Work Text:
Tommy knew he could talk to them about this. That was the problem.
He knew, specifically, that they would be able to help with this. That they would know what to do.
He’s seen the scars on wilburs arms when he’s washing the dishes. He remembers vividly that point in their life, how phil had helped.
Somehow, this just makes it worse. So much worse.
It's only happened twice. And they were weeks apart, almost a month even.
So, he tells himself that it will be fine. That it will go away and that this is just a brief lapse in judgement on his part.
It gets to five times before he accepts that maybe, this isn’t just a one time kind of thing.
Against his better judgement, he downloads the app ‘I am sober’ just to be curious.
When he reaches for the app and the timers only on six hours, three minutes and twenty seconds, that's when he knows he needs help.
He can’t go to his family. Knowing that its already happened and they didn’t notice with wilbur, having that happen again? It will break them. It will break phil.
So, he does the next best thing.
Phils sat in the lounge when he goes down, techno on the sofa across. Tommy stands in the doorway for a good thirty seconds before he makes himself known.
“Phil?”
It’s quiet, and not like him. He hates it.
Phil looks up though, smiling at him before patting the spot beside him lightly.
“Hey mate. Done with your homework?”
Tommy’s eyes flick over to techno briefly, as he shuffles over and curl up in the corner of the seat. He nods, pulling his knees up to his chest before speaking again.
“Can I ask you something?”
That catches techno's attention slightly, looking up and seeing tommy already looking at him, though immediately diverting his eyes, so he stands up and excuses himself with a quiet ‘I have some work to do’
Phil's frowning slightly too, but nods, pushing himself up straighter on the sofa.
Tommy takes a few breaths, fiddling with the hem on his joggers before he speaks.
“Can I maybe go back to therapy?”
He doesn’t look up, because as much as the rational part of his brain is telling him that phil wouldn’t care, the irrational part is doing a great job at convincing him otherwise.
But yet,
“Of course. Is everything okay?”
He does look back up then, into blue eyes swimming with concern. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but shuts it just as quickly.
“Mhm” he says with a nod, and phil doesn’t look convinced. At all, but he still nods as well, ruffling his hair lightly with a smile.
“Do you want to stay and watch a movie or something? You haven’t seen up in a while.”
A smile stretches on his face, and he nods as phil grabs the remote, shuffling closer and leaning his head on his shoulder, phil reaching over his shoulders and grabbing a blanket, draping it over them both as he navigates through the Disney menu.
He’s asleep in less than thirty minutes.
--------
A few mornings later, he’s sitting at the kitchen table with the other two, phil humming as he moves around the kitchen.
In tommy’s opinion, seven thirty is far to early to be up for school.
Phil slides a bowl of cereal in front of him and tommy mumbles a small glance, reaching for the milk.
“Oh!” he says, turning back around. “I booked you an appointment for tomorrow at four.”
Tommy pauses, as do the other two, shuffling in his seat and nodding slightly, looking down to his food.
“Appointment for what?” wilbur asks, peering over his phone.
This is exactly what he wanted to avoid.
“Therapy” he says, then promptly stuffs a spoon of cereal in his mouth. Wilbur frowns softly.
“You okay?” techno asks, and he hums, nodding but still not meeting their gazes.
No one says anything about it after that, and tommy couldn’t be more grateful.
Plus, his arm is starting to get cluttered.
There's no order to it, just random, frantic, irrational. Or maybe he’s reading too much into it because he usually doesn’t even think, just cuts wherever there's space.
There are some overlapping, some isolated, some angry and red, and other pale scabs that he can pick away.
He sees them. Every day when he gets ready, and that's something he didn’t consider, because its a constant reminder of it.
Hes a day and a half clean though, so that's something.
Driving to the therapist office, he’s quiet. Phil is too, though tommy knows he’s itching to say something. Anything.
In the end he doesn’t, and walks with tommy to the front desk before ruffling his hair, giving him a wide smile before he’s walking out the front doors, and tommy’s sitting in an uncomfortable chair, crossing his arms and staring blankly at the wall.
It’s about ten minutes before someone comes into the tiny waiting room, holding a clipboard and searching round the area until his eyes land on tommy.
The man smiles, stepping forward.
“You must be tommy?”
He nods, sparing him a small smile before getting up, the man holding a hand out.
“Sam” he introduces.
Tommy takes it silently, following him down the hallway.
The room is fairly nice. A cliche therapy room really. Two chairs, small table in the middle with tissues and a fancy dish thing. The walls are plain, only a photo hanging by the door, and then the therapists desk in the corner, computer, chair, all tucked neatly away.
