waiting on the world to change

by cheebwasabitch

Summary:

Tommy has given up on the world ever treating him kindly, entering every new situation with resignation and fear. But what happens when he's taken in by the Watsons, a family that shows him there's more to life than just surviving?

//

"It had been his fault, time and time again, that none of his homes had worked out. Sure, he wasn’t always known for having the best attitude–he was scared of everything, and when he got defensive he talked back, zoned out, or bolted at the first sign of trouble.

He was annoying and loud, and he’d been told it too many times to count.

But truly, the reason most families had issues with Tommy had less to do with his personality, and more to do with his ability."

Chapter 1: the sun will rise

Notes:

Title is from the song Waiting on the World to Change by John Mayer

Hope everyone enjoys this fic! Might wanna buckle up it's gonna be a long ride.

 

Also, I want to preface that I know what has recently come to light about some of the CCs in this fic. I want to say that I do not support their actions in any way, I am writing this about the online personas they created and not about the real people they are behind the screen. These types of fics still bring me comfort, despite everything, and I hope you feel the same.

 

“Tommy? Come on, are you even listening?”

Tommy snapped back into reality at the words, tearing his gaze away from the car window and toward Sam. His social worker sighed. 

“I was listening,” He muttered defensively, but even he knew it was a lost cause. “You were talking about the house, something about a dad and his... three sons?” His guess was half-hearted, and it didn't seem to impress Sam.

“Two sons,” the man corrected, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced away from the road to shoot Tommy a look drenched in disappointment. Tommy didn't respond. Honestly, he couldn’t care less.

“Look, I know it’s been a rough few years, but you can’t keep shutting everyone out. I really think this house will be good for you. I’ve talked with Phil and I know his foster history. He seems like a kind, honest man.” Sam explained. 

Tommy couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“I highly doubt that,” He muttered under his breath. He’d heard this speech before. Sam cast him another pointed look.

“Just give it a chance, please,” he pressed. “I know the odds are stacked against you, and I sympathize, I really do. But you have to at least try, or it’s never gonna work out,” he said, his voice measured and careful. Tommy knew he'd given up, but it was for a reason. 

He felt a swirl of nausea in his gut.

He didn’t know if it was Sam’s intentional tip-toeing around blatant facts, the persistent taste of blood in his mouth, or the anxiety of being only a few minutes away from his next foster placement. Maybe it was the sickening situation that had gotten him kicked from the last one.

Tommy decided it was a combination of everything. 

“I’m sorry I got kicked out again,” he mumbled. 

Sam immediately groaned. 

“Tommy, stop saying you’re sorry. It’s not your fault. That house, those people? They weren't good people. There’s nothing you could have done to change that. I’m just glad we got you out of there in one piece.”

Deep down, Tommy knew his social worker had a point. That didn’t mean he was going to listen to it.

“If I'd just done what they wanted, none of this would have happened,” he muttered back, frustration bubbling up inside him.

Even if Sam was right, the world around Tommy always told him otherwise. Foster homes, social workers, strangers—they all blamed him. Over and over again.

“Don’t think like that, Tommy,” Sam shot back instantly, his voice sharper.

But how could he help it? When it had been his fault, time and time again, that none of his homes had worked out. Sure, he wasn’t always known for having the best attitude–he was scared of everything, and when he got defensive he talked back, zoned out, or bolted at the first sign of trouble. 

He was annoying and loud, and he’d been told it too many times to count. 

But truly, the reason most families had issues with Tommy had less to do with his personality, and more to do with his ability.

Being a hybrid wasn’t exactly rare, but in foster care, being one made life a living hell.

Most of the foster kids Tommy knew from group homes were hybrids. It was obvious why. They were more likely to be abandoned, more likely to be mistreated, more likely to be trampled over by the already fucked up system. 

And that was just for normal hybrids. 

Unfortunately, Tommy wasn’t normal. 

“We’re here, Tommy,” Sam says quietly. 

Tommy blinked, registering the car had stopped moving. He hadn’t even realized they’d arrived.

Fuck. 

He unbuckled his seatbelt, his fingers shaking as he did. He clenched his fists to steady himself, digging his nails into his palms for something to focus on.

He followed Sam up the steps, eyes trained on the ground. He only looked up once, when he stole a glance at the large, brownstone house, and found he was impressed despite himself. Not bad. 

About time he got to stay with some rich fucker. Not that Tommy would likely be indulging in any luxuries, but it would be a welcome break from the mice and mold of the last place. 

As the door opened, Tommy caught sight of a man in black Adidas sandals and socks.

Tommy has learned that you can tell a lot about people from their shoes. 

“Hi, you must be Sam and Tommy, come on in!” the man greeted cheerfully. 

Tommy followed Sam through the doorway, watching carefully as the sandals turned away from him. When the man was facing away, he risked a quick look. Blonde hair, broad shoulders–Fuck. 

This guy looked like he could pack a punch, if he wanted to. 

He swallowed nervously. 

They entered the kitchen, a spacious room with an island and plenty of cupboards. Tommy realized he’d lifted his gaze and quickly focused back on the floor. The cold tiles underfoot contrasted with a rug in the center, giving the space an oddly homely feel.

“Tommy, these are my two sons, Wilbur and Technoblade,” the man offered, and against his better judgement Tommy snuck another quick peek. 

Generally, foster siblings cared less about eye contact than their parents did, but it never hurt to be careful. 

Part of Tommy was still laughing internally at one of them being named Technoblade (because really, who names their kid technoblade ?). 

The other half of him was practically trembling, because both his new foster siblings were at least a few years older than him, not to mention a significant bit taller. 

The “Wilbur” guy was a bit gangly, with short brown hair half covering his eyes, but still plenty intimidating and definitely tall. Tommy scanned him for any hybrid features, but if he was one, Tommy didn’t see any indicators. 

The other one, Technoblade, looked way too strong for a teenager. His long pink hair was tied back in a loose braid, and round, orange ears were poking up from the top of his head. Tommy’s blood went cold at the sight. 

Tommy did not share Sam’s so-called Good Feeling about this house. 

In fact, he had his own Bad Feeling about it. 

Both siblings quickly said hello to him, and it sounded pretty friendly, all things considered. 

Tommy mumbled a quiet greeting back. 

“Phil, could I pull you aside for a quick chat before I leave?” Sam asked politely, adjusting his grip on Tommy’s files. 

“Of course. My office is just through here. Boys, introduce yourselves a bit?” Phil responds, and then he and Sam are gone, leaving Tommy alone with his new and terrifying foster siblings. 

A tense silence stretched between them, till Wilbur broke it awkwardly. 

“Uh, I like to play guitar and write music, my favorite color is blue, and I absolutely despise anteaters. I'm also 18 and exactly 6 days older than Tech here. That’s why Dad calls us his twins, but none of us are blood related,” the brunette, Wilbur, says cheerfully. 

Tommy raises his eyes back up the boy, mind reeling. This guy was a total freak. 

His assumption was proved even more correct when Wilbur turned to his brother and elbowed him gently in the side. 

“Your turn!” he chirped gleefully. Technoblade grunted in annoyance before turning back to Tommy. 

“Ignore him, he can be a bit much. I uh… I like to read,” He supplied. Wilbur rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. 

“Way to get personal, Tech,” he said sarcastically. It seemed like a teasing tone, but Tommy didn’t know how to read the dynamic between the two of them. For all he knew, they could hate each other. 

Now it was Techno’s turn to sigh, but it wasn’t without humor. “I also like to beat Wilbur in video games, and I'm a tiger hybrid,” he offered to Tommy, before turning back to Wilbur. “Happy now?” he muttered, but the words were lost in Wilburs immediate screeching. 

“You do NOT beat me at video games, TAKE THAT BACK!” Wilbur all but shouted. “I beat you at Mario Kart literally this morning!” 

“I let you win. Out of pity,” Technoblade deadpanned, unphased by the yelling. Tommy shifted his feet nervously, but he found their banter a bit amusing regardless of how anxiety-inducing it was.  

After Wilbur finished sticking his tongue out at Technoblade, he turned to Tommy again. 

“How about you, Tommy? Any hobbies?” Wilbur asked, Tommy almost laughed. He wasn’t really the kind of kid who had time for hobbies. 

“Uh, not really,” he admitted. He expected a sneer, but the expression his words were met with was understanding, if a bit pitying. 

“How old are you?” Wilbur asked next.

“Sixteen,”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Tommy shrugged. 

“Favorite animal?”

Another shrug. 

“Favorite song?”

Was he ever going to give up?

“Jesus Will, no need to interrogate him,” Techno interrupted. Wilbur stuck his tongue out at him again, as childish as the first time. 

If Wilbur seemed bothered by his unenthusiastic answers, he didn’t show it. He was about to ask another question when Sam and Phil emerged from Phil’s office. 

Sam was no longer holding the files he’d brought in with him, so Tommy supposed that meant Phil hadn’t taken one look at the thick, messy folders and changed his mind. 

“Alright Tommy, I'm heading out now. You text me if you need anything, okay?” His social worker said this sternly, but Tommy knew it was only because he apparently had a habit of not calling Sam soon enough. 

But really, what was Tommy supposed to do? It’s not like Sam putting him somewhere else would change anything. It would be a different house, different people, same story. 

Just like it always was. 

Just like it would be here. 

Phil’s voice caught his attention again. 

“Hey Tommy, how does a quick house tour sound? I can show you where your room is so you can drop your bag off.” Phil asked. Tommy nodded, and then followed the man across the kitchen. 

“You can see the living room from the kitchen, obviously, and that door right there leads to a bathroom. The dining room is in here, but to be honest we usually just eat at the kitchen island or by the tv. Through this door is the basement, we can show you it another time, it’s pretty much just a tv, couch, and some gaming stuff,” 

Tommy stayed quiet, nodding a few times when he felt the man’s gaze on him, always careful that he avoided eye contact. 

They climbed the staircase by the front entrance to get to the floor above. Phil pointed at each room in turn. “This one here is mine, and then Wilbur’s, in the middle is the bathroom, and then those two rooms are Techno’s and finally, yours.” He opened the door to the room he’d motioned to, and they stepped inside. 

Tommy’s eyes widened. It was a lot bigger than he’d been expecting. Hell, it was probably the biggest room he’d ever stayed in. There was a queen bed against one wall with a nightstand beside it, a built-in closet, and a desk and chair. 

“This’ll be yours. I know it’s a bit plain right now, but we can go shopping for decorations,” Phil said, almost sheepishly. “I meant to fix it up a bit more, but it can get a bit chaotic around here,” the man laughed. 

“I-no, no, it’s great,” Tommy insisted, tripping over his words. He couldn’t understand this family, their…niceness. He’d sorta thought it might have been an act until Sam left, but he’d been waiting and the other shoe had yet to drop. 

“I’ll give you some time to get settled, but I just wanted to lay out some basic ground rules first.”

Tommy’s heart sank. Here it came.

“I’m not strict, I promise it’s just simple stuff. Just, you know, knock before entering people’s rooms or my office, but everywhere else is common space. Er, well I guess knock for the bathroom?” He chuckled, as though this was a joke and not something that would dictate Tommy’s future in this house. Phil continued speaking. “Of course, you can help yourself to any food in the kitchen unless it’s got someone's name on it.” Tommy forced himself not to roll his eyes. Did this guy really think Tommy was buying this? 

He was certain all the food would be labelled, or there would never be any at all. Or the moment Tommy was caught in the kitchen, Phil would claim he’d never permitted him and beat him bloody. Regardless of why, Tommy knew this wasn’t real.This wasn’t how the world worked, let alone foster homes. You didn’t just “get” big rooms and unlimited food. 

Everything always came at a price. 

“There’s a lock on your door, but I keep a key in case of emergencies.” Phil was saying now. 

Another exploitable loophole. Privacy, but only when Phil says so. 

He held back a sigh. This was the same old shit, and he was too exhausted to deal with it. His face was aching painfully, and he just wanted to collapse into a bed. 

Phil seemed to sense this. “Alright, well, I'll be downstairs if you need me, and you can always ask Will or Techno for anything.

“Okay. Thank you,” Tommy mumbled. To be honest, he’d been expecting more rules, but he was used to figuring things out the hard way.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Phil, Tommy locked it. You couldn’t be too careful.

He let his red backpack drop to the floor carelessly–it had survived worse than a four foot drop. He kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, where he stared at the ceiling. 

This was bad. He’d met the family, seen the house, but he still couldn’t figure them out—especially the two brothers.

He couldn’t get Techno’s ears out of his mind, the intimidating way he spoke as though nothing was of interest to him. 

On the other side, Wilbur’s pestering already felt intrusive, and Tommy felt like the boy surely had to have ulterior motives behind each question he’d asked. 

The only thing Tommy felt sure of was the high possibility this house ended horribly. 

He needed to figure out how he should act, in order to survive. 

Because Tommy wasn’t just a hybrid, he was a shapeshifter. His ability to transform into any animal made his situation much more complicated, a burden he had always carried. 

There were two kinds of houses for someone like him. Houses where they wanted him to use his ability, to transform into whatever they wanted him to be, whenever they wanted it. 

The other type hated him, and his ability. Whether they approved of hybrids or not, these houses forbid him from shifting, ever. If he was caught transforming, it was either back to Sam or painful punishments. 

With how “nice” everyone was acting, Tommy felt he should assume this was the first option.

He sighed. The clock was ticking down, counting the hours till they discovered just how broken he was, how ruined. 

When he didn’t do what they wanted him to, they’d kick him out, and he’d get to leave this house with its big bedrooms and clean kitchen, away from these “nice” people and their fake kindness. 

It was only a matter of time. 

Chapter 2: how lucky are we?

Summary:

Title is from the song 28 by Zach Bryan.

 

Phil paused when he reached the bottom of the stairs, taking a moment to steady himself.

He’d forgotten how hard this was. It had been 8 years since Phil had first fostered Wilbur, and 6 since Techno. 

Both boys had certainly been a handful, each with their own struggles. But had they ever been so…resigned?

Techno had burst Phil's life like a cannonball, wreaking as much havoc as a 12 year old possibly could. Phil still had scars on his arms from sharp tiger teeth to prove it. 

Wilbur had been more like Tommy, but he was young enough that he hadn’t built up such a hard shell. Phil had won the ten year old over with food, mostly. He’d been half starved when he arrived, malnourished and unloved. Even worse, he’d been addicted to nicotine, which Phil had done his best to intervene with. Once Phil had sorted out Wilbur’s physical needs, the emotional stability followed slowly behind. 

Though Wilbur still occasionally smoked and Techno sometimes struggled with anger management, the two were hardly recognizable as the kids who’d been dropped on his doorstep all those years ago.

Phil entered the living room, where his sons were having a shushed conversation, looking far more serious than Phil usually saw them. He let his wings out, rolling his shoulders to release the ache from hiding his features. 

It wasn’t a common thing to be able to do, and had certainly taken a while to learn, but Phil had found it worth the time, since having huge wings on his back was a bit of a hassle sometimes. 

Retracing them wasn’t necessarily painful, but it was uncomfortable and sort of itchy when he did it for long periods of time. 

His twins stopped talking as he entered. Phil took a seat on a couch, and the silence hung thick in the air. Finally, it was Techno who spoke. 

“That wasn’t really what I was expecting.” His voice was quiet, and Phil knew his sons well enough to realize both boys had already taken on the burden of someone else's struggles. 

“Me neither,” Phil admitted. 

“He hardly looked up the entire time, he looked terrified of us.” Wilbur pointed out, looking almost pained. 

“I can’t blame him,” Phil said with a sigh. “According to Sam, the kid’s been through hell. “Not to mention the black eye. It looked pretty recent, didn’t it?” he asked. Techno nodded in agreement, looking off at the stairs as though he could see Tommy through them. After a moment of contemplation, Techno turned his gaze back to Phil, his eyes curious. 

“What else did Sam say? Anything about his shapeshifting?” Techno asked, ears perked forwards. Phil was intrigued by the concept too–none of them had ever met a shapeshifter before. 

He thought back to the call he’d received the night before. It had been an unknown number, but he’d answered anyway. 

 

“Hi, I'm hoping this is Philza Watson? This is Sam Nook, I’m a foster care social worker. I believe you’re a registered foster father?”

“Uh…yes, I am” 

“Great! I was looking through some files after a coworker of mine filled me in on a child you fostered and later adopted. I heard he was a more difficult case, and apparently had a bit of an…aggressive past?”

Phil bristled. Tech was only like that because of the shit he’d gone through while in the system. How dare they try to pin it on him? Sam continued talking, ignoring Phil’s tense silence. 

“I don’t know if you’re open to taking on another foster, but I've got a kid who really needs somewhere safe to stay. With his history...his options right now aren’t great.” Sam sighed, and Phil realized that the social worker hadn’t been trying to insult Technoblade, but instead wanted to ensure Phil knew what he was doing. He frowned. 

“What do you mean, his history?” he asked. Sam took a deep breath. 

“He’s 16, and he’s been through 20 houses already. He can get a bit temperamental, at least from what foster parents have told me, and it’s been physical a few times. But I know he’s a real sweet kid. He doesn’t deserve any of what he’s gone through.” 

Phil’s heart tightened, and his fatherly instincts kicked in before he could help it. He couldn’t just leave a poor kid in a bad situation. Not if there was anything he could do to fix it. 

“I’d have to talk to my sons before I could give you an answer,” Phil replied, but he was fairly sure he knew what their response would be.

“Of course. But also, Philza, there’s one other thing you need to know about Tommy. It might be a challenge, since it's usually the reason things don’t work out with his placements.” Sam paused, a slight moment of hesitation. “Tommy’s a shapeshifter.”

Phil froze. Shapeshifters were very rare, and from what he knew, dangerously misunderstood. Hell, Phil didn’t know the first thing about them. He couldn’t imagine what this kid must have gone through in the system, based on what Techno had to go through just from being a hybrid. 

Sam seemed to misinterpret his silence.

“I understand if you aren’t interested. It’s better for me to know now, then to have you change your mind once he’s–”

“I’m interested,” Phil interrupted the rambling, maybe a bit harshly. He didn’t like the idea that anyone would turn away a kid in need for something out of their control. “But I need to talk to my boys. Do you mind waiting in line for a minute? I’ll be right back,”

“Oh! uh, no problem!” Sam sputtered. 

Phil went to the living room to ask, and returned right away. His sons hadn’t needed any convincing. 

He picked up the phone again, prepared to change the trajectory of his family’s future once again.

“Hi Sam, are you still there? Yes, we’d love to foster him.” 

 

Phil had expected Tommy to be angrier. Sam had described him as temperamental–he’d thought he’d see emotion, at least. Phil didn’t think the boy had made a single expression the entire visit. 

Instead, Tommy had just looked spaced out. Like he was there physically, but not really present . 

He wondered absently if the kid might have a concussion from whatever caused the black eye. He’d tried to ask Sam about the injury, but the man had been worryingly vague. 

Realizing both his kids were staring at him, he turned to finally answer Techno’s question. 

“Sam didn’t really say much, just gave me Tommy’s files. I tried asking a bit about what I can do to make him more comfortable, but he kinda gave me the impression it's just gonna take time for him to trust us.” Phil explained. “He didn’t talk about shifting specifically, but he was saying that the black eye Tommy had was from an incident at his last house, and I sort of got the feeling it had something to do with his abilities,” Phil said softly. 

“I noticed he didn’t mention he was a shapeshifter earlier, even though Tech told him he was a hybrid too. I guess it makes sense, if it's caused trouble for him in the past.” Wilbur said thoughtfully, face scrunched up with concern. 

Phil had to admit, he felt a little out of his depth with Tommy. Looking at his kids’ nervous expressions, he could see they felt the same. 

But he thought back to how he’d felt when each of them had shown up, and he knew it had been the exact same feeling. 

There was no instruction manual on being a parent. There wasn’t a way to feel prepared or capable. You just do your best, and hope everything works out.

“It’s gonna be okay, you two. He’s gonna be just fine,” Phil reassured them. 

“I don’t know, Phil. He looked so scared, and hurt. I don’t know how you managed this with us.” Techno confessed. Phil’s heart swelled with pride. Techno had come a long way from the angry, withdrawn kid who had first arrived. Now, here he was, openly sharing his worries. 

That growth meant everything to Phil, and he was determined to give it to Tommy as well. 

“Oh, Tech, you were nothing like Tommy when you got here.” Wilbur chuckled, and Phil knew he was thinking about all the biting and clawing and yowling. They’d practically had a feral tiger cub tearing the place apart. Technoblade grinned, showing his canines as though the other two needed a visual reminder of their size. 

“Oh, I know I was a whole different type of crazy. I just don’t get how you dealt with it,”

“It just takes time and effort,” He said, smiling at them both. Wilbur shuffled closer to him on the couch so he could rest his head on Phil’s shoulder, and Phil put his arm around the boy. 

Phil may have been surprised by Tommy’s state when he’d arrived, but he was resolutely determined to give the kid a home for as long as he needed. 

If anyone could show Tommy what love truly felt like, it was Phil and his family.

Notes:

Alright the beginning boring stuff is out of the way now its time for like 20 chapters of angst mwahahaha (kidding sorta)

Chapter 3: please be cruel, i'm begging you

Summary:

Title is from Cruel by VIOLA.

Notes:

Sorry to anyone who experienced the glitch with posting. I think i fixed it, for some reason the chapters weren't showing up.

Wilbur had been sent to fetch Tommy for breakfast. He’d been happy to do so, bounding up the stairs till he reached Tommy's door. He knocked quietly, speaking as he did so.

“Hey Tommy, are you awake?” he said as quietly as he could, in case the teen wasn’t up yet.

“Uh-yeah, yeah I am,” came the muffled reply, followed by shuffling. The door creaked open. 

Tommy looked…terrible. His black eye had swelled more overnight, and dark bags hung under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept at all. His hair was a mess, tousled from sleep, but he was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, so he must’ve been awake for at least a little while.

“Phil’s making breakfast if you want to come down,” Wilbur offered. Tommy’s eyes widened and he stared at Wilbur like he’d just sprouted a second head.

“Am I-i’m allowed to come?” Tommy stammered, his voice shaky. He flinched back like he feared the words he’d just spoken.

“Of course! You’re allowed anywhere in this house, Tommy,” Wilbur said gently, heart aching for the kid. It ached even more for a ten year old he saw reflected in Tommy’s eyes, a starving kid who’d been taught food was a privilege, not a right. Wilbur had only learned otherwise when he’d met Phil. 

He tried to think of anything else he could say that would reassure Tommy more, but came up empty handed. He wasn't as good at this as Phil was. 

Just because he’d stood in Tommy's shoes before didn’t mean he knew what actions to take or words to speak.

“Oh.” Tommy’s voice was soft, shaky, and he took a hesitant step forward.

Wilbur settled for giving him a warm smile and led the trembling kid to the kitchen. 

Right before they entered, Tommy froze completely. He stared forward with wide eyes, his body stiff, and he looked like he might collapse from sheer panic. Wilbur thought the poor guy was having a panic attack just from walking through a doorway. 

Then he followed Tommy’s line of sight and saw what had spooked him. 

Phil had his wings out.  

He usually did, but now that Wilbur thought about it, he hadn’t had them out last night. He wondered if his dad had done that on purpose or not. Wilbur knew Phil found them a bit inconvenient at times, but he also knew Phil wasn’t the type of person to hide who he was, and that included the majestic black wings protruding from his shoulder blades.

Not to mention anytime Phil did hide his wings, he complained to hell and back about how sore and itchy it was to have them in. Though, he was a grumpy old man, so maybe he was exaggerating a bit. 

Most hybrids couldn’t hide their hybrid features, but Phil had told Wilbur how he had taught himself. It seemed like an awful lot of work, but that was just WIlbur’s opinion, and he had never had to deal with the inconveniences that came alongside wings.

He turned back to Tommy, who was still frozen in place. He didn’t have any visible hybrid features either, but maybe that was normal for shapeshifters. Or maybe he hid them, like Phil did, though he was young to have learned such a skill.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wilbur whispered to him. Tommy didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes trained on Phil, who had paused his egg scrambling and was watching the two of them in the doorway with concerned eyes. 

If Wilbur was to guess, he’d say Tommy was doing Foster Kid Survival Tactic 101: size up the family and determine who the biggest threat is.

He was mostly able to guess this because of the way Tommy was looking back and forth uncertainly between Phil’s wings and the giant orange tiger curled around Phil’s feet.  

Wilbur decided not to be offended that he hadn’t also been deemed intimidating by a sixteen year old.

“Tommy, are you alright?” Phil questioned. His words broke the boy free of whatever place in his head he’d briefly vanished to, and Tommy returned to the present moment. The change was visible in his eyes, in his body language. 

Wilbur wondered where he’d gone, and if it was painful to be pulled back and forth within your mind. It sure looked painful. 

Tommy nodded in response to Phil and began to slowly advance into the kitchen, keeping his eyes trained on the two hybrids, regardless of how one was making breakfast in an apron and the other was drooling in his sleep. 

Honestly, how those two idiots managed to come off as scary was beyond Wilbur.  

Phil still looked concerned, but he went back to his eggs and started putting them on plates. 

Wilbur practically cried of happiness when a plate of sausage and hashbrowns and eggs was given to him. Oh, this food looked so delicious. He watched Phil poke Techno with a foot to wake him up, and his brother climbed to his feet, transforming back in a split second so he could sit at the table. 

Tommy didn’t touch his food, but he seemed more comfortable now that Tech was human again. For a shapeshifter, he seemed pretty terrified of hybrids. If anything happened, couldn’t he just turn into, like, an elephant and beat the shit out of them? Maybe that wasn’t how it worked–Wilbur didn’t know. 

He watched Tommy poke suspiciously at his sausages, the kid’s face pale and anxious. 

Phil cleared his throat, clearly hoping to break up the awkward tension of three of them eating and one of them looking moments away from a heart attack. 

“Tommy, would you like to go to the mall today?” Phil asked, his voice careful. “I noticed you only had a little backpack last night. I thought maybe we could get you some more clothes and some stuff for your room?” when met with silence, he kept going. “Also, I know you probably want to wait a bit before thinking about school, which I think is for the best, we can get you some school supplies if you think you might eventually want to start–”

“I want to start school.” Tommy blurted, cutting off Phil’s rambling. “Please,” he said desperately. Phil blinked at him, surprising evidence on his face. He seemed speechless for a moment, opening and closing his mouth experimentally. 

“Well, I’m glad you want to go back, but don’t you want to wait till you’re a little more settled in? Or at least until you’re all healed up?” Phil asked, words calm but eyes concerned. WIlbur thought that was fair–surely nobody wanted to walk into highschool with an eye that looked like an oversized blackberry. Tommy didn’t seem to care about that, though, shaking his head fervently at Phil. 

“I can handle a little bruise, old man,” the boy snapped, speaking more fiercely than he had since arriving.. A moment after he said it. He slapped a hand over his mouth, looking more panicked than ever. Clearly, it had been a slip. 

The room went silent for a moment, and then Wilbur just…couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing. He was relieved to see Techno was also laughing his ass off on the other side of the table. 

“PHIL HE CALLED YOU OLD,” Tech managed between bouts of laughter, and then Phil was chuckling too. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of you two,” he said, looking at them in amusement. A glance at Tommy told Wilbur that the poor kid did not think this was funny, and was somehow more scared then before. 

“Well if you’re sure you want to go back straight away, I can call the school today,” Phil told Tommy. He stood from his chair, heading to the freezer and opening it. “But how about we put some ice on that eye of yours, it might help the swelling,” he pulled out a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, walking back towards the table and lightly tossing it towards an open place in the middle. 

Objectively, throwing things was not Phil’s smartest decision. However, Wilbur had to give him credit: it was a gentle throw, well aimed, underhand, and overall non-threatening. 

Tommy didn’t seem to interpret it that way.

The moment the bag was in the air, Tommy let out a quiet yelp and flinched back so violently Wilbur half thought he’d been hurt. Since Tommy had lurched backwards, he brought the whole chair down with him as he crashed to the floor. 

He lay in a collapsed heap for a split second, looking stunned and panicked, before his arms went to his head and he curled up into a ball of limbs. 

“Fuck,” Phil swore, running around to the other side of the table frantically. “Tommy? Tommy, are you okay? Did you hit your head? Oh god,” Phil crouched beside the boy, who was trembling and still holding his head. 

“Phil,” Techno said loudly. He’d stood up and was standing a few feet away. “Give him some space, Phil,” Tech warned, his voice low. Looking shocked, Phil met eyes with Tecnoblade, before immediately backing away. 

Wilbur realized Tommy hadn’t been holding his head because it was hurt–he’d been protecting it from theoretical blows. 

“Oh, Tommy, it’s okay. I’m not mad, I’m not going to hurt you,” Phil said slowly. Tommy remained motionless, curled tight like an armadillo that sensed a threat nearby. His breathing was ragged, and Wilbur supposed he should have known the kid would have a panic attack from the moment he’d seen Phil’s wings. 

Wilbur knew firsthand how hard it was to avoid a panic attack once the stress started flooding in. 

Phil sat on the floor a few feet away from Tommy, and Techno followed suit. Wilbur remained frozen in his chair, watching the scene unfold. 

“Just try to breathe, Tommy. Take your time, it’s all going to be okay. We’re not going to hit you,” Wilbur said softly, practically repeating Phil’s words. Still, there was no response. 

It took a few minutes before Tommy lowered his trembling arms. He glanced around at the three of them.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy croaked out, tears running down his face. 

“Oh, mate,” Phil sighed. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry I scared you, that was wrong of me, and I didn’t mean to,” he explained gently.  

“You’re trying–you’re trying to trick me,” Tommy stuttered out, sniffling as he glared accusingly at Phil.

“No, Tommy, I'm not. I promise.” The man replied, but it didn’t seem to change Tommy’s mind, only confuse the boy further. 

“But I…” he trailed off, and Wilbur saw his face change. The fear melted away, replaced with hardened eyes and clenched fists. 

“You don’t make any sense,” he burst out, still, laying on the floor. “I hate you, all of you. I did something bad, don't you care? Are you trying to trick me?!” he kept going when everyone was silent, but his outburst was slowing. “I dont…i don’t understand why you’re being so-so-so nice.” and then he was crying again, anger gone as fast as it had come.

 He buried his head under his arms again, but less in a protective way, and more to cover up his tears. Wilbur supposed it was progress.

“None of us are ever going to hit you, no matter what you do,” Phil said again. “Hitting children is wrong,”

“‘m not a child” Tommy mumbled, voice muffled by tears. 

“If you can call me an old man, I think I get to call you a child,” Phil replied with a grin.

“Yup, you’re a child if I've ever seen one,” Wilbur agreed, unable to resist.Tommy seemed to recognize it was a lighthearted tease, and the tension in his body eased. 

“But seriously, you didn’t get hurt, did you?” Phil asked, always the doting father. 

Tommy shook his head no, and the man looked relieved. 

“You didn’t eat very much breakfast, would you like to sit up and have some more?” Phil offered.

Tommy hesitated, then peeked out again. 

“Am I still allowed?” he asked tentatively, like a child. He seemed to age up and down five years every five minutes, most likely a product of a childhood burdened with adult problems. Wilbur hadn’t ever felt young either, and he was willing to bet the same was true for Techno.

Some kids just don’t get a chance to be kids. 

“Yes, you’re still allowed. I’m never going to withhold food from you, okay? You’re welcome to eat whatever and whenever you’d like," Phil explained.

Finally, Tommy uncurled and pushed himself up to his feet, the other three following. Phil picked up Tommy's chair for him, and they all sat down again. 

Before he started eating, Tommy grudgingly picked up the bag of frozen peas, looking at them suspiciously before he pressed them carelessly over his eye. He held them there with one hand, using the other to resume pushing his food around without really eating much of it. 

Well, nothing like a little panic attack to start the day. Oh boy, Wilbur couldn’t wait for the mall. Surely that was going to end great!

Wilbur finished eating, glancing periodically at Tommy, out of both curiosity and nervousness. He had always tried too hard to figure people out, and he found Tommy intriguing. He was simultaneously simple but complex. He was too young and too old, both witty and reserved. He was timid yet brash, uncontrolled and at the same time perfectly obedient. 

He was somehow alive but devoid of life. Wilbur hadn’t thought such a thing was possible, but here was the proof, sitting at the kitchen island, staring blankly at a plate of breakfast.

There was a haunted depth in Tommy’s eyes that didn't match the twitchy, alert body it resided in. 

He was a walking conundrum, an unresolved conflict. 

Wilbur only got distracted from his thoughts by quick flashes of movement to his left. Techno, having finished eating, was trying to throw little torn up pieces of paper napkin into Wilbur's water glass. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and the joy only increased when he started to also ignore all the glares Wilbur was sending his way. 

Was this really the time to start throwing things again? 

Honestly, Wilbur was the only sane one in the house.

 

Notes:

Tommy logic: if i'm not a child, then u can hit me, and life can be simple again

Everyone else: um what :(

Chapter 4: no one's ever been here before (or at all)

Notes:

Title is from Pink Skies by Zach Bryan

They arrived at the mall a few hours later. Tommy had wanted to shower, Wilbur had needed to do his hair, and Techno had demanded 30 minutes of solitary stare at the wall time or whatever he did in his room all the time. 

So as usual, they were a bit behind schedule and had taken twice as long to leave as they should have. 

As Phil led them through store after store, he started to notice a common pattern. 

Wilbur would point at something, say something along the lines of “Tommy needs this item to survive”, and then Tommy would claim that he didn’t need anything at all, and then Phil wound up buying Tommy whatever useless item Wilbur had wanted Tommy to have to prove that the kid was allowed things. 

This situation was precisely how they’d ended up with a children’s keyboard shaped like a cat that meows when you pressed the keys. Even worse, Tommy now owned a neon pink t-shirt that said “I may look like a human, but I'm secretly a gamer”, despite how Phil insisted it was cringier than it was funny. After Tommy rejected the shirt and explained he’d never played video games before, it was an obligatory purchase. 

Despite the unnecessary additional items, they wound up buying the kid everything he could need or want for a few months. He got five hoodies, a good selection of shirts and jeans, a few pairs of sweatpants and two pairs of shoes. Phil also made the kid pick out new underwear and socks, a bathing suit in case they wanted to go to the pool, and some lights and posters for his room. 

They were now in Walmart getting school supplies, which was turning out to be a heinous process.

“Wilbur, he does not need 12 notebooks,” Phil sighed, looking at the armful Wilbur was about to drop into the cart. 

“Fine dad, I'll put back the one with the anteater on it,” Wilbur sighed dramatically, pouting like a child.

“An anteater–what? Where did you even find that? We’re in a Walmart for god's sake,” honestly, what the fuck? 

They needed to leave, they’d been here for almost an hour. 

“I don’t need any, really,” Tommy said frantically. 

“Alright, put them in the cart,” Phil sighed, giving in. 

“Even the anteater?” Wilbur asked, grinning ear to ear. Phil rolled his eyes. 

Shouting with glee, Wilbur did a twirl and tossed all the notebooks into the cart. Techno flicked his brother on the shoulder, and Phil knew his son was thinking about the breakfast scene. 

He felt a pang of guilt tear through him, even though the whole thing had been an accident. 

Tommy flinched at the noise of the notebooks landing, but failed to notice Techno’s reminder to Wilbur, busy staring at something on the far end of the aisle. 

Phil tried to follow his line of sight. It was a row of plushies, rarying in animal and size. He turned, leading the group over. 

“Why don’t you pick one out?” Phil asked the boy, who flinched like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

Tommy’s eyes hardened suspiciously, and his gaze turned into a reproachful glare. 

”I’m not some charity project, you know,” He muttered, sounding almost disgusted by the principal of what he’d said. Phil’s heart broke just a little bit more. 

“Oh, Tommy, I know that. I don’t see this as charity, I see it as my responsibility. I’m fostering you, it’s my job to take care of you. They give me money, you know,” He said, and he hoped it wasn’t the wrong thing to say. Tommy squinted, then gestured vaguely at the cart. 

“Not this much,” he said, and the brief moment of anger Tommy’d had that morning seemed to be coming back. He thought of Sam’s description of the boy, then paused. No, this wasn’t him being ‘temperamental’. This was just confusion finding a desperate release by way of frustration. 

“No, not this much, but I don't mind. I want to buy you everything you need,” He admitted honestly, because money meant nothing to Phil, and Tommy’s well being meant everything.

“I’m 16, I don't need a plushy,” Tommy scoffed, seeming offended. Phil was ready to give a whole spiel about the practicality of a comfort item, but his son beat him to it.

“I do,” Techno said, reaching forwards and pulling out a stuffed tiger. He set it down in the cart. 

“Same,” Wilbur said, grabbing a blue sheep. He cradled it in his arms. “I’m gonna name him blue,” He announced. Phil rolled his eyes, but an involuntary smile came to his lips as he watched his sons proudly. 

He made a mental note to praise them for it later, to express his admiration at their actions. 

“Here Phil,” Techno laughed, handing Phil a black stuffy. Phil turned it over so he could make out the beady eyes and black beak. A crow. He never knew Walmart had such wide selections of items.

“Alright, I like this one,” he smiled, putting it in the cart, right beside Techno’s tiger. 

“Your turn, Tommy,” Wilbur declared, and Tommy frowned. 

“You guys can pick for me,” the boy said immediately, feigning disinterest in the wall entirely. 

“No, mate, the whole point is you decide what you want,” Phil reminded him. They’d been having this problem all day. The kid had not made a single decision, stubbornly choosing neither or silence until one of them picked for him.

He had been doing his best to encourage Tommy to voice opinions, but it was proving harder than expected. The poor boy seemed conditioned to go along with anything, hardwired with shrugs and mumbles rather than actually able to care. 

After Tommy sat there in silence for at least a minute, somehow appearing both bored and frightened, Techno sighed, clearly out of patience. He reached towards the wall and grabbed a small stuffed dog. 

"How ‘bout this guy,” he said as he showed it to Tommy, holding it out. 

Tommy paled noticeably. He took a step back from the outstretched arm as though the stuffed dog was gonna bite him. His fists clenched instantly, knuckles turning white. God, his skin looked almost green. Phil watched helplessly as the boy stood frozen and silent. His eyes grew unfocused, like he wasn’t really looking at the dog anymore, but through it. 

Phil fought the urge to intervene, fearing that he would only frighten Tommy more.

Finally, Tommy shook his head, slowly.

“Can I-can I have a different one?” he whispered. Phil saw him tense, bracing for impact once again. 

“Yes, of course,” Phil blurted instantly. Techno glanced at the dog once, eyes narrowed, before he shoved the thing as far as it would go into the rack of stuffies. Phil shared the confusion. It had just been a cute little black dog. 

Tommy grabbed the closest stuffy to him, a brown and white cow, and tossed it carelessly into the cart. Phil pressed his lips into a thin line. Nothing ever seemed to go to plan. 

“I’m glad you told us you didn’t want that one,” Phil said suddenly, realizing he should at least tell the kid it was okay. 

“Can I ask why you didn’t? You don’t have to tell us if you don't want to,” Wilbur inquired gently.

Tommy was silent for a long moment, looking at Wilbur with wary, untrusting eyes. He seemed to think his foster brother would use that against him somehow, but eventually the urge to obey drowned out the fear. 

“I don’t like dogs,” he admitted slowly, tensed for their reactions. God, Phil hoped there wasn’t some deep trauma surrounding that. The poor kid already had more than enough. 

“I agree. Tigers are much superior,” Techno nodded sagely. 

“I don’t know…crows can fly,” Phil reminded him as he put a pack of erasers in the cart. 

“Are you a crow?” Tommy asked, looking up at Phil warily, but curiously. Oh god, Phil hoped he didn’t have crow trauma also. 

“Sure am,” Phil answered, hoping he didn’t sound nervous. 

Tommy hummed thoughtfully, and Phil would have paid to know what was going through the boy’s mind. He didn’t seem afraid though, so Phil figured it was a success. 

“One day we can go for a flight together, how about that?” he offered. Tommy’s eyes narrowed, anxiety painting over the brief glimpse of boyish awe. 

Tommy turned away and started walking again. Under his breath, Phil heard him mutter something. 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

 

Notes:

Don’t worry guys there’s no deep trauma associated with Tommy’s dislike of dogs he's actually a really chill guy.

Chapter 5: not everything means something

Summary:

Title is from The Deepest Sighs, the Frankest Shadows by Gang of Youths

Notes:

A bit of a short chapter, but i'll update with a bit longer of one either tomorrow or the next day.

 

They stopped by the food court to get lunch, and then they all got ice cream. 

Tommy had only ever had ice cream with Sam. The routine had started when he was twelve. 

He’d been all bony and frail from the house Sam had picked him up from. Out of pity or guilt, Tommy wasn’t sure, but Sam had taken one look at him and driven them to the closest McDonalds. Tommy hadn’t eaten in so long, and hadn’t been full in so long, that he’d gone to the bathroom and thrown up from eating just one burger. 

Sam hadn’t said a word, just went back to the counter and bought them both chocolate milkshakes, insisting Tommy drink his slower then he’d inhaled the burger. 

They started going to McDonalds after every house. The milkshakes were always delicious–but Tommy thought this ice cream was even better. 

They’d each gotten a different flavor. Tommy had decided on a scoop of rocky road, while Phil had gotten mint chip, Wilbur had coffee, and Techno had cotton candy. 

Tommy was so lost in how good it was when he realized Phil had been talking. 

“Tommy?”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, flinching back. 

“It’s okay. I was asking if you’d want to go to the apple store and get you a new phone after this?” Phil repeated. 

Tommy gaped at him. The clothes were already too much. A phone? No way. 

“I have a phone,” Tommy told him, pulling it out of his pocket to prove it. He’d had it for years, since it was a requirement that all foster kids had one so they could contact their social workers. 

Homes weren’t supposed to take it away, but a lot of parents did anyway. 

Tommy’s phone was, if he was being honest, pretty beat up. He’d had it in his pocket during a few beatings, and he had a habit of dropping things when he got startled. There were cracks going across the screen, but it still turned on just fine. It still worked just fine. 

Why did Phil want to buy Tommy a new one?

How had he not realized yet that Tommy wasn’t worth expensive new clothes and new phones and ice cream? How had he not realized that Tommy was broken and ruined? 

When he did realize, Tommy was sure Phil would take it all back. That realization had to be soon–Phil was already honing in on it. 

“One day we can go for a flight together, how about that?”

Tommy wasn’t going to go for a flight with Phil, ever. 

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. 

Which he didn’t, because he didn't trust Phil. Crows were smart, Tommy had to be careful. He was sure this was all just some trick. 

He’d never been in a house with such confusing rules, where no one hit or yelled at him and everyone acted like they cared. He’d never had people go out of their way to make him feel comfortable, to buy him things.

It couldn’t be real, because Tommy didn’t deserve any of it, and he couldn’t imagine what he might have done to make them believe that he did. 

“Tommy, mate, it’s not a big deal,” Tommy heard Phil say, loud enough to free him from his thoughts. “To be honest, your phone’s a piece of junk. I can't believe that hunk of metal still turns on. I know you think it’s too expensive, but it’s worth it for you to have a reliable phone,”

“But i-i can’t pay you back for it,” Hell, Tommy couldn’t pay Phil back for any of this. He had no money, no good qualities, nothing to offer. He couldn’t even be a punching bag, because Phil apparently “ didn’t hit children”. 

“I don’t want you to pay me back. I want to buy it for you, as a gift,” Phil argued. It still felt like charity, like pity. Maybe Tommy needed charity, maybe he should suck it up and appreciate that at least someone cared enough to pity him. 

But he didn’t like how it felt. He was humiliated and sickened, not happy. 

“It’s too much,” Tommy pleaded. 

“Kid, ya might as well give up now. There's no changing Phil’s mind about these sorts of things,” Techno butted in. 

“Tommy, I want you to have it,” Phil stated, and he sounded so convinced that Tommy almost fell for what he was sure was a lie.

The worst part was that a part of Tommy wanted to give in. He wanted to fall for this ruse and believe that somehow he’d gotten lucky and found people who gave a shit about him. 

He was so tired of never doing anything right, he wanted so badly for this to be real. But it couldn’t be.

He wanted to scream at himself. Had he learned nothing from all these years? Did he not know by now to not fall into this exact trap? The same thing would happen, exactly like at the last house. 

Something would come to light, and everything would change. Giving into these tricks now would only hurt more in the long term. 

In the end, Tommy was weak. He always relented, he always gave up. 

He ended up with a phone and a delusion that Phil might somehow believe Tommy deserved it. 

 

Notes:

You guys reading this means so much to me! I love all the support i've gotten this far <3

Chapter 6: you taught me the courage of stars

Summary:

title is from Saturn by Sleeping At Last

Tommy was sitting on Wilbur’s bed as the older boy helped him set up his phone. It didn't seem too complex, but Tommy still wasn’t sure how to do it. He watched as Wilbur took the initiative to download a whole bunch of games onto it.

He glanced around the room he was in. It was horribly messy, with papers and clothes strewn everywhere. There was a guitar in the corner, and music sheets stacked on the desk beside it. Clothes were everywhere, and the walls were covered in band posters and taped up pictures. 

It was a little…overstimulating.  

“There, you should be all set,” Wilbur declared, passing the phone back to Tommy. Phil had bought him a red case, and he turned the phone over in his hands to look at it. 

Tommy didn’t know what to think of this house. They’d been so kind, and he was grateful for their false sense of security. He’d felt so…human since he’d been here. Like a real person. He must have stared at it for too long, because he looked up to find Wilbur watching him, probably with pity. 

He cleared his throat, putting the phone down. 

“Tommy, I know it’s hard to understand things like this when you first arrive at a home. God knows it took me weeks before I realized Phil wasn’t putting on an act. But he cares about all of us, and wants us to have things like clothes and new phones. I know there’s probably nothing I can say to convince you I mean it, but I promise that you won’t be hurt while you’re here, okay?” 

Tommy looked at him suspiciously. Had Phil told him to say this, to have Tommy lower his guard. Or was it true? Tommy hadn’t known Wilbur had ever felt just as he did now. Obviously, both Phil’s sons weren’t related to him, but somehow Tommy hadn’t thought about how they’d once been in his shoes. 

Wilbur stood up, walked to his desk and grabbed something, putting it in his pocket. Then he moved to the window and pushed it all the way open, then turned back to Tommy. 

“Whenever I need some quiet time to think, or somewhere to sit and write songs, I like to come out here,” he explained. Tommy followed him to the windowsill, watching as Wilbur shimmied himself through, standing up on the roof on the other side of the glass. He motioned to Tommy to follow. Tommy hesitated. 

Was Wilbur gonna push him off? Or tell Phil and get him in trouble? Wilbur beckoned him once more, though, and Tommy resigned, realizing he didn’t have much of a choice. 

He pulled himself through the window, albeit not as gracefully as Wilbur had. Once through, he looked around, realizing they were perched upon the roof of the house’s back porch. 

The backyard stretched out before them, lit from the streetlights on the other side of the fence, hardly visible through the trees. The world was quiet, holding its breath until the sun rose again.

They sat side by side on the very edge, legs dangling off the gutter. 

“Jeez,” Tommy muttered, looking out at the expansive backyard. Phil was even richer then he’d thought. He was pretty sure Wilbur wouldn’t be offended, and he was proven right when Wilbur laughed. 

“Crazy, right?” Wilbur agreed. 

“I can’t imagine having this much money,” Tommy whispered, still in awe about the house, about his new phone and everything they’d bought today.  

“I’m not sure how much architects get paid usually, but Phil has a really good job. He works from home mostly, too.” Wilbur explained.

Tommy had been wondering about that. Today was Sunday, and both Tech and Wilbur would be gone at school for the rest of the week, but he hadn’t known what Phil’s job was. He’d assumed if Phil had to leave, he would just lock Tommy up in his room alone, since he surely wouldn’t trust him home alone.  

If Phil was working from home, maybe Tommy could at least get out of his room a bit. 

He was losing his mind being stuck in there. He had nothing to do, not that he ever did. 

It was part of why Tommy was so desperate to go back to school. At least he’d be out of the house and have something to think about. He liked learning and working hard. He’d never struggled in school except in houses that wouldn’t let him go or made it impossible for him to study. 

He had learned it wasn’t easy to pay attention in class when you haven't eaten in days or your ribs were possibly broken. But he'd been forced to do much worse while just as hurt and neglected, and eventually Tommy had just found a way to push through. 

Story of his life. 

Regardless though, he had been going to school pretty regularly at his last house, but before that, he’d had a pretty spotty education. He needed school–that was his ticket out of this life and into a better one.

He heard a clicking noise from his left and turned to see what Wilbur was doing. 

The older boy had his hand cupped around a lighter, flicking it repeatedly. Eventually the spark caught, and he lifted the tiny flame to his mouth, where he had a cigarette poised between his lips. 

“Does Phil know you smoke?” Tommy asked him, genuinely curious. 

Wilbur ran his free hand through his hair as he exhaled, a stream of translucent smoke pushing out into the dusk air, curling as it dissipated away with the breeze.

“Yes, somewhat. I had these shitty foster parents before Phil, and I arrived here pretty addicted. I think I asked him if he had any on my first day here. Phil made me quit, and I knocked the habit entirely for a while. I got back into it a few years ago, though, just cause it helps when I'm stressed out. I like to have one every once in a while, and Phil knows that. He doesn’t like it, but he understands it's part of how I cope with, you know, stress and stuff.” He tapped the butt end lazily, flicking the ash away.

Tommy stared at Wilbur for a long moment, absorbing the explanation. 

“How old were you?” he asked finally. 

“Ten,” WIlbur said quietly. The singular word drifted away into the night, dissipating like cigarette smoke, but it echoed in Tommy’s ears. He’d only been a child. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, especially so young,” he finally murmured. “With your foster parents, I mean.” 

Wilbur looked at him curiously. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through whatever it is you’ve gone through.” Tommy paused, staring at the older boy.

“You haven’t read my file?” he asked, unable to ignore the urge to ask. Wilbur shrugged.

“Nope. None of us have, and we won’t unless you want us to. Phil says he likes to make his own judgement about kids, rather than reading someone else's. Besides, it's a bit of an invasion of privacy, don’t you think?” 

“Oh.” Tommy was…surprised. He’d never read his file either, but he’d seen Sam hand it over to foster parent after foster parent, watching it grow thicker as time went on. He’d never had a parent not read it because of a reason like that. If anything, they ignored it because they didn't care enough to bother. 

He watched Wilbur take another drag, and thought about the way the smoke around them distracted his senses. For once, he didn’t smell or taste blood.

“I was never addicted, but I had a house once that always made me smoke with them,” Tommy said quietly. 

He thought of the circular burns on his shoulder. He wondered if Wilbur would do that, but shut it down quickly. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was beginning to understand that Wilbur wasn’t like that. 

“You know I'd never force you to do anything like that, right?” WIlbur said quietly, reaffirming Tommy’s thoughts. Tommy nodded. 

Despite himself, he believed that Wilbur wouldn’t hurt him. He didn’t know why, because he should know by now that everyone could, and would, hurt him. 

He should know not to trick himself into thinking he was safe, should know the world was never kind. 

But he was young and stupid, and he fell into the same traps again and again.

There was a noise from behind them, and both boys glanced over their shoulders to see Techno dragging himself through the window frame. 

“Thought I might find you two out here. I hope you weren’t sibling bonding without me,” he said once he was through, sounding vaguely offended. 

“We were, you missed it,” Wilbur declared, grinning like an idiot.

“Damn. Invite me next time,” Tech grumbled, and Tommy realized he’d been joking as he came to sit on the other side of Tommy. Wilbur passed him the pack and lighter wordlessly. 

Wilbur had finished his smoke, and he put it out on the roof shingles before reaching behind the group to set it in an ashtray Tommy hadn’t noticed, since it was tucked behind the windowsill. It was far past overflowing, and the cigarette fell off the heaping pile of butts, rolling for a moment before Wilbur caught it and placed it more delicately on top. He noticed Tommy watching him.

“I know, I need to empty it,” he said meekly, seeming embarrassed.

Tommy thought maybe Wilbur didn’t only have cigarettes ‘once in a while’. That, or he was a very, very stressed person. 

“Look, the stars are coming out,” Techno said quietly, and Tommy looked up. Sure enough, the first pinpricks of light were starting to dot the inky sky. 

“Oh, wow,” He said softly, gazing upwards. Beside him, Wilbur flopped onto his back, laying with his feet still dangling off the roof. Techno followed suit a moment later. Tommy, not wanting to be the only one sitting, lay back as well. 

They lay in peaceful silence for a while, watching the stars come out. The sick, but all too familiar, smell of cigarettes hung in the air, the hazy smoke drifting across Tommy's view. 

The night was silent but for the soft inhales and exhales as Techno smoked and Wilbur lit another. 

“There’s the big dipper,” Wilbur said eventually, pointing upwards. Tommy hardly had time to spot it himself before Techno began to speak.

“In Greek mythology, the big and little dipper represent Callisto and her young son Arcas, who were transformed into bears by the goddess Hera.” He explained. Wilbur sighed relaxedly, like he’d heard this a thousand times, but still found it comforting. 

Techno pointed to the sky, outlining something Tommy couldn’t see, but Technoblade could.

“See those stars that look like a bent clothes hanger? That’s Leo, named after the Nemean Lion that Heracles had to defeat as part of his twelve labours.” Tommy looked again, and he could make out a faint polygon shape with a curve above it. 

It didn’t look like a lion to him, but he wasn’t an Ancient greek. 

“Hercules?” Tommy offered, slightly confused. 

“No, Heracles. Hercules is roman, Heracles is greek,” Techno corrected. 

“Oh,” Tommy responded, unsure why that really mattered. 

Heracles was a dumb name. He liked Hercules more.

“The Nemean lion was the first labour. It was a test of Heracles’s strength. The lion was invincible, so no weapon could pierce its skin. When Heracles faced it, he couldn’t rely on his sword or his bow to hurt the beast, nor his armor to protect him. He was alone, just a human against a lion. It’s one of my favorite stories.” Techno stated. Tommy frowned, turning to his foster brother. 

“How did he kill it if he didn’t have weapons?” Techno couldn't stop there, he’d gotten Tommy invested in the tale.

“Well see, the fight was a test, right? And not just of strength, but of will . Heracles didn’t defeat the lion solely with force. He defeated it by accepting that the battle wasn’t just about violence. It was about enduring, finding the courage to keep going when he had no advantage and victory seemed impossible, given the lion’s impenetrable skin. Hercules had to dig deeper than just using weapons and armour. He found the strength to fight even after the lion bit off one of his fingers and ripped him to ribbons. Heracles wasn’t strong because of the weapons he always wielded, but because he had an inner strength like none before him. He never gave up. He outlasted the lion until he strangled it to death.” Techno finished. 

“That’s…dark,” Tommy muttered. 

“Most of Greek mythology is,” Techno agreed. “It’s sort of cool, though, how the Greeks tied their mythology into the constellations. We see the same stars they did, way back then. It makes you feel small.”

Tommy definitely felt small, wedged between Techno and Wilbur, staring into the endlessness of the universe. But at the same time, he could feel the warmth radiating off the two bodies on either side of him, and Techno’s raspy voice was soothing. 

For the first time since he’d arrived, or maybe the first time in years, Tommy didn’t feel afraid.

“Can you tell me more myths?” He asked, tentatively, because he didn’t want to be annoying. Techno only laughed, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips, hardly visible in the dark.

“Of course, Tommy,” He said, like he’d love nothing more.

They sat out there for hours, talking about the stars.

 

Notes:

I love when they sibling bond! and I also love when you guys leave me comments...hint hint :P

Chapter 7: an ocean of tears will spill for what is broken

Summary:

title is from Eight by Sleeping at last

TW: panic attack

(also if theres anything you guys ever wished i put a tw for just lmk in the comments and i'll be happy to add it in!)

Tommy usually woke up early.

And by early, he meant 5 am early.

He wasn’t sure when the habit had started, but he was unable to break it. Maybe it was because that was when the sun was starting to rise, and the universe wanted to laugh at him as soon as the day began.

The sunrise had always taunted him. 

Here, watch a new day begin. Guaranteed it will be just as hard as yesterday was, and almost as horrible as tomorrow will be. 

Maybe he woke up so early because his body didn’t know how to relax for more than a few hours at a time. He might just be so used to danger lurking that he’d permanently lost the ability to feel safe. 

His lack of sleep could be his body’s way of preventing the nightmares, though if that was the case it was proving to be a pretty ineffective method.

Regardless of why, Tommy almost always woke up early.

Today, however, he woke up screaming . 

His eyes flew open when he realized what he was doing, and he instantly smothered his mouth with a pillow. 

Stupid, careless, fucking IDIOT . 

God, he hoped he’d caught it in time. He hope he hadn’t woken anybody up, he hoped they wouldn’t come investigate, he hoped it had all been in his head, or that he was still in the nightmare, or that–

“Tommy? Are you okay?

Fuck. 

He tried to respond, but his face was still shoved in the pillow, and his voice came out as a croak anyway. 

FUCK . 

He coughed and tried again. 

“Uh, yeah, all good here!” he called out. There was silence for a moment. 

“To be honest mate, I don’t really believe you,” he heard through the door.

Phil.

Tommy scowled. Couldn’t that old man leave him alone? 

“I-I’m sorry I woke you up,” he offered, hoping to satisfy Phil enough that he would leave. God, why wouldn’t he leave ?

“It’s okay, mate. You didn’t wake me up. It’s almost noon,” Phil responded. A glance at the light peeking through the blinds in his room confirmed this.

What? 

Noon?

Noon?  

That sent Tommy over the edge. He was gasping for breath, clutching the sheets, choking on nothing because there wasn’t any air. Where did all the air go why was he dying he just needed air.

“Tommy? I don’t want to invade your space but I'm worried about you, so I'm gonna unlock the door, okay? Tommy, can you hear me?” 

Tommy could hear him, but he didn’t have any breath to respond. He tried to get out of his bed, but his knees crumpled under his weight and he hit the floor. He gasped again, trying to inhale, and then there were feet in front of him. 

Oh god.

He didn’t want to be kicked right now. 

He lurched to the side to try and dodge, but he was on his knees and didn’t have air and he just ended up on the ground in a heap. 

“Hey, Tommy, it's okay. I’m not going to hurt you, alright?” Tommy didn’t believe him. 

Besides, now Phil had seen. 

He knew now that Tommy was broken, knew he was unstable and loud and horrible and he was going to send him back. Who would want him after seeing him in this state, sobbing and choking on the floor over absolutely nothing. 

He couldn’t even remember if there’d been a nightmare. He couldn't really think at all, and he felt nauseous and scared and everything was so, so loud.

At the same time, none of it felt real.

He could hear Phil, but he couldn’t really understand what the man was saying, and nothing was making sense. All the words were jumbled except–

“Breathe, Tommy,” 

“Breathe, in and out.”

“There you go, just breath after breath.” 

He made it sound so easy, but it was so, so hard. 

“Alright, think you can breathe in for four seconds? Nice, there you go. Now out for four, perfect. Okay let's do it again, with me. Innnnn, outttt. Nice, well done.” 

Tommy breathed on command for a while, his lungs no longer under his jurisdiction. Each breath was weak, and he couldn’t make his body obey his wishes.

He still didn’t feel like he was getting any oxygen, but it was getting a little easier, and he followed Phil’s breathing pattern as they both held each inhale for longer, each exhale getting slower, and slower.

“Tommy, can you tell me 5 things you see?” Phil whispered to him eventually, when Tommy was starting to get air back in his body.

