air being plastic.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, but like, most of the time even if I don’t experience what you’re saying, I know what you mean. I have no idea what the air being plastic means.”

“Tommy?” Technoblade promoted.

Tommy shrugged. He didn’t know how to explain it any better. This whole place just felt awful, both on his skin and every time he breathed it in. He believed Ranboo when he said the season he played was hell.

The game passed uneventfully.

Their team won, which would’ve been nice if Tommy wasn’t so freaked out by the cheering and jumping around. He supposed it was better than the yells and groans of the other school though.

On the way home Technoblade asked his permission to tell the story of what happened earlier. Tommy wasn’t sure why he asked, but nodded nevertheless. Of course, they later wanted to hear his side of things. He only managed to stutter out a brief recap.

Technoblade then moved on to his favorite part of the story:

“… and so I ask if he’s okay and you know what he says to me? He goes, and I quote, ‘this is the least based bullying experience I’ve ever had.’”

They all blew apart laughing, and Tommy played along. Yeah, yeah, dumb comment. It had the intended effect though.

The rest of the way back to their neighborhood was fun, as it always way with them. He made sure to keep himself in check, keeping his presence to a minimum. It was so difficult. Any one day in this latest town gave him more positive attention than in the entire year prior. And Tommy was starved for it; he wanted to relish in it and absorb as much as he could before it was gone. But the more he took, the sooner they would run out. So he stayed quiet.

He didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Text

“Phil you’ll never guess what Tommy said,” Technoblade said as soon as he walked into the living room, where his father was watching TV.

“What did Tommy say?”

“He said the air in there felt like plastic, AND I didn’t even ask him, he just said it as soon as we walked in,” he said proudly. “So, as you can see, I am not crazy.”

“I’ve never thought you were crazy,” Phil reassured him. Techno felt a small pang of guilt; he knew Phil didn’t think that. In fact, he might’ve been the first person ever not to think that.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that I am right and all of you except for Tommy are wrong.”

“I think it’s subjective,” Wilbur said. “You can’t be right or wrong about how the air feels.”

“Yes you can. I know because I’m right.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, along with Phil.

Tommy just stood quietly to the side, still not as comfortable around Phil as he was around the rest of them. To be honest, the youngest still looked like he was preparing for Phil to hit him more often than not. He was getting better though, and Techno supposed that was all he could really ask for.

The four of them spent the night talking until it was time for bed, Phil’s show long forgotten in the background.

It was probably a re-run anyway.

The weekend was largely uneventful.

Tommy spent most of it sat in his the room upstairs. He was left alone for a few hours at one point and ended up cleaning the whole place, excluding the rooms he wasn’t supposed to be in obviously. For the first time, he realized he’d never actually been in Mr. Craft’s room. He barely even considered the question before deciding against satisfying his curiosity, not wanting to breech the older man’s privacy.

Still, he cleaned and washed and vacuumed and folded and put away and dusted and organized until the house was practically a museum.

“You don’t need to do that, mate,” Mr. Craft told him when he eventually returned from the store. “I mean, thank you, really, I appreciate it. But you’re not expected to.” It was far from the first time Tommy had done this.

In his defense, not having any official chores stressed him out. The general unspoken rule of the house was that everyone cleaned up after themselves, and they’d irregularity rotate who did bigger projects based on any number of things. Tommy always felt like he wasn’t doing enough though.

Mr. Craft began putting away the groceries and Tommy moved to help him without being asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

“You could’ve played videogames, or hung out with your friends, or… I don’t know. When was the last time you went outside? Touched some grass?”

“What grass?”

“That gra…. oh,” Mr. Craft said, pointing out the window only to be reminded of the foot and a half of snow that covered just about everything. Tommy was very grateful for the snow boots Phil got him. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Tommy let out a small laugh.

“But for real, you need some hobbies, mate.”

He shrugged, and the topic was dropped pretty soon after.

He thought about it though, and decided he was going to find something new to do with his time. Prime knew he needed it.

Monday was going to be boring, Tommy realized at the start of the day. Both Tubbo and Ranboo had to stay after school to meet with teachers, leaving Tommy to walk home back to Mr. Craft and the twins’ house alone.

He joked about finally taking the bus, but was warned so seriously not to that he lost the nerve.

However, maybe he should’ve just done it. Because at the end of day he day, Tommy had another realization: he had been horribly wrong as earlier.

He was walking along an empty street when a car pulled up next to him, and rolled down its window.

“Get in.” It was, of all fucking people, Dream.

Tommy just stood there, not knowing what to do.

“I said get in the fucking car, Tommy,” he said, more aggressively this time.

Before he could think better of it, he rushed to obey. As soon as the door closed, Dream slammed on the gas, and Tommy instantly regretted his decision.

He wondered if his initial ability or his current inability to say no had caused him more problems. He probably should’ve learned when to obey instead of deciding on ‘always.’

Tommy opened his mouth, not quite sure if or what he was going to say.

“Shut up,” Dream said harshly.

Tommy flinched, but complied nevertheless.

They drove for what felt like a long time, until Tommy lost all sense of direction, and they parked in a random parking lot that didn’t appear to belong to any kind of building. It was just a parking lot for the sake of one, he supposed. Because of this, it was empty. There was a really nice view though.

Dream took the key out of the engine, and Tommy didn’t say anything. He was still sat on the very far edge of the seat, pressed against the passenger door.

“I’m sorry,” Dream said finally.

That was very far from how Tommy expected this to go.

“You… I hate you,” he said, sounding somewhere between factual and confused. “There’s a certain way that things are supposed to be, and when you came here you ruined it.”

Tommy nodded, feeling inexplicably guilty. He didn’t want to feel guilty; he didn’t choose to come here, nor did he even understand what Dream meant by that. He couldn’t help it though. Maybe it was his fault; most things usually were.

“And now we can’t ever go back to how it was, because even if you leave you’ll always be remembered.”

Tommy nodded, not following even a little.

“Which means you’ll have changed this place twice. You can’t do that.”

Tommy just looked at him. What the hell was he talking about?

“I… I have a thing: I need to be in control, or at least feel like I am. Sudden changes are not my thing. And no one told me you were coming until after you showed up, so I couldn’t prepare and it messed with my head. And I lost it a little bit, and for that I’m sorry.”

Tommy stayed silent.

“I’ve… adjusted though.”

Clearly. The number one sign someone has reached acceptance is to see how many people they kidnap.

Dream looked at him for a long moment. “You can relax, if I wanted to hurt you I would’ve done it yesterday.”

Tommy didn’t adjust, simply watching him warily.

Dream nodded, apparently accepting that Tommy didn’t trust him. “I just want to know what’s happening. I wouldn’t have cared if sometime had bothered to tell me you were coming. Which is dumb, I know, because the world doesn’t revolve around me and it’s not everyone else’s job to manage my brain.”

Tommy nodded slowly, beginning to understand what had happened.

“I didn’t mean to… do what I did. It’s a shit excuse, but I really didn’t feel in control of myself. It feels like I watched someone else…do that. I’m not trying to not take responsibility, I’m just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

I don’t know what you’re doing either, Tommy thought. It was odd that Dream wouldn’t even say out loud what he had done. It really wasn’t that bad— Tommy could clearly take a few hits. He didn’t say this.

“Give me your phone,” Dream said abruptly. “Now,” he snapped when Tommy didn’t immediately comply.

He rushed to get the object out of his pocket and hand it to the older boy.

“Unlock it.”

He did. Dream then spent several long moments typing, before handing it back.

“I added my number. I just… I think you’re here permanently. I know it’s soon, but anyone can see the way they all look at you.” What? “But on the off chance you leave, tell me first. Please,” he tacked on at the end.

Tommy slowly nodded.

“Are you, like, mute or something?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t, but he had no idea what to say right now.

“Then, like, say something,” he demanded, still painfully awkward despite having just told Tommy all his deepest psychological issues.

“Th-this- this- this- this- this could’ve been an email,” he joked quietly before he could think better of it. He tensed upon realizing what he’d just done.

Dream just laughed though. “I can see why they like you,” he said eventually.

That makes one of us.

Dream turned the car back on, and actually stopped to put in music this time. “Cmon. Do you want ice cream?”

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh a little, making sure to keep it quiet.

“What? I’m trying to be nice!”

“You- you- you literally- you literally just kidnapped me—“

“No, I took you for a surprise ice cream trip!”

“A-a-against my will!”

“Semantics.”

Tommy just shook his head. This guy might have genuinely been one of the strangest people he’d ever met.

“So are you saying you don’t want ice cream?”

“I’m saying it- it’s weird to take someone for ice cream after abducting them off the- the st- the st- streets.”

“Tommy, you have to learn to let the past stay in the past.”

“This was an hour ago?” He said, his voice raising in pitch due to his shock.

“Get over it.”

Tommy sighed dramatically.

“Do you think Wendy’s is open? I’d kill for a frosty.”

He shrugged, deciding to simply let this play out however it would.

Dream took them through Wendy’s and got them both frosties. It was good, even if it chilled Tommy to the bone. They ate them in the car.

“Can I sign your cast?” Dream asked while they were sitting in the parking lot.

Tommy shrugged. He didn’t particularly care.

Dream opened the glovebox and pulled out a sharpie, and Tommy pulled his coat off with great difficulty. Dream put his name on the top, where it would almost always be hidden, and put a smiley face next to it. Tommy then struggled to put his coat back on.

They began the drive back to Phil and the twins’ house.

Phil had been having a pretty average day. His sons got home at his usual time, and it wasn’t long before Quackity came over to bother them.

“Where’s your brother?” Quackity asked the twins almost as soon as he came in.

“Isn’t he at your house?”

Quackity shook his head. “Ranboo and Tubbo are, I figured Tommy was here.”

They all paused.

Wilbur was the first to move, as he quickly ran upstairs to check. It wasn’t long before they heard the answer they had been both expecting and dreading: “He’s not here,” Wilbur called out as he ran back downstairs.

“Fuck,” Technoblade said.

“This is bad.”

They all spent a few minutes not quite sure what to do. They all called him but to no avail. Phil didn’t want to call Sam, not when there was a large chance nothing was wrong, but if Tommy didn’t return soon he would have no choice.

He zoned back in to hear all the teenagers talking.

“He wouldn’t run.”

“Maybe he’s still at school?”

“Did anyone check the basement?”

“He wouldn’t go down there without permission.”

“Should we go looking for him?”

However, before they could really start to figure anything out, a car pulled up outside their house. They all rushed to the windows to see what was happening.

“Is that.. Dream’s car?” Technoblade asked.

Quackity nodded. “Definitely.”

In the time it took for the four of them to reach the front door, Tommy had exited the car, looking unharmed.

Dream’s eyes widened at the sight of them. “Bye Tommy,” he yelled, before speeding off around the cul de sac in a way he definitely shouldn’t.

Technoblade was the first to run up to Tommy, taking his head in his hands and not acknowledging the way he flinched away in fear. “What happened?”

Tommy opened his mouth, but didn’t appear to know what to say. He closed it and shrugged helplessly.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“Did he hurt you?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Why were you with him?” This was enough to make Tommy finally respond, albeit with a barely audible voice.

“I- um. I- I was walking back to- to here, and he pulled up beside me and started yelling that I- that I- I had to get in his car.”

“And you listened?”

“I… he… I’m sorry,” Tommy practically whispered, tilting his head down as much as he could while Technoblade still (for some reason) held his head.

Phil thought back to one of his first impressions about Tommy: he had a potentially dangerous need to obey orders.

And this was the danger.

Someone who couldn’t say no was left at the mercy of someone who didn’t even bother asking.

Phil put his hand on Technoblade’ arm, and his son looked at him before releasing Tommy’s head.

“Let’s all go inside,” Phil suggested after a particularly harsh gust of wind hit him.

No one protested, and soon enough they were back within the warmth of the house.

“Tommy, are you sure he didn’t…?” Phil asked.

Tommy shook his head. “He bought me ice cream,” he said, sounding utterly confused.

Phil paused. “He bought you ice cream?”

Tommy nodded.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Who kidnaps someone and then buys them ice cream?” Quackity wondered out loud.

Tommy shrugged. “That- that’s- that’s what I said.”

“So you’re, like, okay?” Wilbur asked carefully.

Tommy nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this more or less based than Friday?” Technoblade asked, causing them all to laugh.

“Way more based; I got ice cream.”

They all laughed again. Phil shook his head at the pure absurdity of the conversation.

“What’d he even want?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shrugged. “N-n-no- no idea. He told- told- told me about all his mental issues, said he was sorry, and then bought me ice cream.”

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Quackity commented.

“T- tell me about it,” Tommy said.

Tentatively, the awkwardness broke, though the situation was obviously far from resolved.

It didn’t have to be dealt with that night though.

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t appear overly surprised when he and Phil ended up having a serious conversation a few days later.

It consisted of Phil installing GPS on his phone, and gently trying to insinuate he stop being such a pushover.

He very much did not use that phrasing. It wasn’t Tommy’s fault; he’d been trained for years to accept that disobedience meant pain, and he probably wasn’t even wrong in this case; Dream very well may have hurt him if he didn’t comply.

It was honestly heartbreaking when he thought about it too hard. No one should ever reach a point in their lives where they can’t do anything except what they’re told for fear of punishment. No one should ever be punished so severely they they’re too afraid to say no ever again. Nevermind the fact that Tommy was only fourteen, and from the sound of it he had been in this condition for a very long time now.

It was hard to live with the traumatized shell of what might have once been a child and know there was nothing you could do to undo the damage.

Still, they were lucky this time. Next time someone demanded Tommy get in their car, they might not be.

At least Phil could track his phone now.

Speaking of his phone, it was a piece of garbage. It was cracked so badly it was hard to read, and apparently the top right corner of the screen was simply unresponsive to touch now. It had a grand total of five features: texting, phone calls, Instagram, photos, and Google. He couldn’t even take pictures, just look at them. Phil was genuinely worried trying to add a GPS would push it over the edge and break it.

“You’re gonna need a new one of those soon,” Phil said.

“It- it- it’s fine,” Tommy assured him, barely daring to look up.

“Mate, I think I have glass in my finger just from using it for a minute.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Phil assured him easily. “Still, you want to get a new one before it completely breaks so you can transfer all your data over.”

Tommy shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Phil decided he would simply get him one over the weekend; the kid would never agree to Phil spending money on him.

He would probably get a slightly older model, so as to not make Tommy feel too guilty. Though considering he apologized when Phil bought him so much as a drink, he wondered if it was even worth it to do so.

Maybe he’d consult Sam.

Tommy Innit
on a scale from 1-10 how capable do you think i am of cutting my own hair?

Wilbur Soot
no

Tommy Innit
that’s not a number

Wilbur Soot
-400000

Tommy Innit
in terms of absolute value that’s a pretty high number

Wilbur Soot
don’t use ur math terms against me, child
don’t cut ur own hair either
it will not end well

Tommy Innit
you miss all of the shots you don’t take

Wilbur Soot
your arm is broken

Tommy Innit
and?

Wilbur Soot
thats a basketball saying

Tommy Innit
it’s a metaphor

Wilbur Soot
it’s actually an idiom

Tommy Innit
you are so incredibly uncool

Wilbur Soot
it’s called intelligence

Tommy Innit
iTs CaLLeD iNtElIgEnCe

Wilbur Soot
silence
don’t cut your hair

Tommy Innit
why not

Wilbur Soot
because you have nice hair and you will ruin it
you should go somewhere

Tommy Innit
consider the pros of me doing it myself:
- it’s quick
- it’s easy
- it’s free

Wilbur Soot
it’s ugly

Tommy Innit
didn’t ask + don’t care

Wilbur Soot
you’re lucky i tolerate you
i have to go
don’t do anything stupid

Tommy Innit
no promises

Tommy clicked off his phone with a small bit of satisfaction.