Sam does the whole confidentiality agreement, ‘I wont share anything you say here unless it’s a danger to yourself or others’ thing, asks him to sign a document, and then they start the basic questions.
Today's just an assessment. And tommy knows what to expect from that, so he’s not too anxious. That being said, he in fiddling with a hair tie restlessly, whether he realizes he is or not.
“So,” sam says, turning the page on a notebook and clicking his pen.
Tommy swallows.
“What prompted you to come to therapy now?”
He knows the precise answer. Because I can’t tell my family I’m hurting myself, but I am struggling and really need some help so this is the next best thing. Saying that first might not be ideal though.
“I guess I just felt like I needed something more to help” he says instead. Sam nods.
“Help with what?”
“Just, general stuff really. Things just feel worse at the moment, so.”
“Alright, have you ever been to therapy before?”
“Uh, yeah. For like four months when I was thirteen.”
“And what was that for?”
“Depression and anxiety. And we touched on ADHD but that wasn’t as prominent then.”
Sam hums, writing more things down. Tommy hates that he can’t see what.
“Did you go on any medication for those?”
“Yeah, fluoxetine and propranolol and aderall.”
“Are you still on those?”
“Aderall yes, but not the others.”
Sam nods, flipping the page.
“How have you been coping with your problems recently?”
He knows they’re routine questions, but his heart still stills. His coping mechanism isn’t healthy. At all. And besides it, he doesn’t have anything else.
“I haven’t really, I guess” he says, huffing out a slight laugh. Sam smiles, a sad tinge to it, but nods again regardless.
There's a lot of nodding in therapy.
“Okay, thats alright.”
He takes a breath. Tommy knows which questions next.
“Have you ever thought of hurting yourself or ending your life?”
He shakes his head. Maybe too quickly, but sam takes it anyway.
“And what do you hope to accomplish in therapy?”
“Just, be better I guess? Be back where I was at like, fourteen.”
“Where were you when you were fourteen?”
“Happy. That sounds cringey I know, but just quite care free. Not struggling with things at all really. Or at such minimal levels that I could handle it.”
Sam smiles again, a look of sympathy crossing his eyes.
“Thats not cringey. It’s a goal. A goal hopefully I can help you reach.”
Sam looks over the page briefly, looking back up to him.
“So. I think today we just talk, let me get to know you a little bit, and then weekly sessions from there. We’ll do a check in at six weeks, and then if you feel happy to continue we will, and do more of those every couple months or so. You can stop anytime, you can walk out of this room anytime, it’s all up to you what we talk about, and when we talk about it. I may use your case for other employees to reference, or for trainees to look at, but your name and any personal details will be kept entirely confidential. Is that okay?”
He nods, sitting up a little, and sam smiles a little wider, closing the notebook softly, placing the pen down. It’s routine. He’s heard it, he knows it, but it is still quite nice to hear.
“Great. So, tell me a little bit about yourself.”
-------
Sam’s pretty great. Tommy’s been to two therapists when he was thirteen, one that constantly interrupted him, and the other he actually like a bit.
But with sam, its just nice. Maybe its because he’s matured quite a bit, maybe its because sam just seems more understanding, and he listens, he asks the right questions, he does everything the way tommy would have wanted him too.
The first four weeks are spent mainly looking at the anxiety and ADHD. He doesn’t have any major breakdowns there, doesn’t get too anxious, all in all he’s okay. And having someone to talk about things with, it helps too.
Oh, and he’s started running. Every other day. Sam said it would be good to burn some energy, get him active somehow, and tommy likes it. It distracts him from other things.
He still hurts himself, but its gone down a little bit since he started seeing sam.
Barely, but it’s something.
And tommy’s tired. He knows he is, physically and mentally. He can see it when he looks in the mirror. His hairs thinner, he has dark bags under his eyes, hes paler. He notices it all, and he knows the others do too.
Well, the ‘Are you okay?’ questions pick up in frequency, and that says enough.
Week four is when they touch on a more personal part.
They’re talking about family actually. His ‘support system.’
Tommy rambles about them for a little longer than he probably should have, but sam says nothing, just nodding along with a smile etched on his face.
He talks about how wilbur’s going off to uni soon, and how techno's just finishing college with a english a-level of all things. He talks about how neither can cook, and the one time they tried they burnt it so badly it snapped in half when they put it on the table. He talks about the times they’ll converse in the lounge, just watching movies quietly, someone making an odd quip every now and then which will send them all wheezing, and usually ending up in phil coughing. He’s old.
“They sound really great” sam comments, and he nods, a smile on his face too.
So he’s a sap for them. Who cares? Wilbur cried over being his brother once.
“Have any of them dealt with mental illness?”