Tommy didn’t want to do that. He wanted to keep breathing, and he didn't think he could focus on both.

But Phil wanted him to, and Tommy didn’t want to be kicked again.

Had he been kicked? 

“Um, you,” he gasped. “The floor, the desk, the chair, the rug” 

“Good, good. How about 4 things you can feel?”

Tommy felt scared. He felt alone, lost, anxious, confused, broken, broken, broken, broken .

“Stay with me, Tommy. What can you touch?” Oh, he’d taken that too literally.

“The floor, my leg, my-my sweatshirt, my-I can’t feel my fingers, my-my fingers…” panic washed over him all over again at the realization.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just keep breathing, Tommy. What about three things you can hear?”

“You, my breathing, um-my heartbeat,” 

“2 things you can smell?” Tommy tried to sniff the air. He couldn’t smell very much, and another wave of fear overcame him. He’d never smelled so little in his life. He hadn’t really noticed the ability fading, but it was obvious to him now. 

“Shampoo…and uh, bacon,”

“One thing you can taste?” Phil asked.

Tommy licked his lips, then scowled at the metallic, coppery sensation that flooded his taste buds at the action. 

“Blood,” he mumbled. Phil’s eyes crinkled in the way they did when Tommy said something wrong. 

“Blood? Did you bite your tongue?”

He hadn’t. He knew that, knew the blood wasn’t real, that it was all in his head. He tasted blood every day. He smelt it all the time.

Sometimes when he looked at his hands he thought there might be blood on them, and he always scrubbed them extra long in the sink just in case. He could wash away the possibility and remind himself it wasn’t real, that any blood had vanished months ago. 

He could realize his hands were clean.

But no amount of toothpaste or gum ever drowned out the taste of blood in his mouth. 

“Maybe,” he lied. He didn’t want Phil to know what he’d done. 

He was breathing again though, and that was good. It felt good. 

It wasn’t his first panic attack, he doubted it would be his last. But it had been a pretty bad one. 

“Are you feeling a bit better?” Phil asked him. Tommy nodded. Was he going to leave now? Tommy had wanted him to go earlier, but he didn’t really want the man to leave anymore. 

“Tommy, do you want a hug? It’s okay if you don’t.”

And Tommy sort of did, but he didn’t trust Phil and he didn’t trust himself. He gave the first reason that popped into his mind.

“I bite,” he blurted, all at once. Phil looked confused. 

“Is that…a no?”

“I think I'll bite, if you touch me,” Tommy choked out, trying to explain. All his nerves were buzzing with fire and he didn’t feel safe. Not to mention, the last time someone had touched him when he was panicked he’d bitten them. Sam had been called pretty quickly after that.

“Okay, I'll stay over here,” Phil said carefully. His face was all scrunched up, and Tommy didn’t know why. He didn’t really care if Phil was disgusted by him. 

“M’ face is tingly,” he told Phil breathlessly.

“That happens with panic attacks sometimes, when you don’t get enough oxygen. Your fingers too, you said?” Tommy nodded looking down at his trembling hands. “It'll pass, but I know it’s scary. Do you need anything? Water, anything at all?” Phil said, but Tommy was more focused on the wave of nausea rushing through him. 

He lurched forwards to grab the garbage bin beside his desk, emptying his stomach into it. 

“Oh, mate. It’s okay. Just keep breathing,” Phil’s voice was thick with pity and worry, and Tommy hated it. He hated that he was this weak, that all this had been over nothing. But even if he knew this reaction was stupid, he couldn't stop it from happening. 

When he was done retching and throwing up, he sat back, and Phil was setting a glass of water beside him. Tommy hadn’t noticed him leaving or coming back, but he took the water thankfully anyway. He gulped it down, and the cold was a relief against his aching lungs. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Phil told him. 

“I’m sorry I said I’d bite you,” he apologized, eyes flitting nervously away from Phil’s. 

“It’s okay, I think it's a fair reaction to somebody invading your personal space when you’re scared. Techno bit me a few times when he first got here, and I would never hold that against him. He was just scared, like you are,” Phil explained, looking so understanding that it was nauseating. 

Tommy tried to picture Technoblde biting someone. The man seemed peaceful, but Tommy had seen the jaws on his hybrid form. 

“I bet that hurt like a bitch,” he said finally. 

“It did, to be honest. But there was never real force behind it, just little nips if I got too close to him. He liked to pounce on me too, when I wouldn't even know he was in the room. I think it was a funny game to him for a little bit,” Phil smiled fondly, like the memory was somehow nostalgic. “He was a lot smaller than he is now. Pretty much still a cub.”

Tommy finished his water, still staring at the man.

To think Phil would put up with that as a foster parent, but some of Tommy’s had kicked him out for so much less? Maybe he wouldn’t shift for them, or they caught him shifting when he wasn’t allowed, or he’d talked back, or bit someone, or a million other things that had ended his time at house, after house, after house. 

“You’ve got a good sense of smell,” Phil acknowledged suddenly. “I made bacon this morning, and you smelled it on me. Or do I just need to shower more?” he said, lips tilting up in another smile.

“People have told me that before, that I can smell well,” Tommy admitted quietly.

He didn’t want to talk about his shapeshifting. He wished Phil didn’t know about it, but he knew Sam was legally required to disclose his hybrid status to all foster families.

“Comes with the hybrid territory, I guess. Tech’s is pretty good too, I think. Mine’s not special at all, but I do have pretty good eyesight for an old man. I guess…would you have better eyesight too, then? Is that how it works?” His tone was light, though curious.

He didn’t seem to be digging for information he could later use against Tommy, he just seemed curious. 

Tommy was too defeated to stress about the potential dangers of admitting anything about his abilities. Phil was probably gonna send him back to Sam after this anyways, so what was the harm?

He tried to think back to the last time he’d been a bird, but it had been almost a year. He’d been a sparrow to get out the window of the house he had been in at the time.

After that, he’d used birds a few times to stay alive on the streets before…before everything had gone to shit.

Before he’d become a monster. 

He didn’t really want to think about that.

“I don't really know,” he admitted. “It depends on my form, sometimes. Like after being something with good eyes, I’d probably have good eyesight for a week or so? But that usually fades. The sense of smell is sorta the only thing I always…or well normally, have.” Phil held his gaze, nodding slowly. 

Tommy wondered if the slip had been obvious, but Phil hadn’t seemed to notice. He seemed distracted by something, and Tommy followed his line of sight. 

 Phil was staring at the bed, which was tousled and messy from his violent awakening. 

“I see you like the stuffy cow, did you think of a name for it?” he asked politely. Tommy had, but he felt embarrassed. 

“Henry,” he mumbled. Phil smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. 

“That’s a good name,” the man responded. Tommy stared at him, and despite the adrenaline coursing through him and the way his hands were still numb and shaky, felt somewhat…safe. Phil didn’t seem like he was mocking him or judging him. He didn't look afraid or mad. He looked calm, concerned maybe, but not pitying.

“Phil? Can I have that hug now?” he asked timidly. Maybe it was too late. Maybe Phil would still be scared he’d bite him. Maybe Tommy still would. 

“Of course, mate,” Phil said, and opened his arms wide to receive him.

Tommy tentatively scooted forwards, still on the floor. Phil leaned forwards, but other than that stayed very still as Tommy practically flopped onto him. 

His arms closed around Tommy, and then something else did too, and Tommy realized Phil had released his wings. They were soft where they brushed against his back, ticklish in a good way. 

Phils arms were heavy, but he didn’t feel strangled by them, only…comforted. 

Tommy felt tears well in his eyes, and he tried and failed to hold them back. 

Oh.

He hadn’t been held in so long.

 

Notes:

Hope you guys like the angst, sorry for the depressing chapter but at least Tommy got a hug! Sometimes that makes everything a little bit better.

Also, Phil did NOT kick him, Tommy just was scared and confused and didn't know what was happening.

Chapter 8: a song for the grave that i dug

Summary:

Title is from Halloween by Noah Kahan

Tommy was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating toast with butter and cinnamon sugar that Phil had insisted on making him. 

He’d never had it before, but it was delicious, and he was hungry.

The taste of blood and puke was still lingering unpleasantly in his throat. 

He had a pretty good idea of what had been happening in his dream that had made him wake up screaming. 

He remembered the feeling of his jaws sinking into fur, of blood filling his mouth, of the emptiness inside him that had taken over. He’d once been too numb to hate his unforgivable actions, too scared to mind the taste of other’s pain.

At least now he was human enough to feel disgusted by it. 

He looked up as Phil came to sit beside him, the rustle of feathers disrupting his thoughts. 

Phil’s shirt was ripped open at the back, and Tommy realized he’d torn through it to release his wings. He’d noticed the other day that Phil's shirt had pre-made slits on the back, so he must not have been anticipating needing his wings out.

It was weird to think he’d ripped a shirt just for Tommy.

He was still a little unsure how he felt about the wings. He wasn’t as intimidated as he’d first been when he’d seen them, but they were big . Tommy wasn’t sure what advantage they would give Phil in a fight, but surely something. The man seemed light on his feet. He’d probably be quick, agile. 

Surely the wings could be a weak point, though? They seemed heavy, maybe if Tommy pulled on them, Phil would lose his footing. 

He stopped imagining a fight and dragged his gaze back to Phil’s face. 

“So, I know you said you wanted to go back to school. If you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay, but if not, I thought maybe today you’d want to register for your classes? I’ve talked with the principal, and she says you’re cleared to start whenever you’re ready.”

“Can I go tomorrow?” Tommy asked the man hopefully.  

“Uh-yeah, mate, of course.” Phil opened the computer in front of him, typing in a few things before turning the screen towards Tommy. 

“Here, this is where you build your schedule. If there’s anything you want to take that’s full, let me know and maybe I can work something out with the principal. Also, I’m not sure about how much school you’ve gotten to do in the past few years, but if there's anything you haven’t taken that's screwing you over now, we’ll sort it out,” Phil gave him a small smile before rising from his chair. 

He started doing the dishes, and Tommy would offer to help like he always did, but Phil usually told him not to worry about it, and Tommy was excited to see what classes he could take. 

He pulled the computer closer to get a better look. 

He was required to take sophomore English and math, so he didn’t have any choice there. Other than that, he needed a science requirement as well as a history. He also got two electives of his choosing. He was pretty sure the school probably had rules about what you needed to be able to fully graduate, but he doubted he’d be enrolled long enough to actually fulfill the requirements. 

Absently, he wondered if his patchy school record was going to be enough to get him his high school degree. He decided it was a problem for two years from now. 

He had taken a biology class for a couple months already, and he didn’t really like the idea of chemistry. He clicked on the physics class that was available for his year, and decided it sounded interesting enough. 

His science out of the way, he moved on to history. 

He didn’t really have any particular interest in history. He had never liked arts classes, always preferring math and science. Numbers were easier to understand than words. Numbers didn’t have double meanings and latent messages. 

He chose a boring sounding world history class and figured he’d have to make do with it. He scrolled down further on the page to see his elective choices. 

There were…a lot of options. Tommy realized that with Phil having this nice house in such a nice neighborhood, not to mention seemingly endless money, his kids probably went to a pretty good school. 

He ended up choosing a computer science class and a film class. He thought both sounded interesting, and hopefully he’d learn some cool stuff. He built his schedule, which took some effort, and was finally finished around 20 minutes later. 

“Phil, I think I'm all done,” he called out. Phil poked his head out from his office, where Tommy assumed he’d been getting some work done. 

“Alright, sounds good!” He came over to grab the laptop, and briefly saw Tommy’s schedule as he went to close it. Tommy’s heart froze as the man’s eyebrows furrowed together.  

“Tommy, you’re sure this isn’t too much, right? Not that I don't believe you can do it, just that some of these are pretty hard classes, and I know from Wilbur and Techno that the system doesn’t do a very good job of making sure kids always get a good education,” He explained. Tommy nodded, because to be honest, the man was right. 

He hadn’t had a good education, and he knew that. But he wanted to learn, and he wanted to graduate. Besides, he liked school. He was pretty confident he could make this schedule work. 

“I can do it,” he assured Phil. Apparently, that was all the confirmation the man needed. He closed the laptop. 

“Alright then. Do you want to watch a movie or something? I’ve got some more work to get done in my office, but help yourself to the TV if you’re bored.” he turned to head back to his office, pausing in the doorway. “Also, you can have anything in the fridge if you get hungry!” Tommy nodded again, and then Phil was gone. 

Tommy sat there for a minute, unsure. 

Phil had given him explicit permission, but he was still nervous. The tv wasn’t something he was usually allowed to use, especially not unsupervised. 

But he was really bored. 

No. 

He pulled out his new phone and tried a few of the games Wilbur had downloaded, and they were alright, but didn’t hold his attention for long. 

Phil hadn’t come out of his office to check if Tommy had done anything, and it had been a while. Tentatively, Tommy slid out of his chair and tiptoed to the couch. He saw the remote on the coffee table. 

But what if the noise bothered Phil while he was working? 

At the same time, Phil hadn’t given Tommy permission to go back upstairs to his room. 

God, this was stupid. At one point in time, there had been a Tommy that would never have overthought this so much. 

There’d been a Tommy who hadn’t thought that every choice was a life or death decision where he had to weigh the chances of being hurt. That being said, that naive, innocent version of Tommy had yet to be hurt for something as simple as turning on a tv. 

Tommy had changed, and in the past few months he had carried the weight of that forced change without much regret. 

To be honest, he was thankful for it. He knew his current mentality was trying to protect him, and knew that many times it had done so successfully. His caution was his armour, his fear was his sword. 

At one point in time, he’d relied on his shapeshifting to protect him.

Now, he relied on it’s absence.

He thought of that morning, how little he could smell. 

He tried again, breathing in deeply. There were aromas in the air: the faint scent of lemon from whatever Phil cleaned his house with, the lavender laundry detergent of his own clothes. He could still smell his shampoo. 

But god, the things he used to be able to smell, to hear. 

He could catch the scent of a hot dog two blocks away and travel there to find a half eaten one beside a garbage can. He’d been able to smell when someone he knew entered or left a room. He’d been able to differentiate if someone was in their hybrid or human state by scent alone. 

He didn’t need that to survive: he knew that. And whether he needed it or not, it didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t use it anymore. 

Ever.

His power had done so much bad. 

It’d taken over him and given him a life of regrets, of paranoia, of trauma.

But, well, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss his ability sometimes.

Tommy mentally reached within himself, feeling for the pool of energy that usually resided there. 

It was an unnameable presence that had emerged when he was five and instantly became second nature to tap into. He’d used to love shifting, and had done so all the time. 

Now he felt his power’s absence like it was an amputated limb. 

Tommy had believed for a while that he was broken. He might not have tried to shift in months, but he’d felt his ability decaying, wasting away. 

His senses had gotten duller, himself getting weaker. But he’d thought–he’d thought he could eventually shift, and it would all come back. He’d thought it was his choice.

But even at the last house, when they’d hit him and he knew it would all be solved just by transitioning, he wasn’t quite able to get himself to. 

He’d thought it was still a mental block, the memories too painful, his control too unpredictable. 

But now, reaching and feeling for that magic, he realized it might be more than that. He’d known he was broken, mentally, physically. He’d known not everything was alright.

But broken things could be fixed, right? They could come back, they could survive. 

Tommy hadn’t truly believed that he could reach a point of no return, never thought his powers could disappear completely.

He'd been so stupid, too afraid to use the power he had. 

Now he no longer had it.

It was a cruel irony. 

He'd dug his own grave.

 

 

Notes:

Big reveal at the end there how’s everyone feeling? Did you guys see that coming?

I feel like it’s not that hard to guess but I wanted there to be a difference between not wanting to versus not being able to, and how that loss was a consequence of him being too afraid to shift.

Chapter 9: you'll still flinch when his blood pool touches you

Summary:

title is from Scum by Lovejoy

I changed this title, and I feel sorta weird about using W's songs but I wanted to name it this as it becomes relevant to a part of the story later on.

“I'm hoooome!” Wilbur announced cheerfully, charging through the door and towards the kitchen. 

His loud entrance was met with silence, and Wilbur frowned.

Phil was nowhere to be seen, but the office door was closed. Maybe he was still working. 

Instead of bugging his dad, Wilbur turned to the living room to see a head of blond curls just barely visible behind the back of the couch. 

Techno finally made his way into the kitchen, moving much less enthusiastically. He dropped his backpack to the floor with a dull thud. 

Wilbur watched the blond curls jerk as Tommy flinched at the noise. 

God, it hurt Wilbur’s heart just to watch.  

He wandered closer. Tommy had his knees curled up to his chest, and he looked so small . He was watching Wilbur and Techno warily.

Damn, Wilbur had thought they’d made real bonding progress the night before. He supposed they had: at least the boy was finally holding eye contact. 

Techno came over to the living room too, shifting immediately. He leaped onto the other couch, stretching once before flopping into the pillows. He let out a content purr, closing his eyes. 

A door opened behind them, and then Phil was following them into the living room. 

“Hey kids, how was school?”

“HORRIBLE, DAD,” Wilbur groaned. In all honesty, it hadn’t been that bad, but Wilbur liked to be a bit dramatic. Sue him. 

Techno’s eyes opened so he could growl at Phil, and Wilbur knew it was his way of communicating the same sentiment. 

“Well, would cookies cheer you up? I was thinking about making some,” Phil offered. 

“YES! Do you want help?” Wilbur replied instantly. 

“Don’t you two have homework?” Phil said as he eyed the two teenagers suspiciously. 

“Um, yeah, but it’s not like we were gonna do it anyway,” Wilbur shrugged. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tommy’s lips twist into a flicker of a smile. 

The kid needed to smile more, Wilbur decided. 

“Tommy, would you like to help too?” he asked. Tommy nodded, uncurling and standing up. 

WIlbur watched him shoot a furtive glance at Techno’s sleeping tiger form, caution edging his movements, and he eyed Technoblade the whole time he was moving towards the kitchen. Only once he was on the other side of the island did he seem to relax.

Wilbur started opening cupboards and pulling out ingredients: flour, sugar, eggs, butter. He piled everything on the counter as Phil leafed through one of his numerous cookbooks trying to find the recipe they always used. 

The back of Phil’s shirt was torn where his wings poked through. Again.

Honestly, what was the point of his dad buying shirts without manufactured slits if he was just gonna rip through them all the time? 

Tommy stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, looking utterly lost as Wilbur and Phil busied themselves with a task they’d done so many times it was like muscle memory. 

“Okay, I think that’s everything!” Wilbur said when all the ingredients were scattered around the counter. Phil brought over the mixing bowl right as the microwave dinged, signaling the butter was done being softened. 

“Tommy, could you grab that?” Phil asked, gesturing to the microwave. The boy kicked into motion instantly, grabbing the butter and handing it to Phil. He resumed his place in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Tommy, you don’t have to stand all the way over there,” Phil told him, having apparently seen the same thing Wilbur had. Tommy winced, like he’d done something wrong.

“But–I don’t know how–I've never made cookies before,” Tommy blurted all at once, his expression revealing his obvious discomfort. Wilbur turned to stare at him, and he really should have known , but he hadn’t thought of it. 

Wilbur had never baked before coming here. He’d never felt at ease in a kitchen until he’d been in Phil’s. 

As though he regretted his words, Tommy quickly stammered out more. 

“I-I can cook, though. I’ve done that a lot. Just not ever cookies. But I can make pasta, and burgers, and–” Wilbur cut him off before he could keep listing everything he’d ever cooked before.

“Don’t worry, mate, it’s easy,” he found himself saying. For a moment, he was stunned by his own words. 

He sounded like Phil. 

“We’re just following instructions, and there's no pressure to get everything right, I promise. Here, why don’t you measure and add the sugar? It’s two cups,” he said as he passed a stricken Tommy the measuring cup.  

Tommy nodded, looking like he’d just been assigned the task of plotting a rocket’s trajectory into space. 

He poured the sugar carefully, and when it was the most precise cup Wilbur had ever seen, he poured it into the bowl, adding it to the hot butter Phil had dumped in there. 

After the second cup, Phil showed Tommy how to turn on the mixing stand, and the three of them watched as the sugar began to dissolve and combine with the butter, making it grainy and paste-like. 

Wilbur passed Tommy two eggs, and Tommy cracked them expertly on the side of the bowl. He didn’t seem to have been lying about his cooking ability. 

Wilbur couldn’t help but feel his heart sink. He wondered if Tommy had learned to cook by choice, or if he’d been forced to know in order to keep himself fed. 

Even worse, what if he’d had to cook for families in order to avoid a beating? 

He distracted himself from the thought by measuring out some scoops of flour, and he added it to a separate bowl as Phil and Tommy added vanilla extract to the mixer. 

They kept up this three way cooperation until the cookies were in the oven and a timer was set. Then, they all set about cleaning up the catastrophic mess they’d somehow created.

Wilbur grabbed the mixing spoon to put in the dishwasher, spinning around (maybe a bit too aggressively, but he was flamboyant by nature). 

He hadn’t realized Tommy was right behind him, and he bumped right into the smaller boy. 

The bowl in Tommy's hands dropped from his hold, hitting the kitchen floor tiles and shattering instantly. Ceramic flew everywhere, and Tommy yelped in surprise. 

Wilbur froze, not wanting to step on anything sharp, but Tommy stumbled backwards, flinching hard. 

Wilbur wasn’t sure if it was from the force of the two of them colliding or from fear of having made a mistake, but the boy practically collapsed to the floor, hastily starting to grab all the pieces, pleading that he was sorry over and over again. 

Wilburs ears were ringing, and this moment didn’t feel real. 

The crash of a broken bowl, Tommy's frantic cries, and Phil’s immediate reassurance echoed in his head. He wasn’t even sure what exactly he was remembering, only that he did not like this. 

His thoughts raced, and panic rose in his chest. 

Fear shot through him, and he didn't know what he was afraid of, only that something bad followed events like this.

“Tommy, it’s fine, it’s okay, just leave it,” Phil was saying, kneeling beside the boy. 

Wilbur remained frozen. He couldn’t find words in his throat. He couldn’t convince his muscles to move. 

He just stood there, lost in his head, frozen in this moment–fully overwhelmed by a split second mistake. He felt he was hovering above the scene, not a present participant in it.

A haunting whisper of a memory lingered darkly on the edges of his mind, begging for his attention. 

Then Tommy grabbed the sharp edge of a broken piece. 

Shit. 

Shit. 

He snapped back into the moment so violently it felt like whiplash. 

His senses were flooded with noise, but Wilbur’s panic overrode his discomfort.

Tommy was going to get hurt if he didn’t stop what he was doing.

“Tommy, fucking stop!” He yelled, reaching out and grabbing the boy’s wrist. Tommy flinched so violently he might as well have been shot. 

Wilbur watched, almost in slow motion, as fear and instinct clamped onto Tommy’s body like a vice. 

Tommy’s hand closed tightly around the piece of porcelain. 

Red blood almost immediately started to gush around the wound, and Tommy let out a soft yelp and fell backwards again, ripping his now bloody hand out of Wilbur’s grasp. His arms shot up to protect his face as he cowered away from Wilbur. 

Since Tommy’s arrival, Wilbur had thought he knew what fear looked like.

He’d been wrong. 

That was caution, a wary trepidation. 

This? 

This was pure, unbridled, raw fear . 

Fear no sixteen year old should have, fear that should never be directed at Wilbur. 

Wilbur wasn’t capable of making someone fear him like that. Or at least, he hadn’t thought he was. 

But, well, the evidence was pretty damning–it was holding its hands up to shield itself from him. 

The boy’s chest was heaving, and Wilbur knew a panic attack well enough to recognize what was happening. He opened his mouth for words, but nothing came. 

He needed to apologize, to fix this.

Blood was still gushing from Tommy’s wound, pouring out onto the tiles. 

Tommy didn’t even seem to notice, too lost in his terror. Wilbur watched with horror as the blood spread across the floor, on Tommy’s pants, on the shards of what had once been a bowl. 

How much blood could come from one person’s hand?

A lot, apparently. 

Wilbur really did not like blood.

It had gotten on his sock, somehow, and now the stain was blossoming, spreading through the threads as it sank in. He stared at the dark red blotch, still motionless.

It was spreading, spreading, spreading. 

Tommy was on the floor having a panic attack and bleeding.

Because of him.

He stared helplessly at the blood dripping, a small pool forming on the tile, where it was dripping from Tommy's hand. 

He'd done that. 

Wilbur. 

Him. 

His control was seeping away, his breathing speeding up. He had to get out of here.

He lurched to the side, stumbling away from the mess he’d created. 

He hadn’t apologized–Fuck, he’d do it later.

He bumped into the wall trying to get through the doorway, and then there was a hand on him, and Techno was there. 

“C’mon,” Tech whispered, gently steering Wilbur out of the room. They made it upstairs and into Techno’s room before Wilbur broke down. 

His brother held him as he gasped for air, in comforting silence broken only by the occasional reassuring whisper. 

They stayed like that for a long while. 

Techno held him till the panic passed, till the world came into focus and Wilbur came back to life. At some point, Techno took off Wilbur’s bloody sock and threw it in the garbage. 

Once Wilbur was steady enough to get back up to his feet and stand, Techno led them both to Wilbur’s room, where they climbed out the window and onto the roof.

His hands were shaking too bad to light his cigarette, so Techno did it for him, and they passed it back and forth in silence. 

There was nothing to say. 

It was weird. Tommy had only been out there with them once, compared to how the two of them had done this routine too many times to count. 

Regardless, Tommy’s absence hung heavily in the smoky air. 

Wilbur replayed the scene in his head over and over again, until he felt so terrible about it he practically wanted to fling himself off the roof. 

He’d fucked up, and now Tommy was scared and hurting. 

“Wil, it’s not your fault,” Techno sighed, as though he’d known exactly what Wilbur had been thinking. 

Wilbur shifted awkwardly in the silence, trying to find words.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen someone look so afraid of me,” He finally admitted. 

Tommy’s frantic movements, his wide, panicked eyes. He’d looked so certain WIlbur was going to hurt him. 

“You were just trying to help,” Techno murmured, as though WIlbur didn’t know that.

He knew what he’d been trying to do–but it didn’t change what had actually happened. 

“I yelled at him. I fucking grabbed him ,” Wilbur choked out. 

“You were scared,” Techno insisted, and Wilbur shook his head furiously. 

“Not as scared as him,” Wilbur spat out. He regretted the venom in his voice. He wasn’t angry at Techno, and definitely not at Tommy. 

He was angry at himself. 

He was always fucking up.

Wilbur grabbed the pack of cigarettes, pushing one between his lips. He lifted the lighter, flicking it, and then trying again, and then–

God. Fucking. Damn. It. 

In what was most definitely not his proudest moment, he let out a shout of frustration. 

He reared his arm back, and then he chucked the fucking useless lighter as far as he could. 

The lighter wasn’t really the useless one. 

Even his throw was pitiful. The lighter didn’t even make it halfway across the yard, landing silently in the grass. 

Techno sent him an unimpressed glance. 

“Shut up,” Wilbur muttered, but there was no heat behind it. Techno chuckled. 

“Feel better?” He asked. And Wilbur rolled his eyes. 

“No,” he grumbled. 

“You shouldn’t be smoking anyway,” Techno said, and WIlbur glared at him. 

“You’re literally smoking too, you asshole–”

“Tiger lungs. I’m allowed,” Techo tried, and they both knew that was total bullshit. When Wilbur just glared, Techno chuckled. 

“Alright, alright, 'm joking. Jeez.” Techno laughed, before he shoved his hand into his pocket, digging around for a moment before pulling something out. “I had a feeling this might happen.” 

He handed a second lighter to WIlbur. 

Unfortunately, this was not the first time a lighter had been thrown off this roof in a fit of rage. It probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

Wilbur felt the edges of his lips curling up into an almost-smile. 

“This is why you’re the best brother ever,” He gushed, snatching up the lighter like his life depended on it. 

Alright, it might be time to cut back on the nicotine.

“One of many, many reasons. Hundreds, probably. Maybe even thousands–”

“mmph, don’ make me regre’ sayin’ it,” WIlbur spoke around the cigarette, hands occupied with the lighter and blocking the breeze. 

When it finally did, he breathed in a long drag, relief pulsing through him.

“They should make a book of all the reasons,” Techno continued, clearly unfazed.

“I hate you,” Wilbur scowled, but he was laughing. 

“You love me.” 

“Nope.”

“You do,” Tech said as he bumped his shoulder into WIlbur’s.

“I really dont.”

“I know you do.” 

“Fine, I love you.” He finally said, leaning to the side to rest his head on his brother’s shoulder. 

Techno rested his head atop Wilbur's, a comforting weight. 

“I love you too.”

Notes:

Average day in the Watson household (3 separate panic attacks, most negative mindsets ever, existential dread, unending fear, slight injury, substance abuse. you know the drill)

Also sorry lol i keep starting chapters with the intention of giving us all some fluff and cute banter and then somehow it always turns into angst.

Fluff coming. Eventually. Probably. Maybe.

I tried my best at the end to make it a lil happier tho.

Chapter 10: if you can't catch your breath, you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest

Summary:

Title is from Two by Sleeping At Last

(can you guys tell I like this singer lol I feel like every chapter is one of his lyrics)

They ended up burning the cookies. 

By the time Phil had finished calming Tommy down with the same techniques he’d helped the kid use that morning, the timer had been going off. He had silenced it quickly before herding Tommy to the living room and having him sit on the couch. 

He was careful not to touch him, now that he knew he didn’t like it when he was in this state. 

It was similar to Techno. He hadn’t had many panic attacks in the time Phil had known him, but the few times he did, he’d been hesitant to accept any touch. Phil had learned he was alright with a reassuring hand on him, but never anything too suffocating, like a hug. 

It was different then Wilbur, who needed touch to ground him. 

Phil, despite his stress over Tommy, thought of his twins upstairs.

He’d seen Techno leave with Wilbur, probably having been woken up from the noise. He knew Tech would help Wil, maybe even more than Phil could. That knowledge didn’t keep him from worrying, unfortunately. 

He wished he could check on them, but he needed to bandage the cut on Tommy’s palm first. 

It was still bleeding, pouring down Tommy’s hand and onto his arm. Blood was splattered everywhere, dripping onto the couch despite the kids best efforts to hold the cut closed and keep his arm raised. 

“Tommy, I’m going to be right back, okay? I’m just grabbing the first aid kit,” he informed the boy, so he’d know why Phil was leaving. Tommy nodded shakily. 

Phil kept one under the kitchen sink, and he rushed to grab it. He was grateful he had slides on and wasn’t at risk of stepping on anything sharp, because the kitchen was still a bloody mess. 

He grabbed Tommy water on his way, giving it to the kid to drink as soon as he was back in the living room. He squatted in front of the couch. 

“Tommy, is it okay if I touch your hand?” he asked. Once given permission, he reached out and took the boy’s hand in his own. Tommy still flinched, and Phil felt a pang in his chest at the sight. He disregarded it, focusing on the cut. He wiped it first with an antiseptic wipe to clean off any germs and wipe away whatever blood he could. 

If Tommy felt any sting, he didn’t react, just watched silently with haunted eyes.

The cut was pretty bad.

It had clean edges, but it went deep into Tommy’s palm. He made the boy wiggle his fingers, and it seemed like good news that everything appeared to be functioning. 

There were a lot of tendons and muscles and generally important things in people’s hands. Phil just prayed it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. 

He had these little butterfly bandages that would hold the cut closed, and he figured that would be enough. The hospital…didn’t seem like a trip Tommy was in the shape to make.

Maybe tomorrow?

He quickly put bandages down, stopping the bleeding enough to wrap the hand in gauze and tape. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy told him quietly, once Phil had finished. Phil shuffled his wings uncomfortably. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, mate.” 

“I broke it,” Tommy insisted, as though Phil might have somehow missed that little detail. 

“That’s okay, it happens. I'm not mad,” Phil told him. Tommy seemed to find this suspicious, his eyes narrowing distrustfully. 

“Is Wilbur mad?” he asked next. 

“No,” Phil assured him quickly. “I think he was just upset because he didn’t mean to scare or hurt you. Techno’s looking after him.”

“Oh. okay,” Tommy answered. Once again, he repeated, “I’m really sorry.” 

Phil gave him a small smile. 

“It’s no big deal, just a little bowl. Everything is going to be just fine, don’t worry. Are you okay to stay here for a minute while I clean things up?” Tommy looked anxious at this, but nodded. 

Phil went to grab the broom from the closet, before quickly sweeping up all the broken porcelain and dumping it in the trash. Then he mopped the floors to clean up the blood, a bit of a rush job, but good enough. 

He’d do it properly later.

He smelt the cookies, jolting as he remembered they were still in the oven. He took them out, seeing that the ones on the edges of the pan were black on the bottom. There were a few in the middle that seemed to still be edible, so he moved two of them to a plate and poured a glass of milk. 

“You should wait a minute to let them cool down. Also they’re a bit burned, so I'm not sure if they’re still any good,” he announced as he set them down in front of Tommy. Tommy nodded again. 

He seemed to have gone almost non-verbal, and Phil was worried about it. It would have to wait, though. He had two other kids upstairs. 

He grabbed the tv remote, powering it on before he set it beside Tommy.

“Watch anything you’d like, okay? I’ll be right back.”

And then he left, praying the kid would be fine for long enough for him to check on Wilbur. He checked Techno’s room first, and when they weren’t there he went over to Wilbur’s.

The door was open, and so was the window. He walked over to it and the two bodies on the other side. 

Wilbur’s head rested on Techno’s shoulder, and the scene was so adorable Phil almost didn’t want to interrupt it. 

He half thought about taking a photo, but decided that might be a bit insensitive.

“Hey, kids,” he said to announce his entrance. They turned to him, Wilbur holding a cigarette between his fingers. His face was guilty, but Phil honestly couldn’t care less about the smoking. 

He’d known Wilbur had been getting back into it anyways: the smell of cigarettes tended to stick around. There were worse ways to cope, and Wilbur had just had a rough moment. 

Eventually, Phil would bring it up and they’d have the same conversation they’d had a million times. Wilbur would get better again, and probably worse again, and the cycle would repeat. 

It wasn’t that Phil didn’t want Wilbur to quit–he really, really did. He just knew it wasn’t something that would happen as a linear progression. There would always be relapses, but as long as Wilbur was safe and trying, that was enough for him.

“Hi Phil,” Techno responded. Wilbur sat silent. Phil motioned for Tech to move out of the way and climbed through the window to sit with his sons. He had to squish his wings in to fit through, but he did. 

The smell of acrid smoke hit him, and he wrinkled his nose. He didn’t know how Techno could stand it, with his sense of smell as good as it was. He turned to face Wilbur, who took a final drag before putting it out.

“You okay, Wil?” He asked, and the teen nodded. 

“Been better, but I'm alright. Is Tommy okay?” he asked.

“Yup, he’s a bit shaken but he’s fine. I bandaged up his hand, it doesn’t seem like it needs stitches or anything.”

“That’s good,” Wilbur said quietly. 

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Phil told the teen as he let his wings stretch out, fanning behind the three of them. The afternoon sun was warm for a fall day, and it didn’t match the somber mood. “You just didn’t want him to hurt himself.”

“I know that, rationally. But I shouldn't have yelled, or tried to grab him. That was–that was stupid of me.” Wilbur explained, looking as guilty as he had that one time when Phil had come home to a car full of snow. 

Apparently Wilbur and Techno had thought it would be funny to shovel the driveway…into the car. Phil had not been impressed. 

That had been the last time he’d assigned the twins that chore. Which was probably exactly what they’d wanted. 

“Is Tommy mad at me?” Wilbur asked tentatively, expression still downcast. Phil slung his arm around his son’s shoulders

“No. He knows it was an accident, I'm pretty sure. If anything he thought you were mad at him, but I told him you weren’t.” 

Wilbur nodded, hardly seeming relieved. They all sat silent for a long moment. 

“Alright, I have to ask what everyones thinkin’. Phil, how are the cookies?” Tech’s voice was as monotone and serious as always, and they all fell into a familiar, quiet laughter. 

“Uh…I don't think the cookies survived.” All three of them laughed again. It wasn’t that funny–it was hard to find any of this funny. 

But sometimes the only way to feel better was to find a way to make light of a bad situation. You had to bounce back somehow. 

You had to stand up each time you got knocked down. 

The three of them knew it, and Phil could tell Tommy did too. 

The kid wouldn’t have a file that thick and still be standing here today if he didn’t. 

If his two sons had learned anything at his house, it was how to laugh despite everything constantly going to shit, and he couldn’t be prouder of them for it. 

“Can we go down? I want to apologize,” Wilbur said finally. Phil and Techno voiced their agreement with the plan. 

Each of them climbed back through the window, and Wilbur did exactly that. 

Tommy accepted the apology a little too readily. Phil got the sense that Tommy didn’t understand exactly why anyone cared that Wilbur had scared him. 

It wasn’t a good attitude, but there wasn’t much any of them could do about it tonight. 

So instead, Phil setup Minecraft on the living room TV. 

Holding the controller had to have hurt Tommy’s hand, but the teen seemed adamant that it was fine. 

So, they ignored the afternoon’s events, and spent the rest of the evening playing video games. 

What else do you do after someone has two panic attacks in just a few hours and accidentally cuts their hand nearly in half?

Phil ordered some pizzas halfway through, because nobody felt much like cooking dinner, for obvious reasons.

Tommy had picked up the game quickly, and his hands were flying over the controller now, clicking buttons as he fought a zombie. 

Seriously, that had to be hurting him.

But the boy’s face showed no flicker of discomfort, and he certainly didn’t seem to be holding back.

They’d been playing for hours when Phil finally sighed, setting down his controller. 

“Alright, I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” he explained as he rose to his feet. His joints ached at the motion, and he realized he’d been sitting in one position for far too long. He stretched his arms up above his head and let his wings spread open.

“Dad! You're blocking the screen!!” Wilbur cried out as his on screen character died from a skeleton. Phil chuckled, moving out of the way. 

Wilbur tossed down his remote, giving Phil a mournful, offended glare. 

Phil grinned at his misery. 

“Don’t stay up too late, you three. it’s a school night, after all,” 

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna head up too,” Wilbur announced. He said goodnight and headed for the stairs. Phil supposed his son had had a long day. Wilbur must be exhausted. 

Then he thought of Tommy, who…somehow looked wide awake. Maybe three cans of coke had been too much. Phil had just been excited to see the kid get some form of calories into his body. 

Phil looked longingly towards the back door, and felt an urge rush through him. 

“I'm gonna stretch my wings before I sleep. Goodnight, kids.” he stepped out the back door and into the yard. He paused suddenly, realizing what he’d said. But he’d meant it, to be honest. 

Tommy had only just arrived, but Phil had become instantly protective over him. 

It was the same thing that had happened with both Wil and Tech. 

Honestly, Phil was too much of a parent for his own good.

He spread his wings and used them to propel himself into the sky.

He felt joy course through him as the cool wind ruffled his feathers.

He had no plans on where to go, only that he wanted to glide above the world. He loved the silence of flying, the way everything faded to the background. 

His stress melted away as the millions of concerns running through his brain finally ceased tormenting him.

He let them slip from his mind one by one as he soared through the crisp air. 

The world beneath him grew smaller, and all his worries faded into insignificance with it. 

Notes:

Don’t really love how this chapter turned out, but whatever. I did write my fav chapter so far just the other day, only problem is it’s probably like 20ish chapters away…so u guys are gonna have to stick around for a while sorry <3

(also i'm not just sitting on 20 chapters of writing i have so much editing and random missing chunks lol)

GUYS pray for me I have a midterm tmrw in a class i've been to TWICE this whole semester…it’s not looking good…i wrote this fic instead of studying…fuckkkkkkk

Chapter 11: my life was a storm, since I was born (how could i fear any hurricane?)

Summary:

Title is from Francesca by Hozier

does anyone actually read the chapter titles lol

Technoblade turned to Tommy as Phil left.

“You're starting school tomorrow?” he asked, sort of horrified.

Surely not. Surely Phil would know better than to allow this to happen. 

Tommy was so, so fragile. He could hardly look at them and he flinched at everything. The kid just had a panic attack over a bowl, for christ's sake. 

There was a bandage on Tommy’s hand and his eye was a ugly shade of black, and if that wasn’t enough, Tommy also had his little habit of zoning out. Techno had noticed it when the boy had first arrived, and he’d seen it a few times since. 

it was like the world dropped away, and Tommy was unreachable. Then he’d snap back into reality, flinching, and act like nothing had happened. 

Maybe Tommy didn’t even realize he did it. 

Techno had seen the blank look in his eyes as he’d stared at the stuffed dog. In the span of a few moments, the boy had gone somewhere dark and returned with panic all over his face. 

It seemed these episodes had countless triggers, and Techno knew first hand how hard it was to reduce your anxiety when everything around you consistently sent you into flight or fight. 

Tommy was a recipe for disaster, especially combined when thrown into the hell called high school.

He was glad that at least so far, Tommy’s responses hadn’t been to fight. 

Aside from his short outburst at Phil on his first morning, the kid hadn’t been aggressive at all. He’d been timid, flinching back at every noise or quick movement.

Techno had been the opposite. He’d turned everything into a fight, sometimes even making it physical. 

He’d pounce on Phil just for trying to care for him, and hadn’t let anyone touch him for months. even once he’d allowed it, it was around a year before he ever initiated it or liked it. 

To this day, he wasn’t a touchy person, not like Wilbur. 

There was part of him that honestly just liked his own space. there was also a part that didn’t trust himself not to revert to who he had once been. A twisted, corrupted part that knew there was always a chance it all became too much and he’d lash out. 

Every time he saw the scar on Phil's arm from his own teeth he lost faith in himself. Because as much as Phil did his best to help him, he couldn’t change Techno. He couldn’t fix him.  

He helped, absolutely. Phil’s great parenting made everything easier. But Phil couldn’t fully erase the pain, couldn’t protect him from the past. 

Technoblade remembered his first few days of school while at Phil's. He’d been itching for a fight, and he found himself in many. 

It wasn’t like he had been a bully–he’d never targeted anybody, never sought anything out. 

He just simply hadn’t let any bullshit slide. 

If someone was rude to him, or mean to someone else in front of him. If someone bumped into him and didn’t apologize. If someone sat in his unassigned but nevertheless claimed seat. If someone called him angry or “trouble”. 

Phil had been in the principal's office nearly every other day. 

Techno had quickly gained a delinquent reputation.

 Other kids started giving him a wide berth, looking at him like he was a rabid, unpredictable animal. He supposed, in those days, that he sort of had been. 

It wasn’t necessarily that anything about his nature had changed since then. 

He still had moments of overwhelming anger and he always, always, itched to fight. He’d simply found better outlets, learned not everyone in the world was out to hurt him, saw a therapist, and started taking anxiety medications. 

Apparently, most of his outbursts had been attempts to eliminate potential threats before they became actual ones. Now that he knew that, he was able to stop himself. 

Most of the time. 

Sometimes it felt like something took control of him, a higher power of sorts. It begged him to shed blood in its name. To listen to the devil’s murmur and beat someone to a pulp, every chance he had. 

It was a compelling urge.

Every once in a while, he found himself obeying it. 

Usually, only when it was appropriate. He didn’t feel as guilty when the beating was deserved and the fight was an even match. 

That’s why he’d gotten in so many with Dream. 

There was no one better at baiting Technoblade into a skirmish than Dream. With his taunts, his weird god complex, and his skill, Techno had found Dream to be the perfect sparring partner. 

At first, the fights were relentless and bloody. As they grew older, each one became less passionate and a bit more because it was just routine. 

At one point they’d just started taking out their fights with little jabs and boxing practice. Techno hadn’t had a problem with him in months. 

He knew a large part of that was due to Phil.

Techno had been 12 when he’d been placed here. He’d been angry at the world and confident that fighting back was the best solution to his pain. 

Phil taught him that being angry wouldn’t change anything. That the stuff he was mad about had already happened, and nothing could change that. 

Fighting Dream couldn’t change that. 

Techno looked over at Tommy now, watching the younger boy’s concentrated face. It took like to recognize like, and Techno saw a lot of himself in Tommy. 

Not the 12 year old that he’d been, nor the 18 year old he was now. 

But he saw what he could have been if someone had broken his spirit, if he’d finally given up and stopped fighting back. 

They’d all expected Tommy to arrive swinging, like Techno had. 

Then, once he hadn’t, Wilbur and Phil seemed to assume the lack of visible aggression meant the absence of anger. 

They knew the stereotypes that shapeshifters were dangerous, and assumed that Tommy was just misunderstood in all those other homes. 

But Techno didn’t agree.

In his (unprofessional) opinion, he thought Tommy hadn’t felt safe enough for long enough to realize how fucked up the last 16 years of his life had been. He had to have anger in there somewhere–Techno doubted Sam had just been making things up. 

Techno had a feeling that when that realization started to sink in, things might get a bit violent. 

And there was nobody better at riling people up then Dream. 

Dream, a lion hybrid that was more than a bit obsessed with being the strongest, who also had issues with Technoblade and a tendency to pick on new kids.

Techno didn’t think Tommy starting school was a good idea at all. 

In fact, he was pretty certain it was a recipe for complete disaster. 

He turned to Tommy anxiously. 

“Tommy, can ya promise me somethin'?” He asked. Tommy turned to him, seeming to sense the sincerity in Techno’s tone. “If anyone bothers you at school, over anything, promise that you’ll get me? Wilbur added my contact into your new phone, right?” 

“Uh–yeah. What’s this about, Big T?” Tommy asked, his voice shaky even as he tried to sound joking. Techno wasn’t fooled, but he liked that the kid was getting comfortable enough to try. 

“I just…know sometimes it can be hard to be the new kid. I want you to know that I've got your back if anybody tries anything,” God, he was cringing at himself.

Tommy still flinched every time Techno moved, making him seriously doubt the boy was believing a single word he was saying. 

“Is someone gonna give me trouble?” Tommy repeated, eyeing Techno suspiciously. 

Great, now he was scaring the kid more.

“No, no. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just…text or call me if ya need anythin', even if I'm in class,” He restated, because he wanted Tommy to know he was serious. He’d rather get in trouble for his phone ringing or from ditching class then find out someone had hurt Tommy.

“Oh, so I'm just an excuse for you to skip class?” Tommy joked, a small smile on his face. Tech grinned, excited he was finally getting to see a less-terrified version of the boy.

“Shucks, you got me. Don't tell Phil,” He laughed back.

It was the first time Techno had ever prayed he wouldn’t be given a reason to ditch.

Notes:

Tommy is gonna have sooo much fun at school. Nothing bad ever happens to Tommy. He’s like a repellant for bad things.

Chapter 12: the kind of kid the world doesn't know what to do with

Summary:

Title is from Josslyn by Chase Petra

Bench duo finally make their entrance!!

Tommy tapped his fingers on the backseat of Techno’s car anxiously. He couldn’t sit still, too full of either excitement or anxiety. He couldn’t tell which it was. 

“How’re you feeling, Tommy?” Wilbur asked, as though he was reading Tommy’s mind. 

Fucking bitch. Stay out of his head.

“Fine,” Tommy muttered, a little too quickly. 

He looked out the window as they entered the parking lot. There were a lot of cars: this seemed to be a fairly big school. They seemed like pretty nice cars too, proving Tommy’s assumption correct about this being a well off neighborhood full of kids with daddy’s money. 

Techno parked well, just like he drove. Tommy had to admit the teen, despite other faults, was a decent driver. He bet Wilbur was terrible at it. Wilbur just looked like he’d be bad at driving. 

They got out of the car, each pulling their bags onto their shoulders. Tommy trailed after them as they headed through the front doors. 

Wilbur was chattering about something, maybe one of his classes. Tommy wasn’t really listening, much more focused on the blood rushing in his ears and his heart throbbing against his sternum.  

He was starting to regret his insistence on starting school immediately.

He always hated being the new kid. 

He’d done it so many times the feeling was achingly familiar. It was like muscle memory at this point. Whether it was standing on a porch or in front of a class, it was always the same—hungry, impatient eyes locked on Tommy, itching to size him up and decide who he was before he even spoke.

Regardless of his emotions, the trio marched deeper into the building. Wilbur was trying to give him a tour of sorts, pointing in random directions as they walked through the halls, rattling off vague descriptions of what was each way. 

Tommy found Wilbur’s ‘tour’ hard to follow, and even harder to focus on. 

Before long, they stopped in front of the Principal’s office, where Phil had told them to go to pick up Tommy’s finalized schedule. He knew the classes he was taking, but no idea where to find them or what time each would be. 

His foster brothers pushed through the door without caution or discretion, like they’d been to the principal's office a hundred times before, no big deal. 

Maybe they had. 

A tidy but welcoming reception area greeted them. 

The woman behind the desk was short and old, her face set in a scowl. Tommy couldn’t determine if that was just her natural expression or if she was having a particularly bad day. 

It was hard (not impossible) to have a bad day by 7:30 in the morning, so Tommy figured she was just a mean person. 

“What have you two done now?” she snapped, her voice dripping with distaste for the two boys in front of Tommy. The sudden, sharp tone made him flinch, as though he had done something wrong. Had he? No, that hadn’t been directed at him.

Tommy revised his previous analysis: clearly, Techno and Wilbur were the reason for the scowling. 

“Hey!” Wilbur yelped, throwing his arms up in a mocking attempt of someone surrendering. “We haven’t done anything!”

“...yet,” the woman muttered, clearly skeptical of the possibility of innocence. 

“We’re here to get Tommy’s schedule,” Technoblade chuffs, sounding bored by the entire exchange. 

The woman frowned more before peering around the two taller boys, her gaze landing on Tommy. Her eyes narrowed, and Tommy could practically feel the weight of her scrutiny zeroing in on his black eye. It wasn’t that bad anymore, just the faded yellow remnants of a bruise, but it was obvious enough to her.

Her eyes trailed down to the bandage around his hand, and Tommy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

She clearly believed he fell into the same delinquent category as the two teens in front of him. Maybe he did. 

Actually, he was probably worse. Tommy cringed just at the thought, at the cold truth behind it.  

Tommy was dangerous. He was trouble everywhere he went, and he'd been told it too many times to count. 

He was a flight risk, a liability, and it hadn't taken him long to learn the world didn't know what to do with him. 

The world had taken one look at Tommy and given up, chucking him at the foster system, which didn't really like him either. 

So it spit him out at home after home, and he'd tried and failed to prove the world it was wrong about him. 

In fact, he'd proved true everything that people had ever thought about him. 

Tommy was fucked up, he knew that. Nobody wanted him, and he couldn't blame them. 

He was just a kid that nobody knew what to do with, too annoying and dangerous to ever be loved. 

Or in the case of this woman, even respected. 

Her condescending glare had drifted off him, having seen all she needed. 

And she hadn't even seen the mess of bruises and scars he was keeping covered by clothes. 

She appeared to still be giving WIlbur and Techno a hard time, but finally, with a roll of her eyes, seemed to have grown bored with giving them a hard time. 

“Here you are,” the woman muttered at last, thrusting a piece of paper at Techo, who snatched it away even faster than she’d offered it to him. 

“See you soon!” Wilbur called brightly as they left, wiggling his fingers at her as though they were old friends with plans to meet again tomorrow. 

Her glare followed them until the door clicked shut. 

Wilbur and Techno were already poring over Tommy’s schedule, as though it was more relevant to them then it was to him. They seemed to think it was alright. 

“Tommy, we all have the same lunch!” Wilbur gasped, practically bouncing on his feet. “You have to sit with us! You can meet all our friends! I mean, if you want to. There’s no pressure,” he added quickly after Techno flicked him in the shoulder. 

“Sure,” Tommy said noncommittally. He was pretty certain that wouldn’t happen and he’d end up hiding in a bathroom, but whatever. 

“You’ve got computer science first period,” Techno said thoughtfully, looking down at the schedule. “That ‘s gonna be a rough start to the day.”

He held the paper out to Tommy, finally. Tommy grabbed it nervously, flipping it so he could see. 

He found it hard to believe he’d dislike anything about computer science. He’d taken it for a couple weeks while at this really shitty home, and he’d loved every moment of it. To him, his schedule looked completely fine.

“Here, we can walk you there. It’s on the way to our English class.” Wilbur offered, turning to lead the way.

Tommy was surprised the two brothers had any classes together in a school this big, especially given their apparent reputation at the Principal’s office. He agreed to be shown the way, and tried to pay a bit more attention so he could actually do it on his own. 

The two teens waved him off at his classroom, Techno making him promise–again–to text if anything went wrong. 

Tommy still wasn’t sure what that whole thing was about, but he did know one thing: he’d have to be up to his neck in trouble before he’d consider texting anyone for help. 

He took a deep breath, focusing as much as he could on the present moment, and pushed open the door. The class was only half full, and a wave of relief washed over him when he realized he wasn’t one of the last to arrive. 

The teacher was a short, stocky man with a friendly demeanor, and he gave Tommy a warm smile right away. 

“Hi there, you must be Tommy. I’m Mr. Robinson. It’s a pleasure,” He said, extending his hand for a handshake. 

Tommy tried to stop the involuntary flinch, unsure how successful the attempt was. He stood frozen in place, staring at the hand in surprise for a moment, before realizing this was an inevitable part of returning to school. Of life, really.

With a soft exhale, he tentatively shook the man’s hand with his uninjured one. His teacher seemed aware he’d made Tommy uncomfortable and kept it quick. Tommy could feel the sweat rising on his palms, and he cringed internally at how unpleasant it must have been for his teacher.

“You can take a seat,” Mr. Robinson suggested, pointing to an empty desk one row from the back. Thank god. Tommy had prepared himself to have to deal with some front-row-center-of-attention bullshit. 

He nodded and gave the man a quick smile that he hoped was enough to substitute any conversation he might be supposed to make. He made his way to the seat, dropping his bag on the floor before sitting down. He released a slow exhale, letting the tension in his shoulders start to ease. 

The calm didn’t last long. 

“Hi! I’m Tubbo. What’s your name?” A loud, cheerful voice startled him.

He turned to find a boy with bright green eyes and a mess of curly brown hair. Two horns were curled on either side of his head, the same brown as his hair. He was grinning from ear to ear, practically buzzing with excitement. 

Oddly enough, he seemed genuinely friendly.  

“uh–It’s Tommy,” Tommy answered, caught off guard by the sudden enthusiasm. 

“Cool!” Tubbo chirped. “I’m a ram hybrid, if you couldn’t tell. Are you excited for computer–” He was cut off mid-sentence by another voice.

“Tubs, you’re scaring him,” Tommy turned his head to the other side. The boy to his left was tall, and lanky, even when sitting. His hair was a lighter shade of brown, and unlike Tubbo, he had no visible hybrid traits. 

His body language was also far less rambunctious than Tubbo’s. He seemed uncomfortable, but not…hostile.

 “Hi, I’m Ranboo,” he introduced, offering Tommy an awkward wave. 

“Tommy,” Tommy repeated, unsure what else there was to say. 

“Sorry,” Tubbo apologized, and Tommy turned back to his right. “I get excited easily,” The kid explained. 

That was an understatement. Tommy hadn’t really minded the energy. it had been surprising, but not necessarily in a bad way. 

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Cool,” Tubbo said, smiling once again. “So, computer science?” He asked, and while it wasn’t really a question, Tommy understood. 

“I’ve always liked tech stuff. I dunno, it’s kinda nerdy, but I like figuring out how things work, you know?” he offered, shrugging helplessly. 

Great, he might as well have gone to his knees and begged to be bullied. This was going terrible.

“Same!” Tubbo practically screeched. “Me and Ranboo love doing random tech stuff. We found this old PC on the side of the road, and we’re trying to rebuild it. You should totally come over some time to help work on it!” 

And, well, that was fast. Tommy blinked. 

Tubbo sure was bubbly, and he couldn't deny it was overwhelming. 

But at the same time, Tommy understood how it felt to be the kind of kid the world didn’t get along with. It was clear from Tubbo’s energy that he was loud, and too much, and annoying.

Tommy wondered if Tubbo had ever been told it, the way Tommy had. 

Ranboo, the string bean looking one, seemed like the sort of kid that had crippling anxiety. 

Tommy wondered if he’d had panic attacks in his sleep before, or simply because someone had touched him. 

He was assuming things, surely, but he couldn't help the way the two boys on either side of him didn't feel like strangers. He'd only just met them, but they felt so achingly familiar.

Tommy was afraid of a lot of people. Really fucking afraid. 

But when he met people who felt even a tiny bit like him…

Well, his walls sometimes crumbled a little. 

Tommy didn’t think for a second that Tubbo and Ranboo had lived a life anything like his–that much was abundantly clear by the polished state of them, the lack of ribs showing, the absence of bruises, the way there was a glimmering sparkle of life in both their eyes. 

But even without eyes as dull as Tommy, they just seemed...harmless.

They looked like Tommy had, six or so years ago, when he had only just begun to realize there was no place for him in the world, but hadn’t quite figured out why. 

He hoped these two had a place in the world, with real families they didn't flinch from. 

If they didn’t have that, at least those two had each other. 

He tried not to think about how that was more than he had. 

Tubbo was looking at him expectantly, and he remembered he’d just been invited over sometime. 

His smile was wide, his face hopeful. There was no judgement there, nothing compared to the glares of that wrong-un earlier. 

It was refreshing to meet someone who didn’t look down on Tommy, who looked past the bandages and bruises and the fact he was joining the class a month into being here. 

Tommy thought about the words Sam had said to him about giving things a chance. 

He hadn’t wanted to give the Watson’s one, and he was still wary of them, despite them showing nothing but kindness. 

He didn’t think he’d be able to trust a foster home for a long time, if ever. 

But friends were different . 

“Sure, That sounds super poggers,” He said. Ranboo laughed, and Tommy turned to find him smiling. 

“Hey, what class do you have after this?” Ranboo asked. “You’re new, right? We can show you the way.”

“Uh, English,” Tommy answered. He glanced down to his schedule before adding: “Room 215.”

“No way!!” Tubbo exclaimed, eyes widening. 

“Tubbo’s in that class too,” Ranboo explained. “Can I see the rest of your schedule?”

Tommy passed it over, and Ranboo took a moment to look it over before handing it back. 

“You’re in the same lunch as us, and we all have History last period together,” he said conclusively, still smiling. Tommy returned the smile. 

Could it really be this easy? He’d gone months in different schools without making a single friend, and here he was finding people to talk to on the first day. 

“Oh great, you can suffer through Ms. Jackson’s history class with us. It’s horrible,” Tubbo groaned, dropping his head to his hands, his horns hitting the wooden desk with a dull clack. 

“She’s not that bad, Tubbo’s just dramatic,” Ranboo interjected. Tommy nodded uncertainty, vaguely understanding that neither of these reports were likely accurate.

Tubbo’s head shot up from his arms at the comment, mouth open. He was clearly poised to fire back a retort.

Whatever insult he yelled was lost to the sound of the bell ringing, announcing the start of first period. Both Tommy and Ranboo couldn’t help but laugh at the perfect timing, falling silent only when Mr. Robinson cleared his throat and began speaking. 

Tommy tried his best to focus on the lecture, but for once, the thing distracting him wasn’t a throbbing pain somewhere on his body. 

His hand was stinging a bit, but it was practically negligible compared to the shit he was used to dealing with.

Instead, he was caught up thinking about how he’d maybe just made some potential friends, had a deceivingly safe house, and theoretically had foster brothers willing to look after him. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was far better than his usual. 

For Tommy, that was more than enough.

 

Notes:

So far, so good...but the day's only just begun.