Wilbur had a doctor’s appointment, and was extremely nervous about it. Nothing was wrong with him as far as they knew, but he had health anxiety. The very possibility of a problem was enough to scare him. Plus, he’d had bad experiences with doctors in the past. Even if it was just a standard check-up, he wasn’t doing well.

Tommy decided to distract him by being annoying over text messages. It was one of his best skills, along with being annoying on phone calls and in real life.

He hoped it worked.

He also hoped he hadn’t gone too far. He used the term ‘annoying’ loosely— having it actually apply to anything he did would be horrible. Maybe he should tone himself back down a bit. Yeah, that’d probably be good.

He also, selfishly, used the opportunity to complain about his hair— there was way too much of it. It looked like a helmet, as Wilbur himself had so kindly told him a few days ago.

While he was pretty sure the older was joking, he still decided to simply wait for him to return before doing anything drastic. He really didn’t want to mess it up: his hair or his relationship with Wilbur.

He had no idea if the older would actually be mad if he disobeyed, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

Normally this was around the time he would start pushing, trying to figure out where the limits were in a given house, and how much he could get away with. He didn’t dare do so here. He didn’t want to test their patience; he didn’t want to burn through their goodwill any faster.

Besides, they already allowed him much more freedom than most other places.

Asking for more would be greedy.

Tommy wasn’t expecting a haircut to cause so much debate.

He didn’t want to waste anyone’s time nor money, but they insisted he couldn’t do it himself. They were right, he probably couldn’t without it looking terrible. Still, the last thing he wanted to be was an inconvenience.

In the end, Wilbur ended up taking both of them to get it done, so as to not make him feel too guilty. Apparently two at once was cheaper and more time efficient. Tommy grumbled about not being a child between various apologies and insistences that he really didn’t mind doing it himself, but he did feel better.

In the end, it looked good. It was still fluffy, but not too heavy or helmet-like, and it was shorter in the back. It actually looked a lot like Wilbur’s, and he winced at the happiness the idea sparked in him. He felt like Wilbur’s little brother as the older lead him out of the shop and they practically matched.

It was a nice thought. But Tommy wasn’t meant for nice things.

After the happiness came guilt.

Firstly because of how utterly intolerably annoying he had been in the salon— it was a wonder no one punished him, Prime knew he deserved it.

And not only that, but it was unfair for him to look at Wilbur in a way he knew the other didn’t reciprocate. In a way the other would never reciprocate.

That night found him with a familiar razor in his hand and a horrible sting in his legs.

He deserved it.

Getting a haircut with Tommy was honestly extremely funny, even if it was tinged with a bit of sadness too.

The kid was terrified. Of wasting time and money, and of the hairdresser herself.

“Tommy, you have to calm down,” Wilbur said when she went to the back room to get something. She gave Wilbur a pointed look as she did so, wordlessly ordering him to talk to Tommy anyway.

“She’s t-trying to stab me,” Tommy whispered urgently.

“No she isn’t, it’s her job,” Wilbur assured him, trying not to laugh. Did that make him a bad person? He hoped not. “Have you never done this before?”

“What do you think?”

Wilber frowned. “You cant keep trying to dodge the scissors, then you’re actually gonging to get yourself hurt.”

“Why is she holding scissors to my head?” He was clearly playing up his frustration in an attempt to make his fears seem funny.

It worked, and Wilbur was almost able to forget that this wasn’t just a joke, but an abused child going through a genuinely scary situation. Almost. Still, if Tommy didn’t want to take it seriously, then Wilbur wouldn’t force him too. Genuine reassurance could be hidden behind jokes the same way genuine terror could be.

“Because that’s where your hair is.”

“Shut up,” Tommy told him, glancing around wildly. “Wilbur she is a wrongun if- if I’ve ever- if i’ve ever seen one; she’s trying to kill me.”

“She’s not a wrongun, Tommy. You just need to sit still.”

The lady came back into the room and Tommy snapped back to sitting straight. She made eye contact with Wilbur and he nodded, making an apologetic face.

Luckily, Tommy stayed still the rest of the appointment. He was completely stiff and still watching the hairdresser with distrustful eyes, but he didn’t try to duck out of the way again.

Wilbur wasn’t sure if that was indicative of progress or more fear. Was he calming down about the hairdresser or simply following orders from Wilbur to sit still? Probably the second answer, honestly. He made a mental note to tell him he did a good job later.

The reassurance would doubtlessly be met by an eye-roll and insistence that he wasn’t a child, but Wilbur knew it helped the blonde more than he’d ever admit.

In the end, Tommy’s hair came out strangely similar to Wilbur’s. Now that he thought about it, they actually looked very similar. The idea made him warm inside. He loved looking at Tommy like his younger brother.

In nearly every way that mattered, he was.

Not legally or biologically. But in Wilbur’s heart the kid was as much his family as anyone else in their house. He was pretty sure Tommy at least somewhat returned the sentiment, and he knew Technoblade and Phil wholeheartedly did.

Eventually they could make it official, but it was too soon for that now. Instead, they got in the car, and Wilbur drove them home (and rest assured, it was home).

Tommy mouthed along to Wilbur’s songs the whole way, knowing all of them by heart. Wilbur didn’t even try to restrain his smile.

It was that weekend that Phil got the notice that his foster liscense was in danger of expiring.

He did not take a moment to consider the possibility of even thinking about not reapplying. Sure, it was annoying, and more of a formality than anything else; he’d been accepted every time without fail. But would do it anyway.

Not doing everything in his power to keep Tommy close by and protected hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The kid was family.

Chapter Text

“Remember Sam is picking you up from school early today,” Mr. Craft told Tommy on Monday morning.

Tommy furrowed his brow at him.

“They’re checking on your arm.”

Tommy nodded, not quite feeling like he could talk just then.

“He’ll come get you around 1:00 I think, and then you’ll miss the rest of the day.”

Tommy nodded again.

It wasn’t long before Wilbur was taking them to school. He wondered if Techno had his license; the pink-haired boy never drove, at least not that Tommy had seen. Maybe he’d ask at some point, though it was more than likely that he’d forget before he could work up the nerve.

School was normal, though Tubbo and Ranboo did complain to hell and back when he announced he had to leave early.

“So you’re just gonna abandon me in English class?” Ranboo asked, feigning offense.

“Yes.”

“Unbelievable. I can’t believe you would do this to me.”

“If- if it- if it makes you feel better, I w- I would never do this to- to Tubbo.”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

“It makes me feel better,” Tubbo said. “I would never leave you either, boss man.”

“Would you leave me?” Rambo demanded.

“Without hesitation.”

“You are both terrible awful people,” Ranboo told them, sulking dramatically.

“Thank you,” they said in sync. For some reason he action jarred something in Tommy’s brain: these were his friends.

He remembered a little over two months ago, when they first met. Not even that long ago, he was still completely prepared for them to hit him. For them to do much worse too. Now… he couldn’t even feel ridiculous for trusting that they wouldn’t. Not unless he really messed up at least, and even then… having friends was weird. It was new.

Tommy, as a rule, didn’t like new things. He could get used to this one though.

Sam hadn’t seen Tommy in roughly two months since he’d broken his arm again. Phil hadn’t given him a tone of updates either, not that Sam had much free time to listen as of late anyway.

He was here now though.

He waited in the office for the kid who was not-so-secretly his favorite, and awkwardly avoided eye contact with all the ladies typing away at who knew what.

It wasn’t long before Tommy walked in, and they both said their goodbyes to the secretaries before leaving.

“How’s it going?” Sam asked.

“Good,” Tommy replied, much to Sam’s relief. He very rarely received that response from the blonde.

He asked all the normal questions in the car. How was school going? How was Phil? How were the twins? Any problems? Did he feel safe? Were his needs being met? Was—

This went on for awhile. He gave up when Tommy started asking the same questions in sync with him.

“Why do you have them memorized?”

“We- we’ve- we’ve done this so- so many times, Sam,” Tommy complained.

“I know.” He did. He could remember a lot of them. “Outside of the script— how are you?” Sam repeated.

“Good,” Tommy said i’ve again. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I like your haircut.”

Tommy couldn’t quite push down a small smile. “Thank- thank you.”

They talked easily for most of the car ride. Often, when the two of them were together, Tommy could barely speak after not doing so for however long. His voice would be hoarse and shaky and he would have to stop when it hurt too badly. He sounded normal this time though, for himself at least. Clearly he was consistently allowed to speak here, which was good, not that Sam was expecting any different.

Still, hearing the kid talk as freely as he ever did… it made him happy.

Sam hadn’t been Tommy’s first social worker. There was another, who he didn’t like to think about.

The biggest complaint foster families used to give about Tommy was that he was too loud. He talked too much and too loudly, never knowing when to stop. Shocking, right? It was almost like he was a child or something.

Every time Tommy had been sent away, his old social worker told him why. Told him to shut up— told him no one would ever love him if he kept talking.

Eventually the message seeped in.

That man was later fired, and nearly went to jail on suspicions he was intentionally sending children he didn’t like into abusive homes. His former kids were all reassigned, Tommy being one of them.

It didn’t take long for Tommy to trust Sam. He had still been young when they met, and the poor kid was so heart-wrenchingly desperate for someone to be safe, that all it took was a Happy Meal and a hug for him to melt. It took longer to convince him that Sam wouldn’t stop being safe if he talked too much or messed up in any way, but they got there eventually.

Sam hoped Tommy and Phil were on the same path.

But for now, they were cutting his cast off.

“Dream?” Sam asked, surprised to see that particular signature on the dull red material.

Tommy shrugged. “Long story?”

“How long?”

“He bou- uh, b-bought me ice cream.”

“Ahh yes, because that makes up for everything else he did.”

Tommy shrugged. “I’ve had worse. And I was- I- I was hungry.”

Sam furrowed just brow. “Are you eating at Phil’s?”

Tommy nodded. “It was after school.”

Sam nodded, getting the distinct feeling he wasn’t telling the whole truth. He could ask later though, they had more important things to do at the moment.

Once the cast came off, they did another X-Ray, and then went though with yet another basic checkup. He’d gained a tiny bit of weight, but he’d also gotten taller so it canceled out, and still needed to gain more to be anywhere near healthy. He did look slightly heavier though. And by that, Sam meant he couldn’t literally see the bones in his arms anymore.

He was warned that if he didn’t put on weight soon they’d have to prescribe him some kind of calorie drink. Tommy nodded, and said he’d do better. The doctor gave Sam a skeptical look, and he nodded too. Tommy might be lying,but Phil would doubtlessly try his best to keep the kid on track.

Eventually the X-Rays came back His arm was back together, but barely. It would need more time to fully heal before Tommy was allowed to have it free.

“Do you want another cast or a brace?” The doctor asked.

Tommy looked to Sam, not quite knowing how to make his own decisions.

Sam shrugged: “up to you.” If one costed more Sam would simply say the doctor recommended it on the form he had to fill out.

“Uh— br-brace? Please, sorry, um—“

“Brace is fine,” The doctor told him kindly.

Tommy nodded, sending him a grateful smile.

“Do you promise to actually wear it though? You can’t just take it off.”

Tommy nodded easily, but Sam made a mental note to have Phil enforce that particular rule. Tommy simply didn’t care all that much about his own health, and Sam really didn’t want the next time he saw the kid to be in the hospital again.

It took a long time for them to find the right brace and size it and adjust it and show Tommy how to use it and tell him when to take it off and—

It was a lot.

Then, when all was said and done, he had a large black brace encasing his arm in a similar way as the cast had.

“Better?” Sam asked.

Tommy nodded. “That thing sucked.”

“Really?”

“It was so heavy. And itchy— Sam do- do- do you- do you even know how itchy my- my arm has been?”

Sam laughed. “I guess I didn’t think of it.”

“You wouldn’t. So- so inconsi-si-si-si-ssssiderate. Inconsiderate. Yeah, that- that’s you.”

Sam rolled his eyes, not trying at all to hide his endearment, even as Tommy got noticeably annoyed with his own stuttering. No matter how many times Sam insisted it wasn’t a bad thing, he never listened.

The stutter had formed in three parts. The first came at birth— he had simply never been good with words. The second came with his anxiety, which he developed early due to just about everything in his childhood. The third, and the definitive main reason it got so bad, came after he stopped talking for nearly two years.

It wasn’t his choice, as most things Tommy did weren’t. One house wouldn’t let him speak for a several months, and then he simply didn’t start again once he left. For much of when he was eleven, all of twelve, and a small part of when he was thirteen, he didn’t say a single word, as far as Sam knew.

Eventually a family put him in therapy for it. And… well… if Sam had to rank the people who’d hurt Tommy the most, they would undoubtedly be near the top of the list. They had no defense in court: how do you justify hurting a child who was sent to you for help?

Sam had never seen someone as furious as the judge was that day. Both the therapist and his assistant received the maximum sentence. Thank Prime.

Maybe it wasn’t strictly ‘legal,’ but Sam sought out that judge as often as possible when his kids needed help. He never made it too obvious, but he did what he could.

Sam still didn’t know why Tommy finally decided to start talking again. If he had to guess, he would say the kid decided it caused more pain than it saved. But when he finally managed to do it, to the blonde’s eternal frustration, he couldn’t quite get it right.

“I know, I’m the worst,” Sam said sarcastically.

“At- at- at least- at least you acknowledge it.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he said as he slid into the drivers seat of the car, Tommy quickly following on the opposite side.

They talked about lighter topics the whole way back to Phil’s house.

Once there, Sam knocked, and Phil was quick to open it, gesturing for them to come in.

“Hey, you got your cast off, nice,” Phil congratulated.

Tommy gave a small smile and nodded.

“How’d everything go?” He asked, looking at Sam.

“Good, good,” Sam assured him. “A few things to go over but he should be fine.”

Phil nodded. “Wanna come back to the office?”

Sam nodded, and followed him, frowning slightly.

“What was that about?” He asked as soon as the door closed.

“What do you mean?”

Sam wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. “It stresses him out not to have clear instructions.”

“I know.”

“You know? And you just… left him there?” It was kind of sad to watch the poor kid standing in place as if lost.

Phil nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. “He deserves to learn how to think for himself again; he can’t do that if I control where he stands every second of the day.”

Huh. Sam honestly hadn’t thought of that.

“He’s actually gotten pretty good at it,” Phil continued. “I can almost guarantee he won’t still be standing there when we go back.”

“That would be impressive,” Sam said. It shouldn’t be, and it wouldn’t be for most kids old enough to walk. But for Tommy it was.

Phil nodded in agreement. “So, what’d you want to talk about?”

“Right,” Sam said, focusing himself.

He told Phil about the healing plan for his arm, which pretty much consististed of another month with the brace and then they would reassess if it still hurt.

“That long?” Phil asked.

Sam nodded. “It was a really bad break.”

He then explained the issues with his weight, and the plan for if he couldn’t get it up, which Phil nodded along to.

“Did you ask about him fainting?” Phil asked.

Sam nodded. “They said that was probably related to him not eating enough too.”

Phil nodded.

They talked for a while longer. Phil asked his advice on getting Tommy a phone.

“Definitely an older one,” Sam said. Not only would it help him feel less bad, but he was also just fairly clumsy.

In addition to talking about Tommy, they also took the time to catch up as friends. It’d been awhile since they had a chance to.

Eventually they walked out, to where Tommy was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and talking to Wilbur. Huh, Phil had been right, he wasn’t standing lost by the door anymore. Both teens looked over when they walked in.