That’s where tommy’s mood dampers slightly.
“Uh, yeah. All of them actually. Techno has ADHD too, insomnia and social anxiety, phil has anxiety, now I say that all of us have anxiety” he says, laughing lightly.
“What about wilbur?” sam prompts when he pauses.
“Oh, yeah. Wilbur has depression too, and a dissociative disorder, I think. He has others too, but I can’t remember their names.”
Sam hums, writing more things down.
“You mentioned the other week about some sort of incident with wilbur? What was that about?”
The hair tie twisting in tommy’s hands goes a little faster.
“He ended up in the hospital, one night. He had been hurting himself, and he went too deep, so we had to call an ambulance.”
He rubs the back of his neck, tugging the hairs slightly. Something he does when he’s nervous, he’s noticed.
“I was the one that found him, you know. And then phil spent the week in the hospital with him. Wil had to be put under a psych watch I think? Either way, me and techno were by ourselves for a little bit, before they came back. Wilbur wasn’t really.. Wilbur for a little while, if that makes sense.”
Sam hums, eyebrows pinched together softly.
“That sounds difficult for you, and your family”
Tommy nods, looking down to his hands.
“How was the weeks after that happened?”
“Just, a lot I guess. Wilbur didn’t come out of his room, but that just made phil worried, so they had a lot of shouting matches. He didn’t speak to us at all really, techno shut himself away, I just kind of carried on.”
Sam still frowning, that same look of sympathy on his face. Tommy doesn’t like it. He doesn’t need pity.
“Has wilbur talked with you about it since? Or any of them?”
“I mean, wilbur apologised, but he didn’t need too. And it was brought up like, once, but now it’s behind him, so we put it behind us too.”
“Did you?” sam asks.
He looks up from his hands for the first time, frowning in confusion.
“Well, yeah. I had too. Besides it was harder for wilbur, if he can get over it, I can.”
“It’s not something to get over though. To work through? Yes. And the second you started speaking about it, you started to fiddle more. You were breathing more between your words, your leg started bouncing, which indicated to me that just talking about makes you anxious.”
He swallows, stopping his knee immediately. He hadn’t even realised.
“It’s quite traumatic, being the one to see that. And then never talking about it? It’s buried trauma tommy. Something that can stay buried for a long time before it resurfaces again, and can cause problems.”
Tommy sets his jaw.
“So you’re saying that seeing that caused whats happening now?”
“No, not at all. But, it can amplify things. I’m not saying its the sole cause or trigger, sometimes that's not even something we can figure out, I’m just saying that it’s clearly had some negative effects on your mental health.”
Tommy doesn’t respond for a moment. If wilbur found out, the guilt would ruin him. Tommy already knows how bad he feels about it. He overheard him crying to techno about it one night, so knowing that it might have caused tommy trauma? He couldn’t handle that.
“Tommy?” sam speaks up. His head snaps back up, blinking.
“You zoned out for a moment” he says.
“Oh, right sorry.”
Sam smiles, shrugging.
“No problem.”
Tommy doesn’t say anything else.
“How has school been this week?” he says, changing the subject.
Tommy’s glad to move on.
When he goes home that night, the first thing he does is go to wilburs room.
He doesn’t know why, but he just needs too.
Wilbur’s sat on his bed, laptop open in his lap, headphones slipped on. His doors already open, and tommy doesn’t bother to knock, just walking in.
“Oh, hi toms. You okay?”
Tommy doesn’t answer, just climbing onto the bed beside him, leaning his head on wilburs shoulders. He doesn’t move for a moment, but then tommy feels an arm wrap round his shoulders, and closes his eyes.
After a moment, whatever wilbur was watching resumes, and they just sit there until dinner is called.
It’s nice.
Things don’t stay nice though.
Week five is tough.
So tough that he spends an entire night on the bathroom floor, silently heaving through an anxiety attack into his sleeve. So tough that he even stays off school for a day, turns down tubbo coming over and doesn’t go out running. He can’t even cry anymore.
He’s tired. And he hates being this.. Sad. No, not sad.
Tommy doesn’t know what it is. And that's the problem. He doesn’t really feel anymore. Well, he does in a panic attack that's for sure, but just generally? He’s numb. He can’t even cry anymore.
Sam frowns the second he sits down.
“You look tired” he says. Tommy huffs, smiling lightly.
“I am”
“Rough week?” sam asks, opening the notebook.
Tommy shrugs. Something like that.
And of course, that's the week where they touch on depression.
“What was your depression like when you first went on medication?” he asks after the general chatting they always do at the start.
“Uh, I don’t know really. It’s not like it is now, if it even is something now.”
“It is.” Sam reassures.