Mwahahaha

Chapter 13: what a heartfelt world, what a fucked up place

Summary:

Title from God of Death by Sisto

(probs gonna change this one idk how I feel about it)

Tubbo insisted Tommy sit beside him in English, and Tommy was happy to oblige. In all honesty, the ram hybrid was probably the friendliest, most energetic person Tommy had ever met. 

It made Tubbo easy to talk to, and, despite himself, Tommy found he was slowly coming out of his shell. 

He was still flinching a lot, mostly because Tubbo had a tendency to speak loudly, and often waved his hands around for harmless emphasis. 

Tommy was sure it was painfully obvious, but Tubbo never acknowledged it. He’d just lower his voice and still his hands–at least until he forgot again a minute later.

In a way, it was comforting. There was nothing Tommy hated more than being treated like a bomb about to explode, or glass about to shatter. 

Surely he’d endured enough bullshit to have earned the right to be treated the same as any other human?

He might flinch, but at the end of the day, he could handle someone talking loudly or flailing their hands. 

Most people didn’t care that Tommy got bothered by it anyway. He wasn’t sure what was up with this place–Everyone here had savior complexes or something. 

Especially Phil, with all his fucking charity and his lies disguising it. 

But Tubbo and Ranboo didn’t do any of that. Well, he supposed they might be being nice because Tommy didn’t know anyone else, but they at least didn’t seem like they were doing it out of pity, more like out of empathy. 

Besides, they were both sort of weird. He doubted either of them were unfamiliar with loneliness.  

He looked over at Tubbo thoughtfully, who was scrunching up his face in either confusion, boredom, or constipation as the teacher droned on. 

Right…Tommy had forgotten he was supposed to be paying attention to that.

The thought was fleeting, though, abandoned when he processed the look on Tubbo’s face.

Honestly, Tubbo was hilarious. Tommy had been surprised, but he’d found himself either smiling or laughing all morning. 

The other teen wasn’t even trying, but the face he was making was so funny Tommy had to keep himself from smiling. 

And still neither Tubbo or Ranboo had brought up Tommy’s injuries, which was nice, because they weren’t easy to explain. 

Oh yeah, I’ve got a black eye because my ex-foster dad hit me when I refused to shapeshift for him. Oh, the hand? Eh, I decided it was a good idea to hold sharp broken objects while having a panic attack. 

Their lack of questions was, quite possibly, his favorite thing about the pair. 

When English was almost over, Tubbo slid a folded note onto Tommy’s desk with a grin. 

Tommy picked it up quickly, pulling it close to himself and tucking it under the desk so the teacher wouldn’t see. He unfolded it as quietly as he could. 

 

your eating lunch with us right? :D

 

Tommy snorted, barely managing to hold back his laugh. He nodded at Tubbo, who grinned even wider in return. Tommy grabbed his pencil to scribble a reply. 

 

You used the wrong ‘your’ 

 

He passed it back, and Tubbo laughed, louder than he should while in a fairly quiet classroom. Both boys looked up, but the teacher either hadn’t heard or didn’t care. This caused another bout of laughter. Tubbo scribbled on the paper and passed it back once again.

 

Im dyslexic :(

 

Tommy snorted again when he read it, then glanced up again. Thankfully, the teacher was still lost in her lecture about motifs, whatever those were. 

Tubbo was biting his hand, trying (unsuccessfully) to muffle his laughter. Tommy could see his body shaking trying to hold it in. 

The two of them burst out laughing when the bell rang just moments later. A few students turned to look, but Tommy didn’t really care. 

For once, he just didn’t care.

The two of them were still laughing as they stepped into the hallway. 

“I don’t know if I can eat lunch with someone who uses the wrong ‘yours’,” Tommy teased. 

“It’s not my fault I can’t read!” The other kid blurted, before laughing again at his own blatant exaggeration. 

“Oi, you can’t READ!?” Tommy gasped, acting horrified. 

He considered briefly how fucked up this would be if Tubbo actually couldn’t read. However he’d seen the boy do just fine in the past two classes, and was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

“You probably read it wrong, because you can’t read!” Tubbo argues. 

“I'm the best reader! The only reader, ever, if you know what I mean. Prove you can read!” Tommy shouts.

“Fine!” Tubbo shouts back. After a moment of realization, he seemed to deflate. “Uh..how?”

“Read that sign!” 

“That’s halfway down the hall! I can’t read that from here!” 

“Aha!! So you can’t read, you liar!”

“Okay, you read it then!”

“Fine!” Tommy shouts back happily, squinting at the sign. 

Hmm.

It was a little far away. 

Like, very far away.

Alright, new plan. 

“It says ‘Tubbo is a bitch’,” he stated confidently. Tubbo squawked, opening his mouth to surely say something back.

But before Tubbo could respond, a cold, prickling sensation ran up Tommy’s spine. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, and unease tightened in his stomach. 

Instantly, the humor left him, and dread took its place. 

He knew this feeling. 

Someone was watching him. 

Tubbo’s voice faded to the background as Tommy shifted into survival instincts. 

He shifted his gaze, scanning the hallway in front of him for the source. His heartbeat was quickening, and he could feel his hands trembling. 

He shoved them into his pockets before glancing over his shoulder, still trying to find…

There. 

Not far behind him, a tall teenager was leaning against a locker, staring right at him. He locked eyes with him for a moment, cold green eyes boring into Tommy's own. The other boy had dirty blonde hair, straighter than Tommy's. 

He looked old enough that he had to be a senior. He was built like one, tall and muscular, though not as bulky as Techno. Taller, probably, and equally as intimidating. 

There were round, tawny ears on the top of his head, and they twitched with interest as he saw Tommy notice him, but the other boy made no move to look away. 

He just stared with cold, focused eyes, like sizing Tommy up like a piece of prize meat.

It was a look Tommy knew all too well. 

Tommy stared back, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t usually the type to stand his ground, but something in the man’s glare had made Tommy suddenly defensive.

This felt like bad news. 

“You okay, big man?” Tubbo asked, voice cutting through Tommy’s rising discomfort. He tore his gaze away to look back to the hallway ahead. He shook away his thoughts and refocused on Tubbo.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.” he mumbled, still trying to shake the tingling at the back of his neck. 

Tubbo eyed him for a moment, clearly aware something was off, but didn’t press for the reason behind Tommy’s shift in mood. 

“That should be your class, up there,” Tubbo said, pointing to a room at the end of the hallway. Tommy nodded, thankful he’d been shown the way. Honestly, this school was built like a maze. “I have to head downstairs, but I'll see you at lunch, yeah?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy muttered, still distracted. He gave Tubbo a little wave before turning in the direction of his class. 

He glanced behind him before he started walking again. The weird feeling in his skin was fading, but he didn’t trust his instincts enough anymore to rely solely on them. 

He was right though, and the space where the blonde teen had been leaning languidly now sat empty. 

He shook off the nerves, trying to dislodge the uneasy feeling that had set up camp in his gut.. It had probably been nothing. 

Tommy must be getting paranoid. He’d only been here a few hours. Maybe that other teen was like…blind or something. Maybe he had been zoned out, or looking at someone behind Tommy.

These possibilities flashed through his mind, but Tommy found himself unable to believe his own lies.

Tommy knew what he’d seen.

He was good at reading people, and the blonde kid’s stare hadn’t exactly been hard to understand. 

He’d been sizing Tommy up like he knew something. 

One of the few instincts being in foster care had sharpened? A sixth sense for recognizing danger. 

His instincts had kept him alive this long, he knew to trust them. 

He supposed he had been foolish to think this school might not be so bad. He’d never known life without some sort of looming threat stalking behind him.

Now he sensed the danger closing in, like a hound catching the scent of blood. 

 

Notes:

I feel like I'm really setting you guys up for the main conflicts and then taking forever to deliver, but I had to give Tubbo just a bit more time before everything starts to go to shit.

Stay tuned for next chapter...anyone have predictions?

Chapter 14: i’m bad luck, i’m bad luck, i’m bad luck

Summary:

Title song is Bad Luck by Noah Kahan.

Wilbur was worried about Tommy. 

He didn’t think the kid was ready to go back to school—not with the near-constant panic attacks, the way his eyes darted around like he expected someone to jump out and hurt him, or the way he flinched when anyone got too close.

Wilbur had spent a large portion of his life struggling, and he’d been through much less than Tommy. 

School had been hard for Wilbur when he'd first been fostered. The other kids had had normal lives: they were only ten and hadn’t understood why he was different. 

They hadn’t understood why he was so thin but never seemed to eat. They couldn’t conceptualize what brought Wilbur to sit alone at lunch, his stomach growling while he refused to touch the food Phil packed him. Wilbur had been certain the meals would stop, and he’d hoarded food in his locker. 

His teachers hadn’t liked discovering that, especially because Wilbur hadn’t had a grasp on which foods expired and which ones didn’t. 

They’d also nearly called CPS when he’d asked one of them for a cigarette.   

Wilbur had never been physically abused in the homes he’d been placed in, but neglect had been an ever-present shadow. He had learned to keep to himself, stay quiet, and never ask for anything. After all, he was only a burden to these strangers, helpless against their every whim. 

Whether he ate or not had never been a choice that was offered to him. 

Wilbur had thought he knew how the world worked. 

Then he’d met Phil, and his carefully built conceptions stung all the more when they were shattered. The abundance of food and attention insulted the life he’d known, and the tactics he’d learned in order to survive it.  

He hadn’t even been bullied in school, though he‘d be lying if he said he wasn’t picked on every once in a while. 

But mostly, he was just alone.

School had been stressful and confusing, full of kids who were carefree and happy, with no Real problems because they were lucky enough to have Real families.  

It had made Wilbur convinced something was wrong with him. 

Everyone else somehow seemed normal . And Wilbur just…wasn’t. 

It had been a lot for a ten year old to handle.

But Tommy was sixteen, and he’d done this back-to-school transition probably countless times. Wilbur had no doubt the kid was tougher than he looked. Tommy wouldn’t have made it this long if he wasn’t. 

Wilbur tried to use this thought to reassure himself that his new foster brother was just fine, but the doubt gnawed at him regardless. 

“Wilbur, stop stressing,” Techno’s rough voice jolted him from his thoughts. Wilbur turned to his brother, who was leaning against the wall beside the cafeteria entrance, eyes scanning the hallway.

“I’m just nervous,” Wilbur muttered, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into his voice. 

The passing period had long since ended, and there had been no sign of Tommy. 

“I know, and I’m nervous too. But pacing around isn’t going to help. I’m sure he’s just lost or something,” Techno supplied. Wilbur willed his feet to stand still. 

A quick look at Techno’s fidgeting hands and the way his brother was scanning up and down the hallways told Wilbur Techno wasn’t as calm as he was pretending to be.

If anything, his body language was more anxious than Wilbur's.

Wilbur supposed with Tech’s history of starting school, his brother had reason to fear for Tommy. 

He found it hard to believe Tommy would have Technoblade’s urge to fight, because they’d seen no real anger from the kid yet. Despite the reputation Sam had insisted Tommy had, the young shapeshifter didn’t seem violent at all. 

Since the moment he arrived, Tommy had been timid and afraid. 

“There, I see him!” Techno suddenly exclaimed, voice thick with relief. Wilbur’s head snapped toward the hallway, and there was Tommy, making his way down the corridor. 

He wasn’t walking with his head down and shoulders tensed, wasn’t glancing up fearfully at every person who brushed past him. 

He didn't seem afraid in the slightest, didn’t seem to be hurt, none of that. 

No, Tommy was…smiling?

It was a shock to see something that had happened so infrequently in the past few days. Tommy had only given them small, sad smiles, never anything genuine. 

Tommy turned to the two boys on his right, saying something. They burst out laughing, and so did Tommy, his face lighting up. 

And well, maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was confusion. Either way, Wilbur’s stomach churned. Wilbur hadn’t seen Tommy so at ease. 

And that was his fault .

He’d been the one to make Tommy afraid of him. 

He’d yelled, and grabbed him, and he was going to carry the guilt for a long time. 

Tommy caught sight of the twins, and his smile flickered. 

It was heart-wrenching to watch the way his face changed, just by sighting them. 

It wasn’t fear in the way it had been on the floor of the kitchen, but it was still fear. A brief, fleeting moment of it, as though Tommy was remembering he was supposed to be afraid. 

He said something to his friends, who both nodded cheerfully, giving him a wave and pointing into the lunch room. 

Tommy hurried over to Tech and Wilbur, his usually timidness creeping back into his expression. 

“Hi guys,” he greeted them, voice soft once again. Wilbur wondered if Tommy’s change in demeanor was even a conscious effort, or if it was just instinct after so many hard years.

“Hey Tommy, how’s school going so far?” Techno greeted him warmly. 

“It’s been fine,” Tommy replied, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two older boys. “I met some people in computer science. They, um, they asked if I would eat with them?” 

Tommy phrased it like a question, like it might not be allowed. 

Techno gave a reassuring smile, keeping his tone gentle. “Yeah, of course! If you want to, go ahead,” 

Wilbur knew this was good. Tommy had made friends and was settling in well.

He shoved down the pinch in his chest from losing the potential bonding time. He’d already apologized, and Tommy didn’t seem to be holding any sort of intentional grudge. But still, he wanted to make it up to the kid, somehow. 

But friends were important, and there would be time for Wilbur to fix things later. He smiled at the kid and nodded, matching Techno’s energy. 

Tommy’s eased a bit, straightening up more. He smiled again, the all too familiar, pained twist of his lips that made it obvious the smile was for their sake, not his own. 

“Okay, thanks,” Tommy said. His voice was uncertain, but a trace of excitement gleamed in the kid's eyes, betraying him. 

“Alright, we’ll see you at the end of the day, then. Just meet us by the car,” Techno answered. Tommy nodded decisively. He waved bye to them and headed into the cafeteria after his friends. 

Wilbur turned to Techno once Tommy was out of earshot. The pair exchanged a long, silent look. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Techno finally admitted, voice low. 

“Me either, but it’s good,” Wilbur admitted. 

“Yeah. He looked happy, right?”

Wilbur nodded, because he had. At least compared to his expressions the past few days. 

“Yeah, he did. I’ve never seen him like that.” he hesitated, glancing at Techno. “Do you think it’s my fault?”

“It’s not your fault,” Tech assured him quickly. “I’m sure we’re all pretty intimidating. There’s no doubt he sees us as authority in the house. I think it’s just going to take a bit before he feels more comfortable. I think he knows he didn’t need to be afraid of you that day, it was just instinctive,” Techno assured him. 

Wilbur wanted to be comforted by it, but he just…couldn’t.

He couldn't shake the guilt, but he decided standing in the hallway wasn’t going to help him.

“Let’s just eat,” he muttered, turning towards the cafeteria. Tech followed him, and they made their way through the noise till they reached the table the twins always sat at. 

Their friends looked up from whatever they were yelling about. It wasn’t the whole group, since there were two different lunch slots. Still, it was a good amount of people.

“Hey guys,” Wilbur said, taking a seat beside Quackity. 

“What took you so long?” the duck hybrid asked.

“Oh, we were waiting for our foster brother,” Wilbur explained. 

“You were telling us about him yesterday! Tommy, right?” Niki said, apparently having been listening. 

“Yeah, I'm excited to meet him!” Quackity said cheerfully. 

Wilbur looked out over the cafeteria. He finally spotted Tommy, sitting with the two friends he’d been with earlier. He was smiling again, eating the paper bag lunch Phil had packed for him that morning. 

“Is that him?” Shlatt asked, looking at the same table as Wilbur. 

“Yeah,” Wilbur said, still watching. Shlatt squinted. 

“Hey, he’s sitting with my brother!” The man said, realizing. Wilbur looked closer, and now that he thought about it, he actually did recognize the kids Tommy was sitting with. 

He had met Schlatt’s brother, Tubbo, before, and had definitely seen the taller one hanging around Schlatt's house before. He wasn’t sure how he didn’t realize sooner, with Schlatt having the same ram horns as his younger brother did.

The only thing he knew about the younger hybrid was that he was loud and energetic. He seemed like the kind of person Tommy would avoid, not befriend in half a day. 

Wilbur had been doing his best to calm his own energy, to stop being loud, to make himself less intimidating to Tommy. 

But in one instant, he’d fucked it all up.

Maybe Tommy was right to be afraid of him. 

Wilbur was a fuck up–everyone knew it. 

His grades were pretty shit, he smoked far too much, got too drunk sometimes, not to mention he was on three different anxiety meds…

It was plain and simple. He was a fuck up.

But he hadn’t really thought he was dangerous .

When Tommy had first arrived, his fear had been centered mostly on Techno and Phil, and Wilbur had taken that to mean he hadn’t been threatening. 

To his knowledge, that hadn’t changed. Sure, Wilbur had really scared Tommy, but his actions hadn’t really changed much since. 

Tommy may not have gotten worse, but that was hardly an achievement. 

He wanted Tommy to trust him, to like him . 

He couldn't help the blame that had begun to settle on his shoulders, nor ignore the way his thoughts were spiralling, swirling around his head so fast he could hardly take in his surroundings.

And then Techno’s and came down on Wilbur’s shoulder. 

He jumped, surprised. 

“You alright, Wil?” Techno asked quietly, clearly trying not to bring the whole table’s attention towards him. 

“Uh-yeah. Just thinking,” Wilbur muttered back. He opened up his bag of chips, having forgotten about the lunch sitting right in front of his face. 

“Well, stop. Doesn’t suit you,” Techno chuffed, and Wilbur punched him playfully in the arm. 

“Shut up, you big oaf,” he laughed.

With one last glance out at Tommy, Wilbur let himself relax. 

Everything was fine, or it would be. 

It had to be.

Notes:

Really trying to show here how Wilbur is a mess over having scared Tommy and Tommy hasn’t thought twice about it.

Poor kid is too traumatized to even get more trauma. He’s reached his limit.

Also guys I swear this story has a plot. I just keep writing random filler and it’s making everything move really slowly.

So ignore the fact that I wrote almost 2000 words and yet absolutely nothing happens...I kinda hate this chapter.

Idk like there's nothing wrong with it it's just not my fav and kinda pointless, but I wanted to get something posted. Better stuff coming soon hopefully.

Chapter 15: what’s the point of a friend, if you’re on your own in the end?

Summary:

Title from White Noise by James Marriott

exciting chapter today!!

The day was over faster than Tommy expected. 

Usually school days seemed to drag on forever, but with Tubbo constantly chattering in his ear and Ranboo chiming in occasionally, the hours passed by in a flash. 

They’d just wrapped up History, and Tommy understood why Tubbo hated Ms. Jackson. 

The woman was all about silence in her classroom, and that was…not Tubbo’s forte. She’d also made Tommy introduce himself to the whole class, which had been torture. 

Though Tubbo and Ranboo’s encouraging smiles had made the whole thing easier.

Their class was on the third floor, meaning the walk down to the parking lot was long and winding. He found himself once again grateful to be shown the way instead of having to figure it out for himself. 

He’d gotten lost right before lunch, and the two of them had found him wandering the halls aimlessly, searching fruitlessly for the cafeteria. 

“Tommy, give us your phone number so we can text you!” Tubbo said, grinning and Ranboo nodded in agreement immediately. 

“Yeah, maybe then Tubbo will stop spamming me at 3 am,” Ranboo added, only to receive a light punch in the arm from Tubbo. 

Tommy’s smile faltered at the motion, a sharp, instinctual fear surging through him. He knew Tubbo didn’t mean anything by stuff like that, but it sometimes surprised him. 

He couldn't help but pray Tubbo didn’t try doing the same thing to him. Even though the action was clearly playful, he was unsure if his own response would be. 

“Sure,” he replied, pulling out his phone and handing it over so they could add their contacts. Both of them sent a quick text to themselves from his phone. 

“There, now we’ve got yours too!” Tubbo announced proudly. “Smile!” he called, snapping a picture of Tommy before he’d even had time to react. “There, now I have a contact photo!” 

It was a blurry shot of Tommy, half turned away and making a pretty stupid face. He wasn’t sure why Tubbo was so proud of it, but he didn’t really care. 

He was more focused on the familiar sensation running up his spine. 

That feeling again . 

He spun around, scanning for the blonde teen from before. but he wasn’t anywhere Tommy could see. He turned back forwards, thinking maybe he was imagining it. His feet came to a shocked halt, immediately. 

“Tommy, do you know who that is?” Ranboo asked, voice cautious. 

Tommy didn’t have to ask who the teen was referring to. Across the hall, watching him with a smirk on his face, was the same blonde hair and menacing stare from before.

“No clue,” Tommy muttered, his voice tighter than he intended. “But he’s staring right at me.”

“That’s Dream,” Ranboo murmured, his voice tense and rushed. “Senior. Lion hybrid. Real asshole, you know the type.”

Tommy had assumed as much, based off the cold, animalistic glare Dream had been stalking him with.

He wasn’t surprised by Ranboo’s explanation: Reputations always preceded people who carried themselves with a cruel confidence the way Dream did. 

The last thing he’d wanted was to catch the attention of someone like that, but it seemed like it had already happened. 

He had the worst luck.

“Let’s run,” Tubbo suggested, urgency creeping into his tone.

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice. All three of them bolted, scrambling down the hallway, heading for the stairwell at the far side of the hall. Tommy risked a glance back over his shoulder, finding Dream still motionless. As Tommy watched, he raised his hand in a slow wave.

It was just as unsettling, if not more so, then if the man had chased them. His taunting smirk felt like a predator toying with its prey. 

The trio didn’t slow down until they were outside. 

“Tommy, you have to stay away from him, okay?” Tubbo’s voice was serious for the first time all day, and it was weird to hear after so much laughter. “Whatever he wants with you, it’s bad news.” 

Tommy agreed, obviously. He just didn’t think it was going to be that easy. 

Tubbo and Ranboo usually walked to school, so they begrudgingly left his side. They seemed nervous for him, insisting he got home quick and safe. Tommy waved bye to them, and headed to Technoblade’s car. 

He was still jumpy from the adrenaline of running and the anxiety of how seriously everyone seemed to take this Dream guy. It made it hard for him to focus. 

He couldn’t quite remember exactly where Techno had parked, so he ended wandering through the lanes of parked cars, looking for the undistinguishable grey minivan he’d arrived in.

Honestly, ever car looked the same, this was practically a hopeless search.

A worry cemented itself into his brain. Had his foster brothers left without him? If they had, he didn’t know why he thought he had the right to feel surprised. Of course they’d left. Why would they stay, just for him? 

Just then, a car pulled up behind him. Tommy didn’t think anything of it at first—just another car passing by. But then it slowed down, rolling to a dead stop right beside him.

His heart lurched, the threat that had lurked behind him finally lashing out and clamping its jaws around his neck.

“Hi, Tommy,” Dream called out from the driver’s seat, his smile casual.

Tommy wasn’t sure how Dream even knew his name. His mind raced. Should he run? 

No–Dream was in a car. If Tommy ran, he’d catch him in no time. Besides, Dream couldn’t hurt him while stuck in a car. 

Hopefully. 

Mustering up whatever scraps of courage he still clung to, Tommy forced himself to stand his ground. He could do this. He was certain he’d faced worse people in his life, and survived all of it. 

Though, he’d faced the worst times with a powerful ability he no longer possessed. 

He tried not to think about that loss. 

“What do you want?” he growled, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. He kept his gaze fixed on Dream’s eyes, deciding stubbornly that he wouldn’t cower until he was forced to.

“I’m just saying hello,” Dream said smoothly, but his eyes told a different story. He looked far too curious, eyes raking Tommy up and down.

“Yeah, right,” Tommy scoffed. “You’ve been watching me all day, you dickhead.”

Dream shrugged nonchalantly, seeming unashamed.  

“I’m intrigued by you,” Dream said, letting his arm rest on the window. “I like to keep tabs on my school, and that includes meeting any new blood,” he answered. 

Tommy’s skin crawled. Asshole had been a diabolical understatement–this man was outright psychotic .

Dream was smiling wide enough that Tommy could see his canines, sharp and pointed. Those were teeth that belonged in an animal's jaw, not a human’s.

Once, Tommy’s teeth had been sharp like that too. 

“I have a suspicion about you, Tommy.” Dream continued. All at once, the playful, casual tone faded from his voice. “I'd like to know if it’s true.” 

Tommy’s stomach lurched. He had too many secrets, all of which were far too easy to uncover, and all were better off kept hidden. 

“Oi, didn’t your mum tell you not to stick your nose into other peoples business?” He shot back, because Dream wasn’t the only person who could taunt, and Tommy liked to deserve his beatings. 

Dream’s eyes narrowed—just for a second—but the anger flickered away just as quickly as it had appeared. Instead, he let out a slow chuckle.

“You’re funny,” he praised, like it was unexpected, but delightful. Tommy hadn't really been joking, but he ignored it. “I like you, kid. We should be friends.” He extended a hand out of the car, moving fast and sudden. Tommy flinched, his body moving on its own before his brain had a chance to catch up. 

Damnit. Dream had seen that, surely, and now he knew Tommy was all talk. Dream was laughing, like he’d expected that reaction. Like he enjoyed the power he’d just discovered he held. 

That had been purposeful, Tommy realized. Dream had been trying to scare him, to see what would happen.

“No need to flinch. I’m not going to hurt you,” Dream said, but it wasn’t reassuring like when Phil, Wilbur, or Techno said it. It wasn’t even remotely believable. “My name’s Dream,” The man said. Tommy realized he hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself before practically threatening Tommy. 

Who did this jerk think he was?

Tommy stared at the outstretched hand. He didn’t want anything to do with this cocky, manipulative psycho. He didn’t want to deal with any of this, but here he was, and his lack of better options was painfully obvious. 

“C’mon already. I don’t bite,” Dream groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. Tommy found that hard to believe, but he supposed not everyone was as feral as him.

Bristling, Tommy took a tentative step forwards, placing his fingers in the outstretched hand of the other boy.

Dream’s fingers enclosed around Tommy’s, his grip firm. His eyes crinkled in amusement as their hands locked together. Tommy watched in horror as the knowing smile spread further across Dream’s face, and quickly tried to pull back, only for Dream’s fingers to tighten into an unyielding, vice-like grip

Dream yanked him forwards effortlessly. Tommy stumbled towards the car, caught by surprise and far too weak to hold his footing. His free hand slammed against the driver-side door, the jarring impact vibrating up his arm and rattling his teeth. 

The grip on his hand held Tommy in place, pressed against the door with half his arm through the window. 

Dream’s breath was warm against his ear, the flash of his sharp canines just an inch away, like a blade to his throat. 

The words that came next sliced into Tommy’s chest, each syllable jagged. 

“I know your secret, Tommy.” 

The whisper was almost musical, an eerie song. Dream’s tone carried a teasing note, as though this is a funny joke, with no regard for the dark punchline that loomed over Tommy's shoulder.

Suddenly, the conversation wasn’t just threatening. 

It was suffocating. 

Dread coiled around his throat, tight as a noose and equally foreboding.

Chills shuddered up Tommy's spine, itchy spiders beneath his skin. He shifted his feet uncomfortably as he swallowed, trying to shake away the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears and override the unsteadiness of his legs. 

Something sharpened inside him, something bitter.

Tommy felt the surge of frustration, of anger, rising from the pit of his stomach, that familiar weight of years spent suppressing what he was, because he’d been taken advantage of for it too many times. This invasion touched a nerve, and he felt the timid nature he’d learned to hide behind falter. 

He hadn’t planned on today being the day his anger bubbled back up, and he half-heartedly attempted to choke it down.

He was just tired of this conversation, tired of this Dream guy, tired of this world that had discriminated against him for something out of his control since the moment he developed his ability. 

He was tired of being afraid, and even more tired of that fear being so overpowering that his anger faded away, all because fear could protect him better than anger ever had. 

He took a deep breath and met Dream’s amused gaze, his voice low enough that it felt like a growl. He meant what he said, unaware just how wrong he was.

“You don’t know anything about me.” 

Dream didn’t seem fazed. In fact, he laughed; a soft, almost amused chuckle that made Tommy’s stomach drop. 

He shrugged, taking Tommy’s words as a challenge, eye’s glimmering in a way that revealed this was exactly how he had wanted this conversation to go. 

And then with only a sentence, he shattered Tommy’s fragile illusion of peace.

“I know you’re a shapeshifter.” 

Notes:

Wooooo cliffhangerrrrr whats gonna happen nextttttt

Chapter 16: a little broken, a little new (we are the impact and the glue)

Summary:

Title is from the song North by Sleeping at Last

School had been out for twenty minutes, and there was still no sign of Tommy. 

Techno was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white, while Wilbur was frantically calling practically everyone he knew.

Nobody had seen him. 

The twins had quickly given up on anxiously waiting, and now were driving around the parking lot, hoping they spotted him somewhere. 

Techno would have preferred if one of them went back inside the school to search, but it was hard enough to navigate a parking lot full of badly driving teenagers without also trying to scan for a skinny blonde kid. 

So, they’d both remained in the car. 

As if it wasn’t worrying enough that Tommy was absent, Techno hadn’t failed to notice that Dream had also yet to be spotted. 

“Wilbur,” he muttered darkly, drawing his brother’s attention. “Do you think we should call Sapnap?” 

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed, and his expression turned sour. 

“You think Dream’s up to something?”

Techno clenched his jaw. 

“I don’t know what else to think,” he muttered. He flexed his hands against the wheel as he waited for the car in front of him to move. 

“Can we even trust Sapnap?” Wilbur asked, and that was a good question.

“I trust him more than George, and I don’t know anyone else who might know if Dream was planning something,” Techno admitted, but he knew Wilbur was right to be hesitant of the idea. Sapnap was much better friends with Dream than with the twins, even if he’d never supported Dream’s unnecessary violence. 

Still, something was going on with Sapnap and Karl, and it had been making Sapnap much more friendly to their whole group, besides from Quackity. Techno didn’t really care enough to pay attention to whatever drama was going on between those three.

“Why would Dream care enough about Tommy to mess with him on the first day? I mean, I know that you two have issues, but how would he even know we’re the ones fostering Tommy?”

Techno didn’t think it would take much to discover that, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he took his frustration with the situation out by honking aggressively at the car in front of him, which had been idling for far too long. 

Honestly, what was the driver doing? The hazards weren’t even on. 

Suddenly, Wilbur leaned forwards. 

“Tech,” he whispered breathlessly, and Techno froze, peering closer at the car blocking his lane. 

Someone was standing right by the driver’s side, so close to the door Techno hadn’t even seen them. 

Someone with bright blonde hair. 

“That’s Dream’s car,” Wilbur whispered, and Techno knew he was right. He slammed the gear stick into park, and both of them were out of the car in a flash. 

Tommy hadn’t seemed to notice them pulling up or the honking—his focus was still fixed on the figure before him. Techno saw his foster brother’s arm was practically inside the car, held by Dream’s grip.

Techno slammed his fist on the side of the car, as loud as he could. 

“Let him go, Dream!” He shouted.

Tommy’s head whipped around at the sound of his voice. His face was a ghostly shade of pale, his chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. He didn’t seem to be comforted by the twin’s arrival.

Dream looked over Tommy’s figure to meet Techno’s glare with a bored look. 

“We were done talking anyway,” He muttered, rolling his eyes.

Dream’s tone was dismissive, but Techno could see the annoyance on the blonde’s face. They clearly hadn’t been, but Dream wouldn’t admit to something like that. 

Technoblade could see inside the car now, and he watched Dream release Tommy’s hand. The younger boy scrambled back the moment he was freed.

Technoblade’s blood boiled as he watched, horrified as the other man laughed, casually leaning back in his seat. He clenched his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his palms as he tried to calm himself down.

“No need to get worked up, Tech. I was just introducing myself,” Dream smiled, his canines glinting. 

Techno found no words, but he growled like the animal he was, every one of his instincts screaming to punch Dream’s teeth in. 

Tommy had moved back far enough that he was out of Dream’s reach, but his breathing hadn’t evened out, and his eyes darted between Techno and Dream as though he didn’t know who to fear more.

Techno could comfort Tommy later: right now, Dream was going to pay. He tensed, bracing to rear up and throw a punch when a hand grabbed him. Techno whipped his head around.  

Wilbur’s eyes met his, steady as the hand clamped around Techno’s wrist.

“It’ll only make it worse, Tech,” He said, voice hushed, but unafraid. 

Unfortunately, Techno happened to be an angry and rather violently-inclined tiger hybrid, and he snarled in his brother’s face before he could stop himself. 

Wilbur raised a critical eyebrow, taking it without flinching. 

Techno knew his brother was right, but it didn’t make him less upset that Dream had dared to target Tommy. 

Rationally, Technoblade getting riled up was probably exactly what Dream wanted. It had worked on him far too many times, and he could practically hear the wheezing laughter that would follow any hit Technoblade landed. 

Relenting, he dropped his hands to his side, and Wilbur relaxed.

“Aww,” Dream taunted from the car, breaking the tension. "Looks like you're on a tight leash, Tech."

Techno bristled, clenching his jaw. 

“It’s the only thing keeping your teeth from being knocked in, so I wouldn’t get too cocky,” he growled out. Dream sneered again, lips twisting in that particularly punchable way they always did. 

“You’re not as fun anymore, Tech. I liked you better before all those anger management lessons,” Dream jeered. 

Wilbur jumped into the conversation, clearly trying to prevent the situation from escalating further. 

“Get lost, Dream. And don’t you dare show your face around Tommy ever again.”

Tech had to give it to Wilbur–he could be a little threatening when he committed himself to the role. 

Not much, but the effort was there.

Dream shrugged, disinterested. 

“It was nice to meet you, Tommy. I’ll see you around,” he said, eyes sliding shiftily to the space above Techno’s shoulder, where the younger kid was standing. 

Techno’s patience snapped. His hand shot through the open window, grabbing Dream by the neck of his hoodie. He yanked hard, pulling Dream’s face close to his.

“Get. Lost.” Techno growled through gritted teeth.

Dream’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, a small victory.

“I’m going, jeez,” he muttered. Techno grudgingly withdrew his hand, and the car rolled away. 

Techno stared after it, as though Dream might suddenly turn around, but the car only turned so it could exit the lot. 

He turned back to Tommy. Wilbur was already at the kid’s side, asking if Tommy was hurt. 

“I’m fine, he didn’t do anything,” Tommy insisted.

“What did he want?” Techno growled, and it came out more aggressive then he’d meant it to. 

“He didn’t want anything,” Tommy shrugged, averting his eyes. WIlbur shot Techno with a sharp, disapproving glare. 

“It’s okay.” Wilbur started again, voice even softer. “You don’t have to tell us about it, just know that you can. We know Dream pretty well, he’s pretty much the biggest asshole anyone’s ever met. If you need us, we’re here,” 

Techno realized that he maybe hadn’t handled this whole situation in a very delicate way. 

He looked over Tommy again, more thoroughly this time. 

The boy looked terrified, each breath laborious. His right wrist had a red mark on it from how tight Dream had been gripping him, but he did seem otherwise unhurt, just shaken. 

Tech was grateful for that, at least. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if the boy had gotten a beating on his first day, and Techno hadn’t been there to protect him.  

Techno had told Tommy to text him. He’d told the kid he was there if he needed him.

And then he hadn’t been. 

Why hadn’t Tommy just texted him?

He wished he and Wilbur had come sooner, but at least they’d made it there in time to get Dream to leave.

Techno shuddered to think of what could have happened if they hadn’t shown up. 

Tommy wrapped his arms around himself, looking smaller than ever. Techno felt the anger still rushing through him start to fade to the background, concern taking its place. 

He softened his tone as much as he could, crouching down before Tommy, so Techno was looking up at the kid instead of the other way around. 

“You okay, Tommy? I’m really sorry if I scared you,” He tried to explain, trying to seem calm. He turned to Wilbur briefly. “You too, Wilbur. I’m sorry I took it out on you,” He turned back to Tommy, who was watching his every move carefully. He turned back to Tommy. “I was really, really pissed at Dream, but not at you or Wilbur, do you understand?”

“I'm fine,” Tommy nodded, but his eyes were still glossy with shock. 

Techno opened his mouth to point out that wasn’t really what he’d been asking. Instead, he watched helplessly as Tommy’s gaze fluttered down to his teeth, and the boy flinched. 

Techno closed his mouth immediately, rising to his feet and stepping away.

Dream was a lion, and Techno was a tiger. They had the same sharp teeth, same round ears, same burning itch to fight . 

It had been hard enough for Techno to convince himself he was different– better –then Dream.

He wasn’t sure how to go about convincing someone else. 

Wilbur seemed to notice the exchange, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

“Alright, let’s head back to the house,” Wilbur suggested, motioning to the car. “Phil’s probably getting worried,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Tommy asks as they all slide into the car. Techno sends Wilbur another glance, but Wilbur’s expression is guarded. 

“We don’t have to, if you feel strongly about it. But I don’t think Dream is good news, and it certainly won’t hurt to have Phil know what’s going on,” 

“I…don't want him to know,” Tommy admitted. Wilbur turned around in the passenger seat. Techno glanced in the rearview mirror.

“He won’t be mad, Tommy,” Wilbur told the boy. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Tommy grimaced, looking in that moment like he’d rather be talking to Dream again then be seated in the backseat of the twin’s car.

“I don't want him to pull me out of school,” the kid muttered. 

And, well, Techno didn’t know what to say to that. 

Frankly, he thought taking Tommy out of school for a week or so sounded like a great solution, and he knew Phil didn’t truly think the kid was ready either. 

Then again, Techno had to admit Tommy had handled today better than he would have predicted. 

The kid was clearly afraid, but there hadn’t been a panic attack, and Tommy seemed to be lost in his own head more than anything else. The haunted look in his eyes—vacant and hollow—was the only visible proof that the kid wasn’t unscathed.

Strangely, Tommy had a more panicked reaction to dropping a bowl then being (almost certainly) threatened by a lion hybrid. 

“If that’s what you want, okay,” Techno said softly, his voice firm but hopefully not harsh.

The light was red, and he took the chance to turn in his seat, fixing Tommy with a steady look. 

“But if Dream approaches you again, we have to. I know he’ll take your side, no matter what, so you don’t need to worry. I just want him to know what’s going on if things get any worse.”

When Tommy finally nodded agreement after a long hesitation, Techno glanced at Wilbur, who nodded subtly, his own expression guarded but not seeming to have an issue with the plan.

Techno fidgeted with the steering wheel in his grip, drumming his fingers anxiously against the leather. He kept an eye on Tommy through the rearview mirror. His thoughts were heavy as he watched the boy, all three of them weighed down by the day’s drama and worry. 

Wilbur was noticeably upset as well, his hands clenched tightly in his lap and trembling slightly. 

Nobody said a word the rest of the way home.

Notes:

Techno and Wilbur to the rescue <3

Might be a bit longer until the next chapter because I gotta rework the next part, it's like an unorganized mess rn LOL.

I wanted to merge it with this one but i couldn't leave you guys on a cliff hanger for too long so here's this and if the next chapter is like a weird length that's not my fault.

Chapter 17: I see the future and the past (i feel the present caving in)

Summary:

Title is from Open Season by the High Highs.

ur welcome for the food. eat up this chapter is loong.

Techno pulled into the driveway, and still Tommy hadn’t moved or spoked. He turned off the engine, the hum fading into a thick, swallowing silence. 

Techno glanced at Wilbur, who had already unbuckled his seatbelt and was watching Tommy closely as well, looking as concerned as Techno felt. 

The kid’s face was blank, his eyes distant, staring out the window as if seeing nothing at all.

There was something unnerving about the stillness, and the way Tommy’s hands trembled against his legs spoke of a deep, quiet sort of distress. Clearly, the kid was trapped in his own head, frozen in time.

Like a broken clock, caught between moments, only noticeable due to its absence of noise. 

What had Dream said to him to evoke such an odd, withdrawn reaction? 

“You good, kid?” Wilbur asked gently, but Tommy didn’t react. He just continued staring out the window, his jaw set, his expression unreadable. Still silent, still drowning with no water in sight.

Techno’s heart sank, words feeling useless in a moment like this. His throat tightened with helplessness. He wanted to reach out, pull Tommy out of whatever dark place he’d retreated to, but he knew better than that. Tommy hated being touched. 

He turned to Wilbur, who shrugged helplessly, eyes wide and worried. Techno brought his gaze back to Tommy, analyzing the way his eyes stared unfocused, distant, as if the world outside the car wasn’t even registering.

A trauma response, maybe? Or was it just the shock and adrenaline wearing off?

“Tommy?” Techno tried, louder than Wilbur had. Tommy flinched, blinking in surprise like he’d forgotten the twins were there. 

“Ready to go inside?” Wilbur asked, gently. 

“Uh-Yeah, yeah,” Tommy mumbled. His eyes flicked to the door, brow furrowed, and Techno wondered if he’d been aware they’d parked. 

They entered the house, Tommy trailing like a shadow in their wake, hardly present until you looked for him.

Phil was waiting for them, his usual easy-going demeanor vanishing as soon as his eyes landed on Tommy. The kid’s mental state was woven into his body language, his gaze still haunted as it drifted about. 

“How was your day, Tommy?” Phil asked, tone edged with caution. Tommy’s gaze flickered over the man briefly, then shifted away once more. 

He stuttered out something unintelligible, which only made Phil press harder, asking about his classes, how they’d gone. Each of Tommy’s responses were quiet, mumbled—half-answers that lacked any real substance. The more Phil asked, the more Tommy withdrew, his face pulling tight in a way that screamed he’d rather be anywhere other than their kitchen.

Finally, Phil sighed, giving up for the moment. Tommy hardly looked up as he excused himself, muttering something about showering.

Phil prevented Techno and Wilbur from escaping with a simple yet effective look, a unique ability only Phil possessed. It wasn’t accusatory so much as it was serious, and everything about it screamed that the two were about to be thrown into a long, investigative conversation. 

Techno had hoped to avoid this, but it was clear now that silence wasn’t going to cut it.

How had he ever thought Phil wouldn’t know?

“Alright, tell me what happened,” Phil asked the moment they heard the shower running, his voice low and measured. 

Techno sent a warning glance at Wilbur, who was generally the weaker link when it came to these conversations. All he got back was an eye roll. 

“He’s fine, Dad,” Wilbur assured Phil, shrugging as though that would somehow be enough. Phil only grew more concerned. 

“I think it’s very clear he’s not,” Phil retorted immediately. 

The older man’s gaze was fixed on Wilbur, and Techno silently pitied his brother. He knew the strength of that withering, questioning stare. Lying to Phil was never fun.

Phil’s suspicion was tangible, thickening the air and prickling over Techno’s skin. 

Wilbur, predictably, was the first to cave. 

“Tommy asked us not to tell you,” he blurted. Techno sighed, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. 

Phil’s expression didn’t change, but his silence was deafening. He waited.

Finally, Wilbur sighed. “He didn’t say exactly what happened, but he’s fine. He just—” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words, and frustrated by their lack of existence.

Phil's gaze sharpened. “Is he hurt?”

“No,” Wilbur answered quickly, at least that was one thing they were mostly sure of.

Phil’s eyes flicked to Techno. “Is there anything I need to know?”

Yes. Everything. Techno felt a wave of frustration that nearly choked him. But they’d made Tommy a promise, and that meant something. They couldn’t break it—not now, no way. 

He kept his voice even, despite the gnawing sense of responsibility. “No, not right now. I’ll keep an’ eye on him. He’s gonna be fine.”

Phil didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded slowly, as if weighing the words before accepting them.

Techno meant what he said, and Phil knew that. He was determined to protect his foster brother, any means necessary. He’d learn Tommy’s schedule. He’d watch Dream, maybe have his friends help him keep an eye out. 

He could fix this without Phil ever needing to know, and without Tommy being further traumatized. 

God, he just wanted Tommy to be okay. 

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, the weight a solid comfort.

“If what you say is true, and it’s what he wants, then there’s nothing we can do.” He exhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of the situation. “I’ve got work to do before dinner, and I assume you two do as well?”

Begrudgingly, Techno nodded. Phil was right–they couldn’t do much for Tommy, yet . 

His jaw tightened as his mind raced with frustration and anger. He wasn’t about to sit idly by while Tommy suffered, he couldn’t .

He didn’t know what had been said, but Dream had done something , and that asshole wouldn’t walk away without repercussions if Techno had any say in the matter.

Phil studied him for a moment, like he was reading Tech’s mind, before the hand on his shoulder tightened in a silent warning. 

“Tech, whatever you’re thinking, it’s a bad idea.” Phil’s voice dropped low, his eyes meeting Techno’s with a sharp, steady gaze. “I know that look. I’ve seen it before. Whatever it is...I want you to think about what the consequences will be.”

Phil knew him too well, and had seen what Techno was capable of when he let his anger take over. When he only stared back with stubborn defiance, Phil grew more stern. “I’m serious,” Phil pressed, his voice firm now, a warning. They’d had this conversation before. “I know you probably want to help Tommy, but violence can’t be the only way.” 

Bold words from Phil, without knowing the situation. Personally, Techno thought violence would be a fantastic solution. 

However, he’d had enough of those stupid lessons to learn that it was his anger speaking, not reason.

Techno thought about what Phil was saying, and he grudgingly acknowledged there was merit to the words. 

He had no way to guarantee that Dream wouldn’t go after Tommy twicefold if Techno hunted him down now. 

He’d also already been threatened with expulsion. Techno had been suspended one too many times for fighting, and he didn’t want to risk that.

Not to mention, Techno had no proof of Tommy's conversation with Dream, and didn’t even know what was said during it. If Tommy was telling the truth about not being hurt, Techno really shouldn’t be the first one to resort to violence, as much as he might want to. 

He wouldn’t let Dream off the hook, but Phil had a good point: he had to be smart about this. 

“You’re right,” Techno admitted. “I won’t do anything stupid,” He promised. Instead of Dream, he supposed he could beat the punching bag in the basement into a pulp.

“Good,” Phil murmured. 

Besides, Techno couldn’t forget Tommy’s fear of him, when the kid had come eye-to-eye with his teeth.

It had made one thing abundantly clear: fighting in front of Tommy wouldn’t make the kid feel more safe.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to hold it in, or take it out in other ways, Techno knew this anger wouldn’t just go away. 

It would simmer, just under the surface, patiently waiting. 

If Dream tried something else, it would rise up, and there would be no holding it back.

Of that much, Techno was certain. 

 

************

 

Tommy let the scalding water pour over his head, reveling in the way it rushed down his neck and back. 

The heat was unbearable, the kind that reddened his skin, but it was a welcome distraction: the physical discomfort served as a brief break from the torrent of thoughts trying to drown him. 

His body, unfortunately, acclimated, and the water’s heat faded to a dull throb against his skin. It was no longer enough to block out the spiraling thoughts, the unrelenting whir of his brain.

He let himself sink to the floor, his back pressed against cold porcelain, knees drawn tightly to his chest.

And there he sat—thinking. Thinking more. Thinking endlessly .

Words floated through his mind, bathing in steam alongside him.

“I know you’re a shapeshifter.”  

It wasn’t just the words themselves that made Tommy's blood cold, terrifying as they were. 

They were upsetting, obviously. But they didn’t deserve this deep contemplation–if that was all there was to the story, it wasn’t that terrible of a situation. 

So no, it wasn’t just the words. It was mostly the way Dream said them. As if he knew even more, and that was just the beginning. As though he planned to unravel the pieces of Tommy’s tenuous existence, one terrifying revelation at a time, despite how his life was already paper thin and precariously built, one blow away from falling apart.

Dream knew his secret, without having seen him transform or being told by a social worker like the Watson’s had been. 

He’d found it out entirely on his own, somehow, despite how it shouldn’t be possible.

And if Dream knew something that big, and had found out so easily…what else might he know?

Which of the countless skeletons tucked away in Tommy’s closet might be uncovered next, and then get dragged into the light? 

Tommy didn’t think he’d ever really had control over anything. Outside forces had thrown him from house to house carelessly. They’d toyed with his abilities and used them against him. He’d been shunned, neglected, and abused till he gave in and let the universe play its cruel game with him. 

But this… this was something new. 

Tommy ached to take control over the situation, but he couldn’t . How was he supposed to fight someone who already had him in a chokehold? How could he run, when he had no clue how much Dream knew, or what he planned to do?

Tommy’s entire life–every secret, every mistake, every weakness–those moments worked their way through his mind as he tried to uncover what might have been discovered, dissected and weaponized.

Tommy could handle being exposed as a shapeshifter, though it wouldn’t be easy. But if Dream knew more, or if he somehow learned more…

It wouldn’t end well. None of this would possibly end well. 

His world had been flipped upside down in a matter of minutes. He didn't really know who Dream was, but the older boy had somehow attached strings to Tommy’s limbs like a marionette doll. 

For all that Tommy had been through, he wasn’t sure he could keep up with whatever game Dream was playing. 

Exhausted by the hopelessness of it all, he tilted his head back against the tile of the shower wall, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

His fingers were pruny, and he knew he’d already been in the shower for far too long, but he couldn’t make himself leave the comfort of warm water behind.

Unfortunately, this meant he remained alone, unable to stop his thoughts as they grew darker.

Tommy knew he had a habit of zoning out, of losing minutes and hours. 

He’d stare blankly at walls or into the dark, either reliving the past or retreating somewhere deep in his own skull, into silence. He’d travel from place to place without knowing how he got there, like he’d just teleported. 

But those empty moments weren’t true thinking —more like existing without processing. No understanding, no reflection. Just empty space, a hollow shell. 

His mind was a void, and it had always been easier that way.

He had never had time to think. His whole life had been a blur of running, fighting, surviving. He’d lived his entire life in a state of near-constant danger, running from house to house, chased by pain, weighed down by fear. 

He’d never had the luxury of contemplation.

Even when he had time, Tommy usually lacked the headspace . There were always injuries and distractions. It had been years since he felt safe enough to fully relax, and apparently it was hard to contemplate life when you were sleeping in a dark alley, unsure when your next meal would be, scared for your life. 

He had never really thought about the meaning of it all: his mindset prioritized survival and had never really thought about why he bothered clinging to such an empty life. 

Tommy wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t planning to kill himself. 

But he also…didn’t fear death, at least not as much as he feared life. He knew death would come, and he’d braced for it so many times it felt like he no longer avoided it, but bought himself a little more time. It was a shadow trailing him that he’d eventually made peace with. 

When the end inevitably arrived, it didn’t seem like it would be the worst thing. Surely he’d been through worse then whatever awaited on the other side.

He thought that death would probably give him a sort of relief, a finish line that would declare the struggle was over.

He wasn’t going to rush there, though. He sort of viewed it as quitting, to take his own life. That was the easy way out, and nothing was ever easy for him. 

Besides, killing himself now would be an unsatisfying ending to his pitiful life. 

To survive all the shit he had, only to die by his own hand? 

How pathetic .

It wouldn’t be right. 

It wasn’t like people wouldn’t understand. He knew he had trauma, his folder was probably an encyclopedia on the meaning of the word. 

Everyone had already written Tommy off as "troubled," and he understood quite well that he was damaged goods. 

People had always seen him as a liability just waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb. 

Not a soul would be surprised if he snapped one day. Not even him. 

Honestly, Tommy didn’t have anything to live for, so he didn’t know why he even dared to cling to life. It certainly had never been kind to him. 

Now that he was in a place where he had safety, where he had food and warmth, he realized he’d spent so long surviving that he was at an utter loss of what to do while he was, simply put, alive. 

What a funny thing, being alive. 

Sure, Tommy moved, breathed, ate and talked. 

But he didn’t really feel alive . 

More like a ghost, drifting a little above everyone else, tethered to the world only because it wouldn’t be kind enough to let him float away.

At some point, his brain had given up on driving, letting instinct and habit rule over him instead.

Even these thoughts, foggy from steam and louder than the rush of water, felt foreign. They were strangely, unsettlingly, new. 

Morbidly, he found himself wishing someone would hurt him, so he could focus on the injury and not the absence of life within his life.

However, Tommy was, like usual, shit out of luck. He was starting to get strangely confident that Phil had no intentions of hurting him. The man seemed passive in his parenting, but not neglectful. How much he cared was obvious enough, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still a threat. 

You didn’t have to be angry to hurt someone, and a great deal of Tommy's houses had cared about him. It had always been surface-level, conditional. They only cared because of the shapeshifting. 

One house had fostered him because they believed he would entertain their young, spoiled son, a full time babysitter who could turn into any pet. 

He hadn’t minded obeying their wishes, at first. 

He’d been younger, then, and he’d still had love for his ability. When he transformed, his shifted forms were adolescent animals. He hadn’t been dangerous, and he hadn’t looked like he was.

He’d been a cat, a parrot, a horse. Anything the kid wanted, he gave. The boy wasn’t always gentle, but he wasn’t intentionally cruel. 

Sure, it was annoying sometimes. He was constantly tired and hungry, as shifting forms always sapped so much energy. He didn’t talk much, since he was rarely human. Overall, it had been an acceptable price to pay in exchange for a “safe” house. 

Even when he was younger, he’d recognized that house was better then whatever the next one would be. He hadn’t wanted to be kicked out. 

So he truly hadn’t intended to do what he’d done.

The downfall had come when he’d gotten the flu. 

Feverishly, he’d tried his best to push through, to do what his foster family wanted. He’d been practically delirious with a fever, and it had been hard to concentrate enough to shift. 

Tommy managed to change into a dog, though it took everything he had. The boy was overjoyed, and finally stopped yelling at him in the way that only spoiled kids could.

He couldn’t remember how old the boy had been. Six, maybe. He’d grabbed Tommy’s ear and yanked, wanting to play. It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, this accidental abuse. 

He’d never blamed the boy. He was young, and his shitty parents had never taught him better. That wasn’t the kids fault, and Tommy had never wanted to hurt him. 

But through the fever and the confusion, the sharp tug on his ear awakened a primal instinct in Tommy that had previously lain dormant. 

The next thing Tommy knew his jaws were clamped around the boy’s arm, and teeth had pierced flesh. He could still remember the way blood had pooled in his mouth, dripping to the floor, staining his fur crimson.

It was the first time Tommy had drawn someone’s blood with his teeth, the first time the monstrous side of him had bared its fangs.

It wasn’t the last.

The sickening, coppery taste had processed a moment after he’d bitten, at the same time that the boy screamed. Tommy had snapped back into human so fast it had hurt, out of some mix of feverish confusion, disgust, and horror.

The boy's parents had come running. By the time they got there, Tommy was already throwing up, chest heaving as he gagged at the taste. He'd emptied his stomach on the floor and kept on choking and gagging as they punished him.

Tommy had been kicked in the gut, then kicked to the curb. 

Call your social worker , they’d told him as they slammed the door in his face. We don’t want you anymore. 

Later, he’d found out from Sam that the boy had needed 18 stitches.

That incident had marked him as Troubled in the system. It marked him as dangerous, unpredictable. It sealed his fate: he might as well have been a rabid animal, the way houses started to treat him. 

Just thinking about the memory unsettled him. He stared at his hands numbly, hardly able to feel the water rushing over him. 

His thoughts drifted to his foster brother. Techno had been labeled troubled and dangerous too, Tommy recalled. For a moment, he wondered what Tech had done, before remembering the scene with Dream. 

He didn’t think it would take much for the system to decide that Techno was volatile, when he looked like that.

Techno’s aggressive stance, the way he’d lifted his arms into practiced position, each hand curled into fists. How he’d sunk so naturally into the pose, like it was muscle memory. 

Fury had been so evident in his eyes, burning with rage. Tommy recalled the sharpness of Techno’s teeth, pointed enough to pierce skin, long enough to reach bone.

He thought of the way Techno had snarled at Wilbur. The teen had lost control, let the anger take hold, and lashed out at the world, without regard for who was friend and who was foe. 

Tommy was all too familiar with that sort of anger; he’d felt it often when he was younger. Emotions that strong had gotten Tommy into just as much trouble as it got him out of. 

Ultimately that fury had faded as he’d grown older, its place stolen by fear as the weight of living piled itself upon his shoulders.

He missed that anger, sometimes. 

But he also feared it.

Notes:

Wake up babe some lovely Tommy trauma just dropped. Dw there’s much more to come…

Chapter 18: we don't own our heavens now (we only own our hell)

Summary:

Title is from Buy The Stars by MARINA

Tommy awoke to a knock on his door. 

He blinked, disoriented, his room dark now that the sun had set. He wasn’t sure how long he'd been asleep since his shower.

He groggily pushed himself to his feet and opened the door. 

Phil was waiting behind it patiently, a soft smile on his lips, like usual. 

“Hey mate,” He said. “Dinner’s almost ready, if you’re hungry.” 

Tommy hadn’t thought he was, but as soon as Phil mentioned food, his stomach made its presence known, growling in protest. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he'd eaten anything substantial. 

Breakfast that morning felt like years ago. 

“Okay, thanks,” He answered, and followed Phil to the kitchen. 

Techno was already at the counter, scooping potatoes onto plates, while Wilbur was setting cutlery and glasses on the dining table and humming along to some song that was playing from a speaker in the kitchen. 

It was the first meal they hadn’t eaten at the kitchen island, and Tommy wondered absently if there was a reason. 

Had the twins told Phil? He hoped not.

A steaming plate was practically pushed into his hands, and they all sat down before he even looked at the meal. Steak, potatoes, a caesar salad. Was this a special occasion? Was it someone’s birthday?

He glanced nervously around the table. Sometimes families had rituals, like saying Grace before starting to eat. He didn’t want to do something wrong.

But Techno was already shoveling food into his mouth, and Wilbur was about to take a bite. Not to mention this family had never seemed particularly religious. 

“These are great, Dad,” Wilbur said as he ate a potato, and Phil smiled proudly.

“Thanks, but Tech made them. I think they’re pretty good too.”

Techno hummed a quiet agreement. 

“They suck, Techno,” Wilbur said with a scowl, changing his mind the moment his brother’s name was mentioned.

This family was so fucking weird.

“You suck,” Techno shot back, mouth full of potatoes. 

“Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full. I hope you choke,” Wilbur threatened. Techno grinned wider, showing off a–frankly disgusting–mouth full of potatoes. 

“Ow!! Dad, he kicked me!” Wilbur screeched, jerking forwards in his chair as he attempted to get revenge on Techno’s shins. 

The whole table shook as they played aggressive footsies under it. 

“Boys, stop it,” Phil sighed.

Wilbur stuck his tongue out at Techno.

Techno flipped him off. 

Tommy just…sat there. 

He was pretty sure this behavior should be studied in a lab for some sort of degenerative brain disease or something, but at least it was funny.

He stopped watching the twins and looked back at his untouched plate.

Surely he’d waited long enough? With a careful glance up, he dug in. He scarfed down the potatoes and salad, finding them to be delicious . 

But the steak?

Tommy didn’t want to look at it. 

He couldn’t .

It wasn’t that it didn’t look good–it did: well cooked, properly seasoned. 

But steak had a more bloody component to it then most meat, a dark juice that he knew wasn’t blood, but looked like it. 

It was pooling just slightly on the corner of his plate, dark crimson. 

He shuddered just looking at it. 

As though Phil somehow sensed his trepidation, the man called out to him.

“Tommy, have some steak,” Phil said, not unkindly, his voice gentle, like he was offering something that could help. “The protein’s good for you.”

Tommy hesitated. It wasn’t an order, he could probably refuse. 

But he didn’t want to make a scene, and he wanted to please Phil. He wanted to prove he could be normal .

Tentatively, Tommy cut a small piece, shoving it into his mouth before he could back down. 

The flesh-like texture met his teeth, and seasoned juice filled his mouth. 

Teeth sinking into skin.

His stomach twisted immediately, and he had to refrain from gagging. 