“Are- are you done t-talk-talking about me behind my back yet?” Tommy asked, a mischievous smile poorly suppressed on his face even as he shrunk into himself on the chance the joke didn’t land right.

And oh, did Sam love this house for him.

Phil, Wilbur, and himself all laughed and he watched as Tommy relaxed slightly.

Phil invited him to stay for dinner, but he had to decline— he had his own small (for now, hopefully) family to get back to after all.

Before he went, he did have one last question:

“For real though, why do you guys have a food truck?”

He didn’t get an answer.

Chapter Text

Phil tried not to force his sons to do anything they didn’t want to. Of course, sometimes he had to. He’d be a bad parent if he didn’t.

He had to force Wilbur to get sober. He had to force Technoblade to stop purposely messing up his routine in a twisted attempt to train himself to be ‘normal.’ He had to force them both into taking responsibility rather than the easy way out more than once.

He didn’t like to be controlling. But he wasn’t going to let his sons self destruct.

And that included Tommy.

“Go put your brace on,” he said as soon as Tommy came down the stairs the next morning.

“I-it’s fine. I, I’m, I- I don’t- I don’t need it,” Tommy said quietly.

“Sam said another month,” Phil responded, making sure he sounded perfectly calm. “Go put it on and then come have breakfast.”

Tommy nodded obediently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before retreating upstairs. Phil sighed.

“You good?” Wilbur asked him, amusement evident in his voice.

Phil nodded, before finishing making breakfast and moving to sit with Wilbur.

Technoblade arrived soon after, and then Tommy came back down, this time with his arm bent. Phil could see the brace peeking out from under his sleeve.

He gave the blonde an encouraging smile, which he hesitantly returned, before sitting in his normal seat.

“Try to finish today, okay?” Phil asked Tommy.

He nodded, curling in on himself a bit.

Phil forced himself not to feel guilty. It was this or calorie packets, and those things were disgusting. Plus, Tommy already had a smaller portion than the rest of them at every meal, as Phil couldn’t stand seeing the food go to waste.

They had to start working their way up to normally sized meals, and that began with making him finish smaller ones.

He gave them all lunch money before they left, smiling as he noticed Tommy did, in fact, finish his meal. It wasn’t surprising, considering he did nothing except what he was told, but it was still good. He wondered for the first time if the youngest ever actually spent the money he was given. Was there any way to check?

He shrugged off the question for the moment, choosing instead to quickly clean up and then settle into his office for work.

He had no reason to doubt Tommy. Not yet, at least.

Tommy Innit
i’m in the hallway
just turned the corner

Dream Wastaken
shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up

Tommy Innit
i thought you wanted to know where i was

Dream Wastaken
not every second
you are annoying

Tommy Innit
well now i’m in the cafeteria

Dream Wastaken
i am going to block you

Tommy Innit
found my table
i’m sitting down now

Dream Wastaken
who willingly spends time with you??
wait don’t answer that
i’m turning notifications off

Tommy’s new favorite game was annoying Dream. He’d said he wanted to know what was happening and if he was leaving. And Tommy was both bored and (admittedly) a little shit.

So for the past few days he’d been giving Dream near-constant updates on where he was whenever he remembered to do so. Tommy had seen the worst that could happen, and it was fine by him. He would trade a few bruises for some entertainment.

Well. He said that now, when no one was threatening him. Really though, he just got the sense that Dream wasn’t going to hurt him again. He didn’t get that feeling with very many people, and he wanted to take advantage of it. If the man ever did come up to him, he would probably no longer be fine with this trade off.

He really needed a hobby.

But for now, this was more than entertaining enough.

“Are you still bothering Dream?” Tubbo asked as he finally put down his phone.

Tommy nodded, and Tubbo rolled his eyes at the shit-eating grin he didn’t even try to hide.

“What about Dream?” Someone else at the table asked. Purpled— Dream’s brother.

Tommy instantly froze. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t talked to anyone besides Tubbo, Ranboo, and a few of his brothers’ the twins’ friends. Purpled was not on that list. He hated new people.

New people were scary and unpredictable, and Tommy really didn’t want to get hurt again.

“Tommy’s been screwing with him,” Tubbo answered easily upon realizing Tommy himself wasn’t going to be able to respond.

Oh Prime, why did Tubbo have to say that? Tommy remained frozen in place while his thoughts spiraled. What if they were close? Would he get mad that Tommy was annoying his brother? Would he punish him the same easy Dream had? Or kick him out of the friend group? Purpled had known Tubbo and Ranboo for much longer than Tommy had, surely they cared about him more.

“As you should,” the other blonde said, not seeming to mind at all. He even went so far as to nod in what seemed like approval. Tommy was reminded that Purpled himself had smoke-bombed his brother’s backpack.

Tommy nodded, hesitantly allowing himself to calm down slightly. Maybe he should talk to the rest of the table more— he needed to be able to interact with people who weren’t Tubbo and Ranboo without freaking out. Then again, other people might not want to talk to him, and he didn’t see the need to get hurt trying.

Two friends was more than enough for him— more than he’d ever had before. He could count Quackity as a friend, maybe. That would be three. Did the twins count as friends? Probably not, considering they were legally required to live with him.

They’re not required to take you places, or watch movies with you, or save you from stupid guys in stupid green hoodies, or commit legally ambiguous acts regarding automobiles with you. They choose to do that.

Tommy didn’t like the obnoxiously hopeful voice in his head. The twins’ didn’t like spending time with him. It was just… being polite. Yeah, yeah, that was probably it.

No it isn’t.

He toned out that voice, and began listening to whatever everyone else was talking about again.

He didn’t even fully trust Techno or Wilbur yet. Sure, they’d been nice so far, but things can change fast.

He refused to be caught off guard when they did.

“I- I- I- I- I- I- I- I—“

“Tommy, you need to calm down.”

“But- I- you- you- I- I- you- I- I- I can’t,” he stressed, his voice as quiet as ever.

“Yes you can.”

“No- I- please, Mr. Craft, I’m sorry.”

“Tommy, it’s fine, it’s just a phone.”

“It’s- it’s- that- that that’s so much money though. I- I- I- I- I can’t.”

“Well I already bought it,” Phil said.

He had bought Tommy a phone. Against Sam’s advice, he’d bought the same model Wilbur and Technoblade had, not wanting Tommy to feel like he deserved any less than them. The kid was not taking it well.

“But— it- it’s- you shouldn’t have— I’m sorry, they’re e-e-e-expensive, and—“

Phil couldn’t help but take note of Tommy’s stutter. Usually he didn’t even notice it, not after spending so long with the kid, but it was extra prominent at the moment. Phil hated to know he was the cause of that, but he knew this conversation had to be had.

“Tommy,” Phil cut him off. “I have a very well-paying job, this isn’t something we can’t afford.”

“But...”

“You do know I get paid to have you here too, right?”

Tommy flinched slightly, and a Phil realized that was the wrong thing to say.

“I wouldn’t care if I didn’t— hell, I’d pay them if it meant I could keep you,” he rushed to assure the younger. He only succeeded in making him look confused. “I’m just saying that we have the money for this.”

Tommy still looked nervous.

“Plus, your phone is at least seven different simultaneous safety hazards. I don’t know how you don’t have glass in your fingers all the time.” He paused. “You don’t— do you?”

Tommy shook his head, and Phil breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“That’s good. Still, it’s on its last legs— it would probably catch on fire if you opened two apps at once.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy whispered. “You should- you should just return it. I’m sorry.”

“I could,” Phil said. That wasn’t true, it was no refunds. But he didn’t want Tommy to take the phone because he had to, he wanted to convince the kid that he deserved it. “But I already bought it for you, and I want you to have it.”

Tommy didn’t respond. Phil knew he could just tell his son what to do, but he didn’t want to. He already did that too much, sometimes by necessity but often by accident. He could never tell if Tommy actually wanted to do something or if he was just obedient to a fault.

Well, the latter was always true, and there didn’t seem to be much he could do about that. However, he wanted the former to be true before he made his youngest do anything.

Silence ruled for a moment.

They were in the office, with Phil sat behind his desk and Tommy sat on a bench against the side wall. This way Phil wasn’t sitting in a position of authority over him, but they still had a good amount of distance between them. As much as he wanted to, Phil couldn’t ignore the fact that Tommy was still painfully afraid around him. This seemed like the best positioning to counter that, at least for the moment.

“What’s stopping you from taking it?” Phil eventually asked.

Tommy shrugged.

“I already bought it, and i bought it for you. All your storage will transfer, and I got you a case so it won’t break. It doesn’t take that long to set up. So what’s wrong?” He kept his voice soft and kind and patient. They had all night. He didn’t want to stress the blonde out more than he already had.

“I just… I- I- I feel bad.”

“Why?”

“I- I don’t- I don’t- I don’t- I- I don’t want to waste your- your time or, um, m-money.”

“What makes you think it’s a waste?” Phil asked, despite wanting nothing more than to simply assure him it wasn’t.

Tommy opened his mouth but hesitated, before closing it and just shrugging helplessly. “I- just… me? I’m sorry.” He sounded unsure.

“Nothing I do for you is a waste,” Phil explained patiently. There was a pause. “You’re not a waste, Tommy.”

The boy in front of him just shrunk into his already undersized frame, clearly not believing a word Phil said.

“You can say no if you really want to, but only if that’s actually what you want to do. However, you don’t have anything to feel guilty for, so that’s not a valid reason.” A pause. “So…. do you want to?” Phil asked, extending the box towards him. He managed to do so slowly enough that the younger didn’t flinch.

“I- I- I guess? I’m sorry.”

Phil smiled. “Nothing to be sorry for, mate. Cmon, let’s see how this works.”

Sure, Phil already knew how to do it; he practically had the process down to a science. However, it was something they should do together.

Phil wanted to take some time to just be around the kid. He was still horribly horribly scared to be alone with Phil, as if he was going to turn violent the second they were behind closed doors. He still wouldn’t even use his first name.

Phil saw the trust he had in his friends, and even in Wilbur and Technoblade to some extent.The two of them didn’t have that together.

Which made sense, he knew. Their power dynamic was completely different in so many ways; he didn’t — he couldn’t— expect the younger to simply treat him the same.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t try to get closer though.

He had Tommy open the box, and then together they began going through the proceeds of setting up the phone and transferring all the youngest’s data. Tommy kept a careful distance between them, and Phil didn’t try to break that.

He wasn’t stupid. While he’d been pushing Tommy on a lot of things lately, this wasn’t one he could do that for. There were certain things Tommy deserved to learn to be okay with, and others he deserved to decide on for himself.

His personal space was definitely in the latter group.

“Everything working?” Phil asked once it was all set up.

Tommy nodded. “Thank- thank you.”

Phil smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

He put the instructions, along with the charger and headphones that came with the phone, back into the box, and handed it to Tommy. Well, he tried to at least.

Tommy flinched away, harshly. Phil just kept his hand outstretched and gave him a soft smile.

“S- sorry,” he said, hesitantly reaching his hand out to take the box.

“It’s all good.”

Phil lead the way into the kitchen, where Wilbur was sitting, doing something on his phone. Tommy followed, probably not knowing what else to do.

“What are you up to?” Phil asked his older son.

“Plotting your downfall,” Wilbur answered casually, clicking his phone off.

“Ahhh, of course, I should’ve known.”

“It was quite foolish if you not to.”

“Mhm.”

“I even got Tommy in on it.”

“Tommy would never betray me.”

“Then why did he just spend the last hour stalling you?”

Phil gasped dramatically. “Tommy is this true?” He asked, turning to his youngest.

“I- I wish I could say I was s-so-sorry.”

Phil suppressed a grin at the fact that he was playing along. It took a few days for Tommy to realize all their fights were jokes, and much longer for him to dare to join in even once clearly invited to do so.

“Wow, just wow,” Phil said, shaking his head.

“Of course, you can buy your life back from us,” Wilbur offered.

“For how much?”

“Thirty grand.”

“I can offer you twenty dollars in Tesco money,” Phil countered.

“No can do.”

“Why not? I thought that was what people were worth.”

“That was an apology for almost killing someone, this is ransom.”

“I don’t think you know how ransom works, mate.”

“Sure I do. Now pay up.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes I do.”

“I’m going to mix caffeine into your tea,” Wilbur threatened.

“I thought you were killing me.”

“D-death by- by sleep d- depri- deprivation w-would suck,” Tommy commented.

“Exactly! It’s gonna be a slow, painful death, Phil. Are you sure you don’t want to just pay up?”

“I’m sure.”

“You’ll regret this.”

“Mhm.” He heard the floor creak and looked to see Technoblade standing midway down the stairs, squinting at them. “Hey,” he greeted.

Wilbur turned around and greeted his twin, while Tommy waived. Technoblade just kept looking at them weirdly.

“You good?” Phil asked him as this went on for uncomfortably long.

“Tommy,” he eventually said, sounding confused.

Tommy flinched, and looked up at him worriedly. Phil could almost hear him mentally running through all the things he might’ve done wrong.

“Are you… taller than Phil?”

Phil watched as Tommy failed to prevent a huge smile from overtaking his face. He kept forcing it down only for it to come back a moment later.

“No,” Phil said.

“I really think he is,” Technoblade said.

“No.”

“No, he definitely is,” Wilbur said, squinting at them.

“No, you can’t all be taller than me,” Phil said. “I refuse.”

“Wait hold on; stand back to back.”

Phil sighed, but turned around, casting a wary glance back as Wilbur lead Tommy by his wrist into position. He stood tense, but that was to be expected.

Technoblade finished his descent down the stairs, and him and Wilbur stood a few feet away, looking at them.

“Stand up straight.”

“You guys aren’t wearing shoes, right?”

They were not.

“Tommy ‘s taller,” Technoblade declared.

“Yeah definitely,” Wilbur agreed.

“You guys are biased,” Phil protested.

“Don- don- don- don’t be- don’t be- don’t be- don’t be a- a sore loser,” Tommy joked quietly, talking fast enough that Phil barely noticed his stutter. He was tense and leaning away as he spoke, always afraid any one thing he did would cause one of them to lash out. Someday, Phil hoped, he’d learn they wouldn’t.

Phil gave an over the top scowl. “You’re all liars.”

“It’s okay Phil, we love our short kings!” Wilbur told him, voice sing-songy as if speaking to a child.

“No, you both get to be taller than me, let me have this one!”

Truthfully, he’d known this moment was coming— Tommy had already been close to his height at only fourteen. He’d thought he had a bit more time though. Phil, of course, didn’t really care, but what was he if not dramatic?

“Sucks to suck,” Technoblade told him.

“First you try to kill me, and now this? Wow, just wow.”

“Wait— you guys tried to kill him without me?” Technoblade asked.

“You snooze you loose,” Wilbur said.

“You know, on second thought, I think Phil is taller.”

“YES!”

Tommy jumped at the loud sound, and Phil winced, mouthing ‘sorry’ to him.

In return, Tommy have him a small smile, and they both turned back to Wilbur and Technoblade’s fighting.

They all continued like this for much of the night. They stood around the kitchen, for some reason, talking and bickering about random things. Tommy didn’t say much, but he never really did.

They stayed there until none of them could keep their eyes open anymore, and they trudged upstairs, mumbling goodnights.

Phil, without thinking, told each of his sons he loved them. Before he could really process this, Tommy tiredly mumbled the same thing back. His door then quickly closed, as he apparently realized what he said.

Techno and Wilbur didn’t appear to notice anything, as they both entered their rooms and most likely prepared to sleep.

He knocked lightly on the blonde’s door.

“Yeah?” he said quietly, without opening the door, which was unusual for him.