They talked about tommy not feeling like his feelings were real, or important in week three.
“I guess just, hard? At the time anyway. According to the last therapist, I had had it for a little while before hand, but it was just worse at that point, but I think because it was acknowledged as something, that just made it harder.”
Sam hummed, nodding along. Tommy took that to continue.
“Then, it was just not having a reason to feel sad. And feeling that all the time, the lack of energy, the sleep problems, all of that. Now, it’s just,”
He stops himself, looking down to his hands. He does that a lot.
The whole point of therapy is being honest. Right? Or, as honest as you can be in this case. Kind of defeats the point of getting help if you aren’t telling the whole truth.
He takes a breath, sam quiet as he continues.
“Now, it just seems so much worse than it was. Like, back then it felt like the world was ending, but now it looks like a walk in the park. Things are just, they’re just tough.”
“How so?” sam prompts gently.
“Like, getting out of bed used to feel like a chore, something I didn’t want to do, but knew I would anyway. Now, it feels like getting up is running a marathon, and then three more. I had a day off school this week, purely because I just couldn’t move.”
The hair band speeds up.
“And every day just melds together. I don’t know morning or night, I get overwhelmed at just doing my own washing, I have a panic attacks out of nowhere. But it’s, I don’t know it’s confusing.”
He pauses, trying to order what he’s saying. He hasn’t vented like this in a long time.
“I don’t feel sad, which is the big thing. Not if I don’t actively see something sad, like a movie or something. Last time, I felt sad all the time. Now, I just don’t. I don’t feel anything, and it’s exhausting. It just feels like I’m on a loop of feeling shitty, and tired, and not even in my body sometimes because this.. thing makes me feel so out of place.”
He sniffs, and hadn’t even realised he’s been crying. Sam pushes the tissue box forward silently.
“I don’t know. It’s just a lot, and quite frankly I’m sick of it.”
He takes a moment, scrubbing at his eyes, willing to stop crying. He hasn’t cried in a while.
Sam doesn’t speak for a little bit either. Not until tommy sits back in his seat, eyes locked downwards.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he starts, and tommy scoffs.
That’s what everyone says. They aren’t, but it’s meant to bring comfort. Or something.
“No, I am. You’re a bright kid tommy. You have passions, you are a kid, you don’t deserve to be going through something as tough as this. It’s horrible, and I can see how much you’re struggling.”
Tommy nods, taking a few shaky breaths. More tears spill out of his eyes, and he doesn’t understand why, now of all times he’s managing to cry.
Sam talks about some coping mechanisms, explains how it might be useful for his family to know this, heck gives him a list of websites to look at. Again, tommy knows its routine.
Sam fills the silence until the sessions up. Tommy silently appreciates it, and leaves with a small smile, however fake it is.
Phil doesn’t say anything about the obvious tear tracks on his face when he gets in the car, and when he gets home, he’s straight upstairs and closing his door, sliding down against it with a hand covering his mouth, tears streaming down his face.
He hates this. He doesn’t want this.
He wants this to end. Like, genuinely end.
And that thought brings a whole new wave of panic with it.
He’s thought about it before, of course he has. But he’s never felt the drive behind it. Never experienced a genuine lift in his chest of the thought of that happening.
And it’s terrifying.
He spends the night curled with his knees to his chest, still sat against his door as he battles a panic attack, and then more crying.
That night, the counter is reset twice.
That night, tommy knows he needs more help. And he needs it soon.
------
The six week checkup comes by, and sam asks all the routine questions.
Tommy leaves with a prescription for fluoxetine and propranolol, and a continuation of weekly sessions until further notice.
Again, he goes straight upstairs when he gets home.
The following morning, a similar situation happens.
“Techno, who’s picking you up tonight?” phil asks from across the room.
“Dream” he answers, earning a teasing ‘ooo’ from wilbur and a tiny smile from tommy.
A few months ago, he would’ve jumped on the teasing immediately.
“Shut up. He can drive now, and it only makes sense he’s there too.”
“Why’d you even have a team dinner anyways? Champions aren’t for what, three weeks?”
Techno shrugs.
“Just when they scheduled it. I don’t know man.”
Tommy’s still scrawling out his physics homework from a photo ranboo sent when phil puts a bowl in front of him.
Normally, he would comment that he should have done it last night. Recently, he hasn’t mentioned it.
That should be it, but then phil spins round and places two boxes in front of him.
Tommy’s pen stops, eyeing them carefully. When he looks up, techno and wilbur are looking at them too.
He stuffs them in his hoodie pocket, and they look back to their food.
“Are you not keeping them down here?” phil asks when he sits down.