Blood filling his mouth, a sharp, metal taste to it.

He tried to breathe through his nose, to get himself through it. 

Ripping flesh apart, inflicting as much pain as he could. 

It didn’t work.

The screams of a child. The yelp of a dog. The bloodthirsty excitement of his instincts.

His mouth turned sour, and he choked as he struggled to swallow. 

The cheering of an audience, ecstatic at the gruesome violence. 

He shoved his chair back, knocking it to the floor with a loud crash. His legs moved before his brain could catch up, and he was stumbling haphazardly to the bathroom as fast as he could.

He hardly made it in time before he vomited.

He heaved over the toilet, choking and gagging. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, the scent of it thick in his nostrils. 

Memories loomed above him like rain clouds, sounds and sensations that flooded his senses and swirled in his gut. 

When there was nothing left to puke up, he became aware of the three other people in the bathroom. No one was touching him, but they stood there anxiously, Phil saying something in a low, calming tone. 

“I’m sorry, Tommy. I shouldn’t have pushed you to eat it. I’ll make you something else, alright? It’s okay, get it all out.” 

Tommy hated this. He hated that they’d all witnessed his reaction, that he hadn’t been tough enough to hide it. 

It was just a piece of meat. It wasn’t alive, it wasn’t in pain. 

There was no blood, no violence. 

But it felt like it. Too similar to what he’d done. Too familiar to all those times...

He gagged again.

Phil reached around him slowly, flushing the toilet. Techno passed him a wet cloth, and Tommy wiped his mouth with it, hands trembling. Wilbur handed him a glass of water, and he gulped it down greedily, desperate to drown out the taste that still clung to his tongue.. 

All four of them stayed in the bathroom as their dinner grew cold. 

It meant something, their presence, and he hated that it did. He hated that he was grateful to them for it, that their kindness reached some soft part of his heart that nobody else ever had. 

When his stomach felt settled enough for him to stand, he avoided eye contact with all of them.

He had no words to thank them with, nor to explain himself. 

He couldn’t describe the experiences that had led him to this point. 

It was all too dark, too convoluted, too painful to even think about. 

He’d been a monster, a weapon, a violent, rabid creature. He’d done unspeakable things and at a point in time had been so numb to the horror of it that he hadn’t even cared . 

He cared now, though. He cared enough that he couldn’t swallow down a single piece of steak. 

Wordlessly, he stumbled out of the bathroom, the silence too suffocating, their concern too tangible. 

Phil followed him into the kitchen. 

“How does cereal sound, mate?” He asked, and Tommy nodded, still unable to formulate words.

His foster family hovered around until the cereal was in Tommy's hands. They seemed reluctant to return to the table, scared even. 

How ironic, the way the roles had reversed. They were timid now, not him. 

They would be so much more afraid if they had any idea what he’d done. 

In a morbid, selfish way, he wished they had read his file. He wished they could put the pieces together themselves, instead of looking at him expectantly for an explanation. He slunk away from their stares, returning to his seat. 

They followed him, trailing like shadows. They resumed their meal as he took halting spoonfuls of cereal. 

It was milk and corn, sugar and preservatives, but it still tasted bloody. 

Most things did. 

He only managed a few bites.

It wasn’t until everyone was finished eating that another word was spoken. 

“Are you feeling a bit better, Tommy?” Phil asked. 

Tommy swallowed, forcing his tongue to shape words, and struggling. 

He wasn’t feeling better. Not really. 

Honestly, he didn’t even know what being better felt like.

He’d probably never get better.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough and broken, irritatingly vulnerable.

“I’m sorry for pushing you. You never have to eat anything you don’t want to,” Phil continued. Tommy paused. 

It wasn’t the steak that was the problem. It was everything else. The remembering . It wasn’t Phil’s fault.

“It’s fine, it was good,” he said. Phil’s brow cinched together, clearly skeptical. “It just…reminded me of something,”

Phil nodded, slowly, and Tommy wondered if the man was replaying their conversation from the day before, putting two and two together.  

I bite, Tommy had said. 

He never should have said that. Phil probably wanted him out of the house. He probably hated Tommy now.

“I understand, and I'm sorry you had to relive a bad memory. I should have-”

Tommy cut him off, an unexpectedly bold decision that he didn’t have time to stop himself from making. 

“It’s fine. You couldn’t have known,” He said quickly. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He didn’t want to think about it any more. 

An awkward silence followed his words, and he knew he’d messed up. 

“Tommy, let’s have a chat in the living room, okay?” Phil said, and Tommy’s heart sank. He’d pushed the limits. Phil was probably going to get mad, maybe even call Sam. 

He was surprised how disappointed he was. For all that he’d been sure this house wasn’t going to work out, he’d come to sort of…like it here. Sure it was confusing, but he hadn’t been hurt. 

Stupid of him. The first rule of foster system survival: don’t get attached to anyone or anything.

He didn’t voice his distress. He just nodded. 

“Kids, maybe you can clear the table?” Phil asked, and Wilbur and Techno began to do so without the usual complaints Tommy had grown accustomed to hearing. 

Tommy followed Phil to the sofa, jittery with anxiety and weighed down with dread. 

When they were sitting, he looked at Phil expectantly. 

“So, I know you haven’t had much time to adjust, but I was wondering if you’ve ever been to therapy?” Phil asked. Tommy stared blankly at the man. 

There was more to this, right? He was going to say he didn’t want Tommy, or that his staying was only allowed if he went to therapy. 

Unsure what the right thing to do was, he told the truth, shaking his head. Phil didn’t seem surprised.

“Alright, that’s okay. Both Wilbur and Techno have been seeing one for years now, and they’ve both found it helpful,” When Tommy remained silent, he kept going. ”I can tell you’ve been through a lot, mate, and I can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be to have to deal with it all alone.”

Tommy knew what a therapist was, obviously. A younger him would have resisted the idea: he wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t suicidal. 

But he couldn’t deny that he was broken, and in desperate need of fixing. It wasn’t just his ability, it was also his mind, and his soul. 

So he didn’t necessarily resist the idea, as much as he didn’t understand how it would benefit him. 

“Why?” he asked. Phil looked puzzled.

“Tommy, have you ever heard of PTSD?” the man asked. 

“Isn’t that what soldiers have, when they come back from war? Tommy asked, frowning.

“Yes, often. But it’s not just soldiers. It can be the result of any sort of trauma. I’m not saying you have it, I’m no doctor. I’ve just seen a few symptoms, and I think it might help you to talk to a therapist. You can start to process some of what you’ve been through.”

“What if I don't want to talk about things?” he asked. He was relaxing more, the tension in him easing at the knowledge this conversation wasn’t about sending him away.

“Well, you don’t have to. But talking about things can help you process and move on from them. It can be painful, sometimes, to relive bad memories. But in the end, it helps you feel better.”

Tommy was pretty skeptical of this. 

As far as he was aware, reliving his memories tended to make him feel a hell of a lot worse.

He also found it unlikely he’d share anything, but he supposed he could go if it would make Phil happy.

“Okay,” he agreed plainly, more to end this conversation and get away than anything else. Phil’s face lit up. 

“Great! Tommy, I'm really proud of you. I know it’s not always an easy thing to agree to. I’ll make you an appointment, okay?” 

Tommy nodded sullenly, feeling a bit like he’d agreed without fully understanding the implications. 

“Tommy, do you want a hug?” Phil asked, and Tommy looked at him in surprise.

No, he was fine. He didn’t need…oh.

oh. 

There were tears rolling down his cheeks. He was crying, and he hadn’t even noticed.

When did that start? 

And now, how was Phil even able to offer something so kind as a hug? 

Wasn’t he mad at Tommy for what he’d done? Wasn’t he irritated that Tommy had ruined dinner, disgusted by Tommy’s actions?

Why didn’t he realize something was very, very wrong with Tommy, and know he should stay far, far away. 

He stared at Phil hesitantly, but the man’s arms were open, inviting. His wings were splayed out behind him, and Tommy thought about how it had felt to have them encircling him.

It was weird, how quickly he’d grown accustomed to the man, how the fear had eased to wariness, how he could find comfort in the arms of someone with so much potential to hurt him. 

He wanted that comfort again, though he knew he didn’t deserve it. 

Besides, Tommy shouldn’t need comforting, he’d always been strong enough on his own. 

He’d never had anyone to lean on before, and letting somebody in now seemed like a recipe for disaster. He didn’t want to rely on someone who would eventually leave. 

He wanted to be okay on his own.

But he wasn’t. 

So he indulged, and he hated himself for it.

Notes:

The trauma just keeps coming.

Poor Tommy :(

 

Also I love reading all of your comments, you guys are the absolute best and you make me so motivated to keep writing and updating <3

Chapter 19: why does the wall insist i have my back against it?

Summary:

Title is from Growing/Dying by The Backseat Lovers

Notes:

If anyone doesn’t know what pixy stixs are they’re like little straws filled with flavoured and dyed sugar. They’re pretty tasty but I would not recommend snorting them.

There was a week-long phase in my middle school where snorting pixy stix was like a thing?

I really don't know why. Middle schoolers are weird.

“Do you reckon I could snort a pixy stix?” 

“Tubbo, do not snort a pixy stix,” Ranbood chided, looking concerned. Although, the lanky teen always looked concerned. 

Tubbo was staring a little too hard at his candy, eying the sugar within the straw with curious calculation. 

There was a gleam in his eye that Tommy was learning to recognize.

“But Boo-”

“No. Remember when you tried to snort flour?” Ranboo said as he looked at Tubbo pointedly.

Tubbo just grinned, eyes sparkling with humor.

“...No.”

“You were sneezing for like three days!” Ranboo cried out in exasperation. 

Tommy just watched in mute horror as Tubbo poured some of the sugar out into a line on the cafeteria table. 

“Tubbo, NO–”

It was too late. Tubbo had already ducked his head, and when he pulled it up with a loud sniff, a large portion of the sugar was gone. 

“Ow,” Tubbo said, tears welling in his eyes. “Oh, ow , that hurt. Why’d you guys let me do that?”

“I tried to stop you,” Ranboo muttered mournfully, looking utterly helpless. 

Tubbo sneezed, scrunching up his face. 

“I kinda wanted to see what would happen,” Tommy admitted. 

Tubbo sneezed again. 

“This! This is what would happen!” Ranboo cried, face palming. 

Tubbo just laughed, and then the laugh turned into a sneeze. 

“Man, that does not feel right,” Tubbo muttered, face still scrunched weirdly, like he’d eaten something sour. Ranboo rolled his eyes as the boy sneezed again.

“Maybe you can get out of gym class?” Tommy offered, though he found it unlikely. 

“Nah, I tried that with the flour,” Tubbo said dejectedly, as though it was a heartbreaking fact. 

Tommy supposed it was.

Tubbo sneezed once more, this time right onto Ranboo’s face. 

“Ew.”

“Sorry, Big Man,” Tubbo laughed, not sounding very apologetic. 

Tommy laughed at Ranboo’s unimpressed expression.

He loved eating lunch with the two of them: it was certainly never boring.

Tommy had begun to see Tubbo and Ranboo as an escape. They distracted him from reality, and around them he felt almost…normal. 

They never pushed for information, and they didn't know he was a shapeshifter. 

He still didn’t know how Dream had known, but it didn’t seem like the blonde had shared that information with anyone else, at least not yet. 

It gave him little comfort, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

The bell rang to signify the end of lunch, and Tommy shoved his untouched sandwich into his backpack, probably squishing it. As he pulled the straps over his shoulders, he realized he hadn’t seen Dream once all day. 

Part of this could be that he hadn’t been alone. He’d been with Tubbo and Ranboo for most of the morning, who were nervous for him after what they thought had just been a close call.

He hadn’t told them about the parking lot. 

Techno, for some reason, had insisted on walking Tommy between his classes. Frankly, that was annoying, so Tommy managed to talk the older boy into only guiding him between the ones he didn’t share with Ranboo or Tubbo.

It was still a little much, if Tommy was being honest.

But he was grateful for it, because despite not understanding why Techno was trying to protect him, his presence seemed to be succeeding in keeping Dream away. 

Tubbo and Ranboo left him at the entrance to his math class, Ranboo waving goodbye as the lanky boy tried and failed to dodge another one of Tubbo’s sneezes. 

Tommy was still smiling as he sat down at his desk, thinking about his friends and the fading sounds of sneezing down the hallway. 

Then his teacher started talking about limits , and Tommy’s joy quickly faded as the lecture droned on, and on, and on. 

What the fuck was the point of something that didn’t exist half the time? 

He really hated math. 

Class was nearly over, but his longing stare at the clock seemed to be making these last minutes take an eternity to tick by.

He was itching for a break, and getting real tired of the stuck-up girl beside him. It wasn’t his fault his leg was bouncing, it did that on it’s own. It was practically a separate entity, there was no reason to send Tommy nasty glares. 

He raised his hand and asked to be excused to the restroom. He was desperate to get out of this classroom, if only for a moment. 

But as he walked out the door into the hallway, he hesitated for a moment. 

He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere alone…

He rolled his eyes at himself. Fuck that. 

Nothing was going to happen.

He was just going to the bathroom, he didn’t need anybody’s stupid protection .

He’d gotten through two whole days of school with no issues at all. Tommy had only seen Dream once, and he’d been busy talking to two other teens, one with brown hair and glasses, the other taller and with black hair and some sort of hybrid ears that Tommy hadn’t been able to place. 

How anyone would be friends with someone so psychotic was a mystery to Tommy, but whatever. 

These two uneventful days had certainly let Tommy relax, a rare opportunity that he’d been grateful to accept. He’d been doubtful at first, but it truly seemed like Techno had dealt with Dream and scared him off. 

And Tommy was still a little anxious, sure, but that was nothing new. At least he wasn’t checking over his shoulder every twenty seconds. 

He’d also grown marginally more comfortable at the Watson’s, which was an unexpected development. They hadn’t laid a finger on him, and other than the incident in the kitchen on his second day, there hadn’t even been yelling.

He couldn’t deny still got spooked when Techno transformed, but he was starting to get more used to seeing a tiger casually strolling around the house. In his defence, it was a terrifying sight, but he was nothing if not adaptable. 

Phil, it turned out, was pretty busy during the week. He’d been holed up in his office for most of the afternoons, letting the three teens play video games rather than do their homework. 

The night before, Techno and Wilbur had gone out with friends, so Tommy had just been…alone. 

Usually at houses he cherished any time that he was able to be left alone, but he’d found last night pretty boring. He’d missed the random, rambunctious energy of the house, usually from Wilbur. 

It was odd, he’d been so determined to hate this house, but he was starting to–

No. 

No, he wasn’t getting attached. He didn’t like it here. It was safe, and that was nice, but it wasn’t real . 

This was the ongoing conflict he’d been having the past few days, and he needed to stop the way he was thinking.

They were going to find out he couldn’t shift, and Tommy would leave, and that was that. 

No strings. 

Besides, he hadn’t even been with the Watsons for a week. It was far too soon to make any assumptions about anything.

Tommy was so lost in his thoughts he walked right into someone’s back. He managed to keep his balance as he stumbled back in surprise, taking in the neon green sweatshirt in front of him. 

He opened his mouth to apologize, only for…

Oh shit. 

Oh shit.

Tommy got ready to run, but a hand was on his arm before he could even blink. 

“Tommy, what are the chances?” Dream smirked. 

Honestly, the one time Techno wasn’t with him? Tommy couldn’t even call him since his phone was in his backpack. 

Not that he would’ve anyway. 

He’d let his guard down and given in to a false sense of security.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He glared up at Dream. 

“What do you want?” he spat. Dream cocked his head to the side.

“Are you afraid of me, Tommy?” 

Yes. 

“No,” Tommy said, as scornfully as he could. “You’re just a wrong-un with some weird obsession with me.”

Dream didn’t seem fazed by his accusation. 

See? A wrong-un.

“I'm not obsessed with you , I'm obsessed with what you are. C’mon, Tommy, show me what you can do.”

Tommy’s heart stopped. Like, cardiac arrest stopped. Someone should probably call him an ambulance.

“What? Who the hell do you think you are, you freak?” He stammered. After a moment, he added a few more completely valid reasons why he was not going to shift. 

“You know, that's against school policy. Also, I don’t like listening to people who look like walking highlighters–that’s you, by the way. And, you know, when’s the last time you brushed your hair? It’s lookin’ a little–”

His lovely speech got cut off by Dream wrenching his arm, practically throwing Tommy against the lockers. 

His back slammed against the metal with a sharp clang, and he winced more at the noise than the pain.

“I’m not going to ask again,” Dream growled, stepping closer. Tommy swallowed nervously, mostly because he didn’t truly know what Dream was capable of. 

He was starting to think he should have been more grateful for Techno’s hovering. 

And maybe kept his mouth shut…but he’d never been good at that. 

“Fuck you,” Tommy swore, flipping the teen off with both his hands. 

Dream’s cold, humourless eyes burrowed into Tommy. He hated that glare, sharp and determined. It looked too closely, saw too much.

“I can smell you, Tommy. I can smell that you're a shapeshifter, but you know what? It's a stale, dead scent. Tell me, when did you last shift?” Dream was grinning again, and Tommy’s heart was racing. 

Blood was roaring in his ears, the world fading away. 

So that was how Dream knew. By smell? When he’d had his powers, Tommy could smell what type of hybrids people were. But to smell it on him, who hadn’t shifted in so long…he was surprised it was possible.

“How long has it been? Months? My dad was a shapeshifter, I would know that scent from miles away, no matter how faded it is.” Dream laughed. What was this, some kind of villain speech?

Funnily enough, no one had ever taught Tommy to be kind. He latched onto the word was . 

There was emotion behind that, no matter how good Dream was at hiding it.

“Well, if he was anything like you, he must have been a fucking asshole. What’d he do, ditch you when he found out how terrible his son turned out?” Tommy continued, because he apparently didn’t have a single self-preserving bone in his body.

Dream’s eyes narrowed, anger palpable on his face, radiating off him in waves. 

“God, you might just be the most insufferable person i’ve ever met,” Dream growled, and then Dream was moving, too fast for Tommy to react in time. His whole body tensed as the familiar wave of fear and panic rushed through him, his thoughts scattering as survival instincts took over.

Dream’s fist collided with his jaw, quickly followed by a sharp knee to Tommy’s stomach, and it hurt enough that he felt himself fall to the ground. Dream really knew how to land a hit.

Ow. 

Tommy was getting pretty sick of this jerk. 

“I’ve been told that before, actually. But I can be way more annoying, in case you were wondering,” Tommy said from his totally intimidating position on the floor, where he was sprawled like a human carpet. 

Yeah, Dream was probably so afraid of Tommy and his unique ability to annoy the hell out of everyone who had the displeasure of knowing him.  

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Dream’’s words were enunciated with a hard kick to his face, and holy shit, that hurt . He pressed a hand to his nose, and found his fingers came away bright red with blood.

Blood on his hands, all over again. No, no, no.

His fingers shook as he stared at them in shock. It didn’t matter that it was his blood–it was just the sight of it. 

But this was not the time for memories, and Dream swiftly reminded him of that with another kick to his stomach, hard enough to jerk Tommy out of whatever frozen state he’d been in. 

Tommy tried to curl in, to protect himself, but Dream wasn’t having it. He suffered one more blow to the stomach before the bell announcing the end of the period rang. Dream rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by the timing. 

“Get up,” He snarled. Tommy scrambled to his feet, one hand holding his bloody nose. 

Fuck. He hadn’t meant to listen to this idiot’s orders. He’d just dealt with one too many assholes in his life, and obedience had somehow been beaten into him.

A door down the hallway opened, and the noise of students began to slowly rise around them.

Dream shook his head, lips curled in snarl, eyes boring into Tommy’s.

“What a waste of power,” Dream muttered. “You’re pathetic.” 

He turned, walking away like nothing had happened. Like Tommy's tentative understanding of the world hadn't just been shattered all over again.

Dream seemed completely unafraid to expose his back, blatantly assuming Tommy wouldn’t retaliate. 

Unfortunately, he was correct to assume so.

Tommy wouldn’t lift a finger, because Dream, despite all his flaws, had been right about one thing.

Tommy was pathetic.

Still holding his nose, Tommy shuffled back to his classroom, now empty of students. He grabbed his backpack from his desk, ignoring the concerned way his teacher’s eyes were tracking him. 

“Are you alright, Tommy?” She asked, just before he pushed through the door to go back to the bustling hallway.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not even turning to look at her. “Just a nosebleed.” 

She made a noise of concern, but he ignored it, using his unbloodied hand to turn the handle  and slip out the door. 

He scanned the hallway ahead of him. Dream was long gone, but there was Techno, pink hair easy to spot through the crowd as he walked towards him. 

Techno seemed to look right at him, and Tommy froze. Shoot, had he been spotted? He turned away quickly.

Tommy didn’t want to deal with whatever lecture he surely deserved. He also didn’t want to deal with his film class next period. 

He flipped the hood of his sweatshirt over his hair, ducking his head to keep out of sight, and made a beeline for the stairwell. 

Phil would probably kill him for this, and if he didn’t, Techno surely would. 

Tommy didn’t care. 

Notes:

Haha you thought it was gonna be fluff, didn’t you? Well too bad, I make the rules here hehehehe.

For real though, sorry for the whiplash, how's everyone’s neck feeling?

Chapter 20: holding the pain like you're holding your breath

Summary:

Title is from Long Way From Home by the Lumineers

“What do you mean, you lost Tommy?!” Wilbur shouted into the phone. Karl eyed him strangely for a moment, concern visible despite the way he was giggling with Quackity. 

They all had a free period, so at least he was able to be talking on the phone.

“He left his class without waiting for me! I saw him for one moment, and I know he saw me too, but he just walked away!” Techno said, exasperated. 

“Maybe he’s sick of this hovering? So he went to class without waiting for you?” Wilbur offered. Honestly, Wilbur wouldn’t blame the kid one bit. He’d probably jump out the window if Techno followed him everywhere he went.

“No, he’s not in his class, I checked. Besides, he was holding his nose and tilting his head, the way people do when they have a bloody nose. He was being kinda weird, all twitchy and anxious. I could see it from the other side of the hallway.”  

“He’s always twitchy and anxious, Tech. Maybe he just gets bloody noses?” Wilbur said, hoping the solution was that simple. He didn’t want to say it, but Techno seemed to be grasping at straws here. Wilbur was worried for his new foster brother, obviously, but this seemed like it could also easily be an overreaction.

“C’mon, Wil. Why would he run off?” Tech grumbled.

“I don’t know, maybe he just wanted space. Did you try calling him?” Wilbur asked. 

“Yeah, twice. He didn’t pick up. I texted him a bunch too. Are you with Schlatt?” Tech asked. 

“Yeah, why?” They’d all been using their free period to chat instead of study when Techno had called him.

“Can you get him to text Tubbo?” Techno said sharply, clearly annoyed Wilbur wasn’t taking this very seriously, or anticipating the plan Techno had in his head. 

Honestly, Wilbur wasn’t sure why everyone always treated him like the anxious one. Techno was just as unstable.

Wilbur poked Schlatt in the shoulder, getting his attention before asking. 

“Hey, can you ask Tubbo if he’s seen Tommy? We can’t find him,” Schaltt nodded, pulling out his phone. 

A few moments later, there was a reply. 

“He texted Tubbo and Ranboo that he went home early,” Schlatt said with a shrug. 

Now, that was a bit more concerning. 

“Tech, he told his friends he went home early,” Wilbur said to the phone. 

“How could he, we’re his ride?” Techno scoffed.

That was true, and it was a long walk home. 

“Maybe he called Dad?” Wilbur tried, though he doubted it. 

“Phil would have told us,” Techno muttered, and Wilbur could hear the worry in his voice, even over the phone.

“Look, Tech, I'm sure it's fine. It’s not like someone kidnapped him. If he told Tubbo he left, he probably just wanted to be alone.” 

He knew this wasn’t what Tech wanted to hear, but it felt logical. Wilbur understood: he’d skipped a number of classes because he just wanted to go sit in the music room with his thoughts. 

“Fine, but I don’t like this at all,” Techno finally sighed. 

“Me either, but just give him a bit of time, maybe he’ll text us.” Wilbur said softly. Techno snorted on the other side, like there was hardly a possibility of that. 

They ended the call, and Wilbur’s friends turned to him expectantly. 

“Is Tommy alright?” Quackity asked, worry painted across his features. 

“Uh–we don’t know where he is, but he’s probably fine.” Wilbur reassured him, at a loss for what else to say. Still, he appreciated his friends’ concern. They hadn’t even met the kid, but Wilbur knew they were itching to. 

Techno and Wilbur had been pushing their plans off for days, trying to give Tommy more time to settle. Honestly, he’d thought they’d get to meet Tommy sometime soon, since Tommy had been doing great the past two days. 

There hadn’t been any issues with Dream, and Tommy hadn’t had any panic attacks (that Wilbur knew of). There was no denying he was growing slightly more comfortable in the house. 

Of course, Tommy was still withdrawn and timid, and that was unlikely to change overnight. But he had undeniably been less afraid to leave his room or help himself to the fridge. Wilbur had begun to think things were getting better, at least. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Wilbur couldn’t focus on his work or his friend’s chatter, and when Techno came, he could tell his twin felt similarly. Even Schlatt’s jokes about Quackity and Karl’s suspiciously romantic behavior wasn’t enough to fully break Wilbur free of his concern.

Nearing the end of the free period, Techno sat upright, looking at his phone in surprise. He turned it around to show Wilbur the response he’d received. 

Tommy: sorry, didnt mean to worry u. Im all good 

The two brothers made eye contact. 

“I mean, I guess he’s fine?” Wilbur questioned, uncertain how to interpret it. He realized it was the first time Tommy had texted either of them, Wilbur didn’t know how to tell if Tommy seemed off or not. 

“Sure, but where is he?” Techno said, already typing furiously. Wilbur rolled his eyes and let it happen. In his mind, there wasn’t much they could do here. 

It wasn’t like the parking lot, where they hadn’t heard from Tommy at all. 

Tommy hadn’t said anything else by the time the bell rang, so Wilbur forced Techno to stop worrying about it. 

“Look, clearly he doesn’t want to be found. Just leave him alone till the end of the day, and then we’ll go find him. You shouldn’t be skipping classes right now, you’re on the brink of suspension,” Wilbur warned. 

Suspension was an understatement–Techno was on the brink of expulsion. However, Wilbur had suffered through a painfully long lecture from Phil just yesterday to stop putting salt on that particular wound. 

Techno rolled his eyes, finally relenting. 

“Fine,” he muttered. “You’re right.” 

“Oh, I love hearing you say that,” Wilbur said excitedly. “You should do it more!”

“If you were right more often, I would,” he grunted back. Wilbur gasped, putting his hand over his heart.

Techno smiled, and Wilbur was instantly relieved. A panicked, angry Technoblade was the last thing this situation needed, and he was grateful to see Techno’s demeanor changing. 

He flipped his brother the bird as a loving goodbye at the end of the hallway, each splitting off to go to their own class. If that idiot decided to freak out, at least it wasn’t Wilbur’s problem anymore. 

And while Techno might be off his hands, Tommy wasn’t. Wilbur had quickly developed a protective instinct for the younger kid, something that Techno had never needed from him. 

He pulled his phone out, sending a quick text to Tommy.

Just in case. 

Wilbur: Hey, hope ur alright. nobody's mad just so u know

Wilbur: if u need space, thats fine, just let us know when ur ready and we’ll pick u up :)

 

********

 

Tommy didn’t reply until the very end of the day, when Wilbur and Techno were already walking out to the car. 

They’d sort of run out of options, since they’d talked to Tubbo again and he’d told them he still hadn’t heard anything more from Tommy.

He’d also looked very confused about why they cared, clearly only thinking of them as his older brother’s friends. He must not have even known they were fostering Tommy, and neither Wilbur or Techno had been in the headspace to explain it. Their collective concern had only grown, and they were both more than a little freaked out about Tommy’s mysterious whereabouts. 

Wilbur’s relief at Tommy’s text was instantaneous. It didn’t say much, but it was all Techno needed to throw the car into drive and go. 

Tommy: im at the park behind the school 

Wilbur knew right where it was, it was only a few minutes walk.

“What the hell is he doing at a park?” Techno wondered aloud as they drove. 

“Beats me. Maybe he's reconnecting with nature?” Wilbur said, and Techno snorted.  Wilbur was just relieved their foster brother had finally replied. 

When they pulled up, they spotted his blonde head of curls immediately. 

He was sitting cross legged in the grass, and as they walked closer, Wilbur saw he wasn’t so incorrect about the whole reconnecting with nature thing–Tommy was cupping a squirrel in his hands like a fucking Disney princess. 

There was blood crusted under his nose, crimson splatters dried on the front of his shirt. Clearly, Techno had been right about the bloody nose. Wilbur should really learn to trust his brother more.

Tommy looked half feral, sitting there all bloody and holding a wild animal.

“What the fuck,” Techno whispered as he saw. Wilbur found himself too speechless to echo the sentiment.

“Hi guys,” Tommy said sheepishly when he saw them, all quiet and unsure. His eyes darted between them, clearly trying to assess if they were mad, as per usual. 

The squirrel, scared by the arrival of others, ran from Tommy’s hands and up to his shoulder, where it chittered at them. 

“I see you made a friend,” Wilbur said, laughing. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said solemnly, as though this wasn’t fucking insane and he wasn’t sitting in a park all bloody, playing with a squirrel instead of being in class. 

“Is everything okay?” Techno asked suspiciously, lowering himself down to the grass beside Tommy. Wilbur followed suit, a little annoyed because he was wearing his favorite jeans. 

He didn’t want grass stains, sue him! Oh, and the grass was damp. Ew, this was horrible.

“Yeah, I just…wanted to be alone. To think,” Tommy supplied, but though he said he was fine, the kid’s eyes told a different story entirely. 

Wilbur was starting to learn Tommy’s emotions were shown through his eyes, not his expression. The kid could make his face into a mask, but not his eyes. 

Those always told the truth.

“What happened, Tommy?” Wilbur asked, looking Tommy right in his hollow, defeated eyes. Tommy quickly averted his gaze, sighing. He reached into the paper bag beside him and fed the squirrel something.

Tommy’s lunch, Wilbur realized. He’d been befriending a squirrel with the sandwich Phil had made him. Why wasn’t Tommy eating his lunch? Wilbur had never thought to worry about it, but now he wasn’t sure why he’d assumed everything would be fine. 

After the situation at dinner a few days ago, Wilbure had been hyper-aware of Tommy’s appetite, unable to avoid noticing what he ate and what he didn’t. 

Wilbur understood food issues better than Techno or Phil. He’d hoarded and over-ate and struggled with just about everything that came alongside recovering from forced malnutrition. The foster system was shit, and while they all knew it, each of them had learned it differently. 

The suffering was consistent, but the lessons were unique.

But even for all of Wilbur’s experience with disordered eating, he didn’t have a clue what the deal was with Tommy. All he knew was that something was clearly wrong. Nobody threw up from a single bite of steak and didn’t have anything going on behind that. 

He shook away these thoughts–he’d dwelled on them for days already. He needed to focus on the moment in front of him. 

Tommy always moved cautiously, but he seemed extra careful with the animal in his hands, like it was made of fragile glass. His fingers were trembling, the scrap of bread pinched between them shaking ever so slightly as the squirrel took it from him.

When Tommy looked back over, Wilbur caught his eyes again, and Tommy finally accepted defeat with the lies, and answered his question directly.

“I…ran into Dream again,” Tommy admitted. Beside Wilbur, Techno tensed. Tommy glanced at him nervously. 

“He did that to your nose?” Techno asked, tone dripping with fury. Wilbur put his hand on Techno’s shoulder, but the teen shook it off angrily. 

“Hold on,” Techno said, standing up. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping furiously as he wandered a few meters away from where his brothers sat. Wilbur figured Dream was about to receive some very harsh language. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt again, Tommy. I wish we’d been there to stop it,” Wilbur said, but it wasn’t enough, it was never enough. 

Tommy shrugged. 

“It's fine,” he murmured, gaze fixed on the squirrel in his lap. 

“It’s not fine. Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Tommy hesitated for a moment. 

“He kicked my ribs, but not hard. I’m okay,” Wilbur took a deep breath. 

“Let me see,” Wilbur requested. Tommy quickly shook his head no, and that was how Wilbur knew it was bad.

Tommy, unfortunately, was not very good at saying no. He wouldn’t refuse unless there was something to hide. 

Wilbur wasn’t about to disrespect one of the few occasions the kid actually put his foot down over something. This trust was fragile, he wouldn’t risk shattering it.

Fury coursed through him, but he did his best to keep his expression neutral. Kicking a child, hard enough to leave a mark? He’d never hated anyone in his life as much as he hated Dream at this moment. 

He scanned Tommy's face anxiously, searching for any sign of pain, or even discomfort, but found nothing. It didn't convince him that the teen didn't feel any–he was sure Tommy was able to hide it. 

“I don’t understand. Why? What did he want?” Wilbur asked, as gently as he could manage. Tommy had refused to tell them before, but Wilbur needed to know, now. They had to find a way to stop this from happening a third time. 

Techno seemed to have reached Dream over the phone, and they could hear him shouting despite the distance. 

“IF YOU EVER COME NEAR HIM AGAIN I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!” 

Wilbur stifled a laugh. Tommy looked terrified, as usual. 

“Tech can get a bit protective,” he told Tommy, who raised an eyebrow in refute of the understatement. After a moment, the humor died, and he tentatively answered Wilbur’s question.

“He wanted–um, he wanted me to shift,” Tommy stuttered out, like it was hard to even speak of the concept. His eyes were wary, darting around WIlbur as though searching for a reaction he didn’t find. 

Wilbur hadn’t known what he’d been expecting, but it sure as hell hadn’t been… that . 

“How does he even know you’re a shapeshifter?” 

“He said he could smell me?” Tommy offered, shrugging. 

He didn’t know much about shapeshifters. Did they have a certain smell? Tommy didn’t smell funny to him , but maybe Techno would be able to clarify. Wilbur made a note to ask him later.

“What a freak,” Wilbur muttered, because honestly, who goes and says something like that? 

“That’s what I said,” Tommy laughed, a small smile on his face. Wilbur was glad to see it, even if it was a timid, fearful smile. 

A chilly breeze ruffled Wilburs hair, creeping down his sweatshirt and ticking his neck, and he shivered. 

“It’s cold out here. Let’s get you home, yeah?” He decided, and Tommy nodded gratefully at his words. He said bye to his squirrel friend, placing it delicately on the ground, then picked up his lunch and backpack. 

The squirrel looked up at him in offense, chittering angrily. 

And then Tommy–he chittered back.

Like a fucking squirrel . 

Holy shit. 

Maybe that was a shapeshifter thing, or maybe Tommy just spent a lot of time with squirrels. Either way, the younger boy clearly didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.

Techno couldn’t do that, could he? He certainly had never made a tiger noise while human. 

Wilbur would have asked about it, or at least made a joke, but Techno seemed to have finished threatening Dream, because he came over to them, still visibly seething with rage. 

Tommy flinched away from the anger, practically hiding behind Wilbur.

He sent a warning glare at his brother, because that stupid idiot was scaring the hell out of Tommy for no reason. 

He got glared back at, because Techno was far too angry to care. Wilbur couldn’t really blame him–he was angry too. He wished he could turn into a tiger and tear Dream to shreds, but he lacked that ability. 

He wasn’t about to one-v-one a lion, so he’d leave the fighting to Techno…but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to throat punch that bastard Dream as hard as he could. 

Wilbur might not have much strength, but nobody, nobody , fucked with his brothers and got away with it. 

He wasn’t worried, though. 

Wilbur could see the familiar curl of Techno’s fists, and he knew his brother well enough to see the unspoken promise of vengeance.

Notes:

lol guys if this chapter’s weird i’m sorry i was lowkey really high when I wrote it originally.
I went to edit it before i posted and it made literally no sense. Like you would not believe it. The fact i didn't scrap it entirely is shocking to me.

But now I guess Tommy can talk to squirrels in this universe? Unexpected development for everyone, including me.

also I thought this might be funny to you guys so here’s a few things I took out:

- Wilbur and Tech were back at lunch even though they had lunch the chapter before this??? What?? So i made it a free period lol idk.
- Techno’s story to Wilbur about how he lost Tommy involved Tommy pretending to follow him to the nurse and then running away? Which just…wasn’t true?
- There was like this big chunk about Tubbo not knowing Wilbur and Techno but he’s like fully met them and says that in a future chapter
- The squirrel bit Wilbur? He was literally being nice to it?
- Tommy had an insanely long conversation with the squirrel and they could understand each other and the whole thing was about Wilbur being a bitch. Once again Wilbur was being very kind???? And there was a serious conversation happening? whyyy
- There were like five more incredibly explicit lines of Techno yelling at Dream and just like generally being borderline insane? so those had to go. I left one cuz why not

Anyway yeah kinda a funky chapter. Hope you guys are excited for the next one bc techno is angryyyyy

 

User AjolotaSanta made this comparison and I can't unseen it...also sorry I don't know how to add images properly but I tried my best

TOMMY AS KRONK

 

Chapter 21: i'll bleed for you (i'll bear the bruise)

Summary:

Title is from Sweet Oblivion by David Kushner

 

TW: blood and violence.
aka: TW: dream getting his ass KICKED (no clickbait)

I recommend listening to intense music on full blast for this chapter, Fire_Kissed recommended the song Vicarious by TOOL if you're seeking inspiration :)

Techno had been to a lot of therapy for his anger. He’d learned a lot of strategies and distractions.

He was choosing to disregard all of those lessons. 

He’d held back last time Dream had talked to Tommy for a multitude of reasons, the main one being that Tommy hadn’t actually gotten hurt. 

Now it was different. The blood on Tommy’s shirt was begging for retribution just as loud as the thrumming rage boiling in Techno’s blood.

He was practically pacing while Wilbur and Tommy explained what happened to Phil. They didn’t go into detail on the first encounter, since all Tommy would admit about it was that Dream had known he was a shapeshifter. 

Then they explained the day’s events, describing how Dream had ordered Tommy to shift. 

God, it was all so fucked up. 

When the explanations were done, Techno wasted no time in grabbing his keys. Phil caught his arm just before he was out the door. 

“Whoa, slow down. C’mon Tech, is this really the best way to handle this?” Phil asked, and Techno hated that he was so predictable. He turned to face the man, trying to keep his anger out of his expression.

“Phil, he kicked him in the face!” he argued. 

Phil grimaced, like he knew he should say something else, and the tense moment hung in the air between them. Eventually, Phil relented. 

“Don’t overdo it,” was all he said, letting go. Techno scoffed. 

“No promises,” He muttered, and then he was out the door. 

He’d never been to Dream’s house before, but modern technology was a beautiful thing, and Snap Map led him straight there. 

Yes, Dream was stupid enough to have his location on. Did that psycho really have the balls to think, even for a moment, that he was safe within his own house?

Dream was lucky Techno wasn’t planning on burning the whole thing down. 

He could have just waited for Dream in the parking lot before school, but he wasn’t feeling particularly patient. Besides, Techno was one mistake away from expulsion, so he was on his all time best behavior. 

Not that this wasn’t worth getting expelled over. 

Fighting at Dream’s house wasn’t exactly smart, but he’d just have to hope Dream’s mom wasn’t at home to see them. Dream wouldn’t snitch. Probably. 

Techno pulled into Dream’s driveway, blocking half the sidewalk but not really caring. He stormed up to the front door and pointedly ignored the doorbell, choosing instead to bang mercilessly on the door with a curled fist.

“DREAM! YOU BETTER GET YOUR SORRY ASS OUT HERE!” He yelled. He kicked the door for emphasis, not because he wanted to incur property damage. Totally not. 

On the phone, Dream hadn’t been very apologetic. He also hadn’t really had much of a chance to talk, since the whole call had mostly been Techno screaming at him…

Whatever. They hadn’t resolved much through talking. 

That was okay. 

There were other ways to resolve things. 

Dream hardly had time to open the door before he was punched in the face. He staggered back in surprise, hand coming up to his cheek instinctively. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Dream muttered, glaring at Techno and rubbing his face to erase the sting. 

“Someone’s never going to wake up again,” Techno threatened, and even he could hear the fury evident in his voice. Dream seemed to realize exactly how angry Techno was, eyes widening with either excitement or surprise. 

A younger Technoblade might have thought it was fear, but he knew better by now. 

Dream had never feared him, and Techno found it unlikely he’d start today. He held Dream’s cold gaze as he stepped through the porch and closed the door behind him, clearly accepting that this was happening. 

Techno wasted no time before he threw another punch, which Dream was ready for this time. He dodged it easily, smile spreading. 

“That all you got?” he taunted, making Techno double down on his intent to cave the bastard’s face in. 

Techno switched tactics, driving his knee into the blonde’s stomach as hard as he could. Dream grunted, before he retaliated with a left hook that caught Techno by surprise, connecting hard with his eyebrow. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

He ignored it, punching Dream in the stomach. They broke apart for a moment, both panting. Dream spat blood onto the concrete at their feet. 

“What, having trouble picking on someone who can actually fight back?” Techno taunted, reveling in the way Dream’s eyes hardened. 

“I hardly touched him,” Dream sneered, as though this was a pointless overreaction. “And we both know he’s more than capable of fighting back.” He paused for a moment, tilting his head as though the thought had just occurred to him. “You do know what he is, don’t you?” 

Techno just cracked his knuckles. He had no interest in talking to Dream–only making him bleed.

“That doesn’t sound like an apology.” 

Using the moment of distraction, Techno surged forwards. Landing two hard punches before the Dream managed to block the third, retaliating with a quick jab that knocked Techno’s head to the side. 

It only pissed him off more. He threw his fist forwards, hitting Dream’s cheekbone, and then again, and again, and again Techno hit him. 

They didn’t usually fight in their human forms, but Techno didn’t need to be a tiger to give Dream a beating. 

He snarled viciously as he hit Dream one more time, right in the nose. He felt it give underneath the blow, and he hoped he’d broken it. 

Bright, crimson blood started pouring down Dream’s face, and the teen stumbled back.

“You ready to apologize now?” Techno panted, regaining his breath. 

“You’re gonna regret this,” Dream growled, lips curled up to reveal blood-covered teeth, bared like a rabid animal. He surged forwards, unpredictable and bloodthirsty, tackling Techno to the ground. They rolled for a moment, blood painting the concrete red as they both grappled for an upper hand. 

Dream landed a hard hit to his stomach, but Techno grabbed the smaller teen’s shoulders and shoved him to the ground, finally getting him pinned.

“You really fucked up this time, Dream,” He spat. Dream considered him for a moment, eyes burning with a maniacal satisfaction.

“C’mon, hit me again! Lose control, Techie, I know you want to,” Dream snickered, egging him on. 

And Techno did want to. In a lot of ways, he already had. He held back regardless, despite how blood roared in his ears at the taunt.

Dream rolled his eyes, looking disappointed. 

“You’re no fun these days,” the man pouted. “Since when did you become some scrawny kid’s guard dog?” 

“Since you decided to lay a finger on him,” He growled back. Dream looked amused, and then the man shoved upwards, heaving Techno off of him. Techno rolled to the side and sprung back up to his feet. 

Dream climbed up as well, fists falling back into an offensive position.

“You should’ve stayed down,” Techno told him, and Dream grinned in that horrible, twisted way of his. 

“You should’ve stayed home,” Dream shot back. And then they were locked in the fight again, fists flying. Techno hardly felt the hits landing, too focused on his own anger and the burning desire to cave Dream’s face in. 

He landed a fierce second hit on Dream’s nose, and the teen went stumbling back, hitting the porch railing. 

If it hadn’t been broken before, it sure as hell was now.  

“Don’t even try going near him again, got it?” Techno snarled, stalking closer till he had Dream trapped between the railing and him. 

Dream opened his mouth to say something, but Techno was tired of listening to his taunts. He punched him again, shutting him up quickly. And then again, just for good measure. And then, because he was still angry, he kneed him in the stomach once more. 

Dream doubled over, and, well, the opportunity was there. 

Techno grabbed his head in both hands, sending his knee straight into the other’s nose. Dream finally gave in, letting out a sharp hiss of pain.

Deciding he’d effectively taught him a lesson, Techno shoved Dream away from him. He was surprised Dream kept his footing, but relished in the way Dream’s hand came up to hold the bridge of his nose. The blonde sneered at him, teeth shining red with blood. 

“Alright, I heard you,” he spat, looking at Techno disdainfully. 

He wasn’t done. He needed more blood, Dream needed to be in more pain–

Don’t overdo it .

Techno returned the stare, and then he turned and walked away. 

See, he knew how to listen to Phil. Sort of. 

Techno felt the daggers Dream was glaring at his back, but he didn’t look over his shoulder once. He tried to calm down as he drove away, trying to ignore the blood he was getting on the steering wheel from his knuckles. 

The bright red smears seemed to be watching him, drying as his adrenaline started to fade and he began to feel the injuries.

When he finally arrived home and walked into the living room, everyone was still gathered, and they glanced at him anxiously.

“Jesus, Tech,” Wilbur muttered under his breath, looking up at him from the couch. 

Techno didn’t know how bad he looked, but from the way his eyebrow was stinging and how his lips tasted bloody, he knew he’d taken a few more hits then he’d wanted to.

Tommy was staring at him in horror, mouth gaping open.  

“You-you didn’t have to-” He started stammering, but Techno cut him off. 

“Tommy, I wanted to, okay? He deserved it,” He growled, and it came out a little harsh. Phil looked at him disapprovingly. 

“I didn’t overdo it,” Techno stated, trying to absolve himself. It came off a bit proudly, a bit insensitive for the havoc he had just wrought. 

But, well, Dream had asked for it. 

And Techno was not the kind of person that needed much convincing to draw blood. 

“Good, I don’t feel like paying any hospital bills,” Phil muttered, as he ran a washcloth under the sink. He made his way over to Techno, pressing it to his eyebrow. Techno knew Phil hated when he fought, but in situations like this, he just couldn’t help it.

“You are so getting expelled,” Wilbur laughed. Techno just glared at him. “C’mon, his mom’s the principal ,” Wilbur argued, looking at Phil for agreement.

“Maybe she’ll finally realize he’s the one starting shit,” Techno growled. 

Dream’s mom, Principal Puffy, was the only reason Dream got away with everything he did. 

She was harsh on Techno, but was never able to dole out the same punishments to her son, and there'd been many screaming matches between her and Phil over it. 

She knew Dream was a problem, and to her credit, she’d been a lot more fair recently. 

It wasn’t Puffy’s fault her son was a fucking psychopath.

“At least it wasn’t in the school,” Phil said, and Techno nodded gleefully, sticking his tongue out at Wilbur. Wilbur turned to Tommy, looking dead serious.

“Tommy, if you ever have problems with a skinny, non-hybrid, weak-looking person, I’ll defend you too,” he told Tommy, who laughed. 

“Thanks, big man, but I think I could probably handle that one alone,” Tommy replied, and Wilbur sighed in defeat. Techno looked at the television for the first time since entering the room. 

Oh, now that was just offensive.

“You guys are playing Animal Crossing without me?!”

Notes:

Techno: 1
Dream: 0
Tommy: like -45 bro has been through the trenches

Chapter 22: I bet you grew up grazing your knees, but the fall wasn’t fatal like it was for me

Summary:

Title from Silver Spoon by Erin LeCount

(i'm obsessed with this song rn its amazing and bonus points because it's literally Tommy this whole fic)

Anyways I'm back! Enjoy!

Tommy leaned against the brick wall of the school, picking at his nails. It was a bad habit, and the broken stubs were painful at this point. Still, it gave him something to do while he waited.

He was resenting the entire waiting thing, truly. Techno and him were lingering outside for Dream’s arrival, simply because Techno wanted to glare at Dream, send some kind of message.

It was a little petty, and definitely stupid. If he was Dream, seeing the two of them waiting just to rub it in would only make him angrier. 

Time and time again, Tommy had learned what happened when he poked the bear. 

It was usually painful.

That aside, he couldn’t deny it was satisfying to watch Dream walk in with a bandage over his nose and a split, swollen lip. Tommy had been shocked by Techno’s cut eyebrow and slightly swollen chin, but his foster brother’s injuries were nothing compared to this. 

Dream looked like shit. Half his face was shaded yellow with bruises, and his nose was almost certainly broken. If that was Techno’s idea of ‘not overdoing it’, Tommy didn’t want to know what it looked like when he did.

It made Tommy feel a lot better about the bruises on his chest and wrist–at least he wasn’t the worst off. 

Dream wasn’t one to know shame, though. He still walked with his head held high, looking over only long enough to send Tommy a disgusted, reproachful glare. 

Tommy spent the whole day even more on edge than usual, checking over his shoulder constantly, regardless of Techno’s presence. 

Despite anything Techno said, the hybrid didn’t seem very confident the threat was gone. He still walked Tommy to each of his classes, except when Tubbo or Ranboo was there. At lunch, Tommy could feel Techno’s eyes glancing over to him frequently, as though the older boy was just checking to make sure he was still there. 

Tommy running off the day before didn’t seem to have encouraged Techno to give him more space. 

He understood the concern–he was just as paranoid as Techno. 

He’d had a false sense of security last time, and it had cost him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

Instead of thinking about math equations and historic dates, Tommy spent the day counting the seconds, watching as the clock ticked closer and closer to 3:30.

He exhaled with relief when the final bell rang, announcing the end of the day. Now he had the whole weekend before he had to be back in school. 

It wasn’t necessarily true relief. He didn’t believe this was over, but he’d made it through the week, and now he got a brief respite. 

He didn’t really feel like he’d earned it. 

Tommy willed his limbs into action, following Tubbo and Ranboo from the classroom and down the hallway. 

He froze automatically when he saw a tall, blonde figure at the end of the hallway, but Dream wasn’t looking at him. 

Instead, the teen was talking to two friends. One had black hair and a white hoodie, grinning wide as he slung an arm around Dream’s shoulder. He was a hybrid of some sort, with pointy black ears hard to even distinguish from his hair. The other was shorter, with brown hair and glasses, busy laughing into the sleeve of his sweater. 

Tommy was shocked that anybody could be friends with that psycho. 

“Holy shit, Dream got his ass kicked!” Tubbo snickered from beside him. 

Right. Tommy hadn’t told them. He hadn’t been trying to keep his new friends in the dark, he just didn’t know how to explain the situation without revealing too much and scaring them off. 

Both of them were staring at Dream from the other side of the hallway, and it made Tommy nervous. He didn’t want Dream to look their way and catch the three of them staring. 

“Must’ve been Technoblade,” Ranboo muttered to Tubbo, sounding almost in awe. Tommy froze as the words processed.

“Huh, they haven’t fought in forever,” Tubbo mumbled, seeming confused. 

“Wait, did you say Technoblade?” Tommy asked, glancing at his friends nervously. 

“Oh, right, I always forget you’re new. Here, I'll give you the rundown,” Tubbo squealed, ecstatic as though he was a fourteen year old fangirl. “Basically, Technoblade and Dream have this huge rivalry. Pretty much everyone at school has seen them fighting, since they’ve been going at it since middle school. They’re TERRIFYING when they shift,” He explained, practically bouncing on the heels of his feet. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tommy mumbled, looking at Dream. He still remembered those teeth, inches from his neck. He shook his head to get the thought away. 

“That’s why we ran, when Dream was looking at you. He has this thing with new kids, that's why he and Technoblade started getting in fights. I’m not sure why they never stopped,” 

A thought occurred to Tommy, manifesting as he analyzed Tubbo and Ranboo’s expressions. 

“Are you guys afraid of Technoblade?” he asked, curious for the answer. Could Tubbo and Ranboo have figured out who Tommy was staying with? He hadn’t exactly been careful about it.

“No, not really. I mean, he’s a scary dude, but when he’s not angry he seems chill. My older brother is friends with him, so he comes around sometimes,” Tubbo explained. 

“Speak for yourself,” Ranboo muttered. “I think he’s terrifying,” 

“Actually Tommy, I was meaning to ask you if you knew Technoblade and Wilbur,” Tubbo said, and Tommy’s heart sank. 

“Uh, why do you ask?” He responded, unsure how to play the situation. 

“When you went home yesterday, my brother asked me if I'd heard from you, and he said they knew we were friends and had wanted him to text me,” Tubbo explained. Tommy eyed the boy carefully. He didn’t seem suspicious, or concerned. Just curious. 

Tommy hesitated, then decided there was no danger in telling the truth. 

“They're my foster brothers,” He admitted, watching Ranboo and Tubbo carefully for their reactions. 

“WHAT?” Tubbo screeched, and Tommy flinched, jumping at the sudden noise. He was glad they’d walked past Dream, because everyone in the hallway turned to look at them. Ranboo put a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to quiet him. 

“Dude, that's AMAZING!” Tubbo continued, ignoring the calming hand and all the people staring. 

“It-It is?” Tommy stuttered, completely lost. 

“Yes! The Watsons live just down the street from me! We’re practically neighbors!” He said grinning wise. “You have to come over this weekend!” 

Ranboo nodded his agreement enthusiastically. 

“But didn’t you say you were scared of Techno?” Tommy asked, turning to look at Ranboo. The taller boy eyed him strangely. 

“I mean, a little, but what does that matter? Just cause he’s a bit intimidating doesn’t mean i’m like, actually afraid of him. I doubt he’d ever hurt me ,” He laughed, like it was a crazy concept. Tommy felt his face heat up, and he was sure his ears were turning pink. 

“Right,” Tommy said. “Obviously.” 

It seemed that everything crashed down on Tommy at once. 

He’d been foolishly pretending that he was the same as Tubbo and Ranboo. He’d thought hiding that he was a foster kid and ignoring his shapeshifting ability would somehow make those things stop existing, but they hadn’t. 

He’d tried to forget that he flinched for a reason , and now he was faced with the facts. Tubbo and Ranboo didn't fear anything the way Tommy did–and they didn’t have to. 

Tommy knew he was caught up in the past, and that the Watsons probably didn’t want to hurt him. They’d shown nothing but kindness…but he just couldn’t erase the nagging fear that everybody wanted to hurt him. 

Whereas Ranboo and Tubbo couldn’t even imagine why someone would possibly want to hurt them. 

Even if he tried to explain the differences, those two would never understand the privilege they had, the luxury of a life without fear.

Tommy wasn’t really jealous–he’d worked hard to stop envying everyone he met. He knew this was the way things would always be, and though it was sad, feeling jealous wouldn’t change it. 

This moment only hurt because he’d let himself forget about the differences between him and his new friends. He’d tried to fool everyone and only wound up tricking himself.

He must have let his thoughts show on his face, even just for a moment.

“Tommy? They haven’t done anything to you, right? I mean, I wouldn’t have expected them to, but…” Ranboo started, his expression growing tense with visible concern. 

The other teen’s eyes were lingering on Tommy’s nose, and he wondered if there was visible bruising. He really hoped not, but he hadn’t exactly checked. Tommy suddenly understood what was being insinuated.

Tubbo and Ranboo thought it was the Watsons hurting him. Immediately, he jumped to defend his foster family. 

“No, no. They've been great,” Tommy stammered out, uncomfortable with the way Ranboo’s eyes were trained carefully on Tommy’s. He remained silent, yet expectant. “Really, guys, they’re good. Best house I've had, honestly.” he assured. 

Tubbo and Ranboo shared a glance. 

Tommy didn’t want to be in this moment, having this conversation. He wished these things could have been left unsaid, but he had to explain that his crippling fear of the Watsons had much more to do with him than with them. 

“I’ve had a…different life than you guys. I didn’t mean to make you think anything was wrong. They aren’t hurting me.”

“Okay. But somebody is, or has, and we’re worried,” Tubbo said cautiously. Tommy stepped back unconsciously, reeling at Tubbo’s words. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Ranboo beat him to it. 

“Tommy, there’s a bruise on your wrist, and one on your nose. Your first day here you had a black eye, and then you had a bandage on your hand...you flinch at everything. Something’s going on, and you can tell us. We might be able to help!” Ranboo insisted. 

Tommy glanced down at his wrist. 

He’d worn a hoodie to try and cover it, but he must not have been careful enough. The ring of yellowy, green bruises from Dream’s hand was just peeking out from the edge of the fabric. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s none of your business,” He muttered, and the words were stilted and harsh. He winced at them, knowing he was being harsh.  He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, folding in on himself. 

He was just protecting himself. He’d been letting down his walls too much. It was time to remember their purpose. 

“Tommy, we’re just worried about you.” Tubbo tried again. 

“Well, don’t be. I don’t need your worry, or your pity,” He spat. Tubbo looked shocked, Ranboo concerned. 

He’d really thought these two wouldn’t do this.

Honestly, the one time he didn’t need help, or for someone to notice? Of course that’s when everyone became worried about him. 

Where had this support been for the past sixteen years? Where was everyone’s concern then, when it had mattered?

Now he was past saving–everybody was far too late. 

“It’s not pity–”

“It is! I’m not your charity case. You think I don't know I have bruises, or that I flinch? Trust me, I’m aware! I don’t need you to help me. I don’t need you for anything!” 

His new friends stared at him in shock.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“You’re right,” Tubbo blurted. Tommy blinked. What? “You’re right. You’re not a charity case, and i’m sorry we made you feel we were pitying you. We just wanted you to know we’re willing to help.”

“Yeah. We wont push anymore. Just remember that you might not need our help, but you don’t always have to need something in order to accept it.” Ranboo chimed in. 

That was…surprisingly understanding.

“Aren’t you guys mad at me?” Tommy asked, suspicious. 

“No. You’re right, we were being overbearing. You don’t have to tell us anything, we practically just met. It’s your business.” 

“But if you’re being hurt, you really should tell somebody about it, even if it’s not us. We don’t want to see you hurt.” Tubbo added.

He sighed, suddenly feeling guilty. They really were good people, and maybe someday he could be more honest with them. 

“You’re safe at home, seriously?” Ranboo asked again, clearly not having believed him the first time.  

Tommy stared at him for a moment. Maybe they weren't pitying him. He’d always assumed everyone’s help was pity–he’d thought the same thing about Phil, at first. To an extent, he still sort of thought the man’s kindness was a bit of a saviour complex or something. But he was starting to believe there was a chance people could have halfway decent intentions. 

And unlike Phil, Ranboo and Tubbo didn’t know even a fraction of Tommy’s past. If they were pitying him, they didn’t even know why. And they hadn’t lied or thrown money his way: only support and friendship. 

Finally, he caved, letting the walls come down once more.

“It was Dream, not the Watsons.” he admitted.

Ranboo’s eyes widened in shock, realization dawning. 

“So Dream’s injuries are from Technoblade defending you?” he asked, clearly putting the pieces together. Tommy nodded confirmation, before catching a glimpse of Tubbo’s betrayed expression. 

“Dream…why didn’t you tell us?” the hybrid asked, voice uncertain, sad. 

Tommy felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He really hadn’t wanted to lie, but he’d needed to. His friends would have asked questions, and he’d known they’d treat him differently when they got their answers. 

He hesitated, trying to think of partial truths that would reveal just enough to satisfy.  

“I didn’t want you guys to stop being friends with me,” He stated, and he found that he really, truly meant it. “I thought you would think I was trouble, or something.” he shrugged. Tubbo looked almost offended.

“C’mon, we’d never care about something like that,” Tubbo chided, but he was back to smiling. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of trouble. Tommy, you’re our friend, no matter what!” 

Oh. 

Oh.

Tommy didn’t think he’d ever…

No, definitely not. 