“I meant it,” Phil told him. Maybe it was early to say things like that, but he would die before letting the kid think it was a mistake.

A pause. And then…

“Me too,” he heard quietly.

Phil smiled. “G’night, Tommy.”

“Good night, Mr. Craft.”

And yeah, it was a good night.

Chapter Text

Technoblade didn’t often understand why Wilbur was scared of Phil at first, nor why Tommy still was.

Well, he understood it in theory. It’d been explained to him many times, but despite it making sense from a purely logical standpoint, it never really clicked in his brain. Why didn’t they understand that this was Phil?

He knew why, obviously, he wasn’t stupid. But knowing and understanding are two very different things, and it had always felt like something he would never understand unless he experienced it himself.

At this moment, he thought he finally got it though.

Technoblade had a doctors appointment, and stayed home from school for the morning. Phil was doing some work in his office before they left.

He was yelling. He was on the phone with someone and he was yelling.

Phil never yelled.

He had actually promised them he would never yell again them. And to be fair, he wasn’t breaking that promise right now; he wasn’t yelling at Technoblade. But he was yelling.

And Technoblade was, stupidly, scared; when adults were mad, it tended to be at him. And yes, he knew Phil wasn’t mad at him, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling in his gut.

He sat in his room, and he knew he should put on his headphones so he couldn’t hear it, but he didn’t. He sat and he listened, and he couldn’t quite make out the words but he knew Phil was angry.

And for the first time, he truly understood his brothers.

Because when they were in the car later, all Technoblade could think about was the idea that he was going to do it again. Phil was going to yell, and this time it was going to be at him, and—

Oh Prime, did Tommy feel like this all the time? Around everyone? Technoblade couldn’t even imagine how awful that must be for him.

“You okay?” Phil asked him.

He nodded.

“Sorry about earlier, I just… it’s a long story.”

“Is… everything okay?” Technoblade asked cautiously.

Phil hesitated. “Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine, just something at work. Don’t worry about it.”

He was lying. But he gave Technoblade a strained smile, and he let himself relax.

It was fine, this was Phil.

His fear dulled down to concern. He hoped everything was okay, but he knew he was safe. He always was with Phil.

“Can I help?”

Phil shook his head. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

He was lying.

But Technoblade knew when to drop a topic, and so he did. It was probably just something at work and it would blow over in a few days.

It didn’t.

The next week or so was… tense.

Try as he might, Phil couldn’t hide his obvious stress from anyone in the house.

He didn’t yell again, not while they were home at least. He still joked around and laughed and spent time with them. He still let them drag him to the Essempii. He still tried his best to pretend nothing was wrong.

But he had three traumatized kids who, as a direct result of said trauma, were hyper-sensitive to his moods.

He couldn’t hide much.

However, Phil, even when stressed, was an amazing father. Never let it be said that he wasn’t. He didn’t feel like a ticking-time bomb, just waiting for something to push him over the edge. He never took anything out on them. He was just slightly more high-strung. He never, not even for a moment, stopped being the kind and caring man who adopted them.

And in the meantime, life went on.

End-of-tem grades came out.

Technoblade had done pretty well, as had Wilbur. Mainly A’s and a few B’s for both of them. But Tommy…

“How is that even possible?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shrugged.

“Are you cheating?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, looking faintly amused.

“Prove it.”

He shrugged. Tommy hadn’t been in much of a talking mood ever since Phil’s went downhill.

Their father tried his best to calm the kid down, he really did. But with a tension that never quite left his shoulders and a smile that never quite reached his eyes, it was impossible.

He too was in shock at Tommy’s report card.

“Straight A+‘s?” Phil asked. “In all honors classes? Literally how, mate?”

Tommy shrugged, face flushing.

“Awwww is Tommy embarrassed?” Wilbur taunted.

Tommy glared, face still beet red.

“Be nice, Wilbur,” Phil said.

“I am being nice!”

Phil gave him an exasperated look, before turning back to Tommy. “Seriously, great job, mate. I’m impressed.”

Tommy nodded, still blushing furiously.

“Well, great job all around boys. What do you say we celebrate?” Phil asked.

Wilbur gasped dramatically. “With our favorite restaurant?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Your favorite restaurant, and only if that’s what everyone else wants.”

Techno agrees, and Tommy did too, albeit only in the form of a nod.

Technoblade truthfully only really liked the place for sentimental reasons. The food was fine, don’t get him wrong, but he wouldn’t go nearly as often if it weren’t for all the good memories they had there.

And tonight, they went to make another one.

Even Phil seemed to forget about whatever problems were plaguing him for a few hours. Instead, he complained about everything in the same overdramatic way he always did, while Wilbur and Techno egged him on and Tommy watched them quietly with a small amused smile.

It wasn’t quite the perfect dynamic, not yet. But Technoblade got the distinct feeling that it would be soon enough. When Phil’s work went back to normal and Tommy finally became fully comfortable around them, everything would click into place.

He just had to wait.

And it wasn’t hard to be patient when things continued to go as well as they did that night.

“What are you doing?” Technoblade asked there next afternoon, after watching Tommy stare intently at his phone screen for weirdly long, very rarely clicking any buttons. They were both sitting in the living room, silently doing their own things. Or at least, they had been until now.

Tommy jumped so hard he almost dropped his phone. “Uh- s-ss-so-so-sorry- sorry. Um. I’m just—“ he held up his screen.

“Hey, chill, I was just asking,” he soothed, before looking at the screen. “Ew, pretentious checkers? Really?” Technoblade asked. The blonde had been playing chess over text-messages with Tubbo. It was one of the perks of finally getting a new phone, he supposed.

“Uh… I- I- I guess?”

“Lame. Play real checkers with me.”

“Okay? W- what do you— what do you have against chess?”

“It’s called pretentious checkers, and it’s the same as checkers but annoying and overcomplicated and I hate it.”

“So you don’t know how to play?”

Techno paused, momentarily taken aback. This was the same kid who was scared to breath the wrong way barely two months ago? With how much fear and anxiety Tommy carried on him at all times, it was often difficult sometimes to remember how far he’d come until moments like these reminded him.

“I do know how to play, thank you very much. It’s just awful and I choose not to.”

“So you’re bad at it?”

Techno scoffed. “Shut up.”

Tommy grinned. “It’s okay, we- we- we can’t all be good at everything,” he said condescendingly.

“I would be great at it if it weren’t stupid.”

“Mhm. I’m sure.”

“I don’t appreciate your attitude, Tommy Innit.”

“My deepest apologies.”

Technoblade sent a joking glare, before pulling out his phone and sending Tommy a game of checkers. It was simply the superior game, as anyone with even a fraction of a brain would tell you.

Tommy took his turn, and they played each other while the younger somehow also kept up a game of chess against Tubbo. It was impressive.

It was even more impressive when he won.

“Literally how? I am undefeated.”

“Are- are you- are you sure about that?”

Just then the front door opened, and they heard Phil enter the house. Tommy sat up straight, looking just a bit more on edge.

“Phil you’ve taken in a monster,” Techno called out to him.

Phil laughed, making his way over to them. He looked exhausted. Nevertheless he played along: “How so?”

“He took away my checkers win-streak.”

Phil laughed. “Impressive.”

“No, not impressive. Evil,” Technoblade insisted.

Phil just laughed at him again. “Good job, mate,” he told Tommy, who just nodded, looking at the floor in embarrassment again.

“Well, I have to get back to work,” Phil told them. “See you guys later.”

“Bye.”

Tommy waved.

There was a long pause.

“Rematch?” Technoblade offered.

Tommy grinned. “You’re on.”

They played for far too long, winning about an equal amount of games, until Wilbur got home. By that point they had both ended up on the floor of the living room. The rug was itching him through his shirt but he couldn’t quite care enough to sit up.

“What are you guys doing?” Wilbur asked.

Technoblade just let out a long groan as he realized he was going to lose again.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows.

“I am dest-t-t-t-troy-troy-troying- destroying the- the competition, big dubs,” Tommy said, before punching himself in the leg with an annoyed face, seemingly as punishment for his stutter.

“Don’t do that,” Wilbur said softly, moving to sit down. He sat beside Tommy on the floor, both leaning their backs against the couch

“Sorry,” Tommy whispered.

“It’s okay. What are you destroying him at?”

Tommy just showed him the phone screen instead of speaking.

“Ahh, you’re playing idiot chess.”

Technoblade glared at him. “It’s the superior game.”

“Nah.”

“Take your pretentious checkers propaganda out of this living room.”

“No. Why are you guys playing on your phones when you’re literally right next to each other; we have a real board in the closet.”

Technoblade paused. That was a good point. “No one likes you,” he said instead of acknowledging said point.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Well, Tommy, I’m glad he has someone else to play idiot chess with. I hate it.”

“It’s because he’s pretentious.”

“I’d rather be pretentious than stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, I’m just humble. You wouldn’t get it.”

Wilbur and Tommy both laughed at that. Wilbur leaned back at the same time Tommy curled in on himself, making for a really strange contrasting image. Complete with the near-identical haircuts and their natural resemblance, they looked like… well, brothers.

Technoblade was never insecure in his appearance, but in that moment he was jealous. He wished he looked like any of his family members. He shared Wilbur’s natural hair color, but with that covered by dye, no one would ever know.

He shook the thought out of his head— he didn’t need to look like them for them to be family. And besides, he liked the way he looked.

“You guys are mean.”

“I’m sorry, but: you? Humble?” Wilbur asked, making Tommy shake with barely suppressed laughter once again.

Technoblade glared, but there was no heat behind it. They were just joking, and to be fair he did tend to brag a lot, even if that was mostly jokes as well.

“Yeah yeah, you’re one to talk,” Technoblade said, waiving him off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all Will-I-Am.”

Wilbur glared, but his phone lit up with a message, and he picked it up. “Phil says we can order or cook dinner because he is working late, and he will pay us back if we order.”

Techno nodded, slightly disappointed that his father was working late yet again. He wanted to know what was so wrong at work that Phil couldn’t say anything about it. He understood that Phil didn’t want them to have to deal with ‘adult problems’ while they were still young, but not knowing was driving him insane, and he knew Wilbur felt the same. Tommy hadn’t known the man long enough to realize quite how weird this was, but he too was noticeably stressed.

“Hmm. I hate to waste Phil’s offer to buy us food, but honestly he bought the good kind of spaghetti yesterday…” Technoblade trailed off.

“Oh sweet Prime he did?” Wilbur asked. “I love the good kind of spaghetti,” he pumped his fist in celebration. “That sound good, Toms?” He asked, turning his head to the side to look at the blonde in question.

Tommy nodded.

With no small amount of annoyance, Technoblade peeled himself off of the floor, and he saw Wilbur do the same, before motioning for Tommy to follow them to the kitchen.

He, of course, did so without any sort of complaint.

They made spaghetti and meatballs. It was not a three-person job, but with nothing better to do they all pretended it was.

Wilbur, being a genius, tried to open the marinara sauce with a knife. Unsurprisingly, he cut himself.

“Ow! Fucking hell!”

“What were you expecting?” Techno asked, even as he got bandaids and disinfectant out of a cabinet.

“I was expecting to open the jar.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“That’s sexist. You think I need a man to open my jars?”

Technoblade paused. “You… we’re both men?”

“Your lack of feminism is greatly disheartening Technoblade.”

Technoblade turned to look at Tommy. “And he calls me stupid for playing checkers.”

Tommy let out a small amused huff from his nose.

Technoblade smiled, and went back to bandaging the small cut on Wilbur’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Of course.”

They finished cooking just in time for Phil to finally join them.

“Everything good?” Wilbur asked.

“Yeah,” Phil assured him with a tight smile. “All good. Spaghetti?”

They nodded, and all started setting the table without needing to talk.

Tommy got plates and utensils, while Wilbur cleared off the decorative table pieces, Technoblade transferred the food from the stove onto serving plates, and Phil grabbed them all cups of water.

They all took turns serving themselves, though Phil had recently had to start making all of Tommy’s plates for him. Apparently he really needed to gain weight, which anyone who saw him would be unable to disagree with. It became one of those things they all sort of politely didn’t mention.

Phil piled on more food than Tommy would ever give himself, though it definitely wasn’t more than what the rest of them had.

They talked about their days.

It was the last week before Tech Week for the school play, and Wilbur was being dramatic about everything that happened.

Call him crazy, but Technoblade strongly doubted they had to re-choreograph every single dance number before the end of the week.

Still, no one else had anything interesting to share.

Or, well, Technoblade didn’t. Phil was refusing to share whatever was going on with him, and Tommy was refusing to speak longer than absolutely necessary when Phil was in the room, so Prime only knew what either of them were thinking.

Still, it was nice.

They somehow ended up back on the topic of chess and checkers.

“They’re completely different games, I don’t understand the debate,” Phil said. “Just because they’re played on the same board doesn’t make them similar.”

“That’s not true,” Technoblade said.

“You also try to take out other pieces and get to the other side in both of them,” Wilbur added.

“Okay and there’s a net in both soccer and lacrosse, which are played on the same field, and the goal for each team is to get the ball into the next. That doesn’t make them similar.”

“Yes it does.”

“Lacrosse is just soccer with sticks.”

Phil sighed. He turned to Tommy. “You see what I have to deal with?”

Tommy looked amused but didn’t let himself laugh.

The rest of the meal continued in a similar fashion.

Phil offered to clean up after, supposedly in order to let them relax after school. Technoblade and Wilbur both knew it was meant as an apology for how busy he’d been lately.

All three of them made sure to thank him a little more than was strictly necessary.

Sure, he would prefer an explanation. But if Phil didn’t want to give one then they would have to accept that. At least until it all blew over the way he kept insisting it would.

Phil had yet to lie to them, and Technoblade trusted with everything in him that he wasn’t going to start now. All their problems had eventually worked themselves out, the same way this one would.

Though when he heard Phil in his office late into the night, he couldn’t help but pray it’d happen sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

There was something wrong with Mr. Craft, and though he didn’t know what it was, Tommy somehow felt as though it was his fault.

For about a week, the man had been working far too many hours and seemed like he was barely holding it together. Tommy had seen college students go through finals with less stress than his foster father was carrying with him these days.

He kept saying there was just a small problem with work. He assured them it wasn’t a money thing though, and told them not to worry about it.

They all worried about it.

Tommy couldn’t even pretend he was blowing it out of proportion when Wilbur and Technoblade noticed too.

But try as he might, he couldn’t think of what he’d done wrong, especially in the context of Mr. Craft’s work. Maybe it had nothing to do with him? Though it usually did. Maybe it wasn’t actually about work?

He didn’t know.

He tried to be better— to be quieter and listen more and take up less space, but that didn’t seem to help. Phil didn’t necessarily seem mad at him, but he couldn’t help the anxious feelings eating him up inside.

He started cutting more.

Each line felt like he was a little closer to solving the problem. Which was stupid, it didn’t help anything. But he felt better when he his legs were stinging and aching. He felt better when that shaky feeling overtook him, as if he hadn’t eaten in days when in reality he had just lost a few drops of blood. He felt better when he saw red— he’d even started lining the cuts up again so they were neat and (as crazy as it made him feel to use this word) pretty.

And he didn’t want to stop.

That Friday night, all the tension that had been building in their house came to a peak.

Phil was on the phone again, and he was yelling. They were all home, and so he tried to keep it controlled, but he couldn’t quite.

Technoblade’s room was the furthest from the office, and so therefor the quietest. Wilbur eventually knocked and asked if they could hang out. Technoblade accepted and went to get Tommy too.

The three of them sat and pretended nothing was wrong. Wilbur had long since texted their friends not to come over.