“I’ll put them in the bathroom cabinet.” he murmurs, continuing his homework. He hasn’t even touched the bowl yet.
“Yes, but you might remember more-”
“I said I’ll keep them upstairs” he snaps, and phil pauses his movements. Tommy holds eye contact for a moment, and then phil nods.
Tommy looks back to his book, and the other two are frowning too. He shuts it with a thud, pushing his chair out.
“Are you not eating-”
“Not hungry.” he interrupts, walking out of the kitchen immediately and grabbing his school bag.
They don’t need to leave for fifteen minutes.
He’ll walk.
School was a bore, and exhausting, as usual. When he gets home, he doesn’t say hi to phil, he goes straight upstairs.
But wilbur's sat on his bed.
Tommy pauses in the doorway, eyebrows pushed together in confusion. Wilbur perks up slightly, putting his phone down and smiling.
“Hi” he says.
“Hi?” tommy responds, walking to his desk and putting his bag down.
“How was school?”
“Fine” he huffs, turning round.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, just to check in. I thought maybe we could go get ice-cream, movie night until techno comes home?”
He wants that. He wants to do that, to have those times with wilbur again.
But he also wants to be alone. To curl up into a ball and ignore everyone and everything.
“Get out” he grits.
Wilbur’s smile falls, shoulders slumping.
And it physically hurts. He hates it.
He hates that he made that happen, he hurt wilburs feelings. He hates that he can't just be normal, say yes, and go have a good time.
“Please” he says, voice slightly shaky. “Get out.”
Wilbur stares at him for a second. Tommy can see his hurt all over his face. And that just makes it worse.
But still, wilbur nods, and leaves regardless.
Tommy falls to his knees the minute the door shuts, a sob escaping his throat as he grips on to the arm of the chair.
He hates it. He hates how guilty it makes him feel, how upset wilbur looked.
He’s an awful person. And he knows that.
Phil talks to him on the way to therapy a few days later.
“I’m worried about you tommy.” he says. Tommy looks over, blinking at him.
“You’re struggling. We all see that, and I really want to help, but I don’t know what I can do.”
“I’m fine” he says.
Phil sighs.
“We’ll talk more later.”
And that, that sets panic into his heart immediately.
He walks into sams office with a racing heart, and hand fidgeting restlessly beside him.
Sam notices immediately, because he’s sam.
“You okay?” he asks, the second tommy sits down. He nods, fishing a hair tie off his wrist. It’s his best friend at this point.
“Alright” sam says, still frowning, but looking down to his notebook. “What do you want to talk about today?” he asks.
Tommy shrugs.
“Don’t really mind.”
Sam flips a page, humming.
“Why don’t we look at the ADHD? You mentioned you were having some trouble with class recently.”
He nods, and sam closes the notebook, looking up. Oh, yeah this is where he talks.
He’s surprisingly okay for the first fifteen minutes or so. And then he gets the familiar wave of sickness, a knot of anxiety tying itself in his stomach.
God he hates anxiety.
“Are some subject better than others?”
“Uh, yeah. History’s okay, and IT. Others I just, uh”
He cuts himself off briefly, hands speeding up. He can feel his heart in his throat. And his legs bouncing now.
“Others just take more, to um, to concentrate.”
Sam nods, but is still frowning.
“Do you want to take a break? Go for a walk or something?”
Tommy shakes his head.
“Are you sure? I can tell you’re on edge.”
Understatement of the century. But still, he shakes his head. Sam nods slowly.
“Alright. Which classes are the hardest would you say?”
“Um, probably maths, and uh, french?”
“What makes them hard?”
He’s about to answer, but a snap makes him look down. The hair tie, lying loosely in his palm. Tommy swallows, and looks back up.
“Do you want something else?” sam asks, and he nods almost frantically as sam stands up, walking to his desk.
Tommy leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, sucking in a few deep breaths through his nose.
Sam crouches down beside him, holding out a kind of worm, looking thing. It’s plastic, and he takes it with now shaking hands, twisting it a few times.
It’s nice actually, gives his hands something to do. Sam doesn’t move from beside him, and tommy opens his mouth to talk, but shuts it quickly.
He can feel his chest tightening with every breath. He knows what this is, of course he does, but having one in front of sam seems even more scary.
It’s only a few minutes until it picks up dramatically, breaths coming in heaving gasps, the plastic thing long forgotten, hands tangled tightly in his hair instead, eyes squeezed shut.
He hears sam moving around him, and then a voice. It’s muffled, but there.
“Can I touch you tommy?”
Tommy shakes his head. Touch is too much right now. His skin already feels like it’s on fire, burning, similar to his lungs.
“Okay, I wont. I need you to look up though. Can you do that?”