Nobody’d ever told Tommy they would care about him unconditionally. 

It was so nice to hear that it sort of hurt . 

Tommy was still wrapping his head around the idea that unconditional acceptance might exist , he really was not prepared to experience it. 

“Really?” he asked, nervous despite what they’d just said. It hadn’t even been a week, Tubbo couldn’t mean that.

“Really,” Tubbo answered, looking dead serious. Tubbo’s hand shot out towards Tommy. They all ignored the flinch, and when Tommy opened his eyes, Tubbo’s hand was in a fist, aside from his pinky, which was standing up like a flag. 

Ranboo extended his hand as well, more controlled than Tubbo, but in the same position. 

“Pinky promise!” Tubbo laughed. 

Despite all his secrets, despite the many reasons for them not to be friends with him, Tommy smiled. 

Somehow, he found a way to let himself believe it. 

He extended his hand, and linked his pinky with theirs. 

Huh. 

Friends no matter what. 

Notes:

Still not obsessed with how this chapter turned out, but nothing is perfect. Might be posting a bit less frequently for a bit, but we’ll see how it goes. Probably more like once a week? idk?

Thanks for sticking out the break with me <3

Hope the fluffy ending here was nice, we’ve got a heavier chapter coming up next. You all keep on saying you love the angst, so...

Chapter 23: i climb so high just to feel a fall, and let it go

Summary:

Title from Animal by Noah Kahan

TW: suicidal thoughts? it's up for personal interpretation ig

Tommy stared at the ceiling, thoughts rampaging through his mind. 

He couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t just the event’s of the day and his brief argument with his friends. No, Dream’s voice was still echoing inside his head. 

“What a waste of power,”

“You’re pathetic.” 

The worst part was that Dream was right. 

Tommy was pathetic. He’d been told it before, and had known it himself, but he’d never come face to face with it so painfully.

Dream had clocked him immediately: Tommy was a shell of his former self, relying on Techno’s strength, on Phil’s hospitality. He’d started to get comfortable in the Watson household, and started to believe that he might belong there. 

But Tommy didn’t. He wasn’t some random foster kid–he was a shapeshifter. He was dangerous, or at least he was supposed to be. 

He had been. 

Now all it took was someone raising their voice and Tommy felt like he was dying. 

It truly was pathetic, and how could he not be ashamed of it?

Nausea swirled inside him, and he found he was sickened by the thought of himself. 

He felt guilty, too, that Techno had been forced to fight his battles for him. 

It was horrifying Tommy had ever let it get to this point. 

And now he couldn’t even sleep. 

He sat up, giving into defeat. The room was dark, and it cloaked him almost oppressively. 

He was so tired of the same shit happening over and over again. How many more times was everything going to go to hell because he wasn’t shifting when someone wanted him to? 

Disgust rolled through him, quickly followed by anger. He’d let this happen. As much as he wanted to blame everyone else, the fault was solely his.

So what if he’d done terrible things? He’d let his past control him, grown so afraid and disgusted that even just thinking about shifting had been too much. 

He’d let himself wither away because he was too afraid to confront the past. 

The world had always beat him down, ever since he was just a child. When had he stopped fighting back against it? 

If he could just tap into his powers, he could stop this cycle. He could appease Dream, or at least fight back. 

He could feel whole again. 

But his chest felt hollow, void of energy, a well that had long since run dry. 

Even when he concentrated, putting all his willpower into it, he still couldn’t feel even the smallest fragment of power within himself. 

“You’re pathetic.”

He was. 

He was more than broken, more than ruined. He was a sick disaster. Even calling himself a shapeshifter felt wrong at this point. What good was a cat without its claws, a sword without its blade?

Suddenly, a need to regain his powers washed over him. Fueled by determination, he pressed his blunt nails into his palm, but they weren’t long enough for him to feel much pain. 

Hope wasn’t lost: Tommy had shifted against his will before, even when he’d thought himself unable to. Surely he could do it again.

The first time had been with the little boy, the one he’d bitten. 

The one who’d needed stitches because of what he did. 

He shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. That was then, and this was now. He needed his powers back. He needed himself back. 

He thought back to laying on the dirty floor of a dog crate, to the lashes of a whip raining down on his back. 

Pain, excruciating pain, till his body had kicked itself into action out of desperate need for survival. Pain and fear until he’d turned into the monster they’d wanted him to be. 

But Tommy would rather be a monster than a shell. 

He rushed to the window, throwing back the blinds. He scrambled to unlock it, driven by this overwhelming, feverish urge. 

When the lock clicked, he forced the window up, then shoved himself through it frantically. 

Wilbur wasn’t the only one with rooftop access.

A plan was forming in his mind, and it was stupid and dangerous and reckless, just like Tommy used to be, back when he was younger and less afraid. 

Some little voice in the back of his mind was nagging at him to stop, but he ignored it. He needed this. 

He couldn’t be pathetic anymore. 

He was confident his body would save him, like it always did. His powers would surface at the moment of reckoning. 

They had before–surely they would again.

And if they didn’t…would it be so bad?

Would it even matter? What good was he without his powers, anyway? Was he even Tommy, if he couldn’t shift?

He paused for just a moment, finding purchase on the wet shingles and staring out over the neighborhood. The breeze ruffled his hair, like a light touch. 

It reminded him of Phil, the way he’d carded his fingers through Tommy’s tangled curls as he’d held him. 

He pushed that thought away too, that temptation of comfort. 

That moment hadn’t been real life. It had been weak, and it was time to be strong. 

His powers would come back to him. They had to.

He wasn’t going to let other people solve his problems anymore. He wasn’t sure when he’d started, how the Watson’s had found a way to convince him that was acceptable. 

When he left here, no one would be there to help, and he would need to be strong again. He had to remember how to fight his own battles, or he wasn’t going to make it much longer. 

He’d been lucky at the last house, that they hadn’t hurt him more. He’d been lucky here, as well, to have Techno protecting him. 

But Tommy had a feeling his luck was about to run out, and he needed to be ready. 

He peered down over the edge of the roof. The ground was far, but not far enough. He wasn’t sure how long it would take his body to jump into action, and time passed quickly when you were falling.

Not to mention he needed to truly believe shifting was the only way to save his life. 

He turned to look behind him, at the roof over the attic. It hung out just enough that he was able to reach, and with a small jump, he was able to get his chest over. 

The edge of the shingles pressed painfully against his abdomen, their surface wet from rain and soaking through his shirt. He managed to give himself enough leverage with his arms that he could shimmy himself up, then swung a leg over. 

Panting, he rose to his feet. 

The wind was stronger up here, crisp night air tugging on his clothing. Up above, the moon was full, casting everything in a silver glow. 

There weren’t many stars, only a handful scattered across the entire sky.

Tommy wondered if Techno could still tell stories about these ones, or if there were too many clouds. 

The constellations seemed lost, their ancient tales interrupted by moonlight, obscured by clouds. 

If you couldn’t see the stars, how did you know they were there? 

The Greeks couldn’t weave stories into the sky if there were no stars to base them on. Techno couldn’t retell these tales if those stories hadn’t been preserved in time by generation after generation looking up to the night sky.

If what made the stars meaningful couldn’t connect with them, then what was their point?

Maybe when something couldn’t be seen, it ceased to exist at all. 

Maybe his powers…

No.

He pushed the thoughts away, and was left feeling small against the endless dark. 

He was just a boy on a roof, and the rest of the world felt miles away. The howl of the wind drowned out the noise of cars on the road, and for a long moment, it seemed he was the only human on earth. 

Mustering his courage, he tore his gaze away from the bright moon and stepped closer to the edge of the roof. He could hardly make out the ground, only a dark void ready to swallow him up.

The shingles were rough against his bare feet, the night cold against his bare arms. He hadn’t bothered to grab more clothes before climbing out the window, and he regretted it now. 

He held his arms out, picturing a sparrow in his mind. 

There was no tug in his chest, no sign of his powers. 

Still, he tried his best to pretend he felt it. 

Brown feathers, light as a leaf on a branch. Small, quick, familiar. He’d been a sparrow before. He knew how it felt to wear a beak and feathers. 

He knew how to open his wings and soar. He’d done it many times. 

Still, Tommy had never liked flying. 

There’d always been a downward pull, a companion of gravity that begged him to fold his wings and dive. A temptation to let the world blur as he sank, to embrace the freefall. 

To close his eyes, and see what it felt like to fall, fall, fall, and hit the ground. 

Tommy welcomed that urge now, using it to draw his feet forwards.

All at once, he left the edge behind.

And then he was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Notes:

IM SORRYYYYY AHHHHHHHHH

Chapter 24: if anything could fall at all (it’s the world that falls away from me)

Summary:

Title from I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier

Phil should have worn something warmer. It was a colder night then he’d anticipated, and his fingers were freezing. 

Even the exertion of beating his wings wasn’t quite keeping him warm, like it often did. 

He looked at his companion, a crow that had found him in the sky and joined his quiet flight. It wasn’t unusual to have a flock of them around him, but he’d been surprised to see only one tonight. 

Usually it was at least two, or none at all. Crows weren’t very solitary creatures. Maybe it was the cold, damp night, or how late it was.

Still, he’d enjoyed its silent presence, and he supposed maybe it had been waiting for a chance to fly just like he had.

It had rained all afternoon, and he’d been overjoyed when the downpour had finally stopped. It was a nice night, despite the chill. The moon was full and illuminating, the air crisp, smelling of rain and winter. 

He could see his breath in the air, blowing away with the wind. He dipped down lower, hoping for less of a breeze if he was closer to the ground. 

The crow beside him suddenly cawed, the noise ear splitting in comparison to the night’s silence. It echoed in Phil’s ears as the bird shot ahead, practically disappearing into the darkness.

Phil didn’t need to be a crow hybrid to know what that noise meant. Alarm calls were never subtle. 

That was…odd. Phil felt a prickle of nervousness run up his spine, but he ignored it as a bird’s unpredictable antics. Maybe it had seen a hawk. 

His house finally came into view, and Phil smiled, imagining the warmth of climbing into his bed. He wondered briefly if his kids were still up, but by the moon’s height, it was later then he’d realized. 

As he got closer, he made out a figure on the roof. 

He supposed Wilbur was out having a smoke. Maybe the glint of the lighter had caught the crow’s eye.

But didn’t that look a bit too short to be Wilbur? And there was something about how the moonlight glistened off the figure’s hair in a silvery, almost luminescent way. It shone too brightly, flecked with gold, when it should be a dark brown.

If that wasn’t Wilbur, then…

What was Tommy doing on the roof? 

He beat his wings harder, speeding up. Tommy was climbing onto the roof of the attic, and Phil realized he’d never told the kid his rule about that roof. 

The back porch was high, but low enough that a fall would only be painful, not deadly. As long as you didn’t hit your head. 

But the attic roof was significantly higher, the tallest point in the house. He’d forbidden Wilbur and Techno from going up there, because it was too dangerous. And now Tommy was standing there, illuminated by moonlight. 

As Phil neared the house, Tommy stepped closer and closer to the edge of the roof. 

Christ, what the hell was he thinking? If he fell…

Tommy outstretched his arms, and it occurred to Phil that Tommy was teetering on the edge for a reason.

No. 

No. 

It couldn’t be–surely not. 

Maybe Tommy was going for a flight, the way Phil did? But why would he have climbed all the way up there just to shift? Surely he wouldn’t stand like that, precariously outstretched. A boy at the mercy of the wind and darkness. 

No, this was no flight. 

Phil increased his speed even more, flying as fast as he could, opening his mouth to yell, to say something, anything. 

Anything that would get Tommy away from that edge. 

If he managed to make a sound, it was swallowed up by the howling wind, lost even to himself. 

And then, with no trace of fear or inhibition, Tommy took another step. 

But there was no more roof, and in a split second gravity grabbed hold of his small body, and he was falling through the air.

Instantly, Phil snapped his wings shut, diving to meet him. 

They collided only a few feet from the ground, and the weight of Tommy was too much for Phil to change their combined downward momentum. 

He flared his wangs, but only managed to slow them down. 

They crashed onto the grass in a tangled pile of limbs, a painful tumble that Phil knew he was going to feel tomorrow. 

It didn’t matter, he didn’t care one bit. 

All that mattered was Tommy, and that Phil had caught him. 

He’d caught him. 

He’d caught him. 

All at once, Tommy erupted. 

He started thrashing and screaming, kicking at Phil. His thin arms shook as his fists slammed against Phil’s chest, pounding and pounding. 

“AHH!! LET ME GO!!” He screamed, still hitting and spitting. Phil couldn’t, their bodies too tangled together, and still too grateful he’d gotten there in time. Just barely in time. He pulled Tommy closer, trapping the boy’s arms so they were forced to still. 

“I hate you! Why did you stop me! I hate you, you ruined it–LET ME GO!” Tommy was still yelling, his words half muffled as he shouted into Phil’s sweatshirt. Tommy’s voice was wracked with sobs, each scream interrupted by voice cracks and hiccuping cries. 

“Shhh, I've got you,” Phil murmured, holding Tommy tightly until the screaming relented and the boy went limp in his arms. His crying got louder, and then he was fully sobbing, wet tears dripping onto Phil. 

Tommy’s skin was so, so cold, wet from tears and dampened by the grass.

“Oh, mate,” Phil said, and he felt a stinging in his eyes, tears of his own starting to fall. “Tommy, darling, it’s okay. Let it out,” he encouraged, unable to keep his own tears back. They dripped down his face, and Phil didn’t know if they were from fear of what almost happened, or relief of what didn’t.

The porch light turned on, and Phil knew his twins were coming out to see what the yelling was about. 

He couldn’t even make himself call out to them, too focused on the boy in his arms. 

“Dad?” Wilbur called, voice tense and afraid. A moment later, “ Tommy ?”

Tommy had quieted in Phil’s arms, so Phil loosened his hold. 

“Boys,” Phil gasped, voice weak and strained, weighed down by tears. “Can you turn on the fire and bring some blankets to the living room?” He requested. They did as he said immediately, and he was grateful for that. 

Phil didn’t believe kids should ever have to see their parents cry. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could help it tonight. 

He shuffled Tommy in his arms, scooping the boy up bridal style. Tommy protested, weakly hitting Phil on his shoulder, but Phil ignored it. The kid’s fist clenched around Phil’s shirt, a sob tearing itself free from his throat. 

Phil carried him to the porch, and then through the door. 

Both his sons looked at him anxiously as he entered, and he saw the fire was on and blankets were piled on the couch. 

He set Tommy down gingerly, and the boy instantly curled up into a hunched, terrified ball, ignoring the blankets entirely. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pushing himself back into the corner of the couch, like a frightened animal trying to find safety. 

He looked so small, his shoulders still shaking as he cried and sniffled. Phil murmured comforting words as he laid blankets around Tommy’s body until he was swaddled up like a newborn. 

The kid must be freezing, he wasn’t even wearing socks. 

He glanced at Techno.

“Hot cocoa, maybe? Wil, sit with him? I-I need a second,” He said, and both his boys nodded immediately. 

Shamefully, Phil stumbled to the bathroom to pull himself together. 

He couldn’t have his kids see him like this, but he was wrecked. 

Tommy had tried to–

He’d–He’d wanted to– to die. 

Phil splashed cold water on his face, despite already being cold. He tried his face, taking deep breaths, trying to be strong for his kids, for himself. 

There was mud in his hair and all over his face, grass sticking to him from the rain outside. He looked like a mess, but he ignored his appearance in favor of fixing his emotions.

When he was more collected, he exited the bathroom. Wilbur and Techno were both in the living room, standing awkwardly on either side of the couch. The microwave was running, and Phil assumed there was milk heating up. Techno and Wilbur were having a conversation the way only those two could, silent but for expressions. They both turned when he entered, a question shining in two pairs of eyes. 

“Dad, what happened?” Wilbur asked, eyes wide and brimmed with tears. 

Phil hated that they asked. Hated that they already seemed to know.

“He–he jumped off the roof,” Phil said, and it came out too blunt, but there was no way to say it softer. 

There was no way to sugarcoat something like that. 

Tommy didn’t react to the sentence at all, but both Wilbur and Techno looked absolutely devastated. 

“No,” Wilbur mumbled, turning to look at the kid. “No, Tommy.” 

“He’s okay, just in shock,” Phil murmured, coming over and sitting on the coffee table. He resisted the urge to put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. 

The boy seemed to be coming back, and he turned to look at Phil. 

“Phil,” He said, and his voice was shaky and angry, like Phil had betrayed him by saving his life. 

“Tommy,” Phil said, because he didn’t know what else there was to say. “I’m so sorry, mate.”

“Why?” Tommy croaked, sounding pained. “Why?” He repeated, and his eyes were so full of hurt, Phil could hardly stand to look at them. 

The microwave ended, and the silence was all consuming, like the ceiling had just caved in. 

“I’m sorry you felt like that, I’m sorry I didn't notice the signs. I can’t–I can't imagine what must have been going through your mind,” he stammered, trying to explain, to get his brain to work. His mind felt clouded, too full of fear and relief to think of anything else. 

Tommy shook his head.

“No. Why did you stop me?” He choked out. Phil froze. 

“Mate, I couldn’t let you–I couldn’t just let you kill yourself.” 

“What?” Tommy blinked up at him, confusion written all over his face. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” He said, seeming adamant on that. Phil didn’t understand. 

“What were you trying to do? Tommy, you jumped off the roof,” Phil said, as gently as he could. 

Tommy hesitated, fear sparkling in his eyes. He glanced around the room, as though making sure it was only the four of them in there. 

“I–I was trying to–” He froze, panic seeping into his voice. He dropped his head into his knees, mumbling something. After a deep, shuddering breath, he lifted it again. He avoided eye contact, instead staring at his knees as he spoke. 

His voice was as frail and pained as before, but the words sucked all the air from the room regardless. 

They brought to light something Phil had never even considered, a burden he hadn’t known Tommy was carrying. A secret that must have been painful and tiring to keep.

“I was trying to make myself shift.”

Notes:

poor Tommy, still no powers

Chapter 25: somewhere between the kitchen and the casket

Summary:

Title from The Kitchen by Briston Maroney

get it bc he almost died and now he's in the living room beside the kitchen :D I love finding lyrics for each chapter its so fun

no but seriously its actually gotten out of hand I have a doc and its just 9 pages of lyrics that I want to use at some point...someone stop me why am I hoarding them

anyway enjoy this depressing angsty chapter!

“I was trying to make myself shift.”

 

Tommy regretted the words almost the instant they left his mouth. 

They were words that should have meant so little, but instead meant far too much. 

Looking around, he found all three Watson’s were staring at him in shock, horrified by what he’d admitted. 

“You mean…Tommy, you’re not able to shift?” Techno asked, seeming blown away by the sheer possibility. 

Tommy understood. He hadn’t known it was possible to lose his powers either, until it happened. He nodded slowly, heat rising in his cheeks. 

Techno’s lips pulled into a thin line, and Tommy didn’t want to watch anymore. He set his gaze back onto his own knees. 

“For how long, mate?” Phil asked, and Tommy didn’t look up. He didn’t want to see the pity surely shining in the man’s eyes. 

He struggled to calculate it. 

God, it had been so, so long. 

“About eight months,” he whispered finally, finding even he was shocked at the realization.

Someone gasped, maybe Wilbur. Tommy felt ears welling in his eyes. 

Well, this house had been nice while it lasted. He wondered if they would call Sam tonight, or if he might be able to stay until the morning. 

He hoped he could sleep first. 

He was tired, and it pulled at his eyelids, sleep beckoning to him. His limbs were heavy and the world felt sluggish around him, everything confusing and far too much to handle. 

“Oh, Tommy,” Phil muttered, voice quivering uncharacteristically. Tommy didn’t know how to interpret that. Maybe Phil was mad. 

He found it hard to care, at this point. He didn’t want their anger or pity. 

So he kept talking, at a loss of what else to do. 

“I was trying–I thought my body would shift, if it was life or death,” Tommy admitted, ignoring the strain on his voice from his earlier screaming fit.

He felt a surge of frustration once again. Why hadn’t Phil just let him try?

“Mate, you were about to hit the ground. If you were going to shift, it would have happened. I’m sorry, but if it’s been months…it might be too late,” Phil said.

The words burrowed painfully deep inside Tommy.

If you were going to shift, it would have happened.

He couldn’t stop himself. He burst back into tears. 

He’d never been so heartbroken. At least standing on the roof there had been a glimmer of hope, a plan he’d been so sure would work. 

Why hadn’t it worked?

Maybe he hadn’t been in enough danger, maybe the fall hadn’t been long enough. Maybe he needed the sensation of pain. 

He couldn’t truly be ruined . 

Suddenly, it was all too much. He knew he was avoiding the conversation, but he said it anyway. 

“Can I go to bed?” he asked, hesitant. Phil frowned at him, seeming hesitant to tell him no, but also unable to say yes. 

God, Tommy shouldn’t have assumed he was staying the night. Of course he wasn’t.

“Tommy, would you be alright staying down here with me? I’m not trying to take your privacy away, I just don’t think you should be alone after everything,” Phil replied. 

So…he was staying the night? 

The excitement of that possibility, and that Phil cared enough to sleep on the couch for him, was drowned out by the implication in Phil’s words. 

After everything.

What was everything ?

“I wasn’t trying to die,” Tommy repeated, unable to understand why Phil hadn’t gotten the idea out of his head. 

The man looked at him sadly, then sighed. 

“I know you weren’t necessarily trying to, but what you did was very dangerous. What were you planning to do if your powers hadn’t reawakened?” he asked, and Tommy found he didn’t have a reply. 

He wanted to say he hadn’t thought of it, but that wasn’t exactly true. 

He had, but he’d pushed the thought away, because it hadn’t mattered to him. He hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility of his powers not returning, and he hadn’t cared much about the consequences. 

Even he couldn’t deny that.

In his silence, Phil kept speaking. 

“Sometimes, mate, people don’t actively try to hurt themselves, but they start to take risks, and stop taking care of themselves. They might stop looking before they cross the street, or start smoking, or any number of harmful yet indirect ways of disregarding the importance of their life. It’s not always intentional, but it’s still a warning sign that I don’t want to ignore.”

And that…that sunk in. Tommy was left once again without a reply. 

Eventually, he nodded. 

He had no argument for that. 

He hadn’t thought he was doing that, and he still didn’t truly think he had been. But he also couldn’t prove that. How could he explain that it had been a few minutes of panicked desperation that had resulted in a rash action. 

Any argument would be weak. Even he was able to deny that those few minutes could have been the end of his life and he’d known that risk. He’d accepted it more than willingly.

“Okay, I'll stay here,” he relented at last, and Phil seemed satisfied.  

Phil rose, returning a few moments later with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. 

Tommy had seen Techno doing something in the kitchen, and supposed this was the result. He took it gratefully, sipping cautiously. 

He’d never had it before, but it was amazing. 

He was starting to think that he’d gotten out of finishing the conversation when Phil brought it back around. 

“You don’t have to tell us, but can I ask why you thought jumping from the roof would help you shift?” Phil asked, so genuinely it only made Tommy feel worse. 

He understood why Phil had to ask. It hadn’t exactly been his most rational, intelligent plan. 

Finally, he nodded. 

He’d already told them so much, and he was fairly certain he’d be seeing Sam tomorrow. So for once, Tommy let his walls tumble down, and he caved into the temptation of spilling secrets he was supposed to keep. 

Before he started, he looked up at the three people around him. Wilbur and Techno were standing, and with how tall they both were, it felt like they were towering over him.

It made him uncomfortable, and he inched further back into the couch. 

He adjusted his own legs so he could sit more casually, suddenly becoming aware of how pitiful his position was. 

“Um…do you want to sit?” He asked, ignoring how his voice trembled. 

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Wilbur answered. Tommy almost laughed. Even after everything, they were still worried about him being comfortable ?

He nodded again, and Wilbur and Techno came around the side of the couch. Wilbur joined Phil on top of the coffee table, and Techno sat on the far side of the couch. 

They still gave him space, and for once Tommy knew it was out of respect for his boundaries instead of out of any sort of fear of his ability. 

Because they knew, now. They knew he couldn’t fight back if they hurt him. But yet, they hadn’t capitalized on this vulnerability. He was starting to think that they wouldn't.

Which was a stupid thing to think, he reprimanded himself. There were rules to this world–like never, ever, let your guard down. 

But, well, he’d been forgetting that one lately.

Ignoring his own thoughts, he opened his mouth, and he told the trio about the past year of his life. He’d never voiced any of it aloud before, and it was painful just to speak the words. 

As long as he was the only one who knew, he could convince himself it had never happened. He could bury it deep, let it fade into the shadows of his mind. 

But now, he had to tell them about the experiences that had shattered him, left scars too deep to ever heal. Once it was out, once they knew just how broken he was…there would be no going back.

The room felt tight and claustrophobic, every muscle in Tommy’s body tense, like it wanted him to run from this. To run, and run, and not look back, just like he always did.

He was so tired of running. Just this once, and though he’d never admit it, he felt an urge to stay in this house, to remain with these people. 

If staying meant having this conversation, he could stop himself from running.

He wasn’t sure how to start, so he went back to the beginning. 

The Watson’s were patient, letting him speak without interruption, but he found himself faltering over his own words, unfamiliar with the sensation of sharing such sensitive information. 

“I ran away from a house about a year ago. I was on the streets for a few weeks, making do by stealing and begging. I guess I was a dog–” he paused, letting the familiar wave of disgust that always accompanied the memory pass. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath to shake it off before continuing. “I was a dog too often, and someone took notice. They grabbed me, and I thought they’d let me go once they realized I was a hybrid.” 

Tommy closed his eyes, fighting the way memories played under his eyelids. 

Memories he’d done his best to shove deep inside, but that had never stayed there regardless. 

“They, uh, didn’t care. I ended up in a cage, and they hit me, over and over again, and I tried not to do what they wanted, but at some point, my body just shifted for me,” he paused, glancing up at Phil, ignoring the pained expression on the man’s face. 

He hadn’t forgotten the question the man had asked, and here was his answer. 

“When it hurt so bad and I thought I might die, something just took over, and I couldn’t avoid shifting. And they just–kept doing it. Anytime I tried to shift back, so I could, like, escape, or something, they’d hurt me. Whenever I felt like I was going to die, like I just couldn’t shift again…my body would find a way to do what they wanted.” he paused, wiping away the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. “I–I thought this time would be the same.”

 Looking over, he saw Wilbur was crying too. Techno’s eyes were watery, and he looked away when he saw Tommy looking at him, like he didn’t want to be seen so vulnerable. 

Tommy wasn’t sure how to react. He had expected pity, if he was lucky. But this show of empathy was almost too much for him. 

“I’m so, so sorry, mate,” Phil whispered, voice cracking. Tommy stared at him, shocked. 

“It…wasn’t your fault,” he muttered, finally. It was Tommy’s fault, for not being stronger, those people’s fault, for doing that to him. Phil’s brow furrowed. 

“Why did they want you to be a dog?” Techno asked, and despite how upset the man had looked, his voice was gruff and emotionless as always. Tommy flinched, having sort of forgotten the teen was even there. 

“It was a dog fighting ring,” He whispered. 

Once again, he stole all the air from the room. 

It seemed he was getting good at that. 

Wilbur’s eyes widened, and his hand came up to cover his mouth. Phil seemed physically pained. 

Techno didn’t react as strongly as the other two, but his hands were clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white. 

At a loss of what else to do, Tommy kept explaining.

“After they–after they broke me, and I stopped fighting back, I had to fight. I wasn’t allowed to be human, but I couldn’t always help it. I’d shift accidentally in my sleep, too exhausted to stay in one form, and wake up to them beating me until my body took over and shifted me back. At some point, I wasn't even in control. It was just fear forcing me into it,”

He choked suddenly, caught in memories so painful he felt like his body was burning up, caught on fire. 

He felt the last threads of composure slip away, his breathing quickening as the panic attack he’d been holding back bubbled up to the surface.

“I had to–I had to do what they wanted. I just wanted to survive , I didn’t mean to hurt them,” he cried out, because he was at the core of the issue now. 

This was what he didn’t want to remember. 

This guilt , this disgust at himself. 

This was why he hadn’t shifted since he got out of that place. 

“Hurt who, Tommy?” Phil asked, concerned.

He looked up at Phil, angry even though it wasn’t fair. He just didn’t want to say it. He couldn’t acknowledge it, couldn’t breathe it into reality by speaking it allowed. 

“The other dogs ,” he choked, and the sobbing started all over again, air leaving his chest as memories stalked closer. 

What brutal, bloody battles he’d been in. 

How many innocent dogs had he sunk his teeth into or shredded with his claws? How much blood had he spilled to save his own skin?

At what point had he lost himself? After five? Ten? 

When had those dogs stopped being real, living things, instead becoming just another opponent? When had he given up on human morality and turned into a savage, heartless beast ?

When had he stopped fighting back and accepted the world was a dark and violent place that wouldn’t ever change?

When had he become the very darkness that he saw?

He didn’t know.

Notes:

SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!

there was some heavy allusions to it but I didn't see anyone make any predictions...but you guys should do that more bc it makes it more fun for me whenever I post a chapter with a twist nobody's expecting :D

Chapter 26: i know you wanna go to heaven, but you’re human tonight

Summary:

Title from Young Gods by Halsey

Tommy’s retelling of his past was painful for all of them. 

Not a person in the room had dry eyes, and Tommy ended up having a panic attack midway through. 

Phill instructed him to breathe through it, and Tommy did, somehow. 

Wilbur didn’t know how anyone could keep breathing, keep living, after a life like that. 

He found himself remembering the first few days Tommy had been here. It had been only a week, but it felt like years had passed.

 The flinching, and the fear, had always been understandable, easy to explain. But now, there was so much more. 

A stuffed dog. A rare slice of steak. 

The weight of what had been revealed had settled heavy over the room, stealing all the joy away. What Tommy had been through hurt just to imagine, a pain like no other. 

Something in WIlbur screamed for him to acknowledge how cruel the world was, how violent and unjust it could be. 

He might not have experienced Tommy’s memories, but there was no hiding from the emotions his story evoked, a deep sorrow that snaked its way inside Wilbur.

Maybe that sorrow made him do what he did. Maybe he was just acting without thinking, like he usually did. 

He knew Tommy didn’t like to be touched, but he couldn’t stand looking at the poor, hyperventilating boy hugging himself for another second. 

He moved off the coffee table, dropping to his knees on the floor beside Tommy, using all his willpower not to move too quickly. 

Tommy flinched when he saw him coming, but he didn’t withdraw. 

As WIlbur’s arms encircled Tommy, the boy leaned forwards to meet him, falling into Wilbur’s embrace like he was drowning and Wilbur was a life vest. 

Wilbur held Tommy as he gasped and cried and shook. 

He held him as Phil placed a hand on each of their shoulders. 

He held him as a furry tiger head pushed its way onto Tommy’s lap. 

And the family stayed there for minutes or hours, the four of them pinpricks of light against the world’s darkness, like stars in the night sky, like flecks of dust in the face of the void. 

It was the first time Wilbur had hugged Tommy, they’d only even touched once . 

He thought about a boy on a roof, and how close Wilbur had come to never having this chance. 

But regardless, that night a broken boy was held by a patchwork family, experiencing a moment of love in a life that had never allowed such a luxury. 

Only when Tommy finally got his breathing back to normal did the family draw away, giving him space once again. 

Well, except Techno, who didn’t lift his head but instead kept it positioned on Tommy’s lap. His eyes watched Phil solemnly, as though Techno was daring him to try and separate him from the kid. 

“Tommy?” Phil asked, but the boy didn’t respond. He’d gone to some place again inside his head, left the world behind just for a moment. Wilbur knew Phil realized the same thing he had, because the man straightened.

“I’m going to grab some more bankets, I’ll be right back.” He told them, quickly heading for the hallway. Wilbur immediately climbed to his feet, despite not wanting to leave Tommy’s side, and trailed his father up the stairs. At the top of the staircase, Phil turned to him, immediately opening up his arms. 

Phil always knew, somehow. 

Wilbur fell into his arms, and Phil hugged him tight. It occurred to WIlbur that maybe the man needed the hug as much as he did. 

“What are you going to do?” Wilbur asked him nervously. 

Tommy had clearly been struggling since he’d arrived, but they’d all failed to realize just how much he’d been carrying. 

Wilbur couldn’t forget the look in the kids eyes, that haunted, guilty, painful look. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. 

“I-” Phil started, and then he faltered. Wilbur froze, realizing he’d never seen Phil look so unsure. The man collected himself, focusing back on the moment. When he spoke again, his words were more collected. “We just need to get him through the night, we can probably talk to him more about it in the morning. I’ve already got a therapy appointment booked. And I guess I’ll call Sam tomorrow.” 

Wilbur’s heart dropped in his chest. No, surely not. 

“What? Dad, you can’t call Sam! They’ll take him away! Dad, he’s…he’s ours. I know it’s been a week, but he’s a part of the family!” 

Phil smiled warmly. 

“Oh, honey, I know. That’s not what I meant. I hope he won’t intervene, but I have to tell him the situation,” after seeing Wilbur’s relief, Phil smiled. “Not to mention, I have some words to pick with anyone who could let–let that happen to a fifteen year old,” He added, muttering darkly. 

Yeah, Wilbur could agree with that. 

“I want to get back down there, but are you okay?” Phil asked, looking truly concerned for him. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” Wilbur asked, and Phil’s eyes saddened even more. 

“Yes, Wil, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me,” He said, putting a comfortable hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. After only a moment, he took it away, turning in silence to the stairway closet. He started pulling out a heap of blankets.

Wilbur kicked into action, turning into Tommy’s room. He hoped the kid wouldn’t mind the intrusion as he made his way to the bed, finding exactly what he was looking for. 

The stuffed cow they’d gotten at the mall. 

On his way back, he grabbed some spare pillows before following Phil back to the living room. 

Tommy and Techno hadn’t moved, but Tommy looked over when they entered, so he seemed to be a bit more down to earth. 

“Hey Toms, we brought some more blankets to sleep down here. How are you feeling?” Phil asked. 

“I’m okay,” the boy said quietly. 

It was a blatant lie, obviously. 

Wilbur was fairly certain Tommy hadn’t been okay for a single day of his life.

“If there’s anything you want to talk about, know that you can. But I'm sure you’re also tired, so I understand if you don’t feel up for it,” Phil replied with a small smile. 

Tommy just nodded, remaining silent, so Wilbur held up the cow plushie. 

“I brought this down for you,” He offered, and Tommy reached out for it. Wilbur set it in his hand, and waited for the flinch he’d learned to anticipate. 

But it didn’t come. 

He held back a smile at that. Was Tommy finally starting to trust them, or had Wilbur just moved extra slow? Maybe the night had just been too much, and Tommy had reached a point where he simply couldn’t endure any more fear. 

Wilbur didn’t know, but he couldn’t help but see it as progress. 

He settled himself in the reclining armchair as Phil turned out the lights, wrapping a blanket around himself and watching Tommy curiously out of the corner of his eye.

It was dark, but Wilbur could make out the outline of Tommy’s hand, rising shakily a few inches off his lap. He was reaching towards Techno, Wilbur realized in amusement. 

Techno didn’t look very comfortable, sprawled awkwardly across the couch, wedged sort of weirdly so that only his large head was touching Tommy. As Wilbur watched, Tommy gently touched the top of Techno’s head, stroking the fur there tentatively. 

Honestly, Wilbur sort of applauded the kid’s guts, regardless of if Techno had already made Tommy into his pillow or not. 

Obviously, Wilbur and Phil knew there was nothing to fear from the hybrid, but Tommy had been nothing but fearful of Techno since he’d arrived. 

From panicking on sight to initiating touch, Tommy had already come a long way. 

A soft rumble became just barely audible in the silence, as Techno started purring like a house cat. 

What a big softie. 

Wilbur was not jealous that brother bonding was happening without him. 

Not at all. 

Not even a tiny bit. 

He fell asleep to the sounds of his family around him, to the warmth of their presence keeping the coldness of reality at bay.

The world seemed to let them have this moment, a small kindness. 

Wilbur was grateful. 

They’d hardly even gotten to know Tommy, and they’d almost lost him. 

He thought of what he’d said to Phil. 

He’d been a bit panicked, worried that Phil had been implying Tommy might have to leave.

But he’d meant every word. 

Tommy was a part of this mess of a family, with all its scars and bruises. 

They were his, and he was theirs. 

Notes:

I don't know why but I don't really like this chapter? I almost didn't post it and was just gonna skip to the next one but it was written so like why not post. At least it's wholesome?

Chapter 27: in another life maybe i was you, and i grew up into something good, somebody who could swallow love

Summary:

Title from Silver Spoon by Erin Lecount

A sharp crack echoed through the air, and a moment later a searing pain tore across his back. 

He was limp on the ground, paralyzed by the pain. 

The sand at his paws was pink with blood. 

His blood, and the blood of those before him. 

Someone was shouting at him, and as much as he just wanted to lay there, to keel over and die, he found it within himself to get to his feet. 

That’s what they wanted–that’s why they’d whipped him. 

He hardly had time to stand before something was barrelling into him. 

Right. 

That was why he wasn’t supposed to be lying down.

He’d been in the middle of something. 

There was a flurry of fur and claws and teeth. 

Suddenly fangs pressed into his neck, clamping down.

He couldn’t breathe–

He struggled against the other dog, claws scrabbling for purchase in fur. 

But the jaws were tight, and they hurt so bad…

He didn’t want to fight anymore. 

.

.

.

But Tommy had never known a world kind enough to let him die.  

He was a cockroach. No matter what happened, he seemed able to find a way to survive, pitiful as his existence was. 

He ripped his neck free, twisting away from his attacker. He dove back into the fight only a moment later, jaws snapping. 

His teeth met flesh, then blood, then bone. 

And then ~CRACK~

The crowd enveloped into cheers. 

That was good. He’d get dinner tonight.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He looked down at the sand, watching numbly as it darkened with blood. 

It was darkening, a revolting crimson color, but it held more significance than that. 

It meant Tommy had won.

Again. 

It didn’t feel like winning, as he stood in that pit with a corpse hanging from his jaws.

Tommy jerked awake, body instantly entering fight or flight, heart racing, blood pounding in his ears, ready to–

Oh. 

He was on the couch. 

How disorienting, to be in an arena one moment and on a couch the next. 

He focused on slowing his breathing as he resisted the urge to fly off the sofa and puke. It never got easier to choke down the nausea and ignore the acrid taste of blood in his mouth. 

He regretted not having brushed his teeth the night before, the stale feeling in his mouth mixing unsettingly with the metallic tang of blood.

He looked around, finding he was the only one awake.

Tommy wasn’t sure what time they’d gotten to sleep, but he could tell he woke up early from the way the dawn light was only just starting to illuminate the room, a sliver of pink sky visible out the window. 

He felt a sudden urge to go out and lay on the grass, to stare up at the sunrise and let nature’s beauty make the world magical just for a moment.

To let the first rays of dawn wash over him, painting him pink with golden light. He wanted to look at the start of a new day and contemplate what it would be like, even if that carried a heavy sense of dread and a flicker of fear.

He couldn’t move, though–Techno was still asleep with his head on Tommy’s stomach. 

Tommy’s own hand was resting in between the man’s round ears, fingers buried in soft fur. Tommy hoped the man didn’t accidentally shift back in his sleep. 

It would be awkward for Techno to wake up to Tommy having a fistful of his hair. 

Although, he wasn’t entirely sure if the sleep shifting was something everyone did, or if only Tommy did that.

He had done that, he reminded himself. He didn’t shift at all anymore, and it had only taken a few weeks in that cage before he’d culled the accidental shifting.

It was ironic how months ago he’d despised the bad habit, and now he’d give up just about anything to get even a flicker of his ability back.

He looked down at the orange and black stripes he was absently running his fingers through, ashamed for even touching the man. Techno had never expressed discomfort with it, and certainly cuddled up to Wilbur and Phil plenty of times, but Tommy had been on the receiving end of pets and cuddles. 

He knew just how sickening and demeaning it was to be treated as an animal when you weren't one . 

Far too many people had looked at Tommy and decided he was whatever they wanted him to be, and thought they had the right to touch him in whatever way they liked. 

He found it hard to believe Techno could have been in foster care without experiencing at least something vaguely similar. 

He retracted his hand, pulling it up to match his other one, wrapped around the cow stuffy. The moment his hand left Techno, the tiger’s eyes blinked open, staring right at him. 

Tommy jerked in surprise, flinching at how suddenly Techno had woken up. 

Or maybe he’d been awake already?

Techno lifted his head, staring at Tommy intensely. Tommy couldn’t read that expression, and so he just…stared back. 

Was Techno mad? 

“Sorry I was touching you,” He whispered, just in case. 

Techno grumbled a little, not quite a growl, clearly looking at Tommy like he’d lost his mind. 

Alright, so maybe Techno wasn’t mad?

“You know, I don’t know what that means,” Tommy whispered in response, and thus he discovered that tigers are somehow able to roll their eyes. 

Huh. Learn something new everyday, or whatever.

Techno rose up, stretching out above him. Nervousness pulsed through Tommy at the tiger now towering above him, but he pushed it down. He was a Big Man, he wasn’t afraid. 

Techno simply stretched, paws flexing as he arched his spine towards the sky, so Tommy took the moment to get himself more comfortable, shuffling down the couch till he was more horizontal. 

Techno stepped forwards, coming up right beside Tommy, hesitating for only a split second before flopping back down, practically half on top of him. 

Alright, definitely not mad about the touching. 

Tommy let his arm come town over Techno’s back, relaxing into soft fur and the comforting warmth radiating off the tiger’s body.

Techno’s head was resting in the crook of Tommy’s neck, and he thought briefly of the distance between teeth and skin. 

He couldn’t keep his dream out of his mind. 

Fangs in his neck, the pain that followed…

Tommy had seen the fury in Techno’s eyes when he’d found out what Dream had done. He knew what his foster brother was capable of–he’d seen Dream’s bruises, not to mention the broken nose. 

A week ago, he would never, ever, have snuggled up so close to someone so dangerous. He would have run for the hills at even the idea of how close the tiger was to him. 

Now though, he let his fingers comb Techno’s fur absently. 

And it was probably because he was sleepy and resigned, or maybe it was because this was probably going to be the last comforting touch he would receive for a while once Sam came. 

Or possibly, despite all odds, Tommy was learning to trust people again. 

Stupid of him, but he’d never been known for his intelligence.

He didn’t want to go back to sleep, and doubted he even could. 

He thought of his dream with another shudder. The way the life had drained from that dog's body, falling onto sand like it was nothing… 

It was haunting, and far too memorable. 

He didn’t even know if that dream was a memory, or just some horror his mind had decided to conjure. 

It hardly mattered. Even if that hadn’t happened, other times did. 

He’d taken lives more than once. 

Monster. 

He watched his fingers, entranced by the way they trembled atop Techno’s fur.

There was a torrent of memories washing through him, springing to his mind unprompted. He sighed, giving in. 

“Can I tell you a Greek story?” He asked, and Techno’s ears twitched. Taking that as a yes, Tommy continued. 

“There was a little boy, who was born a demigod. His parents were mortals, and they were afraid of him. They gave him up to an orphanage, but he never understood why they’d been so scared. He’d never hurt anyone before, he didn’t think he ever would. But one day, when he got-” He faltered. 

Did the ancient Greeks have foster care?

Eh, whatever. 

“He got taken in by a family, and made friends with the family’s little boy. But then he got sick, and he accidentally hurt the boy with his powers. And he realized why everyone was afraid of him.” 

Techno’s ears were pinned back, and though he couldn't see the tiger’s face, he could tell Techno was listening. 

“So the little boy started to think maybe everyone else was right, but he still tried not to hurt anyone. At first, he felt like no one was giving him much of a chance to prove himself, but he sort of stopped thinking like that after it happened again, and he accidentally hurt another person. They’d been telling the little boy he couldn’t use his powers, ever, and the boy had tried to listen, but sometimes he couldn’t control them,” He paused again, collecting his thoughts.

“The boy ended up on the streets of, uh, ancient Rome, and he found a squirrel. He’d been hungry for days, and the squirrel was hurt, like it had fallen off a tree or something. He knew that he could just eat the squirrel, and he was so, so hungry. But he looked at it in his hands and he just couldn’t make himself do it,”

He halted then, eyes still glued to his own hands.

He could practically see the blood of everyone he’d hurt dried under his fingernails, just as he could taste it on his own lips.

“Killing the thing probably would have been kinder then letting it live in pain, but he just didn’t want to make himself more of a monster then he already was. So he tried…he tried to care for it, and feed it, but then one night, when he was so, so, hungry, his powers took over and he ended up killing it. Not out of self defense, not out of fear, just because he was too weak to ignore the hunger. And when he ate it, he felt so repulsed that he threw it back up. Its life was taken so selfishly, and it didn’t even help the boy. He’d killed it for nothing,”

He stared up at the ceiling in silence for a while, contemplating. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of this incident, but it still brought emotion into his voice, dark memories clawing to the surface, each begging to be heard. 

“He truly became a monster that day. He tried to say it was the stuff from before that, or other stuff that happened later on, but that was truly what broke him. Because unlike every other time, no one had made him do what he’d done.” 

There was more to this story. There were more houses after, more horrible situations. There was a cage and a pit and unending pain. There was blood, and mistakes, and violence. There were sirens and flashing lights. There was panicked running, and inevitable catching. 

There was a lifetime more to the story, but it didn’t need to be said. He’d only cemented who he was, he’d never truly gotten any better. 

He didn’t really think there was a way to get better. 

Sometimes, things just were what they were. 

A monster was a monster, even if it looked like a little boy.

The quiet of the early morning was suddenly too much to handle. He’d been grateful the whole time that Techno couldn’t speak in hybrid form, but now he wished his thoughts had stayed bottled up in the back of his head, tucked away safely where no one could hear.

He should have stuck to the silence he’d become so dependent on. Why had he so unable to ignore the flood of feelings and memories that had demanded to be let out? 

And then Techno shifted, flipping to the side. A heavy paw came to rest on Tommy’s chest, right over his heart. 

He held eyes with a tiger for a long moment.

 A beast, by most definitions. A violent creature, not so different from him.

Then Techno–ears flat, eyes round, claws retracted–simply pressed closer, and nuzzled into Tommy’s neck with a purr.

Caught off guard, Tommy lay shocked for a moment. He didn’t know what it meant, not really. He didn’t know what any moment of his life had ever meant. But he knew there was at least an attempt at comfort happening here, and that had to count for something. 

He didn’t really think he’d be able to fall back asleep, but the rise and fall of Techno’s chest, accompanied by soft purring…it was too relaxing, too enticing. 

Sleep yanked at him, pushing and pulling like an ocean swell. He’d jolt awake, shocked he’d even let himself relax. And then he’d drop back into weightlessness, unable to keep his eyes open. Then his body panicked into alertness once more. 

It was like his mind couldn’t decide if he was safe or not. By all accounts, he shouldn’t feel safe. It would be stupid to let his guard down. Hadn’t he just learned a particularly painful lesson about that, courtesy of Dream?  

But at the same time…Tommy truly didn’t believe he was in danger.

He’d never received touch like this, so genuine, so caring. 

How was he supposed to resist something he’d never had, when he had only just begun to realize he wanted it?

He despised how soft he’d become, but he couldn’t help himself from relishing this short reprieve from reality. 

For a moment, with warmth surrounding him and soft purring in his ears, the world wasn’t so scary.

He’d never had love, and its absence had burrowed deeply within him, entwining until he couldn’t tell what was him and what was that dark, poisoned emptiness. Tommy had done terrible things, surely he didn’t deserve this kind treatment.

But a new voice was clamoring relentlessly in the back of his mind. If Tommy had received love like this, if he’d grown up with safety and comfort within an arm's reach…would he have done those things? Would he be a different person? 

Would he be like Techno, able to love and be loved in return? Able to show people a softer side of himself without fear they would use it against him? 

Tommy didn’t feel jealousy very often anymore. The feeling numbed long ago, when he began to realize he would never be like the other kids at school, with loving parents who asked about their day. He’d never have family game nights or weekend camping trips. He’d never have a parent teach him how to drive a car, or take him to a baseball game. 

It had stung at first, but like every wound, the pain eased over time. 

Now he just accepted it as a fact, and he had stopped chasing that unattainable pipe dream a while back. There was no picket fence house in his future. He knew that. 

So why did he feel an ache in his chest? Why were tears pricking in his eyes as he looked down at Techno?

Techno was a troubled foster kid just like him, but he’d somehow played the cards right and ended up with everything Tommy would never get. 

Because when the rest of the family woke up, Tommy would leave, but Techno would stay. 

It didn’t feel fair, suddenly. 

This was a bad road to go down–Tommy knew where this train of thought would get him. 

But no matter how hard he tried to stop himself, he couldn’t stop the feeling that rose within him. 

It just wasn’t fair . 

He’d deny it to anyone who asked, but Tommy wanted this life. He wanted unconditional love from a caring father, playful but kind-hearted banter with brothers. He wanted a family who didn’t care if he shifted. He wanted strength and power and no need to use it. 

He wanted what Techno had, and Techno didn’t even know that. It reminded him too much of his argument with Tubbo and Ranboo, the same empty jealousy sprouting within him.

Envy was a horrible, twisted emotion. It made him feel sick and ungrateful. It made him want to light the world on fire and watch while it burned to ashes. 

It made him want to shove Techno away and reject the illusion the Watson’s were trying to trick him with. He would never belong here. 

It wasn’t just his powers that were broken. Tommy had been beaten down one too many times by the world, by the people in it, by his own actions. He was too far gone.

This cozy, domestic life didn’t have a place in it for someone like him. He was a monster, dangerous at his best and pathetic at his worst.

Four years ago, it would be a different story. If he’d been fostered at twelve, the way Techno had been, the Watson’s could have smoothed his rough edges and turned him docile.

But he hadn’t been rescued all those years ago. 

Instead, he’d realized nobody was there for him, and that his survival was entirely dependent on himself. He’d broken apart again and again with nobody to pick up the shattered fragments.

Each time he had to rescue himself, he lost small bits and pieces along the way, like an animal chewing off its limb to get out of a snare. 

He’d been busy keeping himself alive, and he hadn’t noticed just how much of himself he’d sacrificed. He’d been paying a price without even realizing, losing himself more and more every day. Now not a single shard of the real Tommy remained, just a boy-sized monster wearing his skin.

He couldn’t pick up the pieces of himself anymore, not when there were none left to grab. 

It wasn’t just his powers that had led him to the rooftop. It was this slow realization, the weight of what he’d lost. He hadn’t given up–he just simply couldn’t continue. He wanted to keep fighting, but he’d lost his claws. 

So he’d thrown himself off the roof in an attempt to get them back, and he’d failed .

There was a separation between who Tommy was and who he could have been, an unbridgeable gap. In another life, where he’d never been so beaten down, where he’d never used his powers for so much bad…maybe he wouldn’t have lost them. Maybe he’d be able to accept help and care without fear and mistrust. 

Maybe he could have been Techno, able to love and be loved in return. 

But he wasn’t Techno, and this life wasn’t his. 

Even if he wished it was.

Notes:

Your honor, they are brothers. Brothers i say, and they shall bond. All of the time and extremely intensely. your honor i NEED it

this story is getting so much longer then I intended it to be...

Chapter 28: maybe i'm hiding behind metaphor

Summary:

Title from Four by Sleeping At Last

When Tommy woke back up, Techno was no longer cuddled up against him. 

He didn’t feel a pang of hurt and loss at that. 

No, not at all. 

Tommy didn't care. 

He didn’t . 

He sat up nervously. It was much later in the day, and the room was fully lit. It was a bit weird, honestly. He really hadn’t thought he would fall back asleep. 

At least there hadn’t been any nightmares this time. 

There was quiet conversation from behind him, and he glanced over to the kitchen. 

Ah. The Watsons were cooking, all three of them. 

Instinctively, he took a deep breath, smelling the air. No hint of bacon or sausages, it smelled more like…bread? He could hardly tell.

He let his eyes follow his nose, and figured from the batter splattered across the island that pancakes were being made. 

“Hey Toms, good morning!” Phil called over his shoulder, a plastic spatula in one hand. 

He was wearing that dumb apron again–the one covered in a bunch of weird little hearts. 

“Hi,” Tommy responded, shrinking back into the couch a little. Techno looked over, and the pair made uncomfortable eye contact for a long moment. 

Shit. 

Tommy regretted allowing himself to be cuddled, just as much as he regretted he’d opened his mouth and heart in the quiet hours of the morning.

“Hope you like pancakes, Tommy! We accidentally made enough to feed an army,” Wilbur chirped, his voice light and tinged with humor as it broke through Tommy’s thoughts. 

He looked to the side of Wilbur, finding a towering stack of pancakes that was piled so high Tommy was sure it was about to fall over. Wilbur…hadn’t been kidding. 

He nodded, trying to find it within himself to smile. 

It was odd, he was usually able to put a mask on and make his face do whatever he wanted. But even the motion of tugging the corners up on his mouth felt exhausting. 

He was so, so tired. 

He supposed life was a tiring thing, and at sixteen, Tommy felt he’d lived an especially tiring one. 

But at least there were pancakes. 

He rose from the couch, stretching out his neck. He hadn’t chosen the most comfortable sleeping position, lying awkwardly on the couch. Still, he was thankful he’d at least been able to sleep. 

He meandered into the kitchen in no particular rush, feeling more than a little awkward. 

He suddenly felt the taste of his own stale breath in his mouth, and frowned at it. He hadn’t gotten ready for bed last night, not expecting the night to be spent on the couch.

“Uh-I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” He mumbled, turning without seeing anyone’s reply.

If he was going to be leaving that morning, he at least wanted to feel clean. He started up the stairs, reaching the bathroom in only a moment. 

He paused for a second. It was kind of like teleporting, when he zoned out like that. Like his own little superpower.

A doctor might disagree with that diagnosis, but Tommy was satisfied with his super cool ability to exist without existing. 

He sighed, looking up into his reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush in his mouth. He found himself staring into his own dull eyes, finding the sight slightly disturbing.

At least the black eye was fully gone. His hair was a mess–it usually was, but it was particularly bad today. Not to mention it was grown out and far too long. It fell over his eyes, and he did his best to push it back. 

It didn’t work, so he gave up, choosing instead to spit into the sink, and every muscle in his body seized up when his soapy spit was tinged pink. 

Not again–

No, he’d just brushed too hard. 

There was no blood in his mouth. He hadn’t bitten anyone in months . 

He turned on the tap and washed it away. 

A sudden rapping on the door broke through the quiet, causing him to jump. Putting his toothbrush down, he opened the door to reveal Techno behind it, hands shoved awkwardly in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

To Tommy’s credit, he tried to stop himself. But, well, he was tired and achy and a bit afraid, and overall pretty impulsive. 

So he rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“I’m not gonna fling myself out the window, if that’s what you’re worried about,” He muttered, the words sharp and bitter on his tongue. Techno’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly. 

“I would hope not,” He muttered, and then he just…stood there, watching.

Tommy stared back at him, and they had a weird, awkward staring contest. 

Tommy won, of course, because he is the Greatest Ever. Techno loses, because he is the Worst and also probably hadn’t known they were playing. 

Which was on him. Techno should know these things. 

Instead of knowing, Techno just sighs, letting his eyes scan the room for a moment, before landing back on Tommy. They’re far less stern, like Techno used that brief moment to recollect himself. 

“Tommy, I’ve been thinking about your story from last night,” Techno admitted, and Tommy froze. 

Yeah, he’d somehow sorta forgotten about that. 

“I don’t think that little boy became a monster,” Techno said. Tommy sighed. 

Of course they were doing this now. 

In the doorway of the bathroom. 

Great.

“The thing about this world, Tommy, is that the only universal language is violence. It’s not your fault if you speak it. Especially if you were just trying to survive.” Techno continued. 

Yeah, Tommy did not want to have this conversation. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be gettin’ older, man. Your memory’s gone to shit, I can tell–”

“Tommy, please,” Techno tried. 

“Look, man, that story wasn’t about me. Actually, what story? I don’t know what a story is! Let's go have pancakes, yeah? Pogchamp!”

Techno did not look impressed by his rambling. 

“Alright, alright. Fine,” He grumbled, resigning himself to his fate. 

“You’re not a monster, Tommy.”

Oh. 

That took the wind from his sails pretty quick, and his humor abandoned him. 

That was–wow. 

Techno was certainly very direct. 

“Uh-” He stuttered, but he found himself lacking a reply. 

Techno was wrong. He didn’t know all the things Tommy had done. He only knew the version of Tommy that was docile and pathetic.

He ran a hand through his hair anxiously, fingers yanking against the tangles. 

“I don’t believe you,” He finally managed to whisper. 

Techno frowned, as though he hadn’t been expecting that outcome. 

“Why not?” 

Tommy took a second to gather his thoughts.

“Because–because why does the little boy get to survive, and not the squirrel? Why is his life worth more than it’s?” he finally blurted, clinging to the pretense of a story like it was somehow still believable. 

Techno just nodded solemnly, seeming to take this in stride. 

“It’s not fair, but it’s the circle of life. Not everything can survive. You said it yourself, the squirrel was already hurt, and it was going to die at some point. Its death might seem meaningless at first glance, but it changed who the boy was. It became part of his story.” he explained. 

Tommy shook his head. 

Techno didn’t get it .

“It was never supposed to be eaten , not by a-a person. Only a monster would do that,” He muttered, looking down at his feet. 

“Tommy, everyone says hybrids are humans with animal traits, right?” When Tommy nodded, Techno continued. “But humans are animals. There’s no distinction there. We might have opposable thumbs and unusually large brains, but what really distinguishes humans from animals? Whether you’re human, hybrid, or squirrel, we’re all just animals. We eat to survive. We kill to survive. We do anything, everything , to survive.” 

But that–that didn’t make sense. 

Tommy blurted the words, unable to stop himself. 

“If the whole point is to survive, why don’t I care if I die ?” 

It was silent for a moment as Techno gazed at him in mute shock, and Tommy realized he’d dropped the facade. 

He’d finally admitted it was him struggling, him hurting, him confused. Not some character in a Greek myth. 

It was just him . 

Tommy. 

Monster. 

It wasn’t like Techno had believed it was just a myth anyway.

Finally, the other teen spoke, his words slow and sincere. 

“You’ve gotten it into your head that you don’t deserve to live, when honestly, I can't think of anyone who deserves it more.” 

He’d rather Techno had punched him. 

It would probably hurt less than this aching, uncomfortable feeling suddenly sprouting in his chest.

He blinked, finding there was a wateryness in his eyes that he didn’t want there.

“I-”

“Tommy, you’ve seen what I did to Dream. I hurt him, does that make me a monster?” Techno asked, giving a little shrug like it wasn’t a big deal.

As though none of this was a big deal. 

“No. I mean, you were protecting me,” Tommy said quickly, shaking his head. 

But that situation was different. 

“Do you think a cat is a monster when it kills a mouse to feed itself?”

“No,” he responded again.

It was still…different.

Right?

“We eat chicken, beef, and pork. Does that make us monsters?”

“Those animals are supposed to be eaten, they’re raised to be killed. That’s their whole purpose,”

“And what is a squirrel's purpose?” 

Tommy’s mind wandered to the squirrel he’d met at the park, who’d chittered at him from his shoulder as he fed it his lunch.

It had sat in his hands and trusted him far more than he deserved, all because he’d offered it a crust of half-squashed bread. 

Why had it trusted him? Why had it risked so much? Just for something to eat?