It was a pretty dramatic picture— all of them practically hiding in his room together from their enraged father. It really wasn’t like that though. This was the second time Technoblade had ever heard the man yell, and the first for both his brothers.

And really, it wasn’t out of fear. Well, maybe it was for Tommy actually. But Technoblade wasn’t scared of Phil, and deep down Wilbur wasn’t either.

They both knew if they went downstairs and interrupted, Phil would immediately calm down and smile and assure them everything was fine. He was a good parent. He just... Technoblade didn’t know. He wished he knew.

Eventually the front door slammed, and they heard the sound of Phil pulling out of the driveway.

They all paused.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Wilbur said.

Technoblade nodded.

Tommy didn’t react.

“He wouldn’t hide it if something was really wrong,” Wilbur said, clearly trying to reassure himself.

“It’s probably just something with work,” Technoblade agreed. That was what Phil had been saying.

Wilbur nodded.

They ignored the fact that Phil had always liked his job.

Phil was pissed.

He knew he owed his children a major apology, and they would get it later. For now, he needed to cool off.

He ended up at the gym, banging tires with a hammer until he couldn’t anymore. This didn’t take very long— he was getting out of shape. It had been a very long time since he was angry enough that he needed to take it out physically. He thanked whoever was listening he happened to have his gym bag with him when he stormed out of the house as he changed into non-sweaty clothes.

He cringed looking back on his actions— he could’ve handled that better. He vowed to make it up to them.

He then called in dinner and picked it up on the way home. He made sure to get curry for Tommy.

On the drive home, he thought about how he wanted to do this. He had to tell them the truth, he couldn’t keep making excuses related to his work. They deserved better than that.

All too soon, he was back in the familiar driveway. He didn’t think he’d ever dreaded seeing his sons before this moment. Well, that was unfair. Of course he was always happy to see them, including right now. It was just the conversation they needed to have that he was dreading.

With a sigh, he exited his car and entered his house.

He called his sons down, and they ate. They all pretended nothing happened, and he felt guilt like never before.

This ended tonight.

They cleaned up, and he decided to finally come clean.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said.

They all nodded.

“It’s fine.”

“Is everything okay?”

Phil nodded. “Yeah everything’s fine, just… a lot going on.”

They all nodded, not knowing how to respond to that.

He sighed. “Tommy, can you actually come talk to me in the office?”

Tommy froze, but nodded silently.

“Alight, great,” he said, forcing a smile. He turned to his older sons. “I’ll explain later, okay? I promise.” He put a bit of emphasis on the last two words, needing them to know he meant it.

They both nodded, looking slightly more relaxed now that they knew this tension would finally end. Phil almost didn’t want to break it to them that it was only going to get worse.

Before he knew it, he and Tommy were sat across the desk from each other. Tommy kept his head bowed and didn’t speak, as was unfortunately becoming normal for him again.

“You’re not in trouble, I promise,” Phil said.

Tommy nodded.

“Before I say what happened, I need you to know, I’m going to fix this, okay?”

He nodded.

Phil took a deep breath. There really was no way to say this gently, was there? “My foster license is set to expire in a little under two weeks. I obviously reapplied, but they mistakenly marked me as having a criminal record. I don’t, but my application was thrown out.” He spoke slowly and carefully, trying to get out the full story without overwhelming the kid.

Phil was almost glad he couldn’t see Tommy’s expression.

“Sam managed to save my current license from being taken away since I don’t actually have a criminal record, but I have to reapply again.”

Tommy nodded.

“Unfortunately, because I was denied the first time, it’s a different process and it’s going to take longer,” he said slowly.

Tommy nodded. He looked… Phil didn’t know. He looked small, with the way he was curled in on himself, head bowed, barely taking up half the seat.

“We’re trying to get around it, but there’s a large chance I can’t get a new license in time. If that happens you’ll have to be put with another family until we can get you back.” He paused, and made his voice as serious as he possibly could when he continued. “But, Tommy, look at me.”

The blonde hesitantly looked up at him. Written on his face was a mixture of fear and resignation.

“You are coming back here. We are not losing you. Sam and I are pulling every string we have. Even if you leave, it would only be for a short period of time, I promise.”

Phil knew his promised didn’t mean as much to Tommy as they did to Wilbur and Technoblade, but he still had to try.

“Tommy, have I ever lied to you?”

The blonde shook his head.

“I promise,” he repeated. “This was just a mistake. If you leave, we will get you back.”

Tommy nodded, and Phil couldn’t interpret any of the emotion behind the action.

Phil sighed. “I wanted to tell you separately from the twins because, well, they’re not gonna take it too well.”

Tommy huffed out a small laugh, though Phil got the sense it was more for his sake than for the kid’s own.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he said.

Tommy nodded, not looking overly convinced.

Phil lead him out of the office, and then called the twins in. Ugh, he felt like a principal.

He sat down, somehow more anxious for this conversation than he was for the first one. Mostly because they would actually react, whereas he knew Tommy wouldn’t. Which was a bad thing, he knew. He had actively been trying to change it since the blonde arrived. But it also made it a hell of a lot easier to deliver bad news.

He told them the same story, beginning with: “before you say anything, let me finish, okay?”

They both agreed, and Phil explained everything, but not before apologizing profusely for the way he’d acted earlier, as well as for the entire past week. They both said it was fine, and seemed anxious to get to hear the actual explanation.

With no small amount of reluctance, he told them.

As predicted, they were not happy.

“What the fuck?”

“They can’t just do that!”

“Boys,” he cut them off. “It’s going to be okay.”

“There has to be a workaround,” Wilbur argued.

“We’ve looked. We’re still looking.”

“But— you can’t— Phil, please.” And Prime did it hurt to watch his son practically beg him to do something when he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m doing everything I can, I promise.”

“There has to be some kind of emergency override,” Technoblade insisted, seeming panicked.

Phil shook his head. “Not one we qualify for.”

“How are you so calm?” Wilbur asked, almost accusingly.

Phil just stared at him for a long moment. “What about the past week makes you think I’m calm about this?”

Wilbur opened his mouth, but all that came out was a loud breath, not quite a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

“It’s okay,” Phil told him. “You don’t have to be sorry: it’s a shitty situation and I know I haven’t exactly handled it the best way either. And I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” they both mumbled in sync.

“Alright,” Phil said, attempting to make it sound comforting. “I’m doing everything I can, as is his social worker. We’re gonna work this out and it’s all gonna be okay. Okay?”

They both agreed.

“Are you guys both calm enough to go back out there? I don’t want to freak him out.”

“What do we even do?” Technoblade asked. “I don’t… I didn’t prepare for this.”

“It’s okay,” Phil told him. “You’ll do fine.”

“I don’t think any of us know what we’re supposed to do,” Wilbur assured him. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

With that they all left the office. They were in a worse place than they had been upon entry, but at least everything was out in the open now.

Phil took a deep breath. It had to get worse before it could get better.

Tommy’s first thought was, in all honestly: Dream is gonna be so mad at me.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. The best two months of his life were coming to an end, and he was worried about Dream Was-fucking-taken.

What a stupid name. For a stupid guy. In this stupid town. With all these stupid people. And so many stupid—

Okay, Tommy would admit he was being childish. He was practically throwing a tantrum over this.

He took a deep breath.

It was fine, he’d been kicked out of good houses before. Not quite in this way, but still.

He wasn’t sure if Mr. Craft was just trying to make him feel better or if they actually planned on taking him back at some point.

All of his instincts and past experiences screamed at him not to fall for it.

But… Mr. Craft had never lied to him. And why would he tell Tommy now, two weeks in advance, instead of right before unless he was telling the truth? He wasn’t cruel, he wouldn’t want to stretch out Tommy’s torture like that. And why would he have been so angry about it if he was choosing to send him away?

He couldn’t tell what was real. All the signs said that his house was different, and that they truly did want to keep him. But it was entirely possible he was just projecting his love of this family onto the situation, and giving himself false hope. That was the more likely situation, if anything.

He sighed and pulled out his phone.

Tommy Innit
may/may not leave town in a few weeks
may/may not be permanent

Dream Wastaken
actually?
or are you messing with me again

Tommy Innit
nah fr this time

Dream Wastaken
why?
if you don’t mind me asking

Tommy Innit
why are you being polite
this is suspicious

Dream Wastaken
oh sorry
explain yourself right the fuck now before i make you*
is that better?

Tommy Innit
yes, thank you
supposedly the paperwork got all messed up idk

Dream Wastaken
are they gonna fix it?

Tommy Innit
idk
they said they’re trying but it might not happen in time so i’ll probably have to leave. and then i might come back if they want me to

Dream Wastaken
so you’re like going on vacation basically

Tommy Innit
uhhhh not really?

Dream Wastaken
well from my pov you are
and i’m the main character, tomathy

Tommy Innit
1) no ur not
2) don’t call me that
3) the “vacation” is probably permanent

Dream Wastaken
you said you’d come back if they wanted you to, right? It’s up to phil and the twins?

Tommy Innit
pretty much

Dream Wastaken
so you’ll be back

Tommy Innit
maybe

Dream Wastaken
you have like self esteem issues or something
sometimes people (phil, wilbur, and techno in this case) do this really weird thing called liking you
crazy, i know
they’re gonna get you back if they can

Tommy Innit
idk

Dream Wastaken
well i *do* know and im always right

Tommy Innit
keep telling yourself that

Dream Wastaken
whatever
you’ll see
tell me if/when you leave

Tommy Innit
okay bye big d

Dream Wastaken
don’t call me that

Tommy Innit
why not

Dream Wastaken
because

Tommy Innit
fine
bye small d

Dream Wastaken
no

Tommy Innit
d money?

Dream Wastaken
sure

Tommy Innit
okay bye d money

Dream Wastaken
bye

He waited a moment for another response, before clicking off his phone when he didn’t get one.

He leaned back against the wall of the room they’d given him and sighed. The Queen of England was taunting him from her spot on the wall. He glared at her.

The one-sided staring contest was interrupted by a knock at the door. Tommy jumped, having been so lost in thought he didn’t hear footsteps. It was Wilbur, if he had to guess.

He opened the door, stepping back and bowing his head, as per usual.

“Hey, Tommy,” Wilbur said, somewhat awkwardly. “We were gonna, uh, watch a movie, if you wanted to come?”

Tommy shrugged, keeping his head down.

Wilbur paused. “We’re gonna fix this,” he said. “I promise— Phil promises.”

Tommy nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Alright, come on,” Wilbur said, apparently taking that as a yes.

Tommy nodded, somewhat relived. He selfishly wanted to soak up whatever time he had left here. He silently followed Wilbur down to the living room.

He pointed for Tommy to go between himself and Technoblade (who wrapped a protective arm around him, as he often did), rather than in his usual spot. It still struck him as weird that he had a ‘usual spot’ on their couch.

The same way it was weird he had a ‘usual’ seat at their table, and a ‘usual’ time to shower and do chores. The same way he found it weird that there were so many things they called his.

‘His’ coat hook by the door, and ‘his’ room, and ‘his’ supply of diet cokes, and ‘his’ granola bars Wilbur insisted on giving him at random times, and ‘his’ videogame controller.

He unofficially ‘had’ so many things in this house.

Tommy, if asked, would claim he only had a strong emotional attachment to three things:

Henry, his water water bottle, and his own first name.

But fuck, he was gonna miss the dozens of small attachments he had to random things here.

And when Mr. Craft put on ‘his’ favorite movie, Ellie’s death scene wasn’t the only thing that had him blinking back tears.

Chapter Text

Wilbur had never seriously considered the possibility of losing Tommy. It simply wasn’t going to happen.

Except it was.

It was happening right now. He was losing his baby brother.

Temporarily, he reminded himself. Tommy would be back. Phil promised. Plus, they had time before he left. Wilbur intended to utilize it.

He selfishly wished this hadn’t happened right before Tech Week. As one of the leads in the play, he couldn’t afford to skip any rehearsals. He’d be staying late after school and missing out on his already limited time with the kid who had become both his brother and one of his best friends.

He didn’t let himself sulk for too long though— it’s not like it would change anything. He just had to use what he had.

“Why are we doing this?” Tommy asked, sweeping leaves out of L’Manberg the following day. It was a very awkward motion with one arm still locked in an L position.

“Because we need to fix it up; don’t you want this to be the best burger place on the continent?”

Tommy opened his mouth, before apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to say. He closed his mouth and went back to work.

“No, cmon, answer me,” Wilbur whined.

Tommy smirked and didn’t respond.

“Wow. Rude,” Wilbur huffed, continuing to take down the Christmas lights. Yeah, this should’ve been done weeks ago, but he was lazy, sue him.

They spent maybe an hour cleaning, before Wilbur’s own laziness won out and he gave up, lying across one of the freshly cleaned counters dramatically.

He waited a few minutes as Tommy kept going before realizing the younger wasn’t going to stop cleaning until given permission.

“You can be done if you want, dude,” Wilbur said.

Tommy gave him a questioning look. Wilbur sat up, resisting the urge to sigh. He hated trying to explain these things to the younger— he could never quite find the words.

How do you explain to a fourteen-year-old that they are not, in fact, somehow beneath everyone around them?

“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to,” Wilbur told him. “I, personally, have given up for the day.”

Tommy looked at him for a moment, pausing, before nodding and leaning back against the opposite wall as him.

“What would you like to do today, Tommy Innit?”

As Wilbur could have predicted, he shrugged, looking away.

“When was the last time you made a decision?”

“I’m actively making the decision not to punch you,” he muttered.

There was a pause as they both processed what the younger just said.

Their eyes widened at the same time; Wilbur’s with shock and Tommy’s with horror.

Wilbur cracked up laughing at the same time Tommy rushed to fix his mistake: “I-I-I-I’m so sorry, I- I’m so— that- that- that- that was a joke, I- I was joking! I promise! I- I didn’t mean to say that— it- it was a mistake and I- I- I didn’t mean to— I’m- I’m- I’m so sorry—“

“Oh dear Prime,” Wilbur managed out through laughter. “Tommy, Tommy, it’s fine,” he said, still not fully calmed down.

Tommy’s stream of apologies died out, and he was just stood fearfully, completely pressed against the wall.

It reminded Wilbur of his first night here, when he accidentally called Phil old. Or when he called them all ‘bitches’ on Christmas Eve. Both times, he’d freaked out despite no one being mad.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, calm down,” Wilbur said, still laughing a little.

Tommy nodded, and while his eyes were still wide and distrustful, he stopped bracing against the wall quite as hard. “I- I didn’t- I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Wilbur assured him. “It’s okay, I can usually tell when you’re joking.”

Tommy nodded. “Sorry.”

“You say ‘sorry’ too much, Tommy Innit. What do you want to do today?”

Once again, Tommy merely shrugged.

“Cmon, choose one thing to do, even if it’s small.”

“Oh, um, I- I don’t….”

“Nope, pick something.” He kept his voice light.

Tommy hesitated. “Are… you… sure?” He sounded so uncertain that Wilbur almost wanted to cry, and he might’ve if he wasn’t used to this by now.

“Mhm,” Willbur said with a nod.

“I- um, can we, um… go inside? I guess?” He said slowly, before immediately scrambling to fix his words: “O-o-only if you want to, of course. I- I mean, we don’t have to, I- I just— it’s cold? Not- not- not- not to complain or anything, I’m sorry, I—“ he cut himself off, anxiously wringing his hands together.

“Yeah, we can go inside,” Wilbur said. “You don’t have to be so nervous. You can always ask for things, or even just go inside yourself if you’re cold, or for any other reason.”

Tommy nodded hesitantly.

Wilbur gave him a small smile before leading him into the house through the back door, which was located near the base of the stairs in the kitchen.