He shakes his head again. Sam continues talking.
“I know it feels impossible, but I can help, I promise. I just need you to look up. Or at least open your eyes.”
After a moment or so, his hands loosen, head tilting upwards slightly and eyes opening. The first thing he notices is the lights aren’t so bright, and then sams face.
He smiles softly, sitting in front of him on the coffee table.
“I need you to follow my breathing. Okay? I’ll count, and its okay if you can’t at first, but I just need you to try and concentrate on that.”
He nods, a tear slipping down his cheeks. His hands move to grip his knees instead, one of them bouncing like a lunatic, sam smiling softly.
It’s a simple technique, in for four, hold for six, out for eight.
They do it for what feels like a long time, and tommy never takes his eyes off of sams hands, which he’s using to count. It’s something for him to focus on.
When it finally gets to a point where tommy is breathing somewhat normally, and his knee isn’t bouncing as rapidly, sam stops counting.
He smiles when tommy looks up to him.
“Better?”
He manages a shaky nod, reaching for the plastic thing again.
“I think I should call phil, finish there for today if that's okay?”
He doesn’t have the energy to say no, so nods, barely, and sam smiles, standing up again.
Tommy keeps doing the breathing action even as sam speaks on the phone, eyes locked on the corner of the table, hands slowly stopping the tingling, heart slowing down.
Sam comes back a few minutes later.
“Phil said your brother techno is coming, he’ll be no more than five minutes. Do you want to wait outside, or here?”
He shrugs.
“We can wait here then. You doing okay?”
“Yeah” he manages, croaky and strained, but there.
Sam nods, moves back to his desk probably to let the front desk know, and then sits back in front of him.
He talks to fill the silence, about nothing really, but it does a decent job of distracting him, keeping him there.
A knock at the door makes him jump, and sam gets up to open it, quiet conversation being spoken between the two.
The next face to fill his line of vision is techno.
“Hey” he says softly, concern filling every feature, and tommy’s heart clenches. Techno isn’t one for emotions really, but he knows how to handle things when something is seriously wrong.
“You ready?”
He nods, sitting up properly, moving from the position he had been sat in, standing up shakily.
Techno takes his elbow gently when he stumbles, but tommy shrugs it off, taking a deep breath.
Sam holds open the door, smiling. Tommy feels awful, but he doesn’t get the chance to say that before he speaks himself.
“Get some rest, and some water. Okay?”
He nods, and sam smiles a little more, looking up to techno.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for helping” Techno returns.
“No problem. See you next week tommy?” he says, and tommy nods, managing a shaky smile as they leave.
He curls on in himself in the car, and techno doesn’t speak until they get through the door.
Tommy’s had panic attacks like this before. The ones that come on so quickly he isn’t prepared, kind of throw him into a dazed state for a little bit.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, hanging up his coat.
Tommy shakes his head, but follows him into the kitchen anyway.
Techno puts a glass of water and his anxiety meds that are the ones for when you’re actively anxious, tommy taking it with a small ‘thank you’.
He hovers awkwardly for a little bit, and just as he’s about to leave, tommy reaches out and grabs his sleeve.
He doesn’t know why, or what he even wanted, but techno stopped regardless.
Tommy stands up, hand still latched onto his hoodie, and leads them both to the lounge.
Techno drops onto the sofa beside him wordlessly, and tommy leans into his side almost immediately.
He and techno rarely do physical contact. Like, at all. But yet, techno shifts a little, and wraps both arms around him, tommy shuffling closer and closing his eyes.
He falls asleep like that, and wakes up to voices. Hushed, whispering, so they obviously still think he’s asleep.
“Did he say anything?”
He feels techno shaking his head, still resting his chin on top of tommy’s hair.
“Completely quiet when we came in. I don’t know what happened.”
The other person sighs.
“I don’t know what to do. He isn’t doing good right now, on any fronts.”
Phil.
“I know. We have to wait for him to come to us.”
“Yeah I know. Still hard to watch though.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Oh, wilbur's here too.
“He’s acting how I was acting. When, you know.”
A tension settles across the room. Techno shifts, and tommy feels one hand leave his back.
“Don’t” wilbur says. Tommy does everything to not tense.
“We’ll lose all trust if you check. If that is what’s going on, we have to wait.”
An uncomfortable feeling settles in his stomach as his brain catches on to what techno was going to do. He’s so glad he woke up.
“He doesn’t need to know that we know” techno mutters.
“He’ll figure it out. Tommy isn’t stupid, and if you do this you’re just going to make things thousands of times worse. Trust me.”
The silence stretches too long.
“We don’t even know if that's what this is.” phil says, breaking it.
“Exactly” wilbur says.