“I-I don’t know. To survive, I guess, and not be eaten?”

Techno shook his head, but he didn’t comment on Tommy’s answer.

“And what is the little boy’s purpose? What is your purpose?”

“I-Techno, I dunno,” He mumbled, giving up.

This was all getting very philosophical. 

“It’s to survive, just like the squirrel, just like me, just like cows and sheep, like every living thing. Nothing is born just to die,” He paused for a moment, the words sinking into Tommy. They pushed through him, trickling down into the floor, escaping. 

He let them go, but he didn’t forget what they’d meant. No, their message sunk deep, twisting through his mind. 

Just last night, hadn’t he been thinking about how he’d sacrificed so much in order to survive? 

How different was he from the squirrel if he died now? After all the pain he’d gone through, everything he’d given up so he could be standing here today–that would be dying in vain. 

He didn’t truly want to die, he never had. But there was something growing, an opponent to the neutrality that Tommy had always carried about the subject. 

Sure, he wasn’t sure he had the strongest will to live, but a spark that had caught from Techno’s insistence. 

Some determination, drawn up from deep inside, that told him he could convince himself to care. Just for a little bit longer.

Techno smiled at him, clearly aware of the gears in his mind turning. 

“You’re not a monster, but even if you were…I’d say you’ve still got the right to live. And I’d still care about you, monster or not.” Techno told him.

Oh. 

He hadn’t been quite ready for that. 

It’s one thing to tell someone they aren’t a monster. It’s another to tell them you’d still care about them if they were. 

Nobody had really cared about Tommy, monster or not. 

It was…scary. 

Yeah. 

It was kind, he supposed, but too unfamiliar to truly be comforting. 

But maybe he could wrap his head around it, sometime in the future? 

Yeah, he thought he might be able to do that.

But for now: scary. 

“You alright, Tommy?” Techno asked. 

No. 

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t really feel the tears, but he could tell by Techno’s face that he was most likely crying. 

He’d been doing that too much lately, so he tried to blink, but only succeeded in blurring in his vision and confirming his thoughts.

A hand was placed on his head, and he flinched hard. 

He hadn’t seen it coming, but after the initial surprise, he found the brief moment of fear had passed. 

Techno was more than capable of hurting him, but Tommy just…didn’t think the older boy would. 

And if he was wrong, and this all ended badly? He reckoned he didn’t have anything to lose. 

He might as well lean into the touch, relish the way Techno’s fingers carded gently through the tangles… 

He felt the tension leave him, mind going blank as he focused on the sensation of kindhearted touch. 

“Jeez, when’s the last time you brushed this?” Techno muttered, seeming unimpressed by the disheveled state of Tommy’s hair. 

It wasn’t like Tommy was too impressed with it either. 

He blinked at Techno, looking up into the face of someone he trusted . 

He’d had a feeble sort of trust with the Watson’s before, a general understanding that they weren’t like other foster families. 

This was different. 

Tommy truly, utterly believed that Techno wanted the best for him. 

He hadn’t felt that about someone in a very long time. 

Techno, seeming to sense the direction Tommy’s thoughts were going, extended the arm that wasn’t touching Tommy’s head. 

If that wasn’t an invitation, he didn’t know what was. 

He closed the small space between them, throwing himself into Techo’s chest. 

It hurt his nose a little, since it was still sore from Dream. He didn’t mind.

Arms closed down over his back, Techno’s fingers still embedded in his hair. 

He hated how nice it felt.

He hated that it helped. 

He hated the way his whole body relaxed at the touch.

“I hate you,” He told Techno, voice muffled by the fabric of the teen’s t-shirt. 

“Okay,” Techno told him back. 

“You’re a wrong-un. You’re scary, and you're confusing, and-and stupid .”

“Okay,”

“You’re angry, and you’re nice . You care too much. And…and your hair is pretty. And you smell good,” He continued, despite the way his insults had quickly dissolved into compliments. 

“I’ll have to work on that,” Techno chuckled. Tommy could hear the smile in his words, the affection there. He balled his hands up into fists. 

They stayed frozen for a moment, completely still other than the relaxing touch in Tommy’s hair.

After a while, when Tommy’s tears had begun to dry, he burrowed his face deep into Techno’s chest and sighed. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, so quiet he was pretty sure Techno wouldn’t even be able to hear him. 

There were a lot of things Tommy was thankful for. Techno had gone after Dream, he’d guarded Tommy at school. He’d stayed with Tommy all last night, and listened. Now, he was telling Tommy he wasn’t the monster everyone thought he was. 

He was a pretty good guy, Tommy decided. A little scary, but decent enough. 

He whispered his thanks once again, trying to keep his voice quiet. 

But then Techno’s arms tightened around him, hugging him tighter. 

And Tommy knew he’d heard.

Notes:

you guys have been getting so much fluff lately...

Chapter 29: there may be no meaning, so find one and seize it

Summary:

Title from Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths

this is the chapter I forgot to add so it got added back in on May 13th.

Phil had a lot of concerns. 

In all honesty, there were too many to count. All he wanted was to take off into the evening sky and let them fade away–but no. 

No, he had to be here, grounded. 

He sighed once again on the phone. 

“Sam, how did it go unnoticed for eight months?!” he asked, and emotion was creeping into his voice. He tried to reel his temper back in. It wasn’t truly Sam’s fault, Phil supposed. 

“Phil, I understand why you’re upset. This worries me too, but I swear I had no idea. Some of Tommy’s houses have been really horrible about his shapeshifting. I never wanted to pressure him into talking about that stuff,” Sam was saying. Phil just shook his head, silent. 

“Look, I noticed when Tommy stopped showing his hybrid traits, but that was years ago. I just assumed he was keeping them hidden, not that he hadn’t shifted. And, well...fuck, I really wish i’d known. I never see Tommy for long, it’s usually only when moving him from place to place. Some car rides he wouldn’t say a single word to me.” 

These excuses felt like too little, but Phil knew thinking like that was irrational. 

He couldn’t truly fault Sam for not noticing, not when the man rarely even saw Tommy. 

But Phil? 

Phil had lived with him for a whole week , and he’d never once done so much as think about it. 

Techno shifted constantly, at least daily. Phil less so, but he had his wings out most of the time.

And yet he’d ignored that Tommy hadn’t shifted in front of them once, missing all the signs. 

Part of him had just assumed Tommy was private about it, shifting only in his room, or something…but he mostly hadn’t really thought about it.

He was so angry with himself. 

And now he was taking that anger out on Tommy’s poor social worker. 

Deflated, he finally responded to Sam. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry, It’s not your fault.” He finally admitted. Sam was quiet on the other end. 

“I’m not right . Nothing about this is right. I don’t see him much, but I still should have noticed something. He’s my responsibility as much as he is yours,” Sam finally responded. 

It was more than most social workers would say, Phil had to admit. 

He decided to shift topics, aching to answer the other question that had been nagging his mind. 

“Sam, do you know what happened to Tommy a year ago? He said he ran away from a house, and was on the streets…” He trailed off, unsure if Sam would know where he was going. 

“I–Not really. I mean, I know a few things, but Tommy’s never talked to me about it. From what I heard from the police when I met them at the hospital, they busted a dog fighting ring and discovered one of the dogs was actually a hybrid. But I'm not sure exactly how Tommy got into the whole mess, or anything else that happened with the cops before they called me.” 

It made sense–how else would Tommy have gotten out. Still his mind lingered on Sam’s words. 

The hospital.

“I see. He told us a bit about being involved with dog fighting. It’s good to know the ring got busted, at least.”

It was a small comfort, compared to the obvious pain and trauma those fights had caused Tommy. 

“He told you? Really?” Sam said abruptly, clearly shocked. 

“Yeah, not much…but a bit,”

“That’s…wow? You didn’t force him to, right?” Sam’s voice took on a dangerous edge, and Phil really needed to stop being so harsh to this guy. He clearly cared about Tommy. 

“I didn’t force him, I just asked. He didn’t seem very inclined to go into detail, and it was definitely hard for him to talk about,” Phil explained. It occurred to him that Tommy had maybe never shared these experiences with someone before. 

As much as it hurt to think about, he was glad his family was starting to earn Tommy’s trust. 

“I’m glad, Phil. That’s–he doesn’t do that with most people. Keep looking after him, okay? And try to get him to shift? I’m sure it’s not good for him to go so long.” 

“Of course,” He answered, and the phone call ended soon after that. 

Although he’d hesitated over the decision, Phil had elected not to tell Sam about the power loss Tommy was experiencing, only that it had been so long since he’d shifted. 

Maybe it was stupid of him, but some part of him just…didn’t want to believe it was permanent. 

And even if it was…

Phil believed Sam, he knew the man wanted the best for Tommy. 

He just didn’t exactly trust whatever protocols Sam might have to follow with something like that . 

Tommy was clearly vulnerable with his secret, and Phil didn’t know if it was truly his place to tell others about it. If Tommy had wanted to, he would have told Sam. He still could. 

There had to be a reason…even if Phil didn’t have a clue what it was. 

But Sam had said it himself–many homes had tried to take advantage of Tommy’s ability, and some of them hated him for what he could do. Maybe the kid was protecting himself by keeping the truth hidden.

He opened the door to his office, finding Tommy sitting alone at the kitchen counter, staring at the door anxiously. 

Phil was surprised Techno had let the kid out of his sight–he’d been clingier than Wilbur to the poor boy all day, acting like Tommy was about to keel over and die at any moment.

But a glance around the kitchen, and into the living room, confirmed Tommy was alone.

Phil hadn’t told Tommy he was calling Sam, but it was clear from the kid’s mournful expression that he was well aware the call had been made. 

Had he heard? Was he upset?

They stared at each other for a moment, before Tommy broke their eye contact. 

“I’ll pack up my stuff,” He muttered, sliding from the chair. 

“Wait, what ? Tommy, you’re not leaving.” Phil cried out, suddenly understanding why the boy looked so nervous. 

Tommy stilled, looking over at Phil, eyes darting across his face, searching for answers. 

“I’m not?” 

“Not unless you want to. But I don’t want you to leave, that wasn’t why I was on the phone with Sam.” 

Tommy stared at him blankly for a moment, and then his eyes grew watery, and his expression softened. 

“Oh,” He murmured. He was still frozen in place, but he stared at Phil with visible relief.

Okay, so Phil should have made that more clear. How long had Tommy been awaiting his own dismissal from Phil’s home? 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Toms. Why would we send you away? Even if you had done something wrong, we still wouldn’t. You have a home here for as long as you want it,” Phil told him. 

That seemed to be too much for Tommy. 

“But I can’t shift,” Tommy responded, voice trembling. His tears spilled over, but it wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t loud or desperate–No, it was a quiet, stunned sort of crying. Like the tears were just slipping out, almost unnoticeably. Phil was surprised the kid had any tears left to cry at this point.

“You having a home is not conditional on whether or not you can shift, Tommy. I couldn’t care less about whether you have powers or not,” Phil told him gently. 

“Oh,” Tommy said again, still trembling and blinking rapidly, looking as though this was a groundbreaking concept. 

“Are you okay, Toms? You don’t have to lie to me,” Phil asked then. It wasn’t really a necessary question, because anyone could tell just by looking at the boy that he wasn’t okay. But Phil still asked, because he wanted Tommy to know how much he cared.

Tommy paused with his mouth open, clearly having been ready to say he was fine. To lie. 

He stopped himself, shuffling uncomfortably, before his expression became resigned. 

“I don’t think I've ever been okay.” 

It wasn’t good news, obviously, but at least it wasn’t another lie. That was all Phil wanted. Admitting things were bad was usually the first step in making them better. 

Tommy was still crying, and Phil did the only thing he considered himself an expert at: he outstretched his arms.

There was only a split second of pause before Tommy moved into the hug, letting Phil hold him.

“Oh, mate, It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna help, alright? I’m gonna be here to help,” He murmured into Tommy’s hair as he carded his fingers through it. 

“I don’ know why I keep cryin’,” Tommy said, voice muffled and shaky against Phil’s chest. “I’m usually better…’m sorry you guys keep havin’ to hug me,” He added after a moment. 

“Oh, Tommy, never apologize for that. I’d love nothing more than to hug you.” He pulled back a little, staring Tommy in the eyes. 

“I have a feeling we’ve got sixteen years of hugs to catch up on, is that true?” he asked. Tommy nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Tommy muttered, sniffling a little. 

Phil let his wings out, ripping through yet another t-shirt, and wrapped them around Tommy.

Wilbur would probably make fun of him for it, but he hardly cared.

As long as Tommy felt safe, nothing mattered.

Their hug didn’t last long–not long enough. 

Still, it was enough for Tommy to calm down, and when the kid pulled away his eyes were dry. His ears were tipped pink, a blush painted over his cheeks. 

“Uh, am I interrupting something,” Techno’s voice rang out, awkward and monotone. Phil looked over to the entrance to the kitchen, finding Techno hesitating in the doorway, looking downright amused. 

Phil rolled his eyes at his son, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Each time Tommy showed any amount of affection it was impossible not to celebrate it, even if he only did so in his head. 

Tommy flushed even redder, then mumbled some excuse and practically fled the room. Techno chuckled, coming over to Phil. 

“I needa talk to you for a minute.” He muttered. Phil motioned towards his office door, and the two of them made their way inside. 

The moment the door closed behind the two of them, Techno was digging into his pocket, thrusting a folded piece of paper at Phil. 

“I know it was wrong to look at it, but I couldn't help it. Phil, look at what he’s been through.” He insisted. 

Nervously, Phil accepted the paper and unfolded it. In large letters across the top was the name of a hospital, and he recognized it immediately. That was in this town, not a far drive away. Tommy had been here, but out of reach regardless.

The paper was a patient medical report, that much was obvious. He glanced up at Techno. 

“What is this?” 

“It’s the state he was in after the dog fighting ring,” Techno explained. Phil took a deep breath, looking back to the paper. 

It…was extensive. To think anyone had let a teenager end up like this was horrifying. 

Still, he understood why Techno was upset. He ignored the initial shock, and let himself read. 

 

Patient Name : Tommy Innit
DOB : 04/09/2004
Age: 15 years

Hybrid Status : Polyformic
Attending Physician : Dr. Jack Manifold, assisted by Nurse Hannah Rose
Hospital : L’manburg General Hospital
Report Type: Emergency Room Summary / Rescue Admission

Summary of Incident:

The patient was brought in under emergency conditions after being rescued from an underground dog fighting ring. He presented with severe physical trauma, including whip lacerations, bruising, bites, and malnutrition. The patient was severely underweight and appeared to have been deprived of proper nourishment and care for an extended period. He was physically weak, disoriented, and in significant pain. Injuries could have very well been fatal had the patient been brought in any later.

Primary Injuries:

1. Whip Lacerations:
• Diagnosis: Multiple whip marks across the upper and lower back, with varying degrees of healing. Some cuts are fresh, others appear to have been inflicted days, weeks, or months prior, showing signs of significant scarring.
• Treatment: The lacerations were cleaned and disinfected. Stitches were applied to the more severe wounds, and ointment was prescribed. Pain management and a tetanus shot administered.
• Prognosis: The newer lacerations will require ongoing treatment for infection prevention and pain relief. Lacerations will likely leave permanent scarring.
2. Bruising:
• Diagnosis: Extensive bruising across the torso, arms, and legs, indicative of repeated blunt force trauma.
• Treatment: Ice packs applied to reduce swelling, and pain management was prescribed. The bruising is expected to heal with time.
• Prognosis: Bruising will take approximately 2-4 weeks to resolve, depending on severity. No internal bleeding or organ damage detected in the initial examination.
3. Bites and Scratches:
• Diagnosis: Multiple bite wounds on the arms, legs, and shoulders, presumed to be from dogs. There are also scratch marks consistent with attempts to defend himself. Many marks showed signs of infection or improper healing.
• Treatment: The bites were cleaned and dressed with antiseptic. Antibiotic treatment (Amoxicillin 500mg 3x daily for 5 days) was prescribed to prevent infection. A tetanus booster was given.
• Prognosis: The bites are expected to heal in 1-2 weeks with proper care. Scarring from the bites may be permanent, depending on the severity of the wounds.
4. Malnutrition:
• Diagnosis: Patient is severely malnourished, showing signs of weakness, dizziness, and low body fat percentage. The patient's weight is well below average for a 15-year-old male, likely due to prolonged starvation.
• Treatment: IV fluids were administered immediately to address dehydration. Nutrient-dense meals have been recommended. 
• Prognosis: It will take several weeks for the patient to regain strength and stabilize. Ongoing monitoring of vitals, weight, and electrolyte levels will be necessary.
5. Dehydration and Electrolyte Imbalance:
• Diagnosis: Severe dehydration and electrolyte imbalance as a result of malnutrition and neglect.
• Treatment: IV fluids and electrolytes (sodium, potassium, magnesium) were given immediately. The patient was put on a hydration plan.
• Prognosis: Hydration levels will improve within 24-48 hours, but the patient will require continued monitoring to prevent further complications.
6. Psychological Trauma:
• Diagnosis: The patient exhibits signs of severe psychological trauma, including hypervigilance, anxiety, and dissociation.
• Treatment: A referral to a psychologist or counselor for trauma and PTSD evaluation. Sedatives and anxiolytics were administered to help calm the patient initially. Ongoing mental health support is crucial.
• Prognosis: Psychological recovery will require long-term therapy. Signs of trauma and distress are expected to persist for several months or years.

Medications Administered:

• Pain Management: Ibuprofen 400mg every 6 hours for pain relief.
• Antibiotics: Amoxicillin 500mg twice daily for 5 days to prevent infection from bites and scratches.
• Tetanus Shot: Administered due to open wounds.
• Sedatives/Anxiolytics: Lorazepam 1mg as needed for anxiety and distress.

Physician’s Notes:

The patient is currently in critical but stable condition. The physical injuries will require several weeks of care, with a focus on healing the lacerations, bruises, and bites. The patient’s physical recovery will require careful monitoring, due to the possibility of infection for many of the wounds. 

 

 

Notes:

Is the medical report necessary? Probably not. Did I add it anyway? Yes. If Techno and Phil get to see it, so do all of you.

Anyway, sorry for somehow forgetting this chapter the first time around...my bad

Chapter 30: heaven don’t know where you’re running from (heaven don’t know what you call your home)

Summary:

Title from Heaven by Bryan Adams.

“Tommy, when’s your birthday?” Wilbur asked, looking at the boy. 

He was curious, but he was also getting desperate to break Tommy out of whatever spell he was under. 

The kid had eaten a few bites of pancakes and was now lost in thought, staring down at his plate blankly. 

Techno and Wilbur had been talking about this habit. 

Techno had called it ‘Dissociation’. 

After the conversation last night, Wilbur was pained to think about the event of Tommy’s past that had hurt him so bad he’d developed a coping mechanism like that. 

Tommy seemed jerked back to reality by the sound of his name. 

“Uh-say that again?” He asked sheepishly. 

“When’s your birthday?” Wilbur repeated, just as cheerfully. 

Tommy’s face scrunched in thought.

“I dunno,” He said finally, shrugging. “Sometime in April.”

The table stilled, and Wilbur felt his smile fall. 

“You don’t…you don’t remember?” Wilbur stuttered, absolutely shattered by this information. 

“It’s been a while since i’ve thought about it,” Tommy muttered defensively, ears flushing pink. “It’s probably in my file.” 

It definitely was. 

The table was silent for a moment aside from Techno’s chewing. Ew, he chewed so loudly. Wilbur sent him a glare, but his brother didn’t seem to notice it. 

Some people were past saving. Wilbur sighed, earning a curious look from Phil. 

Right. He’d forgotten the conversation. 

“Well Tommy, would you want to look through your file for it, after breakfast?” Phil offered. 

Wilbur paused. He remembered Phil offering the choice to look through his file too. Wilbur had, mostly because he’d been curious about his birth parents, but it had been…a lot.

And his parents had turned out to most likely be assholes anyway, who’d gotten arrested when he was still a toddler.

Techno had thrown his file into the fireplace without even opening it, claiming everything in there was either a lie or something he already knew. 

It wasn’t exactly fun to see the worst experiences of your life translated into words on a page. 

What the hell was Phil thinking?

A glance at his dad told him Phil hadn’t been thinking.

The man looked green, clearly regretting his words. 

This was going to end terribly, Wilbur already knew it. 

It wasn’t that Tommy didn’t deserve to know what was in it. 

It was that the kid was still vulnerable and scared. It wasn’t a bad idea, just…too early. 

Tommy’s face scrunched once again at the offer, and Wilbur could practically see the internal battle happening. 

Eventually, Tommy’s curiosity seemed to win out. 

“Can I be the one to look?” He asked timidly. Phil nodded. 

“Of course, mate.”

However, once breakfast was all cleaned up and they were all seated in the living room, Tommy seemed to regret his decision. 

He was staring at the folder in his lap intensely, fingers curled into fists at his sides. 

Techno was staring into a book, but he hadn’t flipped a single page. Wilbur could tell he was just trying to make Tommy feel more comfortable by feigning disinterest.

“Okay,” Tommy sighed, setting his shoulders. He flipped the file open to a random part in the middle. 

From Wilbur’s angle, he was only able to make out a photo, too far away to tell exactly what it was of. He saw blonde curls, though, and it wasn’t hard to guess who was featured. 

Tommy yelped and leapt into the air, slamming the folder closed before shoving it away so harshly it almost seemed like it had burned him. 

The papers exploded into the air, fluttering around the living room in a mess. 

Tommy withdrew into the couch, trembling. 

“Oh, Tommy, it’s okay,” Phil tried, seeing the evident panic in Tommy’s eyes. 

Wilbur looked in mute horror as Tommy’s entire life scattered around the room, papers everywhere. 

He tried to keep his eyes on the kid, instead of on the pictures and documents that now carpeted the floor. It wasn’t an easy task. 

Right at Wilbur’s feet was a photo, and he knew immediately it was the one Tommy opened the folder to.His gaze stuck to the image as horror pulsed through him.

Tommy was younger, maybe eleven or twelve, but he had the same curly blonde hair and blue eyes. 

Except he had ears .

Big, ovalish ears, brown and fluffy. 

He looked different, though, and it was clear why.

Tommy’s eyes were filled with fury, his expression contorted in anger unlike anything Wilbur had seen from him before. 

And–fuck. 

He had a thick metal contraption over the bottom half of his face. 

Wilbur knew what that was. 

A muzzle . They’d put a muzzle on a fucking child . 

His blood boiled, and he ripped his gaze away. He wasn’t supposed to see that. 

He shouldn’t have seen that. 

And, god, Wilbur would never unsee that.

Tommy was freaking out, Phil trying to comfort him. 

It didn’t seem to be a panic attack, not yet. 

“It’s fine, It’s fine,” Tommy was muttering, but his eyes were scrunched closed, and the words seemed more to himself than to anyone else. 

Wilbur refused to let himself look at any more contents of Tommy’s file, so he looked at his brother. 

Techno didn’t seem to be having the same reservations. 

His gaze was locked onto a sheet of paper on the ground near him, eyes narrowed as he read it. 

Wilbur, the resourceful man that he was, took off his shoe, before proceeding to chuck it at Techno.

It bounced off his shoulder with a quiet thump. 

Techno looked up to glare at him. Wilbur glared back, making a ‘cut-it-off’ motion with his finger at his neck. 

Techno rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look back down at the paper. 

Small victories. 

Wilbur turned back to Tommy, who was now scanning the destruction around them. 

“Sorry, I got surprised,” He whispered. 

“S’alright, kid,” Techno said. “I chucked my file into the fire, so this is a pretty chill reaction compared to that.”

Tommy smiled weakly at Techno’s monotone humor, a flicker of mirth returning to his features. 

“Do you want me to pick them up for you? I’ll try not to look, I promise,” Phil said, and Wilbur knew he meant it. 

Tommy hesitated for a moment, clearly torn. 

Wilbur couldn’t blame him. He didn’t even know what he would do if his entire life became scattered carelessly across the floor. 

But maybe Tommy was stronger than him, or just didn’t care enough, because the kid came to a decision quickly enough. 

“Sure,” He said at last. “I don’t really care what you see,” 

And there was something behind that indifferent shrug and blank look, something worrying.

Like a light had left Tommy, one that had never been burning very bright in the first place. Snuffed out as the kid’s shields rose, bottling his emotions up tight. 

But Wilbur didn’t know how to address it, so he didn’t.

Instead, he thought of what he’d seen; he had no interest in seeing more, that photo alone had been more than enough to prove the contents of Tommy’s file weren’t going to be pretty. 

He understood, probably more than Phil and Techno. 

His file hadn’t been pretty either. 

So as Phil bent down to recover the papers into a messy pile, obviously trying to avoid looking, Wilbur crept closer to Tommy. 

He watched Wilbur approach warily, but he didn’t flinch once, even as WIlbur settled himself on the couch beside the kid. 

“Are you alright, Tommy?” he asked. 

Tommy nodded, his eyes blank and distant. 

“You know these papers don’t mean anything, right? That file isn’t who you are, it doesn’t define you.” 

Tommy turned to him then, eyes foggy and distant, but his face blank. 

“I think even just trying to look shows that you’re very brave,” Wilbur continued. 

Tommy’s eyelids fluttered closed. “I want to know my birthday,” He murmured. Wilbur smiled sadly at him. 

Phil cleared his throat then, holding up a paper. 

“Uh–this might help?” He said, passing it to Tommy. Phil’s face was all scrunched up like he was constipated, and it took WIlbur a moment to realize Phil was trying not to laugh. 

Wilbur leaned over the kids shoulder to see what could possibly turn this moment humorous. 

It was Tommy’s birth certificate, but what was funny about... 

Oh, what the fuck–

“YOUR NAME IS TOMMY DANGER CAREFUL KRAKEN INNIT?!!”

Tommy pushed him away playfully. 

“Shut up!” He whined, but he was grinning . 

“That cannot be real!” Wilbur cried out, practically doubled over with laughter. 

He looked at the paper again, but his eyes had not deceived him. 

He chose to ignore the way the section for Tommy’s parents was blank. Tommy didn’t seem to care about that, so neither would Wilbur. As long as Tommy was happy, nothing else mattered.

It had not gone unnoticed that Tommy was smiling, or that he’d pushed Wilbur playfully, with no trace of fear. 

“I totally forgot they let me pick my name,” Tommy whispered, almost in awe. 

“YOU COULD HAVE CHOSEN ANYTHING, AND YOU PICKED THAT ???” Wilbur cried out, falling into another bout of laughter. Techno and Phil were losing it too, laughter echoing around the room that had been so, so solemn. 

“Yes, and five year old me did a good fucking job! You got a problem with kraken or something??” Tommy shouted back. 

“This is the funniest thing ever,” Wilbur gasped, holding his stomach in pain. He was laughing so hard it hurt . 

“Why the hell would they let a five year old pick their own name?” Techno asked through spouts of laughter. 

“They found me in a tree, no one could figure out who I was!” Tommy whined back, as though this was enough explanation. 

“WHAT?” 

Tommy shrugged. 

“My Ma kicked me out, I think, when I developed powers. She denied having ever seen me before, and Sam said they never found any real paperwork to prove who I was. So I got to pick everything!” 

“What’s your birthday?” Phil asked. Wilbur tensed, preparing himself for whatever day a five year old had decided was the funniest day. 

Tommy grinned proudly. 

“April ninth! National Name Yourself Day, I’ll have you know.”

And well, that was fitting, Wilbur supposed. 

A little sad, but not entirely–there was an element of reclaiming to choosing that day. 

Looking at Tommy, Wilbur could see the kid didn’t see any of this as sad. 

Tommy was clearly fond, if not proud, of his name and his birthday. In a way, WIlbur could imagine that Tommy was proud of his five year old self. 

He wondered if Tommy had the same appreciation for his sixteen year old self. It was alright if he didn’t. Phil, Techno, and Wilbur would show him how. 

Not to mention that they’d celebrate his birthday on April ninth.

Wilbur smirked wickedly, imagining trying to get some poor bakery worker to fit Tommy’s full government name on a cake. 

‘Happy Birthday Tommy Danger Careful Kraken Innit’

Hmm, that had a nice ring to it. 

He wondered if there might be enough room for ‘Watson’ too.

Tommy turned to face Wilbur, still grinning cheekily.

Yeah, ‘Watson’ would fit. 

Wilbur would just have to buy a big cake. 

Notes:

Tommy’s birth certificate may or may not have been made on Sam’s computer and isn’t actually a legally recognized document… Tommy doesn’t need to know that, though.

Also, after this fic finishes, I might write a lil epilogue of Tommy’s first birthday with the Watsons if you all would want that?

Chapter 31: combustible, confused, and free

Summary:

Title from I Just Don't Care That Much by Matt Maeson

Notes:

I have been gone for sooo long and I'm so sorry!!! I had my finals and stuff so I've been swamped but I'm back now!

Tommy had thought Techno was overprotective before he’d jumped off the roof, but clearly that had been nothing compared to now. All day, he’d barely let Tommy out of his sight . 

Techno had insistently lurked in whichever room Tommy was in, and when he moved to a different one, Techno would manage only a few minutes of separation before trailing after him.

Finally, Tommy had attempted to escape by hiding in his room. It…hadn’t worked. 

Sighing down at his math homework, he decided to officially give up–It had been over an hour, and he’d only done one question. 

There was a reason for that. 

Techno had been scrolling through something on his phone for what had felt like an eternity, and as if that wasn’t bothersome enough, the older boy had recently spotted the weird keyboard Wilbur had forced Phil to buy at the mall. 

So now there was faint meowing filling the room as Techno tried (and failed) to play hot cross buns on a cat shaped keyboard. 

Tommy was debating throwing himself out the window a second time when Techno seemed to notice his state of mind. 

“You good?” Tech asked. 

“No. I’m gonna kill my math teacher,” Tommy muttered darkly. 

Techno too, if he didn’t shut the hell up.

“Oh. Need a getaway driver?” 

At least Techno had stopped touching that terrible, godforsaken keyboard.

“Yeah. Do you have a gun I can borrow?” Tommy asked. 

“No,” Techno said. After a moment, he perked up like he was remembering something. “I have a knife though, does that work?”

“A little messy, I dunno,” 

“It’s a cool knife,” Techno offered, shrugging casually. 

Well. 

Tommy did like knives.

And crime. 

“Okay, knife it is,” he decided. “Lets frame Wilbur and get that bitch arrested.” 

“Good plan. We gotta keep Phil’s name clear, though. He can’t get arrested again,” Tech said, nodding sagely. 

Oh? This was news to Tommy. 

“Phil was arrested?! For what? I knew he was a wrong-un all along!” Tommy shouted. Techno chuckled, smiling like he’d been just waiting to share the story. 

“Oh, it’s a great story. There’s this giant statue of a bird, at the zoo not far from here. Me an’ Wil decided it would make a great Father’s Day gift for Phil, so we broke into the zoo the night before with a few friends and a trolley, and we hauled it all the way over here. It weighed a fuckin’ ton, Karl nearly got crushed beneath it and Quackity broke his finger. But we got it into the backyard to surprise Phil when he woke up.” He paused to laugh.

“We told him we bought it off ebay. It was all going great until the cops showed up and arrested Phil. Apparently someone driving past saw us setting it up and called it in. Poor Phil spent Father’s Day alone in a holding cell until he could clear things up and explain he wasn’t the one who stole it.” 

This was quite possibly the best story Tommy had ever heard.  

“No fucking way,” Tommy whispered, gaining a new respect for his foster brothers.

“Yeah. He had to pay a pretty bad fine and they took the statue back, but they let him go. Me and Wil got the last laugh though, if you go to the zoo and look underneath the bird's wing, it still says ‘Property of Philza Minecraft’ in glitter glue.”

“That’s fucking hilarious. Techno, scrap the plan of murdering Ms. Simons. Let’s go steal that bird sculpture again.” 

“Oh no, I’ve corrupted you.” Techno muttered. “As much as I would love to, we can’t send Phil back to jail. Plus they cemented it into the ground, fuckin’ facists.” 

“Come onnn, I wanna do a crime ,” Tommy whined. 

“Actually, you know what we could do?” Techno said after a moment, pausing dramatically. 

Tommy practically felt a sparkle come into his own eye. Now it was getting interesting. 

“Quackity’s parents used to own a food truck, but they don’t use it anymore and it just sits in their backyard. We hang out in there sometimes and he's set it up with a tv and everything. What do ya say we perform a little heist?” Techno asked, grinning wickedly. 

Tommy whooped, punching the air. 

“FUCK YES! Heist is my middle name, Big T!” He yelled. 

“No,” Tech laughed. “It’s Danger Careful Kraken.” 

“Oi, fuck off!” Tommy shouted. He grabbed his pencil and chucked it at Techno, who caught it easily. He tossed it back carelessly.

It was just a pencil, but Tommy still found himself flinching hard. He’d been doing that less, but old habits always break hard.  

It was strange. Lately, Tommy had been having glimpses of a life where he didn’t have to flinch, where he could understand the people around him weren’t going to try and hurt him.

They were short visions into a life he’d never had, and certainly hadn’t earned..but damn him, sometimes it was nice to pretend he might have it one day.

“Sorry kid,” Tech muttered. Tommy rolled his eyes. 

“It’s fine,” he responded, avoiding eye contact. 

He was tired of the pity and apologies. 

There was a moment of awkward silence, the room falling quiet enough that Tommy could hear something coming from the hallway. Was that…music? 

Yeah, a guitar. There was gentle strumming, and a soft voice accompanying it. He opened his mouth to point it out.

“Is that–”

Techno was on his feet in an instant. 

“Wil’s writing songs again?” Tech gasped. He headed for the door, beckoning Tommy to follow. “C’mon. Wil hasn’t played in months,” He said. 

Tommy obliged, following the older boy to Wilbur’s mess of a room. Tech knocked once before letting himself in. 

The strumming stopped. 

Wilbur was sitting on his bed, surrounded by papers and a pen. His guitar rested on his lap, and he looked up through his hair as they entered. 

“You’re playing again,” Tech said, stating the obvious. 

“Hello to you too,” Wilbur laughed, tossing his head to get the hair out of his eyes, and failing. It was kinda amusing to watch him scowl and try again.

“We’re gonna steal Quackity’s truck and do drugs in it,” Tommy blurted, because it was funny and he wanted to say it. 

Wilbur grinned. 

“Woah, I never said we were doing drugs,” Techno said, glaring at Tommy. Tommy shrugged. 

“Even better than doing drugs, let’s cook em’ up,” Wilbur said, eyes glittering mischievously. 

Fuck yes, Wilbur understood ! He knew how to be a dirty crime boy too.

“You guys are not turning Quackity’s truck into a drug lab,” Techno warned, but Wilbur and Tommy were making eye contact, and Tommy could see the ideas brewing in Wilbur’s head. 

Maybe he stored his ideas in his hair, and that was why it looked like that. He bet the bird statue had been Wilbur’s idea. 

“So, let’s hear the new song,” Tech said, plopping himself onto the bed. He shoved a few papers away and patted the spot beside him for Tommy to join.  

“It’s a work in progress, I haven’t got all the lyrics yet,” Wil murmured, plucking experimentally at the strings with his fingers. After a moment, he started strumming. 

Tommy tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him as wilbur strummed. There was a force behind each stroke, like Wilbur was getting something off his chest. 

Maybe it was confidence, or maybe anxiety, but there was a difference in the song that played now then what Tommy had heard earlier. Like there was meaning to it, some depth that Wilbur couldn’t communicate any other way.

Tommy couldn’t ignore the urge to pick apart the behavior and wonder exactly what piece of the puzzle he was missing, but he hesitated. 

He was tired of overthinking and analyzing, tired of stressing over the small shifts in mood he always noticed. Wilbur wasn’t some shitty foster parent who’s mood shifts indicated unpredictable violence. 

Wilbur was just…Wilbur. 

Tommy was safe. He sighed, finally letting the last bit of tension ebb from his limbs. 

Wilbur was good. Really good. 

 

“ I feel I've reached the end before I've reached death

Pick up the pieces of me, you can have what's left

No matter how much you think you love him

You'll still flinch when his blood pool touches you.”

 

Wilbur trailed off, letting the strings hum themselves into silence.

Well, that was something.

“A little dark, Wil,” Tommy muttered. 

“My songs usually are,” Wilbur shrugged. Techno was watching Wilbur thoughtfully, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Needs some drums, mate,” Tommy added, after another moment of thought. Wilbur stuck his tongue out in a lame response to Tommy’s Amazing Insightful Big Man Suggestion. 

“Shut up, you gremlin.” 

“Bitch,” He shot back, because he was the best ever at comebacks. And then he caved, because he’d honestly really enjoyed the music. “Play more!” 

He let his head fall back into the pile of pillows behind him once again, ready for strumming to fill the air. It didn’t come. He peered out at the brothers.

“I haven’t written the rest. I'm not really sure where to go with it,” Wilbur sighed, shrugging dramatically.

“When’d you start writing it?” Tech asked, but his words were playful and he was smiling weirdly. 

If Tommy had to guess, he’d say Techno knew something Tommy didn’t. 

Rude. 

It was all the more confirmed when Wilbur sent a withering glare back.

“Last week,” He muttered. 

That seemed to tell Techno something, because he laughed. Tommy didn’t care enough to be bothered by being left out of the loop. It was whatever. 

“So predictable, Wil,” Techno huffed. 

“I know,” Wilbur sighed, but he started playing again, plucking at the strings lazily. 

Fucking finally . 

Tommy let his eyes close once more, as a different song filled the quiet room. He assumed it was also an original, since he hadn't heard it before. Although, Tommy had to admit he didn’t have the most expansive knowledge of music.

After a few minutes of playing around and humming quiet lyrics, Wilbur set the guitar down. 

“So, are we waiting til dark to get the truck, or going now?” he asked. Tommy practically jumped to attention at the mention of crime, abandoning his slouched position on WIlbur’s bed. He moved so fast his back cracked, and he winced. 

Wilbur watched him and laughed. 

“Looks like we’re going now.”

They made their way downstairs, Techno stopping for a minute to fill his backpack with…something, and bring it with.

“Dad, we’re taking Tommy to go steal shit!” Wilbur yelled in the general direction of Phil’s office as he grabbed Techno’s keys off the hook. 

Techno scowled and plucked them out of Wilbur’s hand.

“Nice try. You’re not driving,” Techno scolded. 

“Okay,” Wilbur chimed, looking far too happy with that outcome. “If I don’t drive the car, that means I get to drive the truck.”

He smirked at Techno, who froze, looking conflicted. After a moment, the teen shook his head, pink ponytail waving with the motion. 

“Nope. Tommy’s driving the truck.”

“I am?” Tommy blurted. “Big T, I don’t know how to drive.” 

“Neither does Wilbur,” Techno muttered darkly.

“I have my license, Tech. You’re so dramatic,” Wilbur sighed back, shoving Techno’s shoulder. 

“Techno, I really don’t know how to drive,” Tommy tried.

“Sure ya do. It’s just like mario kart,” Techno said, opening the front door. Suddenly, Phil was in the hallway with them. 

“Taking Tommy to go steal shit? There better not be any statues in my backyard tomorrow,” Phil warned, eyeing Wilbur especially harshly. 

Tommy froze. Oh no. Was Phil going to be mad?

“Nah, we’re just stealing Quackity’s truck,” Wilbur explained. 

Tommy watched helplessly, waiting for anger. 

But Phil just laughed and nodded. 

“Say hi to him for me? If he catches you, of course.” 

Tommy let out a relieved exhale. He probably should have known from Wilbur and Techno’s casual attitude that Phil wasn’t going to care. 

Once again, old habits.

“Will do! See you later!” Wilbur called, and then they were out the door. 

Techno hesitated in the driveway, and Wilbur turned to him with a shit-eating grin. 

“ Fine, you can drive the car. I’ll drive the truck,” Techno relented. He chucked his keys at Wilbur, hard enough that they hit Wilburs chest and he yelped. He flipped Tech off as he grabbed them from the ground, but he skipped all the way into the driver’s seat. 

Tommy climbed into the back, buckling up his seatbelt as Wilbur put music on. 

A moment later, highway to hell was blasting over the speakers, loud enough that Tommy had to put his hands over his ears. 

Jesus christ. 

Techno yelled something at Wilbur, fumbling with the volume. Wilbur swatted his hand away as the car peeled out of the driveway, violent enough that Tommy flew forward and hit the back of Technos seat. 

Holy shit.

He was actually going to die. 

Tommy grabbed onto the handles, the oh-shit handles as he liked to call them, and he held on for his fucking life. 

The car screeched as Wilbur accelerated, shooting off down the road. They flew over a speed bump and Tommy and Techno both screamed. 

By flew, he meant soared.

Like, air time on all four tires. 

“Techno, you scream like a little girl!” Tommy taunted. Techno didn’t even turn around, too busy gripping the sides of the car. 

“Tommy, you screeched like a dying llama, I don’t want to hear it!” Tech shouted back. 

Tommy laughed, and then they hit a curb and his head slammed into the ceiling. Wilbur cackled as Tommy swore and covered his head with his arm. 

After about five minutes of hell , they slammed to a stop in front of a nice grey house. 

It wasn’t as big as Phil's, but it was two stories, with wide white shutters on each window and a large open porch framing the front door. There were window boxes full of wilting flowers, killed by frost, and a garden Tommy could tell was well tended to when it wasn’t late fall. 

He’d been choking down the car sickness the whole drive, and the abrupt end to the motion did not feel good.

“How the fuck did you turn a fifteen minute drive into five?” Techno asked, seeming truly bewildered as he practically fled the car. 

“No clue. No cops either,” Wilbur agreed. 

This family was insane. Wilbur was trying to kill them all. 

He hesitated for a moment outside the car. Letting the nausea swirl. 

Yeah, no. That wasn’t staying down. 

He lurched to the curb and puked. 

“Yikes. Only five minutes, that’s gotta be a record,” Wilbur laughed, watching him. 

Tommy flipped him off with one hand as he wiped his mouth with the other. 

“You’re a bitch,” He muttered once he recovered. Wilbur just laughed as he beckoned him around the side of the house. They crouched low as they made their way to the backyard. 

Tommy glanced at the windows of the house nervously. They would be safe unless someone was right by the glass–

Oh shit. 

Wilbur saw Quackity at the same time as Tommy.

“Fuck,” Wilbur swore, ducking lower and dragging the other two down as well. 

“It’s fine, keep going. He’s looking the other way,” Techno muttered, continuing forwards.

Tommy glanced back up. The man in the window, Quackity, had his back to the glass, gesturing wildly with his arms as he spoke to someone out of sight. They hadn’t been spotted, not yet. 

He shuffled forwards quicker, finding himself in the backyard, fully sheltered from the windows. 

“Look at her,” Wilbur whispered, pointing to the back corner. There, only a few yards away: the food truck. 

It still had wheels and everything, but Tommy could tell it had been sitting in one place for a while from how the grass around the tires was overgrown. 

It was a white van, a little rusty but in good shape. LAS NEVADAS was spray painted in jagged, uneven letters on the side of the truck, overtop of a red starburst design. 

Tommy grinned, turning to Wilbur and Technoblade.

“Boys, it’s time to do some Crime.”

Notes:

dirty crime bois >>> anything else

Chapter 32: you were driving the getaway car (we were flyin’ but we’d never get far)

Summary:

Title from Getaway Car by Taylor Swift.

I don't usually like her music but it fits so perfect...

“Damn, the keys aren’t in it,” Wilbur muttered, looking at the dash. His gaze was roaming over the seats now, searching the van for any sign of keys.

“Yeah, no shit!” Tommy hissed. “Please tell me your plan wasn’t relying on keys being left in a truck nobody drives.”

Honestly, how these two idiots pulled anything off was beyond him.

“Nah, that was just wishful thinkin’” Techno chuckled, pushing past the two of them and sliding into the driver’s seat. 

Wordlessly, he unzipped the backpack he’d brought along, pulling out a screwdriver. He crouched down, starting to unscrew the panel below the steering wheel.

“Since when do you know how to hotwire a truck?” Wilbur muttered, looking stunned. 

Techno shrugged, as though this was no big deal. 

Letting the two of them handle getting the truck started, Tommy took the opportunity to have a little look around. 

Quackity had certainly furnished the truck nicely, a small TV on one end and a beat-up grey couch across from it. There was a mysteriously large burn across one arm of the couch, and Tommy wondered which of the twin’s friends had accidentally set the couch on fire.

 A microwave was plugged into a big industrial outlet, resting upon what Tommy could only imagine used to be an industrial deep fryer, though it looked like it hadn’t been used in ages. 

There was a soft rug laid out under his feet, fluffy enough it almost distracted him from the hazardous pile of empty beer cans shoved in one corner, overflowing out of a garbage bin.

There were also empty bags of popcorn and mcdonalds, but it was vastly overshadowed by the copious amounts of cans. Honestly, Quackity needed to learn how to take out the trash.

Wilbur and Techno’s friends must hang out here quite often. For a split second, he wondered if someday he might be invited… but no. That was foolish. He hadn’t even met this Quackity guy, why would he be wanted here? 

Besides, they were about to steal the truck. Quackity would probably blame this whole thing on Tommy, like everyone usually did when things went wrong. 

Some voice in his head was annoyed at these thoughts, arguing some useless point about how Wilbur and Techno wouldn’t let that happen–he chose to ignore it. 

Instead, he glanced out the window. They’d managed to sneak in here without being noticed, but it had been a close call. 

They knew Quackity was at home, so it seemed unlikely this mission would go smoothly. He thought again about the foster brothers behind him, and the absurdity of what they were doing, the risks they were taking. Suddenly this all seemed like a very, very bad–

“Tommy?” Techno called, and Tommy turned back to his foster brothers. 

“What’s up, Big T?” He asked, coming back over. 

“Oh, nothin’. Just thought maybe you saw something, the way you were staring out the window,” Techno said, but the words were clipped, like they weren’t the full truth. 

Oh. 

How long had Tommy been staring, lost in thought? It had only felt like a moment to him.

He hadn’t meant to zone out. 

He looked at the wires clasped in Techno’s hand. The older boy was twisting them together, fingers working deftly and quickly, as though this was muscle memory and not a crime.

“Almost done,” He offered, catching Tommy staring. 

“I knew you fell in with a bad crowd for a while, Tech, but this is something else,” Wilbur muttered, watching as well. 

Techno just shrugged again. 

“Is his real name Quackity?” Tommy asked suddenly, blurting out the thought that had been on his mind since he first heard the name. Wilbur laughed. 

“Is my real name Technoblade?” Techno asked, lips curled in a smile. Tommy paused.

“Is it?” He asked, suddenly curious. 

Techno just smiled and shrugged, and Tommy groaned. 

“My real name’s Wilbur,” Wilbur added, as though it was helpful. 

“Shut up, bitch,” Tommy muttered, causing laughter once again. Tommy found himself shocked at his own words. A week ago, he wouldn’t have dared, but now…

Something had changed. In Tommy, in his grudging acceptance of this home. He was letting down his guard. He was getting comfortable, surprising as it was. 

He knew he should probably stop, but he just didn’t want to. This banter was too nice, too easy. Trying to hold it back would be harder than leaving. 

Not that leaving would be hard, because Tommy was temporary, and leaving always happened, and, and…

“You having a home is not conditional on whether or not you can shift, Tommy.”

He was a bit tired of trying to convince himself of things he didn’t even want to believe. 

Maybe it was time to just…let this life take hold of him, scary as it might be. 

Maybe if he convinced himself he was staying, it would actually happen. 

And if it hurt him twice as much when he actually did leave? Maybe it would be worth it, for a fragile attempt at experiencing peace. 

Yeah. He could make that trade. 

“Okay, it should be good to go,” Techno said at last, holding up two wires. He touched them together, and with a spark, the engine roared to life, a thunderous sound. 

Oh, Quackity was definitely going to catch them. Just as soon as the thought crossed Tommy’s mind, the back door to the house in front of them flew open, a teenager running out. 

Quackity was short, with black hair and a beanie. He was wearing a hoodie and shorts, with socks and slides on his feet. But what really caught Tommy’s eyes were the bright golden wings on his back, flapping in panic as he ran towards them. 

Another hybrid. Duck, Tommy assumed. The name Quackity seemed to make a bit more sense, almost certainly a nickname now. 

“Shit,” Wilbur swore. 

“Change of plans!” Techno decided, jumping up from the driver’s seat. “Wilbur, drive!” He called as he flew out the door. 

Wilbur cackled, seeming overjoyed by this development. Tommy felt a premonition of nausea. 

He threw himself into the passenger seat, gripping the sides of the truck just in time for Wilbur to slam down on the gas pedal. 

Through the windshield, Tommy watched Quackity get tackled by a tiger, knocked to the ground as Techno bounded on and then over him, heading for the street. He’d bought them a few precious moments, and Wilbur didn’t seem keen on wasting them. 

The food truck jerked forwards with a screech, tires resisting the grass and earth they’d been embedded in for so long.  

Quackity was back on his feet in an instant, shouting something in spanish. He reached down and pulled off his sandal, chucking it forwards. It connected with Techo’s retreating form, hitting him straight in the head.

Techno went down in a tumbling pile of orange and black, head over tail with a surprised yowl. 

“MAN DOWN!” Wilbur screeched as they zoomed past him and Tommy cackled, doubling over in laughter as he watched Techno jump back to his feet and continue racing towards his car. 

Tommy hadn’t had time to do up his seatbelt, and he regretted it as the food truck bounced over the curb, finally reaching the main street. Tommy flew upwards, head banging against the ceiling. 

“PUT YOUR SEATBELT ON!” Wilbur yelled, and Tommy scowled. What a hypocrite, that bitch wasn’t buckled in either. 

“I'M TRYING, BUT YOU’RE DRIVING IS SO SHIT–” His words were cut off as he got thrown to the side again when Wilbur whipped the wheel around, losing hold of the seatbelt he’d almost managed to get buckled. 

He risked a glance in the mirror and screamed. 

There was Quackity, now aloft, flapping furiously after them. 

“WILBUR! WILBUR HE’S FLYING AFTER US!” 

“FUCK!” Wilbur swore, looking behind as well. 

Techno was hot on their trail, his silver car pulling up beside them as the group sped down the street. 

“TOMMY, YOU’RE ON ARTILLERY!” Wilbur ordered, gesturing to the back. 

“WHAT?” Tommy yelled. 

Artillery ? What artillery ? 

“START THROWING SHIT!” Wilbur yelled, like it should have been obvious.  

This was insane. Absolutely insane, completely illegal, sure to be shut down by the cops…

Tommy was loving every second of it. 

He scrambled into the back, trying and failing to keep his footing as Wilbur turned another corner. He went crashing into the overflowing garbage, cans crunching beneath him. 

Ew. 

Wait. Artillery…

He grabbed the garbage basket, still half full despite his collision with it, and bounded back up to the passenger window. 

And then he opened it, leaned as far out as he could, and did as he’d been instructed: He started throwing shit. 

Beer can after beer can soared through the air, mostly missing their mark, but the projectiles provided enough distraction to Quackity’s flight that he stopped gaining ground on them. Quackity continued yelling at him in outrage, and flipped him off. 

Wilbur was laughing, risking glances away from the road to watch the scene. 

Finally Quackity got hit in the face with a can, and he swooped lower, hiding out of range behind the back of the truck. 

No worries. There were windows back there as well. 

Tommy climbed out of his seat, only stopping to refill his garbage bin with a few cans that were rolling around, before opening a back window. 

It was smaller, and not as easy to throw out of, but Quackity wasn’t expecting the location change. 

Only a few more cans were thrown before the hybrid had enough, and Tommy found himself getting hit in the face by an airborne sandal. 

He fell backwards, finding himself impressed by the throw. 

That had hurt like a bitch, not to mention the teen’s aim was perfect. He sympathized with Techno, having now also endured the painful impact of a well-thrown slide. 

Quackity used this moment to pull up close to the window. Oddly, the teen was grinning ear to ear, even as his wings were flapping frantically to keep up with the truck’s high speed. 

“TOMMY! Nice to meet you, man! I’ve heard all about you!” Quackity yelled, hardly audible over the wind and screeching tires. Tommy froze, confused, and then he laughed. 

Quackity stuck a hand through the window, offering it for a handshake. 

Tommy flinched back, suddenly reminded of a moment not too long ago, where he’d had his arm through a car window.

Where he’d reluctantly offered up his hand, and regretted it quickly. 

What trick was being played this time? What unfortunate ruse was Tommy about to fall for?

His hesitation was long, and awkward, but Quackity didn’t seem to mind. 

Despite the adrenaline of this chase, and the very real risk of arrest, Quackity seemed completely calm. Like this was just another Sunday, like he had all the time in the world. 

Like he was genuinely excited to meet Tommy, and was enjoying this moment. 

It occurred to Tommy that there were worse things in the world than falling for the same trick twice, and that trust was his to give. 

He couldn’t control what people did with it, but Wilbur, Phil, and Techno had started to earn it, and never once had they taken advantage of him. Maybe, just maybe, Quackity would be the same? 

He grasped Quackity’s hand in his, shaking it firmly with a smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Big Q. Sorry about the truck,” He said, and Quackity laughed, letting go of their clasped hands.

Relief flowed through Tommy. No tricks. 

“I’ll get it back soon,” Quackity promised, with a cheeky grin. 

“QUACKITY!” Wilbur yelled, and the teen looked up. 

“Oh, hey Wil!” He called. 

“Phil says hi!” Wilbur yelled back. Quackity’s face lit up with joy. 

“AWWW, Phil! Tell the old man I said hi back! I haven’t been over in ages, I miss that grandpa!” 

Tommy snickered. Calling Phil old was becoming one of his favorite activities.

“Come over anytime!” Wilbur shouted back, and Tommy could hear the smile in his words. 

This was officially the weirdest day of Tommy’s life, and he was a shapeshifting foster kid: he’d had some weird days.

Quackity yelped suddenly, and Tommy looked past him to see Techno’s car had closed the distance between the two vehicles, and apparently chucked something out the window. 

Using Quackity’s brief distraction, Wilbur shouted a warning before the van swerved to the right, thundering down a small alleyway. Tommy only barely managed to keep his footing, gripping onto the side of the window. 

They burst out of the alley way and emerged beside a field, and Tommy yelped as Wilbur drove them right over the curb and across the grass. 

Quackity had fallen behind when they turned, and they were gaining distance on him. Techno had continued driving on the road, like a sane person would, so he was growing farther away as well. 

So this was how Tommy would die. Nice.

“Don’t worry, it’s a shortcut!” Wilbur promised Tommy, who wasn’t so sure. He stumbled back to the front, the need for artillery no longer urgent.

Wilbur smiled as Tommy fell into the seat, still gripping the walls as they bounced back over the curb, finally hitting smooth pavement, and careened down the street for a few more twists and turns. 

Tommy glanced out the window, and then in the mirror. 

“I think he turned back,” He said, breathless. 

Wilbur whooped, honking the horn in celebration and cheering. 

He looked over at Tommy and grinned, and Tommy found himself grinning right back as they continued towards the house. 

It wasn’t a forced smile, that he plastered on for show. It was so real . He didn’t think he could stop smiling if he tried. 

He was just…happy. 

The looming terror of Wilbur’s driving was still knotted in his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the joy Tommy felt. 

He was laughing, feeling safe for the first time in so long, despite the incredibly dangerous driving. It was odd, how he could feel so panicked and yet so at ease. 

But wasn’t that how everything had felt since he’d met the Watson’s? 

In a way, that confusion was so familiar by now that it only made this feel more normal, more right.

In the same way he’d taken Quackity’s hand, regardless of the possible outcome, he chose to embrace this moment, these people. 

Tommy decided this was the happiest he’d ever been, laughing and cheering as they raced through the twisting streets. They might as well have been flying, high on adrenaline and loopy with joy. 

Wilbur was still cheering, and he looked over at Tommy, poised to say words that didn’t get a chance to leave his mouth. 

Wilbur had only looked away from the road for a moment, but it was enough. 

One second they were soaring, and the next, everything shattered. 

Notes:

yeah. suffer. I make the rules.

Chapter 33: every time I play pretend, reality comes knocking

Summary:

Title from Hydroplaning by Everybody's Worried About Owen

this is sort of a weird chapter? idk I don't usually do multiple perspectives in one chapter but i hope you guys like it and are able to tell when the POV shifts.

Also idk TW blood ig

How fitting. 

As soon as Tommy grew comfortable. As soon as he thought things might, for once, actually be going somewhat well for him. 

He should have known better. 

He shouldn’t have let anyone in. 

He was like a bad omen–anywhere he went, destruction always followed. 

And this? This wreckage, this smoking pile of metal and glass? 

It wasn’t just the broken remnants of a stupid truck. 

No, it was every good thing Tommy had ever gotten his hands on. It was proof that he was exactly who everyone always assumed he was. 

It was the same as every other house, just another example of the way everything crumbled under his touch.

This wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for him. 

It was his fault . 

***

Sound had faded away.

Tommy wasn’t sure how long he’d been kneeling beside Wilbur, watching him bleed out. 

It felt like seconds. 

It felt like years. 

It felt like that terrifying, looming certainty that he’d ruined everything again. 

***

Blood was always so much brighter than he remembered. 

When it was fresh and wet, flowing out of the person it was supposed to be inside of. 

His chest was tight, and each shaky breath felt like a battle.

He was certain the sharp, pricking pain in his abdomen was the only thing tethering him to this moment. 

If not for that, surely he would have floated off into a void of his own mind, somewhere safe and calm, where no one was bleeding.

Breathe. 

He wasn’t sure if he was reminding himself, or Wilbur. 

***

Tommy needed to do it. 

He needed to stop the bleeding. 

His hands shook every time he reached out, hovering in space, frozen numb by something out of his control.

Tommy couldn’t make himself do it. 

He didn’t want blood on his hands.

***

He could taste it. The coppery, metal tang.

It was real this time. It wasn’t in his head.

The flashing lights were real too. 

None of this was a dream, or a memory. 

No, not this time.

***

This time it was real. 

It was real.

He was real. 

The blood pooling on the asphalt was real.

 

*********

 

Something was wrong. Phil couldn’t explain how he knew, but he was sure. 

There had been some shift in the air. One moment, everything was fine, and then a heavy weight settled in his stomach, anxiety and worry coursing through him. 

Something had happened . 

He stood with uncertainty, not sure what to do with this weird, foreboding feeling. 

He glanced out the window, finding his fears were confirmed by the flock of crows descending into the yard. 

There had to be ten of them, all opening their beaks in a chorus of frantic squawking, cawing at him, trying to tell him something. 

But what? What had happened? Something was wrong .

And then, with almost comedic timing, his phone rang.

It took hardly a sentence to be spoken before Phil was rushing out the door, taking flight immediately. 

 

*********

Techno didn’t see it happen. He just turned the corner, and then…there it was.

The food truck, on its side, billowing thick smoke into the air. The twisted metal frame seemed barely recognizable, crumpled and mangled like a tin can. 

The tires were still spinning lazily, the faint smell of burnt rubber mixing with the sharp scent of gasoline. Danger lurked in the air, settling so thickly over the wreckage Techno could practically smell it.

Wilbur had clearly hit a streetlight, seeing as the pole was twisted into an awkward, mangled shape, with shards of metal and glass scattered around the scene like grotesque confetti.

Techno’s heart skipped a beat. He was out of his car in an instant, sprinting toward the truck.

His shoes crunched over broken glass as he ran, the jagged edges surely biting into the soles of his shoes.

Wilbur. Tommy. 

No, no, no. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This couldn’t be happening.

Through the smoke, he spotted Tommy, seated motionless in the wreckage. 