He nearly bumbled into a frazzled-looking Phil on the way out.

“Oh, Prime, Wil, I didn’t expect to see you there!” He laughed. He perked over Wilbur’s shoulder. “Hey Tommy! I was just coming to tell you guys I’m leaving, I’ll be back for dinner!” He was already halfway to the front door by the time he finished speaking.

“Where are you going?” Wilbur asked.

“I’ll explain later, I really have to go! Bye, love you!”

“Love you too?”

Phil shot them both a quick grin before exiting the house.

Wilbur looked at Tommy, who seemed equally confused.

“That was weird.”

Tommy nodded.

Wilbur shook his head; he’d find out what was happening soon enough. More likely than not it had something to do with Tommy’s case. Hopefully good news.

“You hungry?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shrugged.

Wilbur frowned, but decided not to push it, mostly for his own sake.

Phil had already expressed to him that he didn’t want him relapsing due to Tommy having (potentially) similar problems. And beyond a few moments of internal conflict, Wilbur was doing pretty well for himself. And even when he wasn’t, he had people who could help him.

As much as Wilbur wanted to return that help, he knew he would only make the entire situation worse by sabotaging himself.

So he didn’t.

“Have a granola bar,” he said instead, handing Tommy his favorite type. They probably made up half of his diet at this point, which wasn’t healthy when Wilbur thought about it, but it was better than nothing.

Tommy flinched away from his hand, causing Wilbur’s heart to twist in the same way it always did, before hesitantly taking the food with an expression of thanks in the same oddly quiet voice he always used.

“No problem,” Wilbur said with a small smile. He grabbed a small snack for himself too, and (once Wilbur motioned for Tommy to do so) they ate quietly.

When they finished, they were once again left alone with the problem of what to do. Predictably, asking Tommy did him no good.

“Uhhhhhh want to see one of the new songs we’re working on? Ooh! I have the sheet music for the piano part if you want to try it!”

Tommy nodded, agreeing as he always did.

They went upstairs, moving the keyboard back into Wilbur’s room, where the sheet music and the rest of the instruments were.

Wilbur liked his room.

The walls were gray, though they were several shades lighter then Tommy’s. They weren’t quite bordering on white, but they were close. The bed spread and curtains were teal (his favorite color), though some of his friends wrongfully insisted the shade was called cyan. Idiots.

The shape and setup was nearly identical to Tommy’s, though slightly larger. His desk had a somewhat aged computer resting on it. The wall next to his bed had posters of his favorite music artists, as well as some hanging records. The wall with his desk (across from the wall with the windows and his bed) had a few guitars and more records hanging on them, as well as a very large map of the world and a few videogame posters. Attached to his desk, on top of it, was a large bookshelf that nearly reached the ceiling. There were four shelves: three for books and one for knick-knacks. There were several boxes placed in one corner with different speakers and wires and microphones and everything else he needed for his music.

The wall with his closet was covered in evenly spaced photographs, until it stopped with a few feet of room leftover for whatever he wanted to add in the future.

He had pictures with Phil, and Technoblade, and all of his friends. There were only a few pictures from before he met his family, but they were there too. There were pictures of him on stage with his band, at talent shows, competitions, birthdays, vacations, and much more. More recently, he had several with Tommy.

His favorite one was from when they first stole L’Manberg back from Quackity and Schlatt, though looking at it was bittersweet. Yeah, it was an amazing memory: the first time he really managed to connect with Tommy. But, to be frank, the kid looked like shit.

Wilbur didn’t want to be reminded that, as thin as he was now, Tommy had arrived at their house even smaller, in multiple ways. His face, despite being split with a smile, was also marred by so many awful bruises. He was hard to look at without cringing.

As Wilbur glanced at the blonde now, he felt a rush of relief and fondness. He was carefully scanning all of the sheet music, apparently mapping out the rhythms in his head before attempting it (he had a tendency to be a bit of a perfectionist about most things, but especially the piano for some reason). But besides the large black brace still trapping his arm in place, he had no other injuries.

At least, no visible ones. But it’d been more than long enough that anything hidden under his clothes had to have healed, and with Dream and him apparently being friends now, it was highly unlikely that new wounds had been recently created.

He was okay, physically. And they were getting there mentally. Wilbur was sure of it.

“I- I think I’m- I- I can do it now,” Tommy said eventually, voice barely above a whisper. He undid some kind of strap on his brace to give his arm more mobility.

“Are you supposed to do that?” Wilbur asked warily.

Tommy nodded. “It’s fine.”

“If you say so.” He picked up his guitar, and counted them in so they they could start at the same time.

It went remarkably well.

Somehow, despite never having seen the music before, Tommy played perfectly. And Wilbur had, of course, been working on this for forever; he could do it in his sleep.

“Whooo!” Wilbur cheered softly at the end.

He held his hand up for a high-five, but didn’t move it towards Tommy at all, leaving the younger with the option to reach out and accept it or to not without feeling threatened.

Tommy smiled slightly and gave him a gentle high-five.

“Do you have a favorite song you can play?” Wilbur asked eventually.

“O-of yours or- or just in general?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Either or.”

Tommy gave a small smile before turning back to the keyboard and beginning to play. It sounded familiar but Wilbur couldn’t quite—

Oh. Oh shit.

“Are you fucking rick-rolling me right now?”

Tommy laughed, practically cackling and clapping his hands a few times, though not hard enough to make much of a sound. Wilbur was pretty sure Tommy would never make much of a sound if he could help it.

“You are! I can’t even believe you; my own brother no less.”

Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise and he stopped laughing.

Wilbur suddenly realized what he said. Shit. Tommy might not see him like that yet and they really hadn’t known each other for that long and— he shouldn’t have said that. He opened to his mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to assure him he meant it, but before he could—

“Cry about it,” Tommy practically whispered, a small smile playing on his face once again.

Wilbur smiled back. “Maybe I will, you don’t know me.”

“Oh yeah, what- what don’t I know?”

He thought about it. “I am in year six of a very long process to convince Phil to get me a cat.”

“I feel like if it’s been six years you- you- you might- you might just be failing.”

Wilbur gasped. “How could you even say that?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Phil is going to get me a cat.”

“D-does he know that?”

Wilbur paused. “He will.” He actually probably wouldn’t; as much as Wilbur wanted one he’d never seriously pressed for it; he would be too busy to care for it properly, and both Phil and Technoblade were mildly allergic.

“Whatever you say, big dubs.”

Wilbur squinted at him. “Wanna try another song?”

Tommy nodded, and Wilbur pulled out more sets of sheet music.

Wilbur made adjustments to his guitar, and practiced the very beginning to get the tempo correct before asking Tommy if he was ready.

The blonde rushed to order the pages, nodding.

“You can look at it more if you want,” Wilbur offered, thinking he didn’t look quite finished.

Tommy quickly shook his head though. ”I’m good.”

Wilbur nodded and once again counted them in.

It went well until the bridge— at which point both the key and time signatures changed, and the piano part got significantly harder. Tommy evidently hadn’t scanned that far, because he messed up.

Wilbur laughed a little, lightheartedly, not intending to be mean, and kept playing until Tommy suddenly stopped.

“You good?” He asked, before looking up from the strings to see the younger practically shaking. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked, more seriously this time.

Tommy flinched away from him. “I-I- I’m sorry,” he forced out.

“About the song?”

He nodded, loosely hugging his legs and staring into his own lap.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s just a song.”

“No- I- I- I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t, It’s fine, I don’t care. You’re okay, everything’s fine.”

Tommy was still eyeing him with clear fear leaning away. Something clicked in Wilbur’s brain, and he had to put together a plan to fix things very quickly.

“Do you even like the piano?” He asked.

Tommy shrugged, still looking scared.

“Why not?” Wilbur asked, knowing his lack of answer translated to ‘no but I’m scared to tell you that.’

“I- I used to, it- it’s just… I don’t know.” He turned his head even further away from Wilbur.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

Tommy hesitated. “I- I get stressed out t-trying not- not to- not to- to- to- to- to mess up.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, stubbornly avoiding eye contact.

“I would get it if we were preforming for people, but it’s just us: who cares?”

“I- I don’t know I guess. I thought you, but…”

“I’m never gonna be mad at you for making a mistake.” He hoped Tommy understood that he was talking about more than just the piano right then. “This is just supposed to be for fun.”

Tommy nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced.

“Cmon, what’s the simplest song you know? Play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’”

Tommy gave him a confused look, but began to play nevertheless, tensing as Wilbur moved closer to him.

Towards the end of the song, Wilbur pushed his hand down, causing him to hit several of the wrong notes. His eyes widened in fear, as if Wilbur would be mad at him for something the older did intentionally.

“You messed up,” Wilbur told him.

“Uh— I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry. What now?”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“You did it wrong: you messed up a song the average kindergartener could learn. What happens now?”

“Uhh I- I don’t know?”

Wilbur looked around the room, miming out boredom.

“Uhh… nothing?” He asked, wincing a little incase he was wrong.

Wilbur smiled slightly. “Exactly. You did it wrong, and yet the world didn’t end.”

Tommy huffed out a tiny laugh. “I didn’t think the world was gonna end, I just… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. But whatever your worst-case-scenario was, it’s not gonna happen. You’re okay, dude.”

Tommy nodded.

“Cmon, let’s mess up more things.”

Tommy gave him a confused look, which he returned with a grin.

They proceeded to play several of the worst, most disrespectful, practically sac-religious versions of popular songs.

They changed the key signatures, and the notes, and the rhythms. Tommy changed the keyboard mode from making piano sounds to the sound of cats meowing (something Wilbur hadn’t even known was possible) and tried to play ‘All Star’ for him.

After ruining all their favorite and least-favorite songs, laughing hysterically the whole time, they eventually heard the front door open the close, meaning one of three things:

Phil was home, Technoblade was home, or Quackity had broken in again. Honestly they were all equally likely.

Wilbur listed the three options and told Tommy to guess which one it would be.

“Technoblade,” he answered without hesitation.

“How come?”

He shrugged.

But a few moments later he was proven right when heavy steps came down the hall and entered Techno’s room for a moment, before moving to the bathroom where they heard the shower start.

“Huh, good guess.”

“It- it wasn’t a guess, Wilbur. I’m just a genius,” Tommy joked quietly.

Wilbur laughed: “sure you are, Toms.”

They cleaned up and Wilbur moved the keyboard back into Tommy’s room.

He then lead the blonde downstairs, and into the living room. Wilbur sat on the couch and Tommy on the floor next to him.

In the beginning this may have weirded him out a bit, but he’d learned that the younger simply enjoyed being on the floor— that’s where Wilbur saw him more often than not. Technoblade said it was a pretty common sensory thing, which he supposed made sense.

Wilbur meant to turn on the TV, he swore he did, but when Technoblade came to find them around fifteen minutes later, they were still sitting in silence on their phones.

“Why?” He asked.

They shrugged in sync. Wilbur didn’t even bother looking up from his phone, but Tommy clicked his own off.

Technoblade sighed and moved to sit next to him on the couch, so they both framed Tommy. The youngest tracked him as he moved, but didn’t seem otherwise tense or afraid. Wilbur allowed himself a small smile.

Technoblade took the remote and turned to the nature channel. Of course, luck always being on his side, it was about anteaters.

And so began the same fight as always, which lasted all the way until Phil returned home. By that point they’d been forced to spread out so they could gesture wildly without fear of accidentally hitting each other.

Even Tommy had begun to lose his overly timid demeanor. That’s not to say he was even close to matching Wilbur and Technoblade’s energy; he still sat so as to take up as little space as possible with his legs crossed, and his upper arms pressed firmly to his sides, and he still kept his voice quiet. But his lower arms were gesturing frantically, and he argued back in the same tone both of them did, even if it was quiet.

Wilbur couldn’t think of a word for how watching him felt, but he was pretty sure it was vaguely positive. How could it not be? Everything else aside, he was making progress.

Right in time for it to be ripped away.

He shook the thought out of his head.

Wilbur and Technoblade were too wrapped up to notice when Phil finally did open the door, and come to the living room.

He only noticed when the man laughed, and he turned to see him standing next to Tommy and leaning down slightly so they could have a better conversation.

“You done?” He asked, amused, once Wilbur ad Technoblade finally stopped.

He flushed slightly. “I’ll be done once when anteaters are extinct.”

“I’m going to make you go extinct,” Technoblade threatened.

“Good, because then I’ll go to heaven, whereas all anteaters go to hell.”

“Says who?”

“Prime.”

“Point out the phrase in the Bible that says anteaters are going to hell.”

“All of them.”

“That’s not true!”

He saw Phil whisper something to Tommy, who shook with the effort not to laugh and nodded.

“Technoblade,” Wilbur stage whispered. “I think they’re making fun of us.”

“I think you’re right,” he returned in the same tone.

“I’m always right.”

“Shut up.”

“No you.”

“Stop whispering,” Phil stage whispered at them.

Tommy let out a stifled laugh.

“Where were you?” Wilbur finally asked, in a normal tone.

He sighed dramatically. “Taking classes on how to be a foster parent.”

“They’re making you do that again?”

“Yep.”

“Wait,” Technoblade said. “Doesn’t that course usually take a month?”

“A month?” Wilbur asked, worriedly.

“Calm down,” Phil told them. “Yes, usually it does. But it’s only twelve hours: three per week for four weeks. However, for enough money it’s five hours today and seven tomorrow.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. It was supposed to be six and six next weekend but I got it moved up.”

Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief, as did Technoblade. “Sick.”

Phil smiled. “I told you, I’m pulling every string there is.”

Wilbur nodded. He’d never doubted that, but it was nice to start to see the results of all the work Phil was doing.

“What do you guys want for dinner? I’m starving and I am not going to the Essempee.”

“But Phil!” Wilbur whined.

“No.”

“Fine,” Wilbur conceded. “I don’t care, I’ll have whatever.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my son?” Phil asked suspiciously.

Wilbur laughed. “What? I’m trying to be nice! You hate the Essempee!”

“Since when are you nice? What’s your ulterior motive?”

“Fine, okay, nevermind then! I do care, I want the Essempee!”

“Thank you!” He exclaimed. “Wait…”

“Phil, how did you manage to lose that one?” Technoblade asked.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like it there,” Wilbur accused him.

“I don’t. We’re going somewhere else I changed my mind.”

“Sure, Phil. Sure.”

Phil scowled at him. “Get ready, I’m hungry.”

“Yes sir,” Wilbur saluted, getting up.

Phil rolled his eyes, but went to his office, most likely to put away his things. Wilbur and his brothers went upstairs to their rooms.

The night was not going how Wilbur expected. He didn’t expect Phil to have made so much progress, nor did he expect him to willingly take them to the Essempee.

He definitely wasn’t complaining though.

Chapter Text

Phil suffered through dinner at the Essempee the same way he always did: with lots and lots of complaining.

“You’re the one who wanted to be here,” Wilbur said.

Phil scowled at him.

“You insisted upon it, actually,” Technoblade added.

“You’re all monsters.”

“What- what did I do?” Tommy (quietly, as always) defended himself, much to Phil’s surprise.

“Nothing yet, but I’m watching you.”

“W- what ever happened to- to- to- to - to in-innocent until pro-proven guilty? Sorry.”

Phil shrugged. “Don’t be sorry. Maybe I have proof, you wouldn’t know.”

“He’s lying to you,” Wilbur stage-whispered in the blonde’s ear. “He has nothing, don’t give in.”

Tommy barely held back a laugh, before nodding seriously. He had positioned himself weirdly far into the corner of the booth, but no one mentioned it. “I would never,” he whispered back, hardly a change from his normal tone.