The oven beeps.
“Wake him up in a few minutes” phil says, and then he’s walking away. Another weight settles on the end of the sofa, wilbur.
Then, a hand starts carding through his hair. Tommy feels like crying again.
“He’s scaring me” wilbur says.
“I know. Me too” techno responds.
It’s silent after that.
When techno shakes his shoulder a few times, he ‘wakes up’ blinking blearily, and then goes to dinner. Phil asks if he’s okay, tommy nods, and they move on.
He joins the conversation a few times, but other than that stays quiet.
That night, laying awake in bed, he makes a decision.
This has gone on too long. And he’s tired of doing it completely by himself.
He needs to tell them.
He’s going to tell them.
He just has to figure out how.
------
The next week seeing sam goes normally, and he lets tommy keep the plastic thing, apparently called a tangle which is nice.
It takes another week to build up enough courage to go through it.
He’s nervous, shitting himself quite frankly. In his head, he’d always figured that they’d find out accidentally, or it would stay quiet, and then one day someone would point out the scars, and he could brush it off.
This seems more scary than both.
“How are you feeling?” sam asks.
“Alright. Sorry about last week.”
Sam smiles, shaking his head.
“No need to be. Anything specific you want to talk about this week?”
Tommy sits further back into the chair, the plastic thing turning in his hands as he nods. Sam raises an eyebrow, sitting back too. Tommy takes a deep breath.
His hands are shaking.
“If I told you something, would you be able to tell phil instead of me?”
Sam frowns, but nods.
“Yeah, of course.”
“And would you be able to do it tonight, instead of when he comes to pick me up?”
Sam nods again. Tommy doesn’t want to have to sit through that car ride.
He takes a deep breath, looking down to his hands.
Now or never right?
“I’ve been, um, hurting myself for a little while now.”
It’s mumbled, and his voice is shaking. Sam nods, picking up his pen. When he speaks, his voice is soft, gentle.
“Okay. Thank you for telling me. How long is a little while?”
“About four months I think?”
Sam nods again, and tommy looks up briefly. He can see he’s tense.
“How are you hurting yourself?”
He winces slightly, knee starting to bounce. He doesn’t think you can say it.
Sam waits for a moment or so before he speaks again.
“Is it cutting? Or burning? Or-”
“First one” tommy interrupts, voice shaky.
“Alright. Do they need any medical attention?”
He shakes his head. They might be, he does clean them and clean the blade, but he’s not an expert. He doesn’t want anyone to see.
“What do you use?”
God this is hard.
“A razor” he grits out.
“Okay,” sam says softly, and when tommy looks up he’s scribbling a few things down.
“I really am thankful you told me tommy. That’s a huge step, and you should be proud of yourself.”
He nods, even though he doesn’t believe it.
“What I’ll do is call phil tonight at around six if that's okay?”
He nods again. That gives him time to prepare himself. That was.. surprisingly quick. And it's out now, someone knows. Someone can help.
He isn't sure how he feels about that.
“Do you want to talk more about that today? Or something else?”
“Something else” he answers almost immediately.
Sam nods, and they move onto how school has been this week.
Tommy’s an anxious wreck the whole time, stuttering over his words, knee never stopping bouncing, but sam doesn’t mention it.
He gets home, and goes straight upstairs. Like usual.
Also like usual, he climbs onto his bed, plugs his headphones in, and pulls his knees to his chest.
Except today, he’s waiting for something.
His heart is a constant fast pace, and tears are falling from his eyes constantly, silently.
Tommy doesn’t move until he hears phil's phone ring downstairs. He closes his eyes, more tears falling, and takes a few deeper breaths, leaning his chin on his arms.
He knew this was going to happen, but he’s still terrified.
Five minutes later, he hears footsteps on the stairs. Tommy tenses, and looks to the door.
There’s a knock, and tommy can’t even answer before it swings open.
Phil has his phone in one hand, the other almost white with how hard he’s gripping the door handle, and tears are already falling down his face.
Tommy’s face twists, and he buries it in his arms, a sob ripping through his throat.
He hears a quiet ‘oh toms’ and then phil is dropping onto the bed next to him, pulling tommy into a hug. He latches onto phil's shirt like it’s the only thing left, and phil holds him just as tightly.
Tommy cries for a long time. The entire way through phil is there, he’s combing a hand through his hair gently, shushing him, although tommy can hear him sniffling too.
Part of him is happy that he knows. That he’s not alone in this anymore. The other part of him is terrified, and guilty, and hates that he’s putting phil through this again.
At one point, he hears another voice, but phil says something and they leave.
Tommy doesn’t pull away even when the tears have stopped. When he’s only sniffling into phils shirt, when his hands have stopped shaking.