“Tommy!” He shouted, but there was no reaction. It didn’t matter.

As long as he was alive . Techno came up beside him, and–

Oh. 

Oh, no. 

Wilbur .

His body was still, every ounce of its usual life and energy absent as Wilbur lay unconscious on the pavement.

Blood was pouring from his skull, and his arm twisted at an unnatural angle, as crooked as the street light he’d crashed into. 

A large shard of glass was embedded in Wilbur's shoulder, glittering in the golden light from the setting sun, tinged pink with blood. 

It was eerie how picturesque it was. Almost beautiful, if it wasn’t impaled through his brother.

Techno fell to his knees and immediately pressed his hand to the side of Wilbur’s head to staunch the bleeding. It did little, but it had to be better than nothing, right?

With his free hand, Techno pressed his fingers to his brother’s neck and prayed for a pulse.

Techno had never been religious, but he pleaded anyway, praying to a god he didn’t believe in, to the universe, to some higher power, to anybody kind enough to listen. 

He prayed to some god of broken, damaged things, who watched over death and carnage, and though Techno knew his silent pleas meant nothing in the scope of the universe, he begged anyway. 

He prayed to a god of blood, who might have watched all the ruin Techno had wrought and yet could somehow still forgive him, could show mercy and stop the flow of crimson in its tracks. 

As blood coated Techno’s hands and pooled onto asphalt, he begged these imaginary gods not to take his brother away from him, because he didn’t think he could live without Wilbur. 

The seconds stretched into eternity, whole lifetimes spent waiting and begging, and then–a jump under his fingers, the barest flicker of a pulse. 

He gasped in relief, forehead still resting on Wilbur’s chest, a sob ripping itself from his throat. 

He’d thought he’d lost his brother. 

He’d never been so afraid.

The terror eased, but it didn’t fade. Wilbur was alive–it didn’t mean he would stay that way. 

He needed a hospital, an ambulance, someone needed to call Phil. 

Shit, Tommy. Techno had forgotten about Tommy.

The kid was trembling, still frozen in place with his hand outstretched.

Scratches covered his face, and his hair was matted with blood, but he was conscious and breathing, despite whatever trance he was in.

“Tommy!” Techno yelled, and though he heard the fear and panic in his voice, Tommy didn’t seem to hear anything at all.

“Techno!” Someone responded, but it didn’t come from either of his brothers. He turned, finding Quackity landing beside them. His phone was pressed to his ear.

“I called the cops, an ambulance is on its way. I’m trying to reach Phil now,” He explained. He surveyed the scene, eyes finally landing on WIlbur. 

He froze, panic lacing his expression. 

“He’s alive,” Techno told him, and Quackity deflated, relief visible on his face. It only lasted a moment, though. Nothing about this scene was truly relieving. 

The ringing of Quackity’s phone stopped, and the teen launched into a rushed explanation.

 Techno let the sound of the conversation fade away, focusing on the two teens in front of him. 

His hand was still pressed on WIlbur’s head, but it was doing little to stop the blood flow. Tommy remained frozen in place, completely unreachable. 

Tommy was bleeding too, but smaller, superficial wounds, nothing compared to Wilbur. The kid’s arms were scraped raw from the pavement, or from the glass. For the first time, Techno truly analyzed the truck behind the four of them. 

The windshield was almost completely shattered, the entire front of the truck crumpled into nothing, folded around the lamppost. 

The impact must have thrown them both from their seats, straight through the windshield before the airbags could even go off. 

Did food trucks even have airbags? 

Either way, if they hadn’t been thrown out of the truck, it was very likely they both would have died, or at least lost use of their legs. 

A siren caught his attention, an ambulance speeding into view, hurtling towards them down the narrow road. 

At the sound, Tommy jerked, finally blinking in confusion. His eyes met Techno’s, tears pouring down his dirt-streaked face.

“Techno,” He gasped, eyes wide and frightened. His eyes dropped lower, landing on Wilbur, and he sobbed again. 

“Tommy, it’s okay, he’s gonna be okay,” Techno assured, but the words were shaky, betraying his unconfidence.

They both knew the promise was empty, that neither of them could promise anything would ever be okay again. 

Tommy’s eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing short and pained. 

Techno regretted his words. Sometimes, empty promises were worse than nothing at all.

He reached out his hand, taking Tommy’s palm into his own. Tommy stared at their intertwined hands, breathing only growing more laboured. 

Techno squeezed once, communicating all his fear and worry and hope, pouring his heart into muscles and tendons and letting them speak of overwhelming terror and grief so his mouth didn’t have to. 

There was a pause, silent but for the pounding drum of Techno’s heartbeat and the blaring sirens getting closer.

At last, Tommy squeezed back. 

It felt like a miracle. 

Notes:

Wilbur's unconscious but he's alive! always good. he might even stay that way!

Chapter 34: UPDATE

Hey all, sorry this is not a real chapter, but there IS a new chapter, it's just one that I somehow never posted?

If you read this fic before may 13th, you're gonna want to go back and reread chapter 29, because it's a new chapter that got added. it takes place before they go steal Quackity's van but after the chapter talking about Tommy's birthday.  

I'm sorry for any confusion. The chapter is pretty relevant to some of the next parts of the story so I definitely recommend going back and reading it but I know that's a bit of a pain. Sorry! I wish I hadn't forgotten it :(

Anyway, if you're reaching the end of this story after May 13th, you didn't miss anything!

thanks everyone <3 

Chapter 35: everyone needs a place to hide (when they get scared in the middle of the night)

Summary:

Title from Nineties by Michigander.

Techno let his head fall to the side, resting on Phil’s shoulder. The pair sat beside Tommy’s bed, watching the teenager sleep. 

He looked impossibly small against the white sheets of the hospital bed, his face still streaked with dirt and blood, his hair just as bad. The nurses had tried to tidy him up, but he’d been unamiable to their help.

It could have been Tommy’s fear for himself, or lingering worry over Wilbur, Techno didn’t know–he only knew the boy had been in a state of panic until he’d become so exhausted and pumped with painkillers he’d fallen into fitful sleep.

Techno and Phil had been here for hours already, drifting like ghosts back and forth between Tommy and Wilbur’s hospital rooms ever since they were allowed in. 

Tommy was set to be cleared the next day. He’d been all cut up from glass and scraped from the pavement, but no serious injuries other than a fractured rib, and it thankfully hadn’t pierced his lungs. The doctors had instructed Phil and Techno to wake him every so often, to check for a concussion, but so far there’d been no sign of one. 

He was glad they were finally allowed in Tommy’s room. He’d been pacing outside it for what felt like days as the doctors patched his foster brother up, though it had only been a few hours. 

One of the doctors had finally come and mumbled some quiet questions in Phil’s ear, whose frown had deepened before he rushed into the room. 

After a painful moment alone, left out of the loop, Techno had invited himself in as well.

Techno had nearly lost his mind when he’d entered the room to see Tommy shirtless in the bed, his arms covered in white bandages and an unmistakable foot-shaped bruise in the center of his chest. You could see all his ribs, and the traces of scars wrapping around his sides. 

It made Techno realize he had practically only seen Tommy in bulky hoodies. He hadn’t realized just how frail and skinny the boy was. Techno had his own fair share of scars, so he averted his eyes from those. That was Tommy’s business. 

The doctors had been concerned by the boy’s state, clearly suspicious of Techno and Phil. 

It was pretty clear that wasn’t a car crash bruise, and neither was the ring of purple around the kid’s wrist, or the sorry state of nutrition he was in. 

Even once it had all been explained, they still eyed Phil with an aggravating suspicion. 

Techno hardly cared, he was too busy being angry at Dream. And, though he wasn’t proud of it, angry at WIlbur. 

He couldn’t be too angry, seeing as Wilbur had yet to wake up, despite the doctor's assurance that he had stabilized.

He knew his brother hadn’t meant for this to happen. But he’d been reckless, and now they were spending the night in the hospital. Techno had been so scared .

What if he’d lost his brother? He wouldn’t be able to continue. 

His own fears had been reflected in Phil’s eyes, in the frantic way he’d landed at the hospital, having been trailing the ambulance without any of them knowing. He’d been sweaty and panting, desperate to see his kids, yelling at the doctors who wouldn’t let him. Techno had been forced to hold Phil back as Tommy and WIlbur were taken from their sight. 

They’d been unable to get much more than a word out of Tommy the whole ambulance ride. Whether it was dissociation or PTSD, or maybe something else entirely–the kid had completely shut down. 

Techno didn’t think he’d even really spoken to the doctors, just panicked and flinched until exhaustion had taken over and he’d fallen asleep. 

He hated seeing Tommy like this, all beaten up and hurt. He’d hated seeing WIlbur even more, when they’d finally been allowed in his room, hours after being let into Tommy’s. 

The doctors said it was lucky neither teenager’s injuries had been more severe. Them not having their seatbelts on had probably saved both their lives–or at least their ability to walk. 

Techno shuddered to think of if their legs had been crumpled like the front of the van had been.

They’d been lucky. So fucking lucky. 

He sighed, and Phil reached over to pat his arm. 

“They’ll be alright,” He murmured.

“I’m going to kill Wilbur when he wakes up,” Techno chuffed out.

“Don’t joke about that,” Phil scolded. “Too soon.”

He was right, like always. 

“I really thought–” he started, cutting himself off as tears pricked at his eyes again. He’d only just stopped crying, he couldn’t start again now. But the adrenaline had long since left his system, and he was tired and scared. 

Phil exhaled softly, wrapping his arm around Tehcno’s shoulders. 

“I know. Me too.” he whispered. They sat in silence for a moment, Techno fighting back tears. He knew they would be fine. Everything would be fine. His brothers were okay. He was okay. 

It just didn’t feel like that was certain, not yet.

“It’s been about an hour, let’s check on Tommy?” Phil suggested, and Techno nodded quickly, sitting up straight again. The two of them stepped up to Tommy’s bed. Truly, the doctors were more than capable of doing this, but Tommy hadn’t been too agreeable each time he was awakened. 

They’d all collectively decided it was best for Phil and Techno to be the first thing Tommy saw each time he rose, rather than strangers. 

“Hey, Toms, can you hear me?” Phil said. 

This was their fourth time waking him back up, and they’d learned it was no fun task. 

Tommy hadn’t woken to their voice any of the other times, and Techno knew this would be no different. 

However, they had to wake him up somehow, and so touching him was required. 

The problem was that Tommy really didn’t like being touched. 

Phil patted the boy’s hand softly, hardly grazing him. 

In a flash, Tommy jerked away, eyes snapping open in fright. His hands jerked up to his face, out of reach and doubling as a shield. 

It was the fourth time they’d seen the reaction, but it still hurt to watch. 

Once Tommy’s eyes found them, he relaxed, hands dropping back to his sides. 

His chest heaved as his breathing evened, face scrunched with pain at the movement. 

“Sorry, mate,” Phil offered, but Tommy shrugged it away. 

“All good,” he mumbled.

“We’ll let you get back to bed soon. Do you know what my name is?” Phil asked. It had been a slightly different question each time, but Tommy had shown no hesitation on any of them. The doctors had said this was mostly precaution.

“Phil,” Tommy said, with a halfhearted smile. 

“Perfect. Alright buddy, get some more rest.” 

“Um-is Wilbur…” Tommy started, but the sentence died quickly at the answer written on their faces. 

“Not yet, mate,” Phil said quietly. Tommy nodded, hope fading from his eyes.   

“You’ll wake me up when he does?” Tommy asked, even though they’d already promised him they would. 

“We will, don’t worry,” Techno told him.

Tommy slumped back into his pillow. 

“Mmhm, ‘ood,” he mumbled, and then sleep pulled him back under. 

They’d pumped him with some painkillers, or some sort of relaxant, and its toll was clear to see. 

Phil had initially protested against them giving the kid drugs, but Tommy’s panic when he’d first come in had been so heartbreaking, he’d eventually allowed it.

Techno once more resisted the urge to brush Tommy’s hair back from his eyes, to hold his hand. To squeeze and tell him everything would be alright, and that he was worried for Wilbur too. 

However, Tommy had initiated touch only a handful of times, and each with varying degrees of nervousness. Techno knew better than to overreach the boundaries. 

They let the boy drift away, keeping vigil over him once more. When Tommy was well and truly asleep, Phil turned to techno with a grimace. 

“You should go home and get some sleep, Tech,” He suggested. 

Techno shook his head, immediately disagreeing. 

“I’m not leaving them.”

“Techno, please. They’re both asleep, and i’ll be here–”

“Phil. I am not leaving. You’re crazy if you think I will.” He urged, voice firmer. 

“Alright,” Phil sighed, relenting. “Fine. I’m gonna check on Wilbur again. Do you want to come?” 

Techno did, obviously. But, well, it was hard to watch Wilbur laying so lifelessly, connected to all sorts of machines and bandaged to hell and back. 

In a morbid way, he was almost used to seeing Tommy all beat up. It…wasn’t as hard to stomach. 

He shook his head no, and Phil gave him an understanding smile. He patted his shoulder comfortingly before pushing out the door quietly. Techno let himself slump back into the chair, tilting his head over the back of the seat and staring up at the ceiling. 

This was all too much. He felt like he hadn’t breathed in hours, existing in a half-present state. He let his eyes close, trying to think of anything other than the fact two of his brothers were in hospital beds. 

He failed–but he still found sleep pulling at him, beckoning him closer. He let it take him. 

Sleep felt like blinking, and it seemed no time had passed at all…but it had. He knew it had. 

Because Tommy was screaming . 

The moment he realized what the sound was, he flew out of his chair, bounding across the small room to Tommy’s side. 

The kid was thrashing in his sleep, shouting and yelling, punching the air as he flailed. 

Shit. He was having a nightmare. 

Concerned for his already fractured rib, Techno instinctively reached out and grabbed Tommy’s arms, holding them as the boy only struggled more in response to his grip. 

“Tommy. Tommy! Wake up, Tommy!” he urged, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold him still. 

Tommy’s eyes flew open, his panting and sweating as he stared at Techno in panic. His cheeks were wet with tears, face pinched with terror. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” Techno promised. Tommy blinked at him, arms finally going lax. 

Techno let them go, pulling away to give Tommy space. The boy’s hand fell to his rib, holding it while he struggled to get air. As though he realized what he was doing, he jerked his hand away, placing it by his side.  

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbled, face going pink, all the way from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. 

Techno bit his tongue to keep from smiling. This wasn’t a smiling moment. It was just that Tommy was embarrassed and adorable and, well, Techno was attached . It wasn’t his fault. 

“Don’t worry about it,” He said instead. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Definitely not,” Tommy muttered. He regained his composure quickly, face schooled back into a mask of indifference. “Can I see Wilbur?”

“Heh? Buddy, you’ve got a fractured rib. I’m not sure you’re even supposed to be sitting up, let alone wandering around a hospital,” Techno pointed out. Tommy scowled. 

“It doesn’t even hurt, Tech. I’m fine!” He promised. Techno raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s ‘cause they’ve got you on painkillers, or something. You’re staying in bed.” He scolded. This seemed to be news to Tommy. His gaze turned to the IV in his arm, shocked as though he hadn’t been awake, struggling against the nurses as they’d put it in. 

Techno should have seen it coming, he really should have, but he was too late to react as Tommy, with the confidence of a gladiator, wrapped his shaking hand around the tube and yanked. 

Blood immediately started spurting from the boy’s forearm, gushing faster than Techno had expected. 

He gaped, moving to stop Tommy, or to stop the bleeding, but Tommy had beat him to it. He’d pulled the sheet of his bed up, covering the wound, pressing it tight as it blossomed red. 

“I should have known there was a reason I was all fuzzy,” Tommy muttered, glaring at Techno as though it was somehow his fault. 

Techno stayed frozen, watching in horror. How could Tommy do that so casually, care so little about his broken and bruised body? How could he act as though Techno hadn’t spent the whole night terrified over the injuries Tommy already had, let alone the ones continuing to happen?

“I-Tommy, you can’t just…” Techno stuttered, finding the words slow to form on his tongue. He supposed he shouldn’t be so shocked. This was the same kid who’d jumped off a roof, who’d survived a dog fighting ring. Still, it was one thing to know about Tommy’s fierce nature, and another to witness it. 

Tommy rolled his eyes, seeming unimpressed. “Please?” he pleaded, face morphing into desperation. 

That was how Techno learned he was weak to this form of attack. Tommy’s face was his kryptonite. 

So he ended up sighing and beckoning with his hand. 

Tommy’s expression burst into a smile. 

Techno grabbed a roll of gauze from the table beside Tommy’s bed, which had been sitting there since the doctors had bandaged Tommy’s cuts. He motioned for Tommy’s arm, which was given to him without hesitation. 

Carefully, Techno pulled away the bloodied sheet, wrapping the boy’s elbow in a few layers of gauze. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. Tommy was insane . 

He stood back, allowing Tommy to cautiously sit up, but when he shuddered with the effort, Techno slowly wrapped his arm around the boy’s back, helping him shift forward enough to swing his legs off the bed’s edge. 

He kept his arm there to take most of Tommy’s weight as the kid stood up, steadying him as he swayed dangerously. 

“Uh–” Tommy said while he hesitated on shaky legs. Techno sighed, still supporting most of the weight. The kid was light as a feather. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” he asked. Tommy flushed pink again. 

“Er–not really? But, uh, is my shirt anywhere?” He asked, looking around the room. 

Right. The kid was still shirtless, the doctors having removed it to see the fractured rib and remove glass. Techno wasn’t sure where it had gone, but they’d probably cut it off. It wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

For a moment, he wondered why Tommy even cared. 

And then he remembered the thin lines of scars he’d seen wrapping around Tommy’s ribs, and he risked a look down.

He still couldn't see Tommy’s whole back, but he could see a good quarter of it. 

His blood went cold in his veins as he stared. 

Right. He’d known about this. He’d seen the paper, back when Tommy’s file had ended up all over the living room. He’d read almost the full hospital report, detailing Tommy’s medical state at the time of his rescue from the underground dog fighting ring. 

What he’d read was firmly ingrained in his mind. 

It still wasn’t enough to prepare him for this. 

Tommy’s back was a mess of scars. The white lines crossed over one another, varying in thickness. Some were raised out of the skin, others concave, pinching the skin inwards. They layered upon one another. He looked like he’d been flayed. 

He must have stared for a moment too long, because Tommy pulled away sharply, twisting in a way that must have been painful, all so his back was out of view. 

His face was set in a sour scowl, clearly offended by Techno’s staring. Techno blinked, bringing his gaze up to meet Tommy’s.

An awkward silence followed, neither of them having a clue what to say. Finally, Techno coughed, clearing the lump that had caught in his throat. He let his arm stop supporting Tommy so he could reach up and shrug out of his own shirt. 

He passed it to Tommy, who was watching him nervously. 

“You can wear mine,” He explained. Tommy’s expression shifted into gratefulness, and he quickly, and somewhat stiffly, pulled the shirt over his head. His breathing shallowed at the motion, his face going pale, but he didn’t look to Techno for assistance.

The t-shirt dwarfed him, but Tommy didn’t seem to care about the fabric falling halfway down his thighs. 

Now Techno was shirtless, but he’d rather he was uncomfortable than Tommy. Besides, he was a patchwork of his own scars, though they weren’t as extensive. It wouldn’t hurt for Tommy to see that he wasn’t the only one who carried his past on his body. 

Tommy’s eyes did flit to the cigarette burn marks on his arms, remnants of a foster mother who didn’t know when to put down the bottle. His gaze traced over the white line on his stomach, from a foster brother who’d stopped taking his meds and decided to drive a knife into his chest. 

His brow furrowed at the round scar in his forearm–that one was courtesy of Dream. He’d been lucky he hadn’t lost his arm that day, the bite of a lion was no joke. 

Techno pretended not to notice Tommy looking. 

Instead, he led the boy out into the hallway and only a few doors over, where Wilbur’s room was. 

They pushed through the door and were met with Phil, who raised an eyebrow at their entrance. He was sitting beside Wilbur’s bed, holding his unconscious son’s hand in his own. Techno tried not to look at his brother–it hurt too much. 

Instead, he met Phil’s eyes, which were filled with questions as the man took in Tommy’s shirt and Techno’s lack of one, not to mention the fresh and bloody gauze on the kid’s arm. 

Still, Phil seemed to understand it wasn’t the time to ask. He chose instead to watch the kid as nervously as Techno did, both of them equally aware that Tommy was in no state to be gallivanting around a hospital. 

Phil nodded his head towards the side of the room. 

Two empty chairs sat against the wall, waiting for them.

Techno set himself down, and it took all of two minutes before Tommy’s head lolled to the side, resting on his shoulder. 

Sleep washed over both of them quickly, and no nightmares followed.

Notes:

Aww how cute look at them all sleeping on each others shoulders. This chapter was like 50% shoulders and sleepy bois...pun intended.

Anyway now they're in the hospital! Will Wilbur wake up? Maybe.

Chapter 36: there’s a sky full of lights (and none of them stars)

Summary:

Title from The Deepest Sighs, the Frankest Shadows by Gang of Youths

They all needed a shower, and a change of clothes. It was obvious.

But just the thought of leaving, if only for an hour, made Phil’s body go cold. 

Wilbur was his son. He couldn’t step out of the hospital until he woke up. 

Besides, he hadn’t even brought the car with him, he’d flown. He wanted Techno to go, but he knew his son well enough to know Techno felt the same way he did about staying.

Still, Tommy had streaks of dirt and mud in his hair and neck, especially at the back where he couldn’t see it. 

The boy was currently scrubbing at his face in the bathroom sink, rubbing it so fiercely Phil was sure he was going to open all the scabs and start bleeding all over again. Not to mention his rib. 

Honestly, the kid hardly acted like he was in pain. If it wasn’t for the doctors, Phil wondered if any of them would even have been able to tell.

Phil had woken up to find Tommy gone from Wilbur’s room, so he’d come into the bathroom looking for him. He hadn’t really thought of what he would do when he found him. 

“You’ve, uh, missed a bit on your neck there.” he said at last, announcing his presence to the empty stalls.

Tommy jumped at his words, spinning to look at him. 

“Oh,” He muttered, tension fading as he saw it was just Phil. His hand went to his neck, fingers brushing against his hairline. He rubbed over the spot, but the dirt remained steadfast. 

“Would you like a hand?” Phil offered cautiously. Tommy only hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding. Phil grabbed some paper towel from the machine, pausing to run it under the sink. It would do a better job than Tommy’s fingers, at least. 

He stood behind Tommy, aware of how the teen’s eyes tracked his movements. Phil couldn’t help noticing how the boy tensed as the wet paper touched the sensitive nape of his neck, but Phil couldn’t tell whether it was a flinch built from fear or surprise at the cold.

He wiped away the dirt and blood of the skin easily enough, cleaning everywhere he saw even the tiniest bit of grime. He moved onto Tommy’s hair, teasing out the tangles with his fingers and using the water to clean it. 

It wasn’t a shower, but it was the best Phil had to offer. 

He glanced out the window absentmindedly as he worked, staring out over the hospital parking lot. 

The grey light of dawn set a muted tone over everything, turning the world flat and misty like a polaroid aged by time, the colors faded out. 

The parking lot was almost barren. Visiting hours had yet to start, no one was supposed to be here. Phil had earned them the privilege through a very intense argument with a nurse, where he’d managed to convince her it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to kick him out.

Techno’s vague threats had helped convey the message as well. 

Phil didn’t feel guilty for their disrespect. It was his son lying in a hospital bed at this moment, after all. 

And his other son, the one who probably had no idea Phil thought of him that way, shuddering beneath Phil’s touch. He had never passed over Tommy, only deferred his anxiety to the son in more critical condition. 

Tommy was not fine, and never had been. But he was awake . 

And that was more than Wilbur. 

He pulled away from Tommy, his hair long since clean. Tommy met his eyes in the mirror, and they thanked him silently. 

Phil smiled softly at him. 

“Ready to head back?” He asked. Tommy hesitated. 

“You don’t have a toothbrush, do you?” He asked.

“Sorry, mate. I haven’t got one. I can buy you some gum from the vending machine?” He offered. Tommy nodded quickly, seeming appeased. 

Phil did just that, the noise of the buttons eerie in the silent hospital hallway. Each beep seemed out of place, so loud and cheerful compared to the bright lights and white walls. The dull thump of gum hitting the bottom was even worse. Once retrieved, he passed the pack to Tommy.

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbled, quickly getting himself a piece and shoving it into his mouth. He tried to hand it back, but Phil motioned for him to keep it. 

Tommy shoved the pack into the pocket of his jeans. 

Poor kid was still wearing jeans. 

“You know, you’ll be cleared today. You and Techno should head home, get some fresh clothes and rest,” He suggested. 

Tommy looked up at him oddly, seeming almost offended. 

“But–Wilbur?” He interjected. 

“You can come right back. I’ll text you the moment he wakes up,” Phil said, trying to assure him. Tommy’s expression quickly turned mortified. 

For a moment, Phil thought it was because of the state of Tommy’s phone. It had been found in the wreckage, but was cracked and broken beyond repair. Phil would have to get the kid another one.

“No, I want to stay. Please, don’t make me go,” Tommy begged instead. Phil blinked at him, surprised. It was odd how quickly Phil had assumed Tommy’s anxiety was over logistics, and not emotions. 

“Of course, mate. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” He ceded, more out of shock than anything else. 

He didn’t know why he assumed Tommy would have no interest in sticking around the hospital. 

Maybe because it had been such a short time, and he’d assumed Tommy couldn’t be attached to any of them. 

But hadn’t he shown them he was? Hadn’t he started to let them in? 

It had hardly been over a week, Phil reminded himself. 

It didn’t matter–the change in Tommy was visceral, so obvious Phil half believed he could reach out and touch it. 

Tommy was different. Better. Or at least…getting there. 

The pair pushed through the door to Wilbur’s room. Techno was awake, and had apparently been given a shirt at some point. 

Alarmingly, there was a nurse standing by Wilbur’s bedside, checking something on his chart. 

For a moment, Phil’s heart leapt into his throat. 

He didn’t know if it was hope or dread, but his body reacted either way, flinging him into panic. 

Had something happened? 

But no, he came to his senses a moment later, assured by the steady, unchanged beep of Wilbur’s heart monitor and the calmness in Techno’s expression. 

Nothing had changed. 

The nurse seemed to see this realization, and she gave him an empathetic smile. 

“There’s been no change just yet, but everything looks fine. He should be waking up sometime soon–” she began to speak, but the words died in her throat when her eyes shifted to Phil’s right, landing on Tommy. 

Her mouth fell open in surprise, eyes widening. 

“Tommy,” She whispered, almost breathlessly. 

Phil turned to Tommy, finding an expression that mirrored the nurse’s. Surprise and fondness, all rolled into one. 

“Hannah,” He said, a smile curving his lips upward, lifting his voice. 

“What–are you okay? What are you doing here?” She gushed, stepping towards him. 

He flinched, hardly noticeable, but she stopped in her tracks. Still, the warmth in her eyes didn’t fade–only grew sad. 

“I’m fine. Was in the van with Wilbur,” Tommy explained, motioning towards the hospital bed in the center of the room. Hannah’s face morphed into understanding. Her eyes found Phil once more. 

“Are you..” She said, motioning to Tommy. 

“I’m fostering him, yes,” Phil told her. She smiled, looking back at Tommy. 

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you remember me,” She said to him, voice trembling. 

Tommy shrugged, as though he was trying to play it off, but his face was flushed pink, alight with a soft fondness. 

“You would always sneak me those gummies from the vending machines, the ones shaped like fish,” He said, as though that was enough explanation. It wasn’t: Phil was still lost. 

“And gum,” Hannah added, smiling sweetly as she laughed. “So much gum.” 

A shadow flitted across Tommy’s face, but he nodded in agreement, his smile persisting through whatever memory had dawned.  

“I was Tommy’s nurse before,” Hannah explained to Phil. It was a lacking description, telling him nothing he hadn’t already figured out for himself by the conversation. 

Still, something clicked in his mind, and he remembered the paper Techno had shown him, stolen from Tommy’s file when it had exploded across the living room.

Assisted by Nurse Hannah Rose. 

Phil would bet his heart and soul that this was Nurse Hannah Rose. 

She’d met Tommy after the dog ring, nursed him back to health. 

She’d seen the physical and mental trauma, prescribed antibiotics and painkillers. But she hadn’t saved him, hadn’t rescued him. He’d still gone back into foster care, thrown from one hell into another. 

Ugly resentment grew in Phil’s chest, and though he knew Hannah probably had only pure intentions…she’d known . Why hadn’t she done anything about it? 

Hannah was watching him, he realized suddenly. Her face was suspicious, like she saw exactly how the puzzle pieces had just slotted together in his head. She turned away when he met her eyes, looking back at Tommy. 

Immediately, her gaze softened, and she looked him up and down. 

“I wish I could see you when you aren’t all roughed up,” She said, tone light with a type of humor. Phil waited for Tommy’s reaction, expecting defensiveness, maybe even embarrassment. Instead, Tommy smiled sheepishly.

“It’s a rare sight,” He joked, grinning cheekily as though that was funny . 

Tommy’s whole demeanor had changed, and he seemed strangely young under Hannah’s gaze. His walls had fallen away, the stoicness in his stance dissolved. Like everything was safe now, and someone was there to look out for him. 

Perhaps that’s exactly how Tommy felt. Maybe Phil had misjudged Hannah. Maybe her vague explanation had been purposeful–her way of protecting Tommy’s secrets. Keeping Phil out, because he was the one who couldn’t be trusted.

After all, Tommy was back in the hospital when he was supposed to be under Phil’s care, and there was no denying that Phil’s presence did not relax Tommy the way Hannah’s did. 

Maybe Hannah was right not to trust Phil. 

Could he trust her?

“You look better, though. So much better,” Hannah was saying to Tommy, her voice heavy with emotion. Tommy rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Considering I was half dead last time, I’d hope I look at least a little better,” He muttered. 

Words flashed through Phil’s mind. 

Laceration wounds. Bruises. Severe malnutrition.  

Yes, half-dead was the way to describe it. 

Hannah shook her head fondly. 

“Don’t joke about that. You always had a dark sense of humor, didn’t you?” She chided him fondly, albeit sadly. 

It didn’t really feel like a joke to Phil. It felt like someone was tearing his heart apart, ripping through flesh and blood, destroying him from the inside out. 

They all stood for a moment, an odd silence in the air. Not uncomfortable–just heavy. Like a vigil, a weight over all their heads. Phil cleared his throat to interrupt it. 

“I don’t wish to interrupt the reunion, me and Tech can give you two some space to talk. Just, first…could I have a moment with you, Hannah?” he asked. Hannah nodded, seeming unsurprised, and followed him out into the hallway. 

They crossed the hall, till Phil was confident they wouldn’t be overheard.

“You were his nurse after the dog fighting ring,” He said. It wasn’t a question, not really. Hannah answered anyway, though she seemed surprised he knew. 

“Yes. I was there for his recovery. Horrifying, what he went through. I did everything I could to…make it easier.”

“I believe you,” Phil said. That much was obvious, in the look in Hannah's eyes, in the tone in her voice. She did care about Tommy, and he could see that. “I have a request, and I hope you can help him.”

“Anything.”

“When Tommy came in…that was eight months ago, right?” He asked. 

“I believe so.” 

“He…hasn’t shifted since.” He admitted. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, I know he wants it kept private. But you care for him, and I think he should be checked on by a doctor. If there’s anything you can do, any tests you can run, just to make sure he’s okay?” 

Hannah’s eyes were wide, full of horror. She didn’t seem to be a hybrid, but she was a nurse. She knew how often people were supposed to shift, and probably what happened when they didn’t. Surely she knew more than Phil. She might be able to help. 

“Absolutely. I’ll check him out, make sure nothing is seriously wrong. I guess…I’m not surprised he hasn’t. I was worried about that, when he didn’t shift the whole time he was here. I tried to convince him, but he was so afraid. I figured he just needed more time.” 

“He went through a lot.” Phil offered, unsure what else to say.

“He did,” Hannah agreed. She paused for a long second, before gazing back at the door they’d come from, like she could see Tommy through it. “I wanted to adopt him. I was told everything that had happened, and seeing him in the state he was in…I wanted to give him a safe home.”

That was surprising, to say the least. 

“Why didn’t you?” He asked softly. It wasn’t accusatory: purely curious. 

Hannah sighed, deep and pained. 

“When Tommy first arrived, we were all told what had happened by the cops who’d raided the ring and found him. After the surgeons were done and he woke up, a few of us walked into the room. We’d been told to hide any hybrid features we had, but everyone had misjudged the depth of the situation, not realizing exactly how bad his mental state was. Tommy started screaming, thrashing about. Yelling in fear, certain there was a dog nearby. He could smell one, he claimed. Even though hybrids aren’t the same…it was too similar for him. He didn’t calm down until everyone left.” 

Phil looked at her curiously, unsure what the point of the story was. Still, he let her continue.

“All the hybrid staff used medical-grade scent blocker for the rest of the time we were taking care of him. Unfortunately, trauma associated with hybrids is not uncommon. But blocker is no long term fix, just enough for doctors and nurses to help patients without bringing up memories.” 

Now he could tell where this was going, could imagine the reason why Tommy would never find a home with Hannah, despite how much she had wanted to give him one.

She seemed heartbroken just retelling the story, and he almost felt compelled to comfort her. 

“I wish it could have been different, that I could have given him a better life. The world was so cruel to him.” She took a deep breath, finally recollecting herself enough to meet Phil’s eyes. 

Then Hannah reached up to her head, brushing her hands over her hair. In the same way that Phil could hide and show his wings, she revealed yet another tragedy in Tommy’s life. 

Another cruel twist of fate and irony. 

Long, pointy ears, grey and white like a husky. 

Hannah was a dog hybrid. 

Notes:

duh duh duhhhh

I really wanted to make Niki the nurse but I forgot I already made her one of Wilbur and Techno's friends so now its Hannah lol.

Tommy has probably the worst luck ever possible...poor gremlin baby

Chapter 37: the same woes with the same scars

Summary:

Title from So Long by James Marriott

It had been over two days since the crash, and yet Wilbur was still in a comatose state. 

The doctors had claimed this was normal, that the recovery period for head injuries often stretched, days, weeks, or months. They kept saying he’d wake up “soon”.

“Soon” felt far too vague for something so important. Tommy wanted Wilbur to wake up now.

That didn’t mean Tommy particularly minded the extra time waiting around the hospital. In all honesty, he found a strange serenity in the simplicity of waiting. 

It was odd that he’d been to this hospital before, because he didn’t remember much of it. 

Everything had been a hazy blur after the dog fighting ring, consisting entirely of flashes of memories and half-lucid nightmares. He hadn’t been able to tell what experiences had been real then, and he still didn’t know now.

Fear haunted these halls, lurking so thickly he was sure it was more than his mind conjuring it, but so intangible and distant it felt eerily comfortable. Like the essence of danger made the hospital closer to home than anything Tommy had ever felt before.

It was like deja vu, except it wasn’t, because he truly had been here before. He just didn’t remember much of it.

Except Hannah. He remembered her vividly, her kindness and compassion for him when he was at her very worst. 

He’d been catching up with her for a while now, both sitting outside Wilbur’s room as she asked about school and Phil in a poorly disguised attempt to make sure he was being treated right. 

Tommy appreciated it, he really did, but part of him held a grudge. He hadn’t been treated right ever before, and where had she been?

Still, it was nice that she cared. Plus she brought him lots of candy, which was undeniably great. 

He was eating that candy now–Swedish Fish, they were called. 

“What makes the fish swedish?” He asked Hannah, purely out of curiosity. She frowned, seeming unsure. 

“I…actually don’t know,” She finally conceded with a laugh. 

Tommy shrugged in response, offering her a candy, which she politely declined with a smile, and then a deep sigh. 

“Tommy, there’s actually something important I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Oh. That didn’t sound good. He looked up at her, letting her continue as his mind raced through the many possibilities. She sighed, pulling out a folded piece of paper, unfolding it as she spoke. 

“We did some blood work on you before you were officially cleared, and the results were…odd. Worrying. I compared it to a sample on file from when we first met, and it basically could be a whole different person. Before, your DNA had rapid epigenetic modulation.” She paused, as though he might know what the hell that meant. 

When he showed no signs of understanding, she explained.

“Your DNA was able to rapidly shift to match whatever you turned into, and we could see how groups of Methyl were readily able to detach and reattach. DNA from previous shifts and methyl ready to accommodate future shifts were extremely obvious. In other words, your genome displayed your ability, as it should for any shapeshifter.” 

She showed him the paper. 

“This,” she said, tapping the top left corner, “is a readout from your last full blood panel. Eight months ago.”

He scanned the page, but it may as well have been written in another language.

“These gene sequences here?” She pointed to a section where faint green highlights trailed down some sort of column. “They’re unlike human’s sequences. They’re unlocked. Active, ready to reconfigure at a moment’s notice.” 

She pointed to a small section of the column, circled in red pen. It didn’t look all that different then the green she’d pointed out before, besides the label beside it. “This is what shows evidence of use, because animal DNA was present, even though we only sampled you as human. That genetic sequencing was active even when you weren’t in that form, because your body knows you’ll need it again, and it’s used so often that there’s no point in destroying that information.”

Tommy nodded, still unsure of exactly where this was going. It seemed a little strange that they just had this. He’d known hybrids had genetic differences from humans, obviously they had to, but to see it laid out, even if it was all just medical jargon that made no sense to him, felt somehow invasive. 

“So? What’s different now?’’

“Well…that evidence isn’t absent, per say. But it’s hardly visible at all. There’s nothing in your genetic makeup that would suggest any hybrid traits have been used recently.”

That caught Tommy’s attention. He sat up slowly, ignoring the stabbing pain at the movement, and lifted his eyes from whatever the hell Hannah was showing him to stare her right in the eyes. 

She knew . 

“What are you saying?” He asked, ignoring the sharpness that had unconsciously entered his tone. 

He trusted her, far more than he trusted anyone else. But he couldn’t help apprehension over where this was going. 

“There’s still Methyl groups, Tommy, but the number has reduced to about 12 percent of what was there eight months ago. That’s about the same quantity as a regular hybrid, someone with only one animal’s genetic makeup. You haven’t shifted in so long that your body has slowed production of what allows you to shift at all, and destroyed most evidence of past shifting.” She paused then, watching him carefully for his reaction. 

This wasn’t really news to Tommy. 

“I know,” He mumbled, admitting defeat. “I can’t shift anymore, I've tried. I don’t really need you rubbing it in with all this medical shit I don’t understand.” 

Hannah’s lips pulled into a tight line, and then she shook her head. 

“You can shift, Tommy. You’re not unable to. Think of it like this. You’ve still got the ingredients you need. Your body is just…forgetting the recipes.” 

“How is that any different?” he sighed, irritated by this nonsense conversation that seemed to be leading nowhere.

“Tommy, listen to me. You have the ability to shift, but the only ‘recipe’ still present in your genes is the dog DNA from eight months ago.” 

She pressed her finger to another part of the page, to another column of DNA circled in red. “This is how I know you haven’t shifted since then, and it’s how I know that right now, your body will have an extremely hard time shifting because it’s got no ‘cheat sheet’. You’re hardly producing enough Methyl to undergo a shift into a recently used form. Your genes can’t morph into anything they don’t already remember until you produce more Methyl groups.” 

“Great. How do I make more Methyl? Can you inject me with it or something?” 

“I can’t, it’s unique to you. But your body will make more of it the more often you shift. Even just once, it’ll spike your levels back to around twenty-five percent, and it’ll get easier from there. But you have to shift soon, or you won’t be able to at all.” 

“But I can’t shift,” Tommy said, because if he was understanding correctly, and his only ‘recipe’ was to turn into a dog…then he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“You can. I know it’s scary, and that you don’t want to relive what you went through. But you’ll lose the ability forever if you don’t do it. Just once, Tommy, please.”

This was bullshit. Tommy had been told to shift too many times to be back here again, at the same crossroads. 

It never changed, did it? No matter what he did, or where he was, there would always be someone asking, or begging, or forcing him to shift. 

It was his decision to make. Not Hannah’s, not anyone else's. At least if he lost the ability forever, he wouldn’t have to put up with what other people wanted.

“I can’t, Hannah,” He said firmly, standing up. He shoved the paper at her. “I appreciate you looking into this and explaining it, I really do. But I can’t do it,” He declared, grabbing his stupid norwegian fish or whatever and stomping away down the hallway, heading for Wilbur’s room. 

“Tommy!” Hannah called out, but he ignored her. She continued anyway.

“Tommy, I'm not going to make you, and neither will Phil, or your brothers. No one is forcing you. But you deserve to know the reality of your situation, and you have to understand that this isn’t a can’t. You can do it, but you won’t!” Tommy paused, letting her words sink in. 

Can’t and won’t. Was there really a difference? Had Tommy ever experienced the privilege of having those two words be different?

What he wanted had never mattered, not till he came to Phil’s. He hadn’t really realized that had changed, but he knew it now. 

“You having a home is not conditional on whether or not you can shift, Tommy.”

Phil didn’t care whether he couldn't or wouldn’t, right? Besides, Phil didn’t even have to know. 

He pushed through the door into Wilbur’s room. 

It didn’t matter if he could or not. 

He still wouldn’t.

Not for Hannah, not for Phil.

Not ever again.

Tommy swallowed down the pain that came with that thought.

He’d leap from a thousand roofs to get his ability back, but he wouldn’t face his past. 

 

He wouldn’t.

Notes:

Or will he? Hehehe

(ik a lot of ppl have been waiting for a while for him to finally shift...just be patient guys...he's not quite ready)

Also lol im not a doctor, half of this is google, half is made up, idk just roll with it :)

 

*** to clear up any confusion! ***

Tommy can only shift into a dog because:
- he's not making enough of the stuff that allows him to shift anytime into anything
- his body only has enough of that stuff to shift into something recent bc then the methyl doesn't have to reform, just 'activate'
- the only thing he's been recently is a dog bc of how long he was in the ring for and then didn't shift for
- but if he shifts again his body will remember to make methyl and he'll have enough to form new species DNA, not just activate a recent existing one

so poor kid gotta be a dog :(

(its not that different then how a lot of our body regulation works - like how muscles atrophy or our immune system stops defending against viruses when not in contact with them, then forgets how and we need vaccine boosters)

Chapter 38: if you can find a reason, a reason to stay

Summary:

title from Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephant

The van had crashed on Sunday.

It was now Thursday. 

The mood in Wilbur’s room declined more with each passing day, and those four days seemed infinite. All conversations slowed and soured as the hope stagnated. 

It didn’t seem right to leave the hospital without Wilbur in tow, but the nurses had tired of their constant presence and forced them to leave Wilbur’s room when visiting hours ended. 

Tommy and Techno took an Uber home in silence. They took turns showering. They packed some clothes and things for Phil, still stationed in the hospital waiting room, refusing to leave.

Tommy brushed his teeth three times, and Techno pretended not to notice.  

Truly, Tommy should have relished in the feeling of a mattress after days of sleeping in chairs at crooked angles, but he didn’t. 

The entire house was haunted and hollow. Lifeless. Sleep was fitful. 

If Tommy screamed in the night, nobody comforted him. He didn’t need them to, but after so much sleep in close proximity to Techno and Phil, the nightmares felt harder to chase away. 

The next morning, Techno drove them back to the hospital as the sun dragged itself above the horizon. 

Tommy watched how the first waves of light flickered through the trees as they drove, flashing in spurts so quickly it hurt to stare. 

He watched the lights of the machine flicker as Wilbur took each breath, but didn’t wake. 

When the sun set from the window of Wilbur’s room, he glared at it, because the colors felt offensively bright in contrast to the pale, sterile walls. 

He spent the night observing people trickle in and out of the waiting room, catching glimpses of the moon outside each time the door opened.

The stream of bodies was constant, to the point where it seemed everyone in the world was hurting. 

He sat beside Techno and Phil as hope flickered like a candle flame, coming in flashes like the sun in the trees, on and off like the lights on a machine. Glaringly bright and colorful one moment, dim and pale the next. 

Even still, it was constant, underlying each minute, each hour.

As thursday passed, none of them said much. 

There was nothing to say. 

 

***

 

The days didn’t feel like torture, just stasis. 

Time moved oddly in the hospital: It lay as flat and motionless as Wilbur, but passed far too quickly. 

It seemed almost that with nothing to do but wait, waiting felt like nothing at all. 

Thursday became Friday, and then Saturday became Sunday, and none of the days held any meaning except to mark the passage of time. 

It had been a week.

Wilbur was still unconscious.

 

***

 

The second week felt three times longer than the first, ten days stretching into months and years.

Nothing had returned to normal, but there had never really been a normal. 

Neither Techno or Tommy had been to school.

Tommy had gotten a new phone, but it was a useless device. It had nothing on it, no phone numbers saved, no apps downloaded by a cheerful Wilbur. 

It was just something to check the time with, to remember the dates as they flew by. 

His bandages began to come off, the cuts beneath healing into scabs, then scars, like nothing ever happened at all. He still felt the pain in his rib, but it had dulled.

He took his pain medication, and relished how it made him foggy and sleepy. Anything was better than thinking and spiraling.

Phil ordered food to the hospital, and they ate less and less of it as the days went on. 

To Tommy, it tasted like blood and smelled like guilt.

It wasn’t easy to stomach. 

Tommy saw Hannah occasionally, but their interactions were tainted, burdened by the knowledge they alone shared. 

There was a weight in the air anytime Tommy spoke to her. 

An unstoppable force had met an immovable object, clashing within him, a silent battle of wills that he couldn’t begin sorting out.

So Tommy ignored her looks, just like he ignored how Phil watched their interactions with concern. 

He watched Techno shift and forced himself to feel nothing. He stopped thinking about what he was going to lose, and instead focused on what there was a chance to keep. 

He tried to stop himself, but his mind conjured impossible paradoxes.

If shifting would wake Wilbur, would he do it? 

He liked to think the answer was yes, but images flashed to his mind in rebuttal. Kneeling on the asphalt, watching the blood pour and doing nothing at all.

He paced the halls. He brushed his teeth. He watched youtube. Nothing really distracted him.

A few of Wilbur’s friends came to visit. They brought flowers, and hugged Techno, and squeezed Wilbur’s limp hands. A few of them tried talking to Tommy. 

He mumbled responses to their questions and avoided their eyes. He escaped to the bathroom and tried to breathe. 

Tubbo and Ranboo made an appearance. Tommy asked Phil to send them away.

The days blurred together.

Tommy wondered a lot about why he was still with the Watsons. He wasn’t one of them. He cared about Wilbur—far more than he should—but at the end of the day, he wasn’t Wilbur’s brother.

He didn’t belong in this hospital room, and he knew it, he felt it, sitting in silence, choking on the grief hanging in the air.

Tommy had no experience with grief. 

He’d never had anything worth grieving.

Still, he sat by Wilbur’s bedside like he’d known him longer than a few weeks. He knew he had no right to be there.

But no one made him leave.

So he stayed.

***

As the second week progressed, Tommy found himself observing more and more.

Phil was disheveled in every manner of the word. He’d been disheveled earlier, probably, but Tommy hadn’t quite noticed. 

Techno was too, but he didn’t show it the same way. He looked fine, but he wasn’t. 

The difference was visible in his sunken eyes, maybe, but more so in the way he drove with his hands clenched to the steering wheel, knuckles white. It was visible in the way he read books in hospital chairs but didn’t flip pages for hours on end.

Tommy wondered what these endless, miserable days looked like on him. 

He probably hadn’t changed much. In a way, he found a strange solace in the emptiness of waiting. It was uncomfortable, but it was consistent. Predictable. Unthreatening. 

It was clear Phil and Techno didn’t agree.

For them, the hospital was suffocating, and they were drowning.

Tommy didn’t know how to help, because he’d always been drowning. But at least he was no longer alone.

When Tommy looked at his hands he saw no blood on them. There hadn’t been any. He hadn’t–

He started going for walks, to get out of the hospital and away from his thoughts. Phil went on flights. Techno went on drives. 

They all had their own ways of trying in vain to get air. They still suffocated.

He hadn’t stopped the bleeding. He’d started to feel comfortable. He’d caused this.

On one of Tommy’s walks he started walking in one direction and didn’t stop. He thought about what would happen if he never stopped. How far could he go?

He had no right to be there in the first place.

At some point, would Tommy get far enough that he could breathe again? 

Maybe eventually he’d forget all about that hospital room and the people inside it. Maybe he could let what he’d almost had slip through his fingers. 

He spent the whole night walking, holding his rib as it ached for him to rest, the throbbing  sensation reminding him of what he was walking away from.

It would be easier to leave.

The setting sun watched him go, and the sun rose as he stood back outside the hospital doors.

No one had made him leave, no one had made him stay. 

If Phil and Techno noticed his absence, they didn’t comment on it.

 

***

On day fifteen of WIlbur’s coma. Tommy and Techno returned to school.

Tommy never made it to his first class. Instead, he found himself in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet.

He flushed his breakfast and left the building. He walked to the park.

He walked to another park.

He walked until walking was constant, more constant than waiting.

Till walking was nothing, as flimsy and incomprehensible as time.

He walked for hours. For days. 

He walked till walking was guilt, or absolution. Salvation lay at the end of every street, but the mirage faded each time he reached it.

He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat. He watched the sun transform into the moon, and back into the sun. 

Day sixteen. 

He ignored the buzz of his phone a few times. He wondered if it was news about Wilbur.

Checking to see felt like losing a battle.

Returning felt like losing a war.

It didn’t matter how many walks he went on, or how long they lasted. 

He always ended up back where he’d started.

He never quite found any breathable air.

 

***

Tommy tilted his head back against the wall, angling himself to relieve the ache in his chest. 

His legs throbbed from the walking, his pulse still drumming in his ears. 

He could feel Phil and Techno watching him, but neither of them said anything.

They sat in the silence together, listening to the hum of machines. 

Beep.

He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. 

Beep.

He was so exhausted. 

Beep.

Sleep tugged at Tommy’s eyelids, and he let them fall, sinking into the plastic chair like it was a luxurious mattress. 

Beep.

Tomorrow, maybe he’d finally have the courage not to return. Yeah, tomorrow.

He drifted off to the familiar lull of beeps and whirs, eased by the consistent melody of machinery. 

When the pattern changed, he wasn’t awake to hear it.

Notes:

bro doesn’t know how to deal with having something to lose. Tryna act like running away will help…cmon now, wrap it up

Chapter 39: if there’s a light at the end, it’s just the sun in your eyes

Summary:

Title from Young Gods by Halsey

Notes:

IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT! I've been so busy with work lately that I hadn't even realized it's been almost a month since I last updated :0

but here's an update and its a happy one so hopefully I'm forgiven <3

also this chapter's not super polished so I might go back and clean it up, sorry I rushedddd when I realized how long its been.

When Wilbur opened his eyes, everything was bright. 

There was a light above him, brighter than the sun, brighter than light itself. The sheer intensity of it made him squint, a sharp pain pulsing through his head. 

He groaned, attempting to shift his position, only to find the aching pressure increased with the motion. He stopped his movement, resorting to staring up at the overly bright ceiling as his eyes slowly adjusted it into clarity.

“Wilbur?” a voice asked from somewhere nearby. 

Phil. 

“Uh, hi?” He mumbled. 

Two heads came into view, leaning over him. Techno and Phil. What were those two doing in his room? 

Oh no, Phil was gonna find his vape. 

But Techno was grinning, looking positively ecstatic. 

That was weird…something was definitely off here. If he was late to school, Techno should be shouting and yanking him out of bed by his feet by now, not smiling at him.

“What?” he asked, finding his words came out hoarse, his throat dry and cracked. He licked his lips in confusion, trying to dampen his throat. Meanwhile, Phil’s smile morphed into a frown. 

“Mate, do you remember what happened?” He asked quietly. Wilbur scrunched up his face. 

Something happened?

Oh. 

Realization hit him so fast it stole the air from his lungs, it’s power roaring through him in a terrible tempest of guilt and anxiety.

The van.

He’d crashed the van into a lampost. 

He’d nearly killed them both.

“Tommy! Where is he, is he alright?” He yelped, trying anxiously to sit up. Techno’s hand pushed him back into the bed, firm but not unkind.

“He’s fine! He’s just sleeping,” his brother said, a hint of amusement in his tone. 

Wilbur let out a sigh of relief. Thank fuck. He didn’t know what he would have done if Tommy had gotten hurt because of him. Again. 

“The doctor cleared him a while ago,” Phil explained, nodding his head to the left of the room. 

Wilbur twisted his head to look to the side, ignoring the pulsing ache in his head. At least now he remembered what the headache was from.

Tommy was slumped on a chair, head lolled onto his shoulder in the sort of position that was sure to leave him waking up with an aching neck. 

The boy was in a hoodie, which covered up any damage on his torso or arms, but even his face had small scabs. His hair was a tousled mess, but it was always like that. The only bandage Wilbur could see was one around his wrist, just barely peeking out from his sleeve.

Still, that hardly meant he hadn’t been hurt. 

“How injured is he?” Wilbur asked, almost scared to hear the answer. 

“He was cut up from the glass and asphalt, just like you. And he fractured a rib, but there’s not much the doctors can do about that,” Phil said with a sigh. He looked back to Wilbur’s eyes. “Both of you went through the windshield when you crashed. We’re going to have a serious conversation about seatbelts and reckless driving later, just so you know.”

The reprimand felt foreign, but automatic all the same. Like how Phil was always telling him to clean his room, all the while knowing WIlbur wouldn’t, and how Phil frowned when he saw a new pack of cigarettes, but only brought it up if the pack was empty far too soon.

The scale had changed, but the truth remained. 

There was an implicit trust, an understanding that Wilbur was the way he was, and that all Phil could do was guide him, never through force. 

Phil seemed to always know when the recklessness was escalating, interfering before anything got bad, and that was always enough.

Except for this time. 

This time, there had been no warnings, no reprimands. 

They’d all been caught off guard.

He looked back at Tommy’s sleeping figure. His injuries weren’t that bad. They even seemed pretty healed…a rush of fear shot through Wilbur.

“Phil,” He whispered, looking up at the man. “How long has it been?”

Techno’s lips pulled into a thin line as Phil hesitated. WIlbur felt his heart drop. 

“It’s been two weeks. Seventeen days.” 

“Two weeks,” Wilbur repeated, at a loss of what else to say. 

He’d been unconscious for two whole weeks. He must have missed so much.

He’d been unconscious for longer then he’d known Tommy. 

He twisted his head to the opposite wall, managing to find a window. 

The sun was set, the world dark save for the glittering lights of street-lamps and car headlights. 

Still, he could see all the leaves in messy piles littering the ground, the trees standing bare and exposed. 

Seventeen days of sleep, but he still felt exhausted. 

He tried to shift more upright so he could see his family better, but when he tried to use his left arm, he found it immobile. 

He glanced down for the first time, eyes landing on the white cast wrapped around his entire elbow, holding him in place.

He looked back to Phil, who’s eyes were sullen, his lips pulled into a tight, grim line.

“It’s a bad fracture. You won’t be using it anytime soon.” 

It seemed like too little of a punishment for his actions. 

Mentally, he tried to sense the rest of his body, scouring for injuries with his eyes as well. Everything felt foggy, his limbs static and unattached. Most of him was covered with a white sheet. He wriggled his toes, watching them move under the sheet. 

“Anything else?” He asked, because he couldn’t tell . Why was everything so hazy and weightless?

“They had to put a few stitches in your head and probably a killer concussion, but nothing else is broken. Some nasty scrapes and bruises but they’ve probably healed.” Techno informed him. 

Well, that explained the pounding headache and light sensitivity. 

“They’ve got you on some painkillers, and said it might make you feel a bit off,” Phil said, seeming to understand Wilbur’s confusion. He gestured to an IV drip WIlbur hadn’t even noticed, the tube leading into his good arm. 

Great. Wilbur loved drugs. Speaking of…

“You haven’t got a cigarette, by any chance?” He asked, causing Techno to snort. Phil gave him a disapproving glare. “Right. Just thought I’d ask.”

He let his head twist to the side once more, eyes finding Tommy. 

A fractured rib, a broken arm, a few stitches…

Wilbur could have hurt them both so much worse. He could have killed them. 

He was a piece of shit. 

Tears pricked at his eyes, stinging and begging for release.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Phil said, coming up. He took hold of Wilbur’s good hand, squeezing it tight. “What’s wrong? Does your head hurt?”

“No, no,” Wilbur assured him. And well, it did hurt, but that wasn’t why he was upset. “I hurt Tommy. Look at him, Phil. How could I have…I’m horrible. I’m scum.”

“Oh, Wilbur. You were reckless, and you made a mistake. That doesn’t make you a bad person. You just have flaws, like the rest of us.”

“Nah, you’re scum alright. Our scum, and we love you regardless,” Techno corrected, grinning down at Wilbur. 

Wilbur smiled softly at his brother and father. 

He hardly felt absolved, or even comforted. But he knew they loved him.

It may have taken years to truly understand a love like that, but he knew it down to the core of his being. Their love was the only thing he ever knew for sure.

And he could not describe how grateful he was for them. 

A knock sounded from the doorway, and WIlbur looked over to see a doctor hesitating in the entrance. 

Of course. If it had been two weeks, surely they had to check up on him. 

Phil squeezed WIlbur’s hand once more, reminding him everything was going to be okay, and turned to smile at the doctor. 

Wilbur tried to focus on the questions the doctor asked him, but his eyes kept sliding over to Tommy’s sleeping form, darting to Techno’s anxious stare, to the cast around his arm. 

It had been two weeks, but for Wilbur it had felt like no time at all. 

And despite having slept for so long, he still found himself slumping into the pillows as the doctor left. 

He tried to keep his eyes open.

He failed, and sleep beckoned him under.

 

*****

 

When WIlbur woke next, the room was darker, and the same ache bore through his skull once again. 

Something was different, and it wasn’t just the lighting–the air was different, Wilbur was different, somehow.

It wasn’t anything large or particularly alarming. 

No, it was just a weight on his abdomen that hadn’t been there before, a firm pressure on his hand.

It was Tommy, seated beside Wilbur’s bed, but practically sprawled on top of it. 

His eyes were closed shut, his head resting on Wilbur’s side, and his hand was clamped like a vice around his fingers. 

Wilbur couldn’t help the surprised chuckle that left his lips, and his ribs shook from the quiet laughter. The movement seemed to be enough to wake Tommy, and his eyes flew open.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Wilbur laughed. Tommy scowled, lifting his head. Just as quickly, the irritation faded, and his hand squeezed Wilbur’s impossibly tightly. 

“You’re awake,” He whispered breathlessly. 

You’re alive . Tommy hadn’t said it, but Wilbur heard it anyway. 

“I am,” Wilbur said proudly, as though this was some accomplishment. 

“Those bitches didn’t wake me up earlier,” Tommy told him, tone heavy with anger. Wilbur laughed again. 

He had the urge to ruffle the kid’s hair playfully, but one hand was captured by Tommy, and the other one immobilized by a cast. 

He settled for a warm smile, and Tommy flushed. Wilbur stared at him, taking in the scabs dotting his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur whispered. Tommy’s face darkened almost imperceptibly, but he shrugged. 

“It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

There was something in the way he said that–something that implied it was someone else’s fault. 

“I should have been more careful. I feel like all I ever do is hurt you,” WIlbur told him, because it was true. 

Tommy blinked at him, clearly thrown. 

“I just wanted you to have fun, I didn’t want you to get hurt. I am so unbelievably sorry,” WIlbur continued, still whispering.