Phil made a show of rolling his eyes.

“I bet I could take that waiter in a fight,” Wilbur said suddenly.

“What?” Phil asked, practically having whiplash from the change in conversation topic.

“Yeah, look at him. He’s short.”

They all tried to discreetly look over.

“I don’t know, he has a lot of muscle mass,” Technoblade said.

“Yeah but look how short his arms are; I have so much more reach that it doesn’t even matter.”

“Why are you talking about this??” Phil asked. He was promptly ignored.

“True, but still. If he came at you with enough momentum…”

“Then I would put my hand on his head to stop him, like the bullies in the movies do.”

“Your goal should not be to be like the bullies in the movies,” Phil tried to cut in.

“That could work,” Technoblade said, ignoring Phil completely once again.

Tommy shook his head. “He looks like a biter. What- what would you do if he bit you, Will? Would you cry?”

Wilbur thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, probably.”

“Sick.”

“You’re all sick in the heads,” Phil said. “Stop trying to fight random waiters.”

“Where’s the fun in that though?” Wilbur asked.

“Where’s the fun in jail?” Phil countered.

“I wouldn’t go to jail, Phil. I’m too cool.”

“I disagree.”

“It’s because you’re not cool.”

“Abiding the law is very cool, actually.”

“Okay, bootlicker,” Technoblade scoffed.

“What did I do to deserve this tonight?”

“Let us be haters in peace,” Wilbur said.

“No.”

“I- I’m perfectly fine with b-b-being a- a hater in war, honesty,” Tommy said.

“Let’s go!” Technoblade cheered, reaching his fist (slowly) halfway across the table. Tommy returned the gesture, and they fist-bumped just as their waiter (thankfully not the one Wilbur wanted to fight) arrived with the food.

While they all branched out occasionally (they had to, considering how often they came here) they’d all gotten their standard meals that night. Tommy had, as always, tried to decline getting one entirely. Phil had, as always, told him that wasn’t an option.

To be honest it seemed like more of a formality than anything else right now— like Tommy knew it wasn’t an option but had been taught that it was polite to offer anyway. Phil made a mental note to address that next time they went out.

But in the present moment, to an outside viewer, they would look like completely different people once the waiter was at the table.

They all said ‘thank you’ and politely assured him that they didn’t need anything else. The moment he was gone, any semblance of peace dissolved.

“I think any of us could take our waiter in a fight.”

Phil groaned, putting his head in his hands. Why were his children like this?

“Hey, that includes you, Phil! I think you could do it!”

“Even if you are the shortest,” Tommy said under his breath. They all heard it anyway.

“Pfffffffff,” Wilbur laughed, leaning over and hitting the table a few times, causing the silverware to rattle. Luckily it was a loud restaurant, and no one took notice.

“Ouch!” Phil exclaimed.

“What? I-I-I-I- I was saying you could do it! I- I was supporting you!” He defended, his pitch (but not volume, never volume) rising as he held back laughs.

“You are cruel and mean and terrible.”

Tommy gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, causing all of them to laugh again.

Phil pointed at Tommy’s plate, silently telling him it was okay to eat, and the youngest nodded before doing so. Someday he’d do it on his own, Phil knew. For now he was just praying the kid didn’t land in a bad home when he left. He couldn’t handle seeing him reset back to how he was when he first arrived.

(But he knew deep down that that was a lie— he could handle it, and he would if need be. He wouldn’t even hesitate— there wasn’t any other option to consider. It would hurt, but Phil wasn’t going to give up on him.)

He zoned back in to the conversation Wilbur and Technoblade were having.

“You can’t just declare random things ‘fake,’ Will.”

“They are fake! Some guys just made them up!”

“Some guys just made everything up!”

“Don’t go all surrealist on me!”

“What are they talking about?” Phil asked Tommy.

“Wil- Wilbur said he doesn’t— he- he doesn’t bel- believe in constellations.”

“Why?”

Tommy shrugged.

“I’ll be as surrealist as I want, Will-I-Am.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna tell the waiter you were threatening to fight him.”

“Of course your first defense is to project your own failings on to me.”

“Hey, I did not fail, I just chose the legal option of not assaulting a waiter.”

“What happened to being a ‘dirty crime boy?’”

“Sorry if I’m also a respectable citizen.”

Technoblade chose to laugh loudly instead of responding, cashing Wilbur to flush red.

“What? Am I not respectable?”

No one answered, but Technoblade continued to laugh.

“Tommy, you think I’m respectable, don’t you?”

Tommy held his hands up in surrender, refusing to answer either way.

“Wow. Just wow.”

“Sucks,” Technoblade said.

Wilbur glared, but turned back to his food. They all followed suite.

Phil couldn’t say that the rest of the meal passed peace, but he also couldn’t say he resented that fact. Peace and parenthood simply did not go together, and when given the choice between then, Phil had never hesitated.

When it was time to leave, Phil trialed behind, watching his sons. The twins were still fighting, and Tommy watched them from his spot under Technoblade’s arm.

While he wasn’t a fan of sudden movements, he apparently no longer objected to being touched in general. Phil had only recently picked up on it, but Technoblade had made a habit out of wrapping his arm around the younger, who definitely didn’t appear upset about it.

Phil could tell Wilbur was also only now noticing how common this was, and the brunette was already prickling with jealousy. Phil pushed down a teasing smile despite no one being able to see him.

The carride home wasn’t any more relaxed than the mean had been. He was glad— peace was boring.

They ended up playing games for a few hours until they were too tired to continue. As Phil predicted, Wilbur made a point of being close to Tommy. He was proud to notice the younger didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Definitely a little confused and nervous, but not upset or scared.

They all had fun. Normally Phil spent his weekends alone, as his sons were teenagers who wanted to go out with their friends. He didn’t really mind, of course; he wanted them to have fun and enjoy their youth and all that. Plus he had his own things to pass the time with— hobbies and TV shows and friends, and whatnot.

Still, it was fun to have them around tonight— he just wished it were for better reasons.

Tommy was stressed.

He needed to talk to Mr. Craft, but he didn’t know when. The man was probably tired tonight, but he would be tomorrow too, but by then it might be too late and—

“What’s up?” Mr. Craft asked him, causing Tommy to jump.

Wilbur and Technoblade had already gone to bed, declaring themselves tired despite it not being all that late, while Tommy had been awkwardly lingering for a few moments.

“Sorry,” he rushed out.

“It’s okay. What’s going on?”

Screw him for sounding so calm and patient and nice. Tommy hated it (no he didn’t). He took a deep breath; this was happening now, apparently.

“I just, um… I- I feel… bad. That- that you’re doing so much for me.”

Phil furrowed his brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, how was he supposed to say this? “I, um, it’s just— it- it seems like it’s, um, it’s- it’s taking a lot of work? To- to- to do this? To keep me here, I mean.”

“Not really. I mean yeah, there’s some things I have to do of course,” Phil said, sounding perfectly neutral. “I don’t mind though.”

He wasn’t getting it. Tommy wrung his hands together. He didn’t want to ruin everything by revealing how…bad he was, but he couldn’t live with himself if he continued to take advantage of them.

“I just… you’re- I-“

“Hey,” Mr. Craft said softly. “Take your time.”

Tommy took a deep breath. “I feel bad— guilty, because you’re- you’re putting so much time and effort into this and I— I mean don’t get me wrong I don’t want to leave, but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to keep trying? Is what I’m trying to say? I guess? I’m sorry.”

Mr. Craft opened his mouth, but Tommy cut him off before he could regain control of himself.

“I just- I- I don’t think that I’m…” No, he couldn’t stay that. He didn’t want to sound like he was fishing for compliments. “I don’t know if it’s- if- if it’s worth all this to keep me here. I’m sorry.”

“Tommy, listen to me,” Mr. Craft said seriously, but not angrily.

Tommy risked making eye contact with something other than the floor.

“It’s worth it,” he said without a trace of doubt in his voice. “I promise, it’s worth every second.”

“But… if you’re doing all this wouldn’t you rather have someone…” better, his mind supplied, but he couldn’t say that out loud,“…else?”

“No.”

Tommy looked at him questioningly.

“I’m not doing this for some random hypothetical kid. This is for you. And I don’t say that to make you feel guilty, because none of this is your fault. I’m the one choosing to do this because I care about you. If you want to leave—“

“I don’t,” Tommy rushed out before he could stop himself. Shit shit shit, he shouldn’t have interrupted, now Mr. Craft was going to change his mind, and—

But the man just smiled at him. “I’m glad. If you did then I wouldn’t stop you, I legally can’t, but that’s the only way you’re leaving, Toms.”

The kind words and the nickname swirled in his chest creating feelings he couldn’t assign names to. All he knew was that there were a lot of them and they hurt but in a good way and if he didn’t stomp them down soon he was going to cry.

“Oh,” he said.

He wanted to ask if Mr. Craft really meant it— he wanted to beg the man to promise not to let him go. He didn’t. He kept himself as small and quiet and unimposing as he could.

“Yeah, oh,” Mr. Craft joked.

Tommy let out a tiny laugh, staring back down at the ground.

“Come here,” Mr. Craft stood, and pulled him into a hug and— oh Prime that felt nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a real hug from an adult who wasn’t Sam. It was warm. And even though Tommy was ever so slightly taller, it felt protective and safe and he never wanted to let go.

Of course, he eventually had to. The moment Mr. Craft pulled back he was quick to do the same, though the older man kept his hands on Tommy’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Tommy nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Tommy disagreed, but nodded regardless. “Thank you, Mr. Craft.”

The man gave him a small smile and gently squeezed his shoulders— “You know you can use my name right? No one calls me Mr. Craft except you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t have to be sorry, I’m just letting you know: ‘Phil’ is fine.”

Tommy nodded. “O- okay, uh, Phil.”

Mr. Craft— or, Phil, he supposed— smiled again. “I’m gonna go to bed for the night, are you gonna stay down here?”

That was an option? Tommy had just been going to bed when everyone else did. He thought he had to.

What was with this place and constantly providing him with more and more freedom?

He decided to hold off on taking advantage of it, at least for now. He shook his head and followed Mr. Craft upstairs, turning off the lights as he went. They said their goodnights in the hallway and finally separated.

Tommy shut the door and leaned against it for a long moment, trying to absorb everything that’d happened that day.

From actually having fun with the piano for the first time in years, to Wilbur letting him make decisions, to joking around at the Essempee, to Phil declaring that he was allowed to stay here (and call him Phil at all)—

it was a lot.

It bordered on too much, in all honestly. But somehow it did this in the best way possible.

Tommy was so incredibly overwhelmed, but he was pretty sure he’d never been happier.

Maybe another time he would stay downstairs, just because he could, but not tonight. He was too embarrassed to admit it but he still hadn’t had the opportunity to figure out how to use the TV remote; it was a different brand than the one he was used to, and he’d yet to use it without someone there to help. Because of that, he didn’t really have anything to do outside of his room unless other people were there too.

Wait—no. Not his room. It was just… it was just…

Huh.

He didn’t know anymore.

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t react to things the way he should, Technoblade noticed.

And he didn’t mean that in the way it sounded— he knew there wasn’t a ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to react to things as long as you weren’t hurting anyone.

But Tommy was hurting himself.

He’d been through so much, and somehow didn’t seem even the slightest bit mad about it. He wasn’t bitter or angry. He didn’t even seem frustrated. He just took it. He took all the pain and injustice and abuse and absorbed it into himself where instead of turning into anger it just… stayed there.

It didn’t make sense.

It was like he didn’t think he was worthy of anger.

People get angry when they feel like something is unfair towards them; when they think they’ve been hurt in an unjustified way.

Which meant that Tommy, in all likelihood, fully beloved he was deserving of all of this.

Technoblade spent so long praying he was wrong, that eventually he had to ask.

“How are you not angry?” They we’re in the living room, killing time that Sunday.

Tommy hummed questioningly, still hesitant to speak even after spending months with them.

“I don’t know, just… how are you not angry? About everything? You should be— you have every reason to be.”

“What- what would it change?”

“It doesn’t have to be about changing anything, it’s just nice to experience normal emotions sometimes.”

Tommy just shrugged.

Technoblade thought for a moment.

Phil was at his class. Wilbur was with his band; they’d poured all their money into buying studio time today, and it was too late to get a refund. That left Technoblade and Tommy to their own devices for at least the next few hours.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“W-where?”

“You’ll see.”

“You shouldn’t have asked if you weren’t going to tell me,” Tommy joked quietly.

“K.”

The younger laughed despite himself, before dragging himself off the floor to put shoes on. Technoblade did the same, and soon enough they were in the car.

Technoblade very rarely drove.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t— he had his license and was actually pretty good at it, according to Wilbur and Phil at least. It was just stressful and he didn’t like it. Therefor someone else drove him just about everywhere.

Still, his dad made him drive at least once every few weeks— assuming he was in the right mindset— so that he didn’t lose the skill.

He didn’t put music on as he backed out of the driveway; the sound of the engine was plenty of stimulation for him already, combined with everything he had to see and be aware of in order to drive.

Unfortunately, he backed out too far and hit the curb of the cul de sac.

He paused for a moment before looking at Tommy. “If anyone asks, this didn’t happen.”

“What didn’t happen?” He asked, a perfect parody of innocence inscribed across his face.

Technoblade grinned. “Perfect.”

He shifted the car into drive, and pulled around the circle and off of their street.

“So…” Texhnoblade started, somewhat awkwardly, after a long few moments of quiet. “How’d your friends take the news?”

Tommy tensed, and opened his mouth only to not say anything.

“You… you did tell them, right?”

“I- I tried—“ he cut himself off. “I don’t know how.”

“You can’t keep this from them; they’re gonna find out eventually.”

“I know, I know.”

“Text them.”

“Like- like now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Cuz.. um, they’re- they’re gonna wanna talk to me and uh, then- then I wouldn’t get to enjoy my time with you.”

“Awwww, Tommy,” Technoblade cooed. Tommy flushed red. “Flattery doesn’t work on me,” he finished in the same borderline sickly sweet tone as before.

“I- I wasn’t—“

“Yes you were.”

“You- you have no proof of this, Blade.”

Technoblade rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Wait—“ he said, suddenly realizing something. “You told Dream, and not your best friends?”

“I-“

“Tommy!”

He flinched. “I’m sorry, okay?” He didn’t sound sorry though, nor did he sound afraid. This was just part of their usual banter. Technoblade pushed down a proud smile.

“Text them.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know. The truth?”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Well that’s not my problem, now is it, Tomathy?”

Tommy tipped his head back, putting his hands over his eyes in a dramatic display of his clear frustration.

“Cmon, just text them, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“What- what do I ev-even say?”

“You can just say ‘something got messed up with Phil’s foster license so I have to leave for a little bit but I’ll be back soon.’”

Tommy didn’t respond, looking away.

“You will be back soon, you know. Phil said it’d be under two weeks no matter what.”

Tommy nodded, though he didn’t seem wholly convinced.

“Alright, get out your phone.”

Grumbling in false annoyance, he did so.

“Okay, just tell them exactly what I just said.”

“That-that- that’s weird to- to just- to just say out of no- nowhere,” he protested.

Technoblade never thought he would enjoy being disagreed with, but it felt nice coming from Tommy, even if it was just over something small.

“Okay so start it with an introduction. ‘Hey guys I have bad news’ or something like that.”

“If- if you make me do this I’m going to turn my notification sounds on so you have to hear them spam me.”

Technoblade winced; that was a good threat, to Tommy’s credit. The text-alert sound did trigger a rage response so extreme it was akin to bloodlust— not even the sound of people chewing was that bad. “No you won’t.”