He doesn’t pull away until he knows phil has stopped crying too.
The second he does, he almost starts again, but stops himself.
“I’m sorry” he whispers. Phil takes his hand, and tommy latches onto it.
“You have nothing to be sorry for” he says, and his voice is strained, but tommy nods regardless.
“I’m proud of you for telling us” he adds, and tommy nods again. He doesn’t think he can talk right now. They sit in silence for a moment.
“I need to see”
Tommy pulls his hand away, shaking his head almost immediately.
“I know it’s scary, but I have to check if anything infected. It’s important tommy”
He shuffles back so he’s leaning against the headboard, shaking his head again, pulling the sleeves down further even though there's nothing showing.
Phil sighs, and tommy can’t look up.
“Would you be more comfortable with wilbur or techno?”
That just makes him want to cry more. Wilbur would get it, but tommy knows actually seeing it would break him. Techno would be awkward, but he wouldn’t comment. He would just look, and get it over with. But then again, if he didn’t pick wilbur, that would make him feel worse. Surely he can go to him about this? But he also doesn’t want to send wilbur down a rabbithole with his own stuff, so surely-
A hand lands on his knee, and only then does he realise how heavy his breathing is.
Tommy looks up to phil, wide eyed and teary, and shuffles forward again.
With his heart pounding in his chest, he pulls off his hoodie. Phil smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and takes his wrist gently.
Tommy looks away as he turns it, as he lightly lifts the hem of his t-shirt up, and only looks back when phils hand leaves his wrist, immediately tugging his hoodie back on.
“A few are infected, so I’ll take you to the doctors tomorrow.”
He nods, sniffling slightly. In all fairness he hasn’t looked at it in a while, so he couldn’t tell.
“I love you.” phil says, voice cracking. “You know that right?”
Tommy meets his eyes, and nods. Tears are quick to come back, and phil smiles as he pulls him back into another hug.
“Do you want to tell the others?” he asks after a little bit. Tommy nods. It’s only right, and he would awful leaving them in the dark. Even though he feels just as awful not telling them for so long.
“Do you want to do it? Or me?”
“You” he mumbles. He couldn’t do that. Not at all.
Phil nods again, and tommy holds him a little tighter.
They don’t move again for a little bit, and finally phil presses a light kiss into his hair, and stands up. He’s sniffling as he leaves the room, and tommy returns to his old position, taking a few deep breaths.
He hears the conversation muffled downstairs.
It falls silent, and then a pair of footsteps are hurrying up the stairs. Wilbur appears in the door way, eyes wide and breaths coming a little too quickly.
They’re hugging in less than thirty seconds. Nothing is spoken, just wilburs quiet shushes, and tommy’s sniffling.
God, he’s cried too much today.
A second weight joins the bed after a few minutes, and a hand rests on his shoulder. Techno.
Again, they don’t talk.
No one does.
Not when phil settles into his chair, not when tommy’s stopped crying, not at all.
But no one needs to. A message it easily carried by just their presence.
We’re here, and we love you.
Tommy fell asleep against wilbur that night. And for the first time in a long time, he slept through.
-----
The next few weeks were tough.
They went to the doctors, they spent another day crying, but things went pretty much back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be. Everyone walks on eggshells around him for a few days, which is infuriating, but he gets it.
Phil does checks every three days, and he doesn’t get mad when new ones appear, even if its one or two. He simply hugs tommy, and tells him that it’s okay. That he isn’t mad.
Sam helps a lot, they go over why it happens, what they can do to stop, different things like the elastic band trick, or the ice and food colouring.
No one gets mad when he wakes them up in the middle of the night because he’s struggling. No one gets mad when he lashes out for no reason, no one gets mad when he goes quiet, doesn’t talk to them for a little while.
Techno goes on runs with him, forces him to go out when he doesn’t want to leave bed, which helps.
And wilbur helps a lot too. He gets it. He knows the feeling, and he’s always there when tommy needs to talk, or listen to him talk, or even just sit. Wilbur plays him music when he’s anxious, and talks to him when he’s being quiet.
Phils just being a dad. Probably the most smothering of them all, but tommy can’t fault that. Not at all.
It’s nicer when it’s out in the open.
He hits one week, and phil takes them out for ice cream.
He hits two weeks, and they order take out for dinner.
When he messes that up, no one gets disheartened, or looks disappointed.
The first time he hits three weeks, he tells sam about it with a wide smile. And sam smiles back, telling him he was proud.
It’s a long road. One he’s going to be travelling down for a while, but he’s happy to do that if it means getting better.
Because he is going to get better.
That’s a fact.