Tommy wilted. He hated the sound even more then Technoblade himself. “Yeah, I know, I won’t.”

He drafted the message, but didn’t quite manage to get it the way they wanted before they arrived at their destination.

“What is this?”

“You’ll see.”

They got out of the car, and Technoblade lead them inside.

He got them separate rooms and quickly explained the rules to Tommy.

“So…. you smash things?” He asked, his voice as quiet and uncertain as ever.

“Yep,” Technoblade answered. “It’s called a ‘rage room.’ This one is pretty new. You break things to let off anger.”

“Oh.”

Tommy might not show that he was mad, but Technoblade knew he was. He had to be. He was only human, and no matter how pitifully low his self-esteem was, he had to be at list a little angry.

If Technoblade could draw out that anger and convince the blonde that he was worthy of it then… then maybe they could finally make some more progress.

“Go crazy,” Technoblade told him. “The rooms are soundproof, I’ll come get you when time is up.”

Tommy nodded mutely, and Technoblade left.

He’d gotten them separate rooms for two reasons. The first being that Tommy would never truly let loose in front of another person, least of all one of his family members. The second one was simply that Technoblade needed to get out his own anger without scaring the younger.

He opened the door next to Tommy’s, picked up the largest hammer they had, and got to work.

Tommy felt stupid.

He spent a few minutes just standing there, unsure of what to do. He halfheartedly banged a few things with a large stick he found, but he just felt awkward and self-conscious.

Which was stupid; there was no one else in the room.

Whatever. This was dumb.

Still, Technoblade had spent the money for some reason, and so he should probably at least try to make the most of it.

He tried to make himself mad, and discovered it really wasn’t all that hard.

He… he was kind of angry, actually, now that he thought about it.

He was angry that he was being taken away from Mr. Craft, Wilbur, and Technoblade. He was angry that he was being taken from his friends and his school.

He was angry that he’d spent so long being shuffled around abusive homes.

If he dug really deep, he was angry his parents had left him. They had abandoned him because they loved drugs more than their son and they only had enough time and money for one. That’s what his old social worker told him at least— Tommy was far too young to remember.

Impulsively, he swung the stick, hard, and broke a glass vase sitting on the table.

He cringed, tensing up immediately, waiting for some kind of consequence.

None came.

He relaxed, remembering the the whole point of this place was to break things.

He traded the stick for a large hammer-looking item, and began, well, smashing shit.

Eventually he got so lost in it he couldn’t even remember to feel embarrassed.

It took a long time before he wore himself out, he glanced at the clock and realized he only had a few minutes left.

With nothing else to do and no energy left to break things with, he began organizing the piles of rubbish.

He barely noticed when someone knocked, and didn’t notice Technoblade open the door until he spoke.

“Are you… cleaning, right now?”

Tommy spun around fast, scared for a moment that the older boy was mad at him. He quickly flushed when he realized he was being mocked.

Technoblade started laughing. “You— Tommy,“ he wheezed, still laughing.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, face bright red. Honestly it hadn’t even occurred to him that that was a weird thing to do.

He just… he didn’t have an excuse. This was stupid.

Technoblade just kept laughing at him. “Cmon,” he managed to say. “Our time is up.”

Tommy nodded obediently and followed him out the door. Technoblade draped an arm over his shoulders, and Tommy relaxed into his side easily.

“Feel better?” The older asked once he managed to stop laughing.

They both quickly thanked the people at the front desk as they walked by, before Tommy answered in the form of a nod.

He did feel better, oddly. Lighter, like he’d let go of a burden he didn’t know he was holding.

“That’s good,” Techboblade said. “Smashing things is good for the soul.”

Tommy laughed lightly.

“Are you angry yet?”

“I was,” he admitted quietly. “I calmed down again though.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” he said before he started laughing again.

They separated and each went to one side of the car to climb in.

“It’s not that funny,” he said as they both slid into their seats.

“You really starting cleaning up after yourself—“

“Shut up,” Tommy whined, pushing lightly on the other man’s shoulder.

He paused for a moment, and Tommy was hit with a horrible strike of fear. Before he could apologize, the older was speaking again, his voice much more genuine than it had been before.

“I’m glad you got angry, Toms. You have the right be upset when bad things happen to you.”

“It’s fine, I deserve it anyway,” he assured the older, his voice quiet even by his own standards.

As far as he was concerned that was the truth. He couldn’t blame anyone for what they’d done to him. He was loud and he was annoying, and anyone who’d spent over ten minutes with him would choose drugs too, just like his parents had.

He was embarrassed now, for getting so angry before. He couldn’t be mad at people for things that were his own damn fault. If he didn’t want to be hurt then he should’ve been better.

“No,” Technoblade said firmly, backing out of their parking spot. “You didn’t do anything to deserve any of what you’ve been through.”

What?

“It’s not your fault other people have hurt you; even if you think you ‘provoked’ them somehow, they still had the choice not to do that.”

That… yeah, that might make sense if they were talking about someone else. But people couldn’t help but become annoyed around him, and sometimes that annoyance manifested as violence.

“This whole mess in specific isn’t any one’s fault. And if it is then it’s the fault of some stupid intern at social services who didn’t know what they were doing. You didn’t do anything to deserve this, it just happened.”

I made Prime mad, Tommy thought. Because things didn’t ‘just happen.’ He did this.

He wondered what he’d done wrong. Did he not cut enough? He’d been doing it nearly every night for months now. Should he do more? Maybe it was something else.

This was a government mistake, not an act of Prime, the reasonable part of him said. But Tommy was a man driven largely be emotion, no matter how negatively it affected him.

And so he convinced himself that Prome was mad at him.

Nevertheless, he nodded at Techboblade.

“I’m glad you got angry though,” he repeated. “Isn’t there that quote that says ‘your anger is the part of you that knows you deserved better?’ Something like that? Yeah, you deserve better.”

He said it so casually, not even glancing over once, like it was just a given fact, and not something Tommy had only ever heard out of Sam’s mouth.

He actually had to physically pause for a moment, glad Technoblsde was too distracted by driving to really notice.

Had he deserved better?

He didn’t think so, but…

He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was a burden. But, if a child was screaming in his ear right now, he simply wouldn’t hit them. Why had people hit him for far far less?

“I don’t know,” he said, barely audible.

“That’s okay; you’ll get there.”

There wasn’t a single hint of judgement in the elder’s voice, only patience and a firm sense of knowing.

It was weird.

Tommy didn’t know if he liked it or not.

He wanted to believe Technoblade, he realized. He desperately wanted to cling onto the idea that he didn’t deserve the pain he went through and never let that go.

But he didn’t know what he would do if that was true.

If none of it had been his fault… then what was it all for? If there was nothing he could’ve done to stop it, if he’d been helpless this whole time, if he’d never even had a chance, if he had been doomed from the start—

he thought he would rather it just be his fault.

That was the safe option, that was the option that didn’t upset his entire worldview.

He shoved Technoblade’s idea to the back of his mind. It might be nice to believe he was innocent, and it might be nice to imagine he was deserving of kindness and love. It might be nice to believe there was nothing inherently wrong with him the way everyone always said there was.

But he couldn’t deal with that kind of revelation on top of everything else. Not right now.

It was his fault, he decided.

It always was.

It had to be.

He didn’t want to be the victim.

He couldn’t be.

He wasn’t.

Technoblade knew he wasnt completely successful that day, but that was fine.

He’d made progress— he’d opened the door.

The room Tommy was in had been completely and utterly destroyed. Whether the kid liked it or not, he’d gotten angry.

He had realized, to some small extent, that he didn’t deserve everything he’d been through.

It was a start, and the first step was always the hardest.

They didn’t say much for the rest of the ride home. Tommy was deeply lost in thought and Technoblade recognized that he needed that.

It was no surprise when he pretty much immediately asked for permission to go upstairs once they got in the house.

Technoblade shrugged, refusing to approve or deny his request, just as Phil had told him to. He needed to relearn independence, apparently.

Tommy took that as a yes though, and bid him a quiet goodbye, before slipping upstairs.

Wilbur would be home soon, followed by Phil in a few hours.

Technoblade decided to stay downstairs to intercept his twin before he got to Tommy, just to let him know to be careful.

Despite it being for the better, Technoblade knew he had put Tommy in a fragile state. He had essentially told the kid that his entire world view, the one that had been fed to him by countless foster parents over the years, was wrong. Not only that, but Technoblade had partially convinced him.

In the long-run, this was going to be a good thing. They just had to be extra gentle for a little while.

He wondered what Tommy was doing upstairs. Probably just thinking, hopefully not spiraling.

He wished he could help.

Upstairs, Tommy sat on the floor with his boxer bunched up and his pants pulled down to his knees. He held a familiar razor over his destroyed thighs, and prepared to bring it down once again.

Chapter Text

Tommy wrote and rewrote his message to Tubbo and Ranboo about 4,000 times, before accidentally hitting send on the worst possible version of it.

Tommy Innit
in terms of leaving: i am. i’m leaving. next week. for how long, you may ask? dunno. somewhere between a few days and forever.

It barely made sense and came off like a shitty joke, which was exactly what he didn’t want.

Their responses were nearly immediate.

Tubbo Underscore
????????????

Ranboo Beloved
you’re leaving? why?

Tommy Innit
fuck
i didn’t mean to send that
i’m sorry
but yeah, i am
it might just be temporary though

Tubbo Underscore
why????

Ranboo Beloved
explain please

Tommy Innit
uhhh the universe hates me?

Tubbo Underscore
boss man if this is a joke it is not a good one
i’m freaking out

Ranboo Beloved
^^

Tommy Innit
no it’s not a joke
i’m sorry the original text was supposed to be worded better

Tubbo Underscore
what’s happening?

Tommy Innit
mr. craft’s foster license got all messed up so i have to leave next week until they can fix it

Ranboo Beloved
okay
so why did you say it might not be temporary?

Tommy Innit
idk
depends if they actually want me to come back or not

Tubbo Underscore
sweet motherfucking prime
i mean this in the nicest way possible: you are so fucking stupid boss man

Tommy Innit
what did i do?

Ranboo Beloved
dude. obviously they’re gonna want you back.

Tommy Innit
it’s not obvious

Tubbo Underscore
yes it is
i don’t know how to break this to you, but they’re like,,, obsessed with you
almost to the point where it’s cringe

Ranboo Beloved
tubbo what is wrong with you why would you say that

Tubbo Underscore
am i wrong?

Ranboo Beloved
there are just so many better ways to say that

Tubbo Underscore
like what?

Ranboo Beloved
you could say they love him?

Tubbo Underscore
my masculinity is fragile i can’t acknowledge love as an emotion

Ranboo Beloved
i hate you

Tommy Innit
thanks…?

Ranboo Beloved
NOT YOU

Tubbo Underscore
you’re welcome (:

Tommy resisted the urge to sigh. Why were they like this?

He was sitting in his… He was sitting in the room they were letting him use, trying to make sense of everything that had happened that day. He was failing.

So he settled for the marginally easier and more necessary option of texting his friends.

Ranboo Beloved
so we’re still gonna, like, see you again, right? you’re not leaving now?

Tommy Innit
i’ll be here all this week and most of next, big man

He hoped, at least. Some part of his brain said they would get sick of him and send him away early, most likely forever.

Prime, he hated the idea of leaving forever. He cursed himself for getting attached, because the idea of never coming back was enough to produce a lump in his throat and a knot in his stomach.

Ranboo Beloved
okay good

Tommy Innit
why?

Ranboo Beloved
because i want to see you
do i need a reason?

Oh.

Tubbo Underscore
^^
we need to say our temporary goodbyes before you go on vacation

Ranboo Beloved
he’s not going on vacation

Tubbo Underscore
sure he is

Tommy Innit
i had this exact conversation with dream a few days ago

He didn’t realize his mistake at first.

Ranboo Beloved
you waited a few days to tell us?

Oh no.

Tubbo Underscore
YOU TOLD DREAM BEFORE US?!?!?

Fuck.

Tommy Innit
uhhh

Tubbo Underscore
WTF!??!!
TOMMY!!!!

Tommy Innit
gtg

Tubbo Underscore
NO
NO YOU DO NOT GTG
EXPLAIN YOURSELF

Ranboo Beloved
okay let’s all calm down

Tubbo Underscore
NO

Tommy Innit
in my defense:
1. dream specifically told me to tell him if i was going to leave
2. i only found out friday it hasn’t been that long
3. i didn’t know how to tell you
4. fuck off

He barely even thought before sending it. Prime, he really had gotten far too comfortable here, hadn’t he? He should worry before sending texts like that— he shouldn’t send them at all. He should be scared of their reactions.

He wasn’t.

He didn’t know why, it was just… he wasn’t scared. He was worried he might’ve hurt their feelings, or that they might be upset with him. But… he wasn’t scared they would hurt him for being disrespectful.

And truthfully, even his fear of Phil and the twins was waning.

Was that a good thing?

If he was staying here, then yes. But since he was leaving permanently at some point, it was nothing but a ticket to getting hurt. Again.

Tubbo Underscore
okay well consider this me telling you to tell me everything all the time always

Tommy Innit
i just pooped

Tubbo Underscore
nvm

Ranboo Beloved
i didn’t need to know that

Tommy Innit
tubbo asked

Tubbo Underscore
you are: the worst

Tommy Innit
thank you, I try

Tubbo Underscore
we know, tommy, trust us: we know

Tommy pushed down a small laugh. He heard the door open and close downstairs, meaning Wilbur was probably back. Wilbur, who inexplicably wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before he left.

Tommy Innit
okay i actually have to go now
bye
sorry for everything

Tubbo Underscore
you’re good
sorry shit sucks
i hope they work it out soon

Ranboo Beloved
nah it’s not your fault man don’t worry about it
i’m glad it’s gonna get better

Curse Ranboo and his unfailing optimism. He wondered how his friends would handle it when he left for real next week. Or how they’d handle it when he left forever whenever that happened.

By then they would probably be sick of him and not care anymore though.

Which was fine. He would understand.

He ignored the pit in his stomach that grew at the thought of himself, at another house, going through hell once again while everyone here moved on. He’d be beaten within an inch of his life and they would never know, and if they did then they wouldn’t care.

He shook the thought out of his head. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. Not before.

Tommy Innit
thanks

He quickly clicked off his phone and prepared for Wilbur to knock on his door the same way he always did.

He prepared himself to be on his best behavior.

As predicted, he could hear Wilbur drop his things off in his own room before knocking at the door of the one Tommy was in.

Tommy stood up, opened the door, and stepped back, head down. It was routine at this point.

“Hey Tommy,” Wilbur greeted.

Tommy took that as something close enough to permission for him to look up and give the older a small smile.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged, stepping back another step to allow the older into the room. Wilbur looked around as if anything could have changed in the past few hours since he’d been there last.

“Wanna do something with me and Tech? We were thinking maybe Terraria.”

He nodded, despite not knowing what that was. He assumed some kind of videogame, but didn’t doubt they’d explain it to him.

Wilbur smiled, and lead the way out of the room.

Tommy took a deep (but still quiet) breath and followed behind. He reminded himself to make the most of this incase it was one of the last times it happened, and he reminded himself to be good so that it wouldn’t be.

He could do this.

Probably.

Phil didn’t slack off in the class he was taking. He could have— there was no doubt in his mind that he would pass the test without a single minute to review.

But the instructor was taking it seriously, and so he followed suit. Besides, the curriculum had changed ever so slightly and the refresher couldn’t hurt.

But no matter how thorough they were, teaching a full class of newbies took significantly longer than one man with six years of experience.

They finished early.

They were legally required to finish the twelve hours though, so they talked.

“So this emergency course is for a kid you already have?”