“I had fun. Until, you know. But the first part was fun,” Tommy murmured, tripping over his words as he averted Wilbur’s eyes. He seemed bashful, like Wilbur’s words were too much to handle. 

But he wasn’t angry, or resentful. All Wilbur could think was how?

How could Tommy not hate him? How could he not blame Wilbur for this, for everything?

How could he look at Wilbur and not see just how shitty he was?

“I’m scum,” Wilbur said, repeating his thoughts from earlier. It was hard not to, when it was playing through his mind like a broken record. 

Tommy stared at him, his expression unreadable. He shrugged, And then–quietly, like it was a secret, or a confession:

“So am I.”

Wilbur froze, confused and hesitant. 

“Toms, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Wilbur told him, as earnestly as he could. 

“Fuckin’ Phil, now everyone’s calling me Toms ,” Tommy muttered back with a scowl, glancing over to the chair the man was fast asleep on.  

It dawned on Wilbur that Tommy was avoiding the second half of the sentence, latching onto the only thing that gave him room to deflect the attention away. It was obvious, so painfully obvious .

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated, because Tommy was ignoring it, but he shouldn’t be. 

Tommy met his eyes once again, staring at him hard. His silence was stubborn, lasting minutes and hours all at once. 

Finally, he sighed, eyes dropping to glare at Wilbur’s blanket like it was the most interesting plain sheet he’d ever seen. 

“I let my guard down,” He murmured. “I started thinking that everything was good. That’s always when bad things happen.”

“Oh, Tommy. I’m glad you felt safe, that you were having fun. Thinking things are good doesn’t make bad things happen,” He said. Tommy rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t mean it literally . My mentality doesn’t predict the future, obviously. I just mean that if I never get comfortable, then it can’t be taken away. But whenever I do…”

Wilbur…understood. 

It had been a long time, but he had been there, so determined to keep his walls up so nothing could hurt him. 

And when he’d grown comfortable, it had hurt. It wasn’t easy to let people in. It was painful and nerve-wracking, and so, so terrifying. It was terrifying even now.

But it got better, and soon it was second nature, easy as breathing. Loving is innate, no matter how repressed. It comes about slowly, and it burns like fire when something goes wrong–but it’s worth every second. 

Wilbur hadn’t known that when he’d first met Phil, but he did now. 

“It’s scary, isn’t it? To let people in,” Wilbur whispered, because he didn’t know how to explain how much deeper it was than that. 

Tommy gave him another one of those looks, so unreadable, but he seemed to see that Wilbur understood. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It just never ends well.” 

“Sometimes it does. There’s a happy ending waiting for you, Tommy.” 

He wanted to say it’s here, with us.

But he knew better, knew that would shut down the conversation. Too much, too soon.

“I used to think that too,” Tommy admitted, like he was patronizing an overly optimistic child. 

Maybe he was. 

“I used to think there was some light at the end of the tunnel, some finishing line where I'd escape to. But I don't know–I don’t think I'll reach it, if it exists at all.”

It occurred to Wilbur that this might be the most important conversation he and Tommy had shared. In fact, it might be the only conversation they’d ever had, the first one with no masks or lies, with no walls up at all. 

Well aside from the other night, maybe, when Tommy had explained and cried, baring his real self despite how obviously painful it had been.

It was honest, and genuine, and that was why it hurt. 

Because this was the real Tommy. He wasn’t timid and docile in the way he’d been when he’d first arrived–Wilbur was learning that Tommy wore fear like armour, a desperate attempt at self-protection. 

No, this was Tommy after he dropped those defenses. He was still afraid, clearly, but it was a different fear. 

It wasn’t proving that he wasn’t a threat, or a desperate attempt to convince people not to hurt him, like he was a possum playing dead to discourage a predator. 

No, this was none of that. 

It was real. 

“It exists, and you’ll get there just fine,” Wilbur assured him. 

Tommy rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He plopped his head down onto Wilbur’s chest again. 

“Do you want to come up on the bed?” Wilbur blurted, almost before he thought about it. 

Tommy seemed surprised, lifting his head once again. 

“But…what about your arm?” 

“I’m more worried about your rib, the way you’re hunched over like that,” Wilbur told him honestly. Tommy scowled. 

“S’ fine. Doesn’t hurt,” he claimed. Wilbur didn’t really believe him. Still, Tommy eventually relented.

He climbed onto the bed with anything but grace, almost knocking both of them off as he tried to position himself on Wilbur’s good side. 

Wilbur did his best to shove over so there was room, which he was fairly unsuccessful at.

After a bit of pushing from Tommy and grumbled insults, they found themselves in a semi-comfortable position, hardly touching, but close enough that Wilbur could feel the heat radiating off Tommy like a human-sized space heater. 

They were quiet for a while, and Wilbur could feel Tommy’s unease hanging in the air above them. His shoulders were hunched with tension, eyes staring at the far wall with something that looked akin to anxiety. 

Honestly, this poor kid. 

Wilbur swung his arm over Tommy’s shoulder, pulling him just a little closer. 

Instantly, Tommy flinched at the touch, but then seemed to sag under the warmth of it. The tension deflated as he sank into Wilbur’s shoulder, blonde curls tickling the side of neck.  

Wilbur let his eyes close, content to let sleep pull him under once again–he was so, so tired. 

But instead of sleep, he heard Tommy’s voice, a hushed whisper, hardly audible over the beeping machines and the hum of the air conditioning unit.. 

“I’m really glad you’re awake. I…I was worried.” 

Wilbur smiled, keeping his eyes closed, but raised his good hand to comb it through Tommy’s hair.

No flinch followed the touch, and Wilbur basked in that knowledge, smiling as he replied.

“Me too, Tommy,” he whispered. “I’m really, really glad.”

He shoved at Wilbur playfully. 

“Bitch boy,” Tommy muttered, trying to hide his smile behind a Big Man scowl. 

“Gremlin.” Wilbur responded, nudging him back.

Tommy whacked him, and he yelped.

“Brat.” 

“Wrong-un.”

“Child.”

“M’ not a child.”

“Mmhm.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not, you prick.”

“Child,”

“Take it back.”

“Or what–Ow!”

“Or that , bitch.”

“Phil, come get your kid, he’s being a gremlin–OW!”

“Phil, come get your Wilbur, he’s being a wrong-un!”

“Shut up, both of you,” Phil grumbled, eyes still closed shut, as though he could tune out their screeching if he only tried hard enough.

Wilbur should probably have cared more about his dad’s rest, but Tommy was such a gremlin .

“Phil! Phil, he bit me!”

“He does that. Shush.”

“Yeah Wilbur, shush, you big baby,”

“He was talking to you and you know it.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

“Both of you, shut up.”

“...Child.”

“...Bitch.” 

“Ow! PHILLLLL!”

Notes:

Who bit who? Brighton biter or “i bite” shifter tommyinnit? Up to you to decide!

(i think im really funny...)

 

anyway sorry again abt the unexpected hiatus, updates will probs be less frequent for a bit but still happening!

Chapter 40: the dirt in which our roots will grow (and the right to call it home)

Summary:

Title from North by Sleeping at Last

It took a few more days for Wilbur to be fully released from the hospital. Apparently being unconscious for over two weeks was a big deal, and Wilbur wasn’t just being a pussy. 

First time for everything. 

But truly, Tommy didn’t mind the wait. Air had swept back into the world, and every breath taken promised another would follow. 

Still, despite the joy, Tommy didn’t know if he was glad he stayed or not. 

Maybe he’d been smart to stay, or maybe he’d been weak, like always, and the dread of staying had been vanquished only by the fear of leaving.

Either way, the decision had been made for him, and now a looming dread followed the joy of Wilbur’s revival. Something squeezed Tommy’s heart, weighing on his shoulders like an anvil, because staying meant it could happen all over again. 

Staying meant having something, and having something meant he could lose it. 

A part of him was still screaming to run–Tommy had always been good at running. 

It was just that this time, he couldn’t quite understand what there was to run from. 

So, frozen by indecision and weighed by irrational fear, Tommy stayed till Wilbur was released on shaky legs. He teased Wilbur for his inability to function with only one arm, because that was easier than acknowledging anything that had just happened. 

Tommy watched out the window as Phil drove, nodding his head to the music, tuning out whatever Techno and Wilbur were arguing over as they made their way home.

Home.

Tommy didn’t know when it had become home. 

Maybe something had clicked in his mind as he tried to leave it, some understanding that if he did, he wasn’t just abandoning another foster placement. 

There was more to this one. Not just safety or kindness–a familiarity, a place in the world. 

He might not deserve it, nor belong, but he’d been given that place anyway: a place at the table as Phil served mac and cheese, and then a spot on the couch as they played minecraft like nothing had ever happened at all. He had a case of Coke in the fridge that nobody drank but him. 

He had a bed in a room of his own, for him to lay on and stare at the ceiling for hours.

Tommy had thought his place in the world was always destined to be under the heel of someone’s shoe, crushed like an insect. If not controlled, he was dangerous.

Well, he had been. Now…

No. he wasn’t going down that road of thought, not again. Hannah’s words meant nothing. 

He abandoned his last efforts of trying to sleep, throwing the covers off in a fit of spite. Distantly, a twinge of pain in his rib protested the sharp movement, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the shock of his bare toes touching the hardwood floor, the cold seeping through him instantly. 

He tried to open the door quietly, but the soft squeak of the hinge echoed throughout the house. 

Still, Tommy persevered, and oddly, he found himself outside of Wilbur’s door. 

He knocked, and when there was no answer, he pushed the door open a crack. The room was dark, but even in the dim lighting, Tommy could see the bed lay empty. 

Panic struck him, and he found himself stumbling backwards through the doorway. 

No, no, no no no.

He’d only just gotten Wilbur back. No, he couldn’t lose him again. Where was he? Tommy had to find Wilbur. 

He had to tell Phil. 

He spun around as panic clenched its jaws, heart racing as he bolted to Phil’s room. 

He flung the door open, too anxious to consider knocking, too desperate to think clearly. 

It slammed against the wall, the noise echoing like a crack of thunder through the quiet house.

Instantly, three heads rose from the bed, all facing him. 

Shadowed in the dark, he couldn’t tell who was who, but it didn’t matter. There was three. Wilbur was fine, Wilbur was there, somewhere, curled into his family, protected by feathers and blankets and everything that Wilbur deserved, but that Tommy didn’t –

“Tommy?” Phil asked tentatively, voice breaking through Tommy’s shock. 

“Uh, sorry,” Tommy mumbled, backing up into the doorway. 

“It’s alright, mate. Is everything okay?”

Everything was fine. Wilbur was safe, Tommy could go to bed. So why didn’t it feel that way?

“Uh-yes. Yeah, I'm gonna go back to bed,” he said, stumbling over his words, still trying to regain his composure and quell the pounding of his heart.

He tried to urge his feet to move, but they stayed planted, frozen.

He lingered in the doorway for too long, knowing he should leave, trying to make himself go.

He had his own room, his own ceiling to stare at. That was enough, more than enough. Why was he being greedy?

Phil wanted time with his sons, his real family. He didn’t want Tommy barging in, making a ruckus like always. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled again, finally regaining his ability to walk. He was probably gonna receive an earful the next morning about barging into people’s rooms. Wasn’t knocking one of Phil’s only rules?

Of course he’d broken the only real rule. 

From the bed, he heard Wilbur laugh.

“Get over here, gremlin,” He teased. Tommy froze once again. 

“But–are you sure?” he asked, looking at the bed in confusion. 

“Yes, Toms,” Phil said, and Tommy could hear the amusement in his tone. 

It felt like a trick, a cruel prank, because why? Why invite him in, why beckon him closer?

Why give him a place in the world, in their home, in their hearts? 

Why give him anything, when having meant the ever-present risk of losing?

Shyly, Tommy approached the bed, pushing aside his discomfort and confusion. As he came closer, he could make out the shapes of his foster family more clearly. Phil was in the center, sprawled on his back with his wings wrapped around Wilbur and Techno, each on one side of him. 

He stared for a second, trying to figure out exactly how Phil thought there was even room for him on the bed. 

With a huff, Techno rolled to the side. His skin rippled as he shifted, the transformation slow and sleepy. Now a tiger, he sprawled more over Phil’s chest. 

“Ew, Techno, you’re breathing on me,” Wilbur whined, but neither brother moved from their position.

Tommy took the opportunity to slide onto the mattress, laying perched on the edge of the bed. 

His head came to rest on the edge of Phil’s arm, and he wondered if that was irritating. Maybe he should move up so he was just using the pillow? Yeah, that’d probably be best. Phil wouldn’t want Tommy here, he must be uncomfortable, Tommy should move–

But before he had a chance to wriggle upwards, Phils arm closed around his back, pulling Tommy closer so his chest was squished against Techno’s back, his head firmly resting on Phil’s shoulder. 

He froze, unsure what to do as Phil lifted the blankets to tuck around Tommy, enveloping him fully into the warmth. 

Should he apologize? Yeah, probably– 

“Jeez, Tommy, your feet are freezing,” Wilbur complained. 

Bitch. 

Tommy kicked him and delighted in WIlbur’s yelp, only to be kicked back. 

Techno growled softly in irritation at all the kicking. The noise sent a chill up Tommy’s spine, but it didn’t seem to bother Wilbur, who proceeded to flick the tiger and resume kicking at Tommy. 

Techno swatted back at Wilbur’s face with a massive paw, causing him to yelp yet again and flap his arms around like a twelve year old girl, hitting everybody. 

Tommy responded with a flailing flurry of kicks, expertly targeted and executed with the skill of a samurai warrior–until Phil grunted with pain and he realized his kicks had, by no fault of his own, somehow missed their intended target. 

Oops.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Phil grumbled, folding his wings down over the four of them. 

“Aw, is it past your bedtime, old man?” Wilbur teased, his voice muffled by downy feathers.

“Yes,” Phil muttered, causing Tommy to snicker and bury his face into Phil’s shoulder, hand sinking into Techno’s soft fur. 

He thought about what this night would have looked like if he’d ran. It didn’t take much imagination–he’d done it far too many times before.

He’d be alone in an alley, probably, curled up to try and keep the cold wind at bay. His fingers and ears would be numb, and his teeth chattering.

The stench of garbage would make him nauseous, and he’d fall asleep to the scuffling of rats, hoping none of them were hungry enough to try and take a bite of him. 

It wasn’t just rats to be afraid of, out on the streets. There were stray dogs lurking, hungry and desperate. There were people, angry or drunk, or even well meaning. Danger lurked in those alleyways like it lurked in Tommy, just waiting for the opportunity to strike. 

There used to be so much to be afraid of, enough that Tommy started to fear absolutely everything.

Now he was sleeping beside a tiger, but somehow he’d never felt safer.

And sure, he was wary of the future and haunted by the past, but it was easier to let that go with a pair of arms wrapped tight around him.

He didn’t know how he’d earned a place in this house, let alone in Phil’s bed. He didn’t know how it had become his home. 

And he sure as hell didn’t know what he would do if he lost it. 

Notes:

funny how this story was only supposed to be 30ish chapters. I can't stick to an outline to save my life :)

Chapter 41: you get lighter the more it gets dark

Summary:

title from a Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay.

Tommy was dreading going back to school. 

He’d hardly even gotten into the rhythm of it before taking two full weeks off, so now he had to try and catch up all over again. 

Even worse, school meant seeing Tubbo and Ranboo, who he’d been avoiding like the plague since the accident.

His shoulders were hunched as he walked into his first period class, keeping his gaze focused on his shoes as the weight of numerous eyes tracked him all the way to his seat, whispers trailing behind his steps. 

Tommy didn’t know if his classmates knew what had happened or not, but they seemed more aware of his absence than they’d ever been of his presence. 

He slid quietly into his chair, silently praying the bell would chime and the teacher would deter the classes attention away by beginning the lesson.

But of course, without Wilbur making them late by spending an absurd amount of time fixing his hair, Techno and Tommy had arrived at school with time to spare. 

Someone poked him in the shoulder, and he snapped back into reality with a flinch. 

Shit, he’d been so focused on tuning everything out, he hadn’t heard Tubbo. 

“Tommy!” The boy was whispering, with an urgency in his tone that suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get Tommy’s attention, and a tone loud enough that it was hardly a whisper at all. 

Tommy turned to him, trying to school his features into something other than a shameful grimace. 

He was expecting the worst–Tubbo was surely angry, or at least irritated.

But when he turned, Tubbo was…smiling.

Yeah, the kid was grinning like nothing had ever happened.

“I’m glad you’re back! And we heard Wilbur’s okay, thank god. I was so worried about you two,” He said. Ranboo nodded along, meeting Tommy’s eyes without a trace of resentment, leaning as close as he could. 

Tommy hesitated, words frozen in his throat like a deer in headlights, confusion growing by the second. 

“You guys aren’t…mad?” 

“Mad? Why would we be mad?” Tubbo said, frowning. He twisted his head to glance at Ranboo, as though trying to see if Ranboo had a clue. 

If Ranboo did, he was too busy ducking away to avoid getting whacked in the eye by Tubbo’s horns to make his point. 

Tommy would have laughed any other day, but it wasn’t funny yet.

“I didn’t text you…” Tommy supplied. Tubbo made an exasperated face, and behind him Ranboo rolled his eyes. 

“Dude, you were in the hospital dealing with, like, traumatic shit. Besides, Phil told us about the phone when we tried to visit you,” he said, and then his face flickered with a hint of confusion. “Did you…know we stopped by?” he asked, suddenly looking anxious. 

Tommy sighed, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

“Yeah, I…I didn’t want to see anyone,” He mumbled, looking away sheepishly. 

“Tommy, we get it. We don’t blame you for needing time. We just wanted you to know that we were there for you if you did need us,” Ranboo explained. 

From the edge of Tommy’s peripheral. He caught Tubbo nodding and giving a thumbs up. 

“And we still are!” The ram hybrid agreed. 

Tommy looked back over at them, somewhat lost in awe. There was a tiny part of him that protested this, because he didn’t need their help or support. 

He was just fine on his own. 

But this little part had been protecting Tommy for so long, and he was tired of taking care of himself. 

“I-Thank you guys. That means a lot,” He found himself mumbling.

“Awww, c’mere you,” Tubbo crooned, opening up his arms as though the two of them weren’t sitting at separate desks. 

The action was stupid enough that it choked a laugh out of Tommy, causing Tubbo to grin like a madman. 

Rather than lunging across the desk for a hug, Tommy extended his hand for a fist bump. 

Tubbo met his arm halfway, bumping their knuckles together, then extending out his pinky. 

More pinky stuff. Great. 

Tommy linked pinkies with Tubbo, despite not really knowing exactly what they were pinky promising.

“Hey, I can’t reach,” Ranboo complained, arm outstretched dejectedly in the open air between his and Tubbo’s desks, pinky extended. 

Tommy snorted, withdrawing his hand from Tubbo’s hold. 

“You’re built like slenderman and you still can’t reach? Embarrassing.” Tubbo mocked.

“Try growing,” Tommy added helpfully.

“I don’t think he can get any taller or he’ll start being mistaken for a telephone pole,” Tubbo added, grinning at Tommy like he already knew the joke Tommy was about to make. 

“Yeah, careful Ranboo, or Wilbur might run you over,” Tommy said, because it was right there. 

“Too soon,” Ranboo muttered, but Tommy was far too busy laughing to care. 

“Don’t worry, you’ve got lots of time to catch up! Boys don’t stop growing until they’re at least 20,” Tubbo snickered. 

“Good news for you then, Mr. Five foot four,” Ranboo muttered. 

“Five foot five , actually,” Tubbo claimed.

“Since when?” Tommy wheezed, because there was no way. 

“Since he stood on his tiptoes at the doctors last week,” Ranboo explained to Tommy over Tubbo’s head. 

“I did NOT!” Tubbo exclaimed in earnest, earning them a few side eyes from people around the room, including the teacher, Ms. Minx. 

“Bee boy,” Tommy muttered under his breath. 

“I said I liked bees one time in year six and now-”

“Bee boy,” Ranboo agreed. It might have been the best, no, the only contribution Ranboo had ever made to a conversation.

“Ranboo my beloved,” Tommy said, a hand over his heart dramatically. 

“I’m engaged to Tubbo, sorry,” Ranboo said, placing his hand over his own heart in a less enthusiastic imitation of Tommy’s. 

“No, we’re getting a divorce now,” Tubbo decreed, eyes glinting with malicious intent. 

“Tommy, I'm available,” Ranboo said quickly. 

“No, I don’t want you anymore,” Tommy decided. 

“I literally hate you,” Ranboo deadpanned. 

“Right back at you, bossman.” 

“You two make me want to launch my nukes more and more every day,” Tubbo said quietly, bringing his forehead down to rest against his desk. He pulled on his horns, as though they were giving him a headache.  

“I think if you nuke us you’d die also. We sit too close together,” Ranboo 

“We’re clingy,” Tommy agreed. “You’d hit us all,” 

“It’d be for the best.” Tubbo decided.

“Suit yourself, I happen to like living,” Ranboo argued. 

“As long as Ms. Minx dies too. I can’t understand a word she says,” Tommy muttered, scowling at the teacher in front of him.

“True. I hate Americans,” Ranboo agreed. 

“Dude, you’re literally American.” Tubbo groaned.

“Is it so wrong to hate my brethren?” 

“Just seems a little hypocritical, I dunno,” Tommy offered. 

“Says the foster kid. Where are you even from?” Ranboo muttered.

“Everywhere, man. The whole world is my neighborhood. Ethnicity bows to me,” Tommy shot back proudly.

“Oh great, he’s going on another tyrannical rant. Look what you’ve done, Ranboo .” 

“You wish you were as mysterious as me, Ranboob.”

“That’s not my name!” He squealed in outrage. 

“It is now, Ranboob.”

“I’m gonna get grey hairs before I'm twenty, aren’t I,” Tubbo mumbled. 

“And before you’re 5’6”,” Ranboo added happily. 

Tubbo whacked him in the face with his notebook. 

“Ow.”

Tubbo whacked him again. 

“Yeah, get him, Tubs. He’s a wrong-un,” Tommy cheered, balling up a piece of paper, ready to chuck it, almost there–

“Tubbo, stop hitting Ranboo with your notebook, or I'll send all three of you to the Principal’s office!” Ms. Minx yelled across the room. For once, Tommy actually understood ninety percent of the words she used. So miracles do happen! 

Except, if he understood right, she’d included him in that threat.

“What? I didn’t even do anything!” Tommy cried out, hiding the crumpled ball of paper in his fist as he raised his hands, putting on his best helpless–innocent–faultless–foster kid face.

She didn’t seem to buy it. 

“Knowing you, you’re probably about to,” she warned. Well…she wasn’t wrong.

Tommy, tactical and intelligent as he was, weighed his options: Option one resulted in endless joy and triumphant victory. Option two…was boring. 

He chucked the crumpled ball of paper as hard as he could, avoiding Tubbo and smacking Ranboo right on the ear. The lanky, unbalanced idiot jumped in surprise, sending his chair falling backwards, toppling over onto the floor. 

The joy didn’t end there, because Ranboo proceeded to somehow kick his desk as he fell, knocking it into Tubbo’s chair and dragging him down to the floor as well. 

Tommy keeled over, laughing so hard he was sure his rib was going to re-fracture itself. 

Seeming upset by his position on the floor, Tubbo reached up and yanked Tommy’s chair, hurtling him to the ground as well. 

“Hey! I’m injured!” Tommy exclaimed as he hit the ground. 

“You’re just milking it,” Ranboo muttered, still lying in a tangled heap. 

“All three of you, office, NOW!” Ms. Minx shouted, pointing to the classroom door. 

Wow. Principal’s office before the first bell. That had to be some kind of record–As if on cue, the bell announcing the start of the school day went off, drowning out Ms. Minx's angry and incomprehensible rant about their behavior. 

It was probably good it did, because Tommy didn’t think teachers were supposed to swear that much. 

The three of them could hardly stop laughing enough to be able to untangle themselves and commit to the walk of shame to the principal's office. 

Tommy was used to being sent out of class, and it seemed Ranboo and Tubbo were equally familiar with the situation. 

“You know, all of this would have been avoided if you’d ducked,” Tommy advised Ranboo, pointedly ignoring the glare he received in response. 

“All of this would have been avoided if you’d refrained from throwing paper at me!” He cried. 

“Don’t blame me! How was I supposed to know your reflexes are nonexistent?”

“Maybe if your center of balance was lower, you wouldn’t have fallen,” Tubbo added helpfully. 

“I can’t choose where my center of balance is!” Ranboo cried.

“Skill issue.” Tommy muttered.

“So we all agree this is Ranboo’s fault?” Tubbo asked as they turned the final corner to the Principal’s office.

“Duh.” 

“Why am I even friends with you two?” 

“Who said we’re friends?” Tubbo grumbled. Tommy snickered as he pushed through the door into the office. 

“Now that’s just too far,” Ranboo complained. 

Tommy was about to reply when he was cut off by a harsh voice coming through the wall of Principal Puffy’s door. 

“Honestly, what were the two of you thinking? You both know full well shifting on school grounds is strictly prohibited, and yet! Not to mention fighting–”

The woman’s voice paused, seeming like she got cut off. A lower tone spoke over her, the voice softer, and far less agitated. 

“Oh, stop giving me that bullshit. Wrestling, fighting, I don't care. This can NOT keep happening. Honestly, how either of you plan to graduate is beyond me!”

Tommy exchanged a glance with Tubbo and Ranboo, and he knew instantly his friends were coming to the same conclusion as him. 

Who else could be receiving a lecture like that? 

“Sapnap, I thought you were smarter than this. Get your act together!” Principal Puffy went silent for a moment, and Tommy could feel himself holding his breath. 

There might be a wall between them, but he felt like he was the one in trouble. Panic slid through his veins, creeping slowly, shuddering up his spine. 

Finally, Puffy’s voice returned, each syllable edged with anger, with emotion. 

“And you. I cannot believe you. I thought you were getting this under control. But every day that passes, you become more and more like your father .”

Both rooms fell into a stunned, breathless silence, as if the Principal’s words had torn a rift through reality itself. Time stuttered. Sound vanished. The very air seemed to recoil.

What shattered the stillness wasn’t a voice—not a whisper, not a yell—but the raw, jarring screech of a chair being yanked back with violent finality.

A heartbeat later, the office door exploded open, slamming against the wall with a force that made everyone flinch. And there he was.

More furious than Tommy had ever seen him. More than he’d thought possible.

Dream.

Notes:

early chapter today because I sprained my ankle really bad (ao3 writers curse apparently hunted me down, and I was doing sooo good) so I've had lots of time to write since I can't go to work or do...anything else really.

also, I've been sketching up a vigilante Tommy, hero SBI fic...are people still reading those? should I write it? ill finish this one first duh but like...I have a fire idea so lmk if you guys would read something like that.

As for this fic, we are crawling closer and closer to the final arc! I've got some kinda interesting/different chapters coming up so we'll see, i'm not really sure how I got so off track but we'll get to the Big Moment soon :)

Chapter 42: maybe redemption has stories to tell

Summary:

Title from Dare You To Move by Switchfoot

“Alright. Tubbo, Ranboo, you can head back to class. Apologize to Ms. Minx, okay?” Principal Puffy said at last, her lecture finally fading into dismissal. 

But Tommy hadn’t been dismissed. 

The Principal hadn’t been too harsh with the three boys, most likely due to the fact that Puffy seemed to have larger issues on her hands. Tommy had spent most of the lecture mulling over the conversation they’d overheard. 

Dream’s father…the shapeshifter. 

And what did Puffy mean, that Dream was becoming more like him? The fighting? The anger? 

Who had turned Dream into this person, this angry, violent tyrant, who prowled the halls of a highschool like it was his kingdom? Exactly what did Dream grow up with? 

It was none of his business, Tommy knew, but…

“My dad was a shapeshifter, I would know that scent from miles away, no matter how faded it is.”

Dream’s dad was a shapeshifter. Past tense. What had happened to him? 

Had he left? Died? 

Had he let his body erase the most intrinsic part of him, let the very cells in his body decay, slowly, until there was nothing left at all?

Maybe they had more in common than just their scent. Maybe, somewhere out there, somebody existed who would understand . 

His ability had never made him feel lonely before, only dangerous and unwanted. 

But now, he realized he had never truly met another shapeshifter. Never met someone like him. 

Still, he steeled himself back into reality, pushing the thoughts down as Tubbo and Ranboo pushed their chairs back, moving to stand. 

He almost did the same, before remembering he hadn’t been dismissed. Looking up at the principal, he found she was watching him closely. 

Honestly, she’d been watching him closely from the moment he’d told her his name. Her eyes had sparked with recognition, then something softer, closer to guilt. 

He’d hated the gaze, but he couldn’t help acknowledging the resentment that came with it. 

Why shouldn’t she feel guilty? Her son was a terror. 

A month ago, Tommy would have shrugged off the anger in Dream’s eyes, because everyone had always looked at Tommy with anger in their eyes. 

But now, with the Watsons, he’d started to realize that maybe he’d never done anything particularly wrong. 

Maybe the world was just angry. Maybe the angry people had been raised by angry fathers. Maybe it was genetic, inscribed in DNA far before birth. . 

Maybe he wasn’t the problem, for once. 

Dream had said nothing when he’d emerged from Puffy’s office to find Tommy standing outside it. He’d glared, scoffed, and shoved his way past, his raven-haired companion in tow.

It didn’t matter that he’d been ignored. Tommy’s hands were still shaking

He met Puffy’s eyes, blue on blue, refusing to back down as they sat in silence for a long moment, Tubbo and Ranboo disappearing out the door.

Finally, she sighed. She ran a hand through her curly white hair. Shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Itched one of the massive ram horns curled on the side of her head. 

The Principal was nervous. 

“Tommy, I've been meaning to have a chat with you for some time now. I was sorry to hear about you and your brother. I hope WIlbur is recovering well.” 

Kind, but not what she truly wanted to say. Not the intention of this conversation. 

“Thanks. He’s gonna be fine,” Tommy assured, because anything less than fine would surely kill Tommy. 

“That’s good. I’m glad,” She hesitated, uncertain for a moment, before continuing. “Look, Tommy. I know you’ve had a few encounters with my son, Dream. I wanted to apologize on his behalf, and on mine, because I haven’t seemed to be able to get through to him. If he gives you trouble, I want you to know you can always come to me. I may be his mother, but I promise I'll be fair, and he’ll be punished.”

Now it was Tommy’s turn to avert his eyes, shifting in his chair. 

“How…” he started, but he trailed off at the amusement in Puffy’s eyes, a warmth so out of place for this conversation. 

“Me and Phil talk quite often. He’s not a big fan of my parenting, I don’t think.” 

“Oh.” Tommy said stupidly. 

Of course Phil would go and blab, making a big deal of things. Making a fuss over…over Tommy. Like Tommy was worth making a fuss, worth protecting. 

He smiled, warmth flooding him at the thought, before he pushed it down and returned to the moment. 

“Dream’s really not that bad,” he told the principal, because what else was there to say? What had Dream really done, aside from a few threats and a few stray punches?

He certainly hadn’t done anything that compared to Tommy’s past. Dream couldn’t truly hurt him, not after everything. 

“Can I ask you a question, ma’am?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Just Puffy is fine, honey. But yes, always.”

“Dream’s father…he was a shapeshifter?” he asked tentatively. Puffy’s face changed, features hardening with a silent tension. 

“Who told you that?” She asked cautiously. 

“Dream,” Tommy offered, watching closely as her eyes widened in surprise. “I heard what you said–I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but we were outside–you said Dream was like him?” Tommy stammered out, words shaky and uncomfortable. 

“I-I shouldn’t have said that to him,” Puffy said, closing her eyes tight. “That was a cruel thing to say. I was just upset–and frustrated–because he’s not making smart decisions.” 

She seemed pained by the topic, and Tommy regretted bringing it up. Would he ever learn to mind his own business?

“Dream’s not a shapeshifter, if that’s what you’re asking. His father just…wasn’t always great. It took me a long time to see his flaws, and I fear that Dream takes after him more than I'd hoped. But I do believe there's good in my son, and I know he can be better than this. I know he scares you Tommy, and other kids at this school. But I can’t–I give up on my only son.” She sighed, taking a moment to collect herself, then eyed him cautiously. “If I expel my own son, how will he ever get into university? Get a job? Make a life for himself? I know he’s troubled, especially recently…but I know one day he’s going to realize this isn’t who he wants to be.” 

Tommy considered her words carefully. 

He’d constructed an image of Principal Puffy in his mind, and he found she didn’t match his preconception at all. 

He’d thought she was uncaring, that she let Dream get away with whatever he wanted. That’s what the Watson’s had seemed to think, at least. But that…wasn’t the case. 

Now that she was sitting in front of him, it was blatantly obvious how much Puffy cared. Tommy could see that, because she reminded him of Phil.

“I understand. Thanks for everything, ma’am, er, Puffy. I should get back to class,” He stammered out, standing up abruptly. 

“Right–yes. Take care of yourself, hun. I’m here if you ever need anything, anything at all.” she confirmed, smiling sweetly. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed, head still reeling. “Nice to meet you too.” He said, smiling softly.

He couldn’t find it within himself to be angry at Puffy.

She just seemed so desperate to take care of her own, while somehow simultaneously protecting others. She didn’t have control over Dream, but who could? 

She was looking out for her son, trying not to deny him an education…so how could Tommy fault her?

At least she was trying. At least she cared. Dream didn’t know how lucky he was–Tommy had never had someone like Puffy.

Tommy had never had someone look out for him regardless of his flaws. Never had someone who knew without a doubt that there was good in him underneath all the bad, who saw that he was dangerous and unpredictable, but loved him anyway. 

His whole life, people had tried to tame him, break him, chain him. Some failed, some succeeded. 

They’d left him in shattered pieces, and it seemed those pieces were more manageable. People liked Tommy in pieces.

Phil and his sons might care about the broken mess that remained of Tommy, but they didn’t care about the real Tommy, the true Tommy. 

There was a Tommy that was whole, dangerous, and free, and nobody had ever cared about that Tommy, not even the Watson’s.

They hadn’t even met that Tommy.

And if they did? They would break him all over again, just like everyone else.

Notes:

shorter chapter because I've been so drained but there's a long one coming up.

I kinda struggled with this chapter–I wanted to show that Puffy is good, that she cares and is trying to stop Dream, but what can she really do? There will be more backstory on this and why Dream is the way he is, so hopefully people don't hate Puffy for this. also, puffy doesn't even know half the things Dream has said/done, because how would she?

anyway, remember that sprained ankle I said I had? turns out it was BROKEN and I've just been walking on it in pain for a week smh. so now I'm in a cast :(

Chapter 43: I just want to sink into nothing (so i don’t have to be something)

Summary:

title from Downstairs by Matt Maeson

Wilbur was bored out of his mind. 

He was home alone, with Tommy and Techno not getting home from school for a few more hours, and Phil having gone into the office instead of working from home like he usually would. 

His dad had been hesitant to leave Wilbur alone, overprotective as always, but whatever was going on was apparently really important, because he’d eventually left anyway. 

Phil had been determined to not tell him why he had to go, but Wilbur knew it was because of all the work he’d missed while spending nearly every moment in the hospital. 

Phil didn’t want Wilbur to be burdened with that guilt, but the teen took the shame regardless. 

He’d never been one to handle guilt well. Or boredom. 

Which led him to his current state, struggling to pull cookies out of the oven one-handed as the smoke alarm screeched at him. 

“Shut up, you stupid alarm. I’m aware they’re burnt,” He muttered angrily. Smoke was filling the house, clouding his vision, and he coughed. 

He tossed the cookie tray carelessly onto the stovetop with a harsh clang and rushed to open a window, relieved when the alarm finally stopped blaring. 

As if baking with one arm hadn’t been hard enough, he hadn’t even managed the final and easiest step: remembering to take the cookies out of the oven. 

Sighing with defeat, he looked at the remaining dough. 

Fuck it. He wasn’t battling the oven again. 

He grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer, dropping it into the bowl of cookie dough before picking it up and carrying it over to the couch, then returning to grab his phone, because he could only carry so much with one of his arms completely useless .

It was exhausting. And embarrassing.

He hadn’t realized how frustrating it would be to not be able to do anything. He was useless and needy, reliant on others, but yet left completely alone. 

And while a small part of him wished Phil was here to help him, he also resented that, because he was eighteen years old, and he could manage having a broken arm, irritating and frustrating as it was.

He flopped himself down, shoveling a spoonful of cookie dough into his mouth as he scrolled through his contacts. 

Niki would be a good person to call, but she wouldn’t want to skip school. She would, if he asked, but he wasn’t desperate enough to make her have to do that. 

Quackity was probably skipping school anyway, so he would be an obvious choice…but Wilbur was pretty sure the teen was wracked with guilt these days. He’d probably spend half the time apologizing, and Wilbur just…wasn’t in the mood for that. 

He wanted to get his mind off the accident, not talk about it more. 

He kept scrolling. 

Schlatt was a maybe…he usually only came to things if there was drinking involved…although, it was a Friday, and Wilbur was bored and desperate for distraction. 

Yeah, fuck it. 

He shoveled another bite into his mouth and called Schlatt. He answered the phone instantly. 

“What’s up, pussy?”

“Hi Slatt!” he said through a mouthful of cookie dough.

“Whadda you want, I'm about to consider going to class,” the other teen drawled.

“Is anyone throwing tonight?” Wilbur asked, because Schlatt would probably know if they were. 

“Uh, I think Karl’s having a thing. Dude, fresh out of the hospital and you wanna get drunk? I love you, man,” Schlatt laughed. 

“Well, I'm bored,” Wilbur said, as though that explained it. 

“Want me to come over? I’m gonna skip history. Fucking hate learning about Manberg,” 

“L’manberg.”

“Whatever, loser. I’m coming over.” Schlatt decided. 

“Okay, bring whoever,” Wilbur agreed, and that was that. 

It felt like eternity until his back door opened, scaring the living shit out of him. But it was just Schlatt, a bottle of whiskey clenched in his fist. 

“No fucking way. It’s like, barely afternoon.”

“So? What, you’ve never heard of a pregame?”

“You’re a terrible influence,” Wilbur pointed out.

“Man, you invited me over. This is on you.”

Wilbur sighed. 

“Fair enough–” he started, getting cut off as a small black object came flying from Schlatt’s hand, hitting Wilbur’s stomach hard. 

“That’s from Quackity, as an apology for having a math test and not being able to come over. And well, you know.”

“Will he stop apologizing? It wasn’t even his fault,” Wilbur muttered, but he still raised the gift to his lips happily, despite his own protests. The vapor he pulled into his lungs was exactly what he wanted, relaxing him as he inhaled deeper and deeper, releasing tension he hadn’t even realized was gathering in his shoulders. 

Another slow breath, sickly sweet not-quite-air rushing into his lungs, and suddenly everything was okay again. He hadn’t even realized things were so not-okay, but suddenly, he could breathe again.

“Nah, the only person at fault is whatever idiot let you pass your driver’s test. Seriously, did you bribe them or something?” Schlatt joked, but the words didn’t dig into Wilbur the way they would if anyone else said them. 

Schlatt was coarse, always, but Wilbur needed it, like he needed air and cookie dough and nicotine, like he needed two functioning arms and a head that wasn’t pounding.

Humor was a stronger painkiller than Advil, and a smarter one than alcohol. It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have all three. 

It seemed Schlatt was having a similar thought.

“Aren’t you like, seriously concussed? Are you sure drinking is a good idea?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Wilbur assured, because he didn’t care one bit. 

He was sick of the anxiety writhing underneath his skin, desperate for an escape. He wanted to throw something, scream, embrace the guilt and the anger. He wanted to feel better but he also knew he deserved every throb of his concussion, because he’d made a terrible, dangerous mistake. 

He’d hurt Tommy. He could have hurt him so much worse. 

“Your funeral,” Schlatt muttered, with a raise of his eyebrow. Wilbur snorted at him as his friend took another swig of the whiskey and grabbed the tv remote, pulling up Mario Kart. 

The two of them had a strict ban on playing Minecraft together, since all they ever did was kill each other and start wars, and argue about how Schlatt refused to run, only walk. 

It wasn’t as good as Minecraft, but even Mario Kart was better than a silent, empty house. 

He wasn’t sure how long they played for, caught up in insults and jokes, before Wilbur remembered his family was soon to return. Since the loser of each round had been tasked with taking a swig from the bottle, his mind was beginning to fuzz with the whispers of inebriation. 

“Shit, we should probably go before school gets let out,” WIlbur said as he passed the finish line, setting down his controller. 

“Why? Phil coming home?” Schlatt asked, eyes still locked on his character on the screen, desperately trying to get back into second place. He groaned in frustration as he finished in third.

“No, he won’t be back for a few more hours. But Techno and Tommy–” he was cut off by the sound of the front door unlocking. 

Shit. 

Schlatt hurriedly tucked the bottle behind the couch, moving quicker than Wilbur had ever seen him go, even when they were playing dodgeball in gym class. 

Apparently the only thing Schlatt liked more than whacking losers in the face with a ball was avoiding being caught drinking. 

Techno entered the room first, Tommy in his wake. 

“Hi!” Wilbur chirped. Techno eyed him and Schlatt warily, as though he knew something was going on. 

Techno could probably smell the alcohol from outside the house. Maybe the smell of smoke would cover it up. 

Tommy seemed uncomfortable, hesitating silently in the doorway, and Wilbur realized this was the first time he’d had a friend over. 

“Schlatt, this is Tommy, Tommy, Schlatt, yada yada.” Tommy waved sheepishly, so Wilbur added, “He’s Tubbo’s brother.” At that, Tommy seemed to ease up. 

“Sup kid,” Schlatt asked, looking the kid over with a strange expression, brows furrowed in thought. Right. Sometimes Wilbur forgot how Tommy looked to people that weren’t used to seeing him everyday. 

Too thin, too timid, too fearful. A mess in every sense of the word. 

Particularly his hair. 

“Toms, you need a haircut,” Wilbur blurted before realizing that he maybe shouldn’t have commented on it. 

But Tommy was unfazed.

“Right back at you, bitch,” he shot back instantly, a small smile forming. 

Schlatt laughed, loud and uninhibited, like he always did. 

“I like this guy,” Schlatt announced, and Tommy’s ears went pink as he blushed. Awwww.

“Techno, we’re gonna go to Karl’s tonight, are you coming? Tommy, you’re welcome to come too, if you want,” Wilbur offered. 

Techno’s eyes narrowed further. 

“You have a concussion, in case you forgot.” Techno warned, and though his voice was monotone as ever, the warning was written between the lines. 

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’ll be fine. Tommy, you in? You can bring some friends!” He said, brushing off Techno’s concern. At the same time Tommy opened his mouth, a low sound rose from Techno’s throat, almost a growl. 

A growl, just lacking the right vocal chords. 

Shit, Wilbur was in trouble. 

“Wilbur, I need to talk to you,” Techno said, motioning his head towards the kitchen. 

Uh oh. 

Hmm. 

Deflection! 

“We’re talking right now, silly,” Wilbur said. 

Techno’s eyes flashed with murder. 

Alright, deflection failed. 

“Fine, fine, I'm going,” Wilbur relented, shoving a last bite of cookie dough in his mouth and standing up. Techno walked to the kitchen with him, then further, into Phil’s office. 

Oh, he meant business. 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Techno blurted, the moment the door was shut behind them. 

“I’m thinking I want to have a fun night with our friends, because I need it. And so do you, and Tommy. You’ve all been miserable for weeks, and I can't stand being cooped up in this house. I’m not made of glass, Techno. I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, you actually aren’t my main concern, stupid as you are.” Techno huffed, rolling his eyes. “We both know there’s no way for me to stop you , but why are you trying to drag Tommy to a party?” 

He paused, as though Wilbur would understand, but he didn’t. 

Why shouldn’t Tommy be included? He was younger, yes, but Wilbur would keep an eye on him. 

“He’d be–” 

“He would not be fine,” Techno hissed. “Wilbur, how many foster homes has that kid been through? How many drunk parents? He can hardly handle a shopping mall, you think he won’t be overwhelmed at Karl’s? How many people are going? Seventy? A hundred? You have no idea if he’d be fine!” 

Well…shit. 

Wilbur hadn’t really thought about that. He shrank back from Techno’s vicious glare, cursing himself for not thinking this through more.

“Okay, okay. I get it. I just didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome. I’ll tell him what it is, so he can make the call himself. Happy?” 

“No. You’ve been drinking, and it's three in the afternoon. I know you feel guilty, I know you’re bored, but come on. You’re better than this.” 

Techno’s voice softened, his irritation fading. Wilbur forced his mouth to stay shut. 

He truly didn’t think he was better than this. Maybe this–a drunken, desperate, careless fool–maybe that was all he was ever gonna be. 

Maybe his destiny had been written before he lived it, and all his problems were written in his DNA. Did it matter who he tried to be? Sometimes, he just wanted to be who he was, and not constantly strive for this impossible goal of constantly doing better. 

But Techno was still going, and his words struck a nerve. 

“You’ve been doing better than this, Wil. Do you really want to slip back into these habits?”

“Oh, lay off! You always think you know everything.” Irritation pricked at his skin, pent up frustration at more than just his brother. “What, you wanna talk about habits?” He grabbed Techno’s hand, pulling his brother’s knuckles up to his face. “Let’s talk about these .”

Each of Techno’s knuckles were scabbed, the skin shredded and broken from punch after punch. 

“Working out is a healthy way to deal with things–day drinking isn’t.” Techno hissed.

“Working out? Please. Did you even sleep, or did you spend all night in the basement, tearing that bag apart?” Under his grip, Techno’s hands clamped into tightly curled fists, the flex of his muscles betraying the truth.

Of course Techno wanted to preach about becoming better . It was all the hybrid ever did. Improve, improve, improve, always running from something he didn’t want to admit. 

“You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” Techno drawled, blatant irritation underlying each word.

“At least I'm not a hypocrite. Stop telling me what to do and look in a fucking mirror, Tech. You’re hardly holding yourself together, so afraid of being weak that you can’t get off your high horse for one minute and admit that you’re not perfect either.”

Yes, maybe he was taking it a bit far. Maybe that didn’t need to be said. But he was upset–hurting, and Techno didn’t seem able to see that. 

All he could see were flaws, and never the reason why. 

“Trust me, Wilbur, I'm plenty aware I'm not perfect. But unlike you, I'm trying to become the person I want to be. I actually give a shit about myself. You just seem to be doing the best you can to follow in your mother’s footsteps.” Techno retorted, furious.

Each word stabbing into Wilbur, sharp and cruel as a knife. He bristled, something cold and vicious snaking its way through him, twisting his stomach painfully as Techno’s words cut deep. 

“Don’t bring her into–you don’t understand–you can’t just–”

“You told me to look in a mirror?” Techno interrupted, cutting off his brother’s hurt stuttering, apparently not quite finished. “How about you sit down and look at her mugshot , Wilbur?”

Wilbur dug his fingernails into his palms, focusing on the pain, trying to keep tears at bay that threatened behind his eyes. He wanted to be angry. He really truly did–but he had never been an angry person. That was all Techno. 

“Why can’t you leave that stupid file out of this. You know what? At least I had the courage to read mine. I’m trying to find peace with my past, and you’re too busy hitting your problems to get a grip,” Wilbur asked, hating the way his voice shook and cracked with every word.

“This is about you, not me!” Techno muttered through gritted teeth. Wilbur knew his words had stung, because the fight in Techno’s eyes dulled. 

“I’m not some problem you need to fix–” Wilbur began, but Techno cut him off instantly. 

“You’re a fucking wreck, is what you are. You think we can’t see it, but we can! How many packs did you go through today? You reek.”

The answer was two. Two packs, and half a vape. 

“I burnt cookies! Cookies I was making for you and Tommy!”

Techno scoffed, clearly not believing him. He ran a hand over his face, before rolling his eyes. 

Drama queen. 

“Get a grip, Wilbur. I don’t feel like watching you spiral again.” He said at last, seeming to have given up. 

“I don’t feel like listening to you lecture me. You’re not Dad!” Wilbur hissed.

“If I was, would you listen to me?” Techno asked, eyes searching Wilbur’s. “Yeah. That's what I thought.” he sighed. “Have fun at your party.” 

With that, he shoved past Wilbur, anger hardening the lines of his shoulders. He stalked back into the kitchen, turning sharply to head to the basement, rather than his room. 

Fuck. 

Wilbur stalked after him, heading to the living room. 

Tommy was gone, Schlatt sitting alone on the couch, eating the cookie dough. He raised an eyebrow in question, but Wilbur just shook his head, walking past the couch to head upstairs. 

He needed to clear his head…and he needed to talk to Tommy. 

As upsetting as Techno’s words had been, his brother had been right about one thing. Wilbur hadn’t been fair to Tommy. 

He knocked softly on the boy's door, almost hesitantly. He pushed it open once he heard confirmation from inside, wincing at the creaking of the hinge.

Tommy was sitting on his bed, phone in hand, knees pulled up to his chest. 

“Hi.” Wilbur said. 

“Hi.” Tommy answered. They stared at each other for a moment. “What was Techno mad about?”

“He doesn’t want me to go tonight.” Wilbur admitted, moving to perch on the end of Tommy’s bed. The kid tilted his head, curious. “It’s a party, and I probably shouldn’t be drinking, or around loud music, or any of that. He’s…he’s right, but…”

He trailed off, unsure. 

“But you’re still gonna go,” Tommy finished for him. 

Wilbur sighed. “Yeah.”

They were both quiet for a moment. 

“You’re welcome to come, but I wanted to make sure you know it’s gonna be a lot of people. I don’t want you to be in a situation where you’re overwhelmed, you know? I’m sorry I didn’t think of explaining that until Techno talked to me,”

Tommy paused, eyes wide with surprise. 

“Would…would Techno feel better about you going if I went?” he asked at last. 

Definitely not. 

“You could talk to him, but I think he wants you to do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.”

“Will Dream be there?”

Another thing he hadn’t thought about. 

“Uh–I'm not sure. Probably, because Karl’s sorta dating Sapnap, and Dream’s friends with Sapnap…it’s a bit of a point of tension in our friend group right now,” he admitted, brushing a hand through his hair absently.

To be honest, he wasn’t really up to speed about that whole situation. A lot can happen in two weeks.

“But you’re still going,” Tommy said once again, and Wilbur winced. 

“I…you’re right, and I shouldn't. I know that I shouldn't. But I just…I don't always make the right decision.”

They both fell quiet again, this time the silence even more awkward. 

“I think that’s a pretty shitty excuse,” Tommy said quietly. Wilbur’s head shot up. A month ago, Tommy wouldn’t have dared. A month ago, Tommy wouldn’t have given a shit what decisions Wilbur made. 

But the accident had changed everyone. 

And now…Tommy was just as afraid for him as Techno was. 

But neither of them should be. Wilbur was his own person. He could make his own decisions. 

“Yeah. It is. But I guess I'm saying that I know this isn’t very smart, but it’s going to make me happy. And I know that I need a night with my friends, to cheer myself up. So I think the pros outweigh the cons,” he explained further, hoping his logic made sense. 

Everything he said was true. 

It was just…there was a voice inside, one that he ignored, pointing out that there was more to this. 

There was an urge, one that had been suppressed for a while, but never really overcome. A longing to drink away his problems, to drink and drink until he didn’t even have to think, till breathing was easy again, and the weight of guilt on his shoulders had lifted. 

An urge that spoke of a deeper issue at hand than a concussion. Techno knew his history, but Tommy didn’t. So while Techno would have rioted, Tommy only nodded, seeming satisfied. 

“That makes sense. Have fun,” Tommy told him. Wilbur smiled.

“You’re a good kid, you know. Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he watched the way Tommy blushed, looking uncomfortable at the praise, like he always did. 

Wilbur felt sick. Letting him make a bad decision–what a thing to praise someone for. 

Tommy hesitated at Wilbur’s offer, but only for a heartbeat. “No. No, I'm good. Maybe next time,” he said. 

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Wilbur said, standing up. 

“You’re not coming home tonight?” Tommy’s voice was tinged with anxiety. Wilbur hadn’t forgotten how Tommy had barged onto Phil’s room in terror. He didn’t know why, only that the desperation in the boy’s movements had been real. 

“I will, it just–it might be late. Um…don’t tell Phil where I am, okay? You won't be in trouble for it, I promise. He just–he doesn’t need to worry more than he already is, you know?”

“Right. Okay,” Tommy said. He looked nervous at the request, but he’d agreed. That was all Wilbur needed. Wilbur made his way to the door, turning to shut it behind him. 

As it closed, he was struck with the urge to say a soft, ‘love ya, bye’ as he went. 

He only barely stopped himself. He couldn’t–it had only been a month. 

Wilbur didn’t want to freak Tommy out, and he was fairly certain those words would. 

So instead he just shut the door. 

In time, maybe saying those words to Tommy would be easy, automatic. 

Just not yet. 

Not till he was ready. 

He brushed the thoughts out of his mind. 

Selfish as it was, he didn’t want to think about Tommy tonight, or Techno. 

He just wanted to get drunk, and forget about everything.

Was that so wrong?

Notes:

I didn't realize until posting this chapter that I low-key really self-inserted myself into Wilbur's character...like...broken ankle, currently trying to quit vaping and failing quite miserably, drinking too much according to some people...yeah...wow.

Except I keep my nose clean, unlike a certain somebody...but that's for next chapter :3

I hope you guys enjoy a little brotherly quarrel–i'm curious to see what side you guys are on: should tech mind his business or should Wilbur listen to his brother?

Either way, I had a lot of fun writing their argument.

Chapter 44: holes in your clothes and booze on your breath, you look like hell and smell like death

Summary:

Title from Not Dead Yet by Lurd Huron

Technoblade woke to his phone ringing. 

What asshole was trying to call him at–he snatched up his phone– three in the morning? He squinted at the light to read the name on the screen. 

Oh. That asshole. The one that he unfortunately cared a little bit about.

“Heh?” he answered by way of greeting. It was too early for proper words.

“Techno!!! Techie, can you pick me up?” 

“For fucks sake, WIlbur, it’s three in the morning,” Techno growled, but he was already sitting up. Ugh, he'd been so comfortable. 

“Ayyyee Technooo,” He heard another voice saying. Quackity.

“Where are you guys?” He asked, though he dreaded the response. Call it brotherly duty, or an abstract form of self-harm.

There was no way they were still at Karl’s, it was far too late. 

“McDonalds!!” WIlbur said excitedly. 

“...which McDonalds? There’s like five.”

“Uhhh. One sec. Quackity, where are we?”

“I don’t know. Europe?” 

“We’re at the McDonalds in Europe,” Wilbur supplied, seeming to find no flaw in that sentence. 

Techno rolled his eyes in exasperation as he stood. He shrugged on a shirt and some slippers before exiting his room. He really didn't care about being spotted in his pyjamas at a McDonald's, though it might hurt his reputation.

“Whatever, I'll find you. Get me some fries,” he told Wilbur, who whooped in excitement again. Yeah, he definitely wasn't getting those fries.

Techno hung up the phone, tiptoed downstairs as quietly as he could, and was about to open the front door when he heard a voice behind him. 

“Techno?” Tommy asked, voice small and anxious, echoing faintly in the unusual silence of the house. 

“Aw man it's the child. Hi Tommy, did I wake you up?” 

“No, I was up. Where are you going?” Tommy answered, still speaking cautiously, as though each word might be the one to set Techno off. 

It reminded him of how timid Tommy had been when they’d first met. Techno hated it. 

“Why were you still up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tommy shrugged. “Where are you going?” He repeated.

Techno sighed, admitting defeat. 

“I’m picking up Wilbur.”

“Oh. Is he okay?”

“Yes, just stupid,” Techno grumbled. Tommy started making his way down the stairs, and oh no, he was going to ask to–

“Can I come?” 

There it was. 

Techno didn’t know what state WIlbur would be in. He'd sounded pretty happy on the phone, right?

“Uh…yeah. Sure.” he agreed. Honestly, he didn’t know how to say no to Tommy. 

How do you explain that Wilbur might be perfectly fine, might be a sobbing, inconsolable mess, might be cussing Techno out to hell and back, might be anything other than the WIlbur that Tommy was used to?

Tommy smiled and hurried down the rest of the stairs, only stopping to shove shoes on his bare feet before following Techno out to his car. 

Techno winced at the noise of the engine starting. With any luck, Phil wouldn’t wake up. Although, the man probably already knew Wilbur wasn’t home. Phil always knew that sort of thing. 

Techno found Wilbur’s location via Snapchat and texted Wilbur to get Tommy something from McDonalds. A determined, but most likely fruitless, attempt.

“Do you do this a lot?” Tommy asked softly, breaking the quiet. Techno was tempted to play dumb and be as difficult as possible, but it was too early to have that kind of energy. 

“Not so much anymore. I usually go out with Wilbur and we get a ride home from someone else,” Technoblade explained. Tommy didn’t seem convinced. 

“What do you mean, not anymore?” 

“Wilbur used to party a lot more often. But that’s his business.”

They were both silent for a while, watching the road fly by. 

“I’ve never had alcohol before,” Tommy admitted.

“That’s good. You’re only sixteen,” Techno chuffed. 

“I feel like it would be scary to lose control like that. I wouldn’t want…I don't know. It doesn’t seem very fun.”

Techno considered this for a long moment. 

“I think drinking can be fun, if you’re smart about it. But if you abuse it, or if it makes you into someone that you don’t want to be, then it’s not good for you. For all its perks, it can also be very dangerous.”

“I know. Some people…” Tommy trailed off. It didn’t matter. He’d said enough. 

Techno wasn’t an idiot. He’d been in foster care too. 

“I don’t really like being around drunk people either. They’re unpredictable, and you never know what they might be capable of,” Techno said quietly, hoping to show Tommy that he understood. 

“I–yeah,” The kid murmured, seeming lost in memory, caught in a moment that wasn’t the present, but that haunted the air all the same. 

Something too similar to this situation to be entirely separate. 

Technoblade felt the memories too, ones of his own. Unwanted, they flooded his mind.

“Wilbur! Wilbur! Phil, he’s unresponsive!”

“Wilbur, have you been out here since last night? Jesus, get inside! This is the second time I've found you passed out in the driveway.”

“Wilbur, you’re tearing this family apart!”

“Are you drunk right now? Are you kidding me? We’re at school, idiot!”

“Wil, what did you take? Wilbur?! Wilbur, look at me! Open your eyes!”

“Could you be any more selfish?! Do you know how worried Phil was?

 

Those months had been excruciating. And now…Technoblade couldn’t help but feel like things were headed that way once again. And they couldn’t .

Technoblade didn’t think he’d be able to take it again. 

Hospital trips, screaming matches, bottles and baggies…it couldn’t happen again. 

When they finally arrived at the Mcdonalds, Wilbur wasn’t outside waiting for them. Great. Techno threw the car into park with more force than was likely necessary, pushing open his door. 

“Stay here,” he muttered to Tommy, before closing the door shut. 

He didn’t give the kid a chance to respond. There was no argument to be made. But he didn’t lock the doors, and that was his mistake.

He pushed through the door, scanning the unusually busy restaurant for his brother. Finally, he found him, slouched in a chair, laughing his head off. 

He looked terrible, with dark circles around his eyes and a bird's nest of hair that was so tangled, it rivaled Tommy’s. He had crumbs and some lettuce on the front of his shirt, which would have been gross if Techno had time to focus on it. 

On the phone, he’d only heard Quackity’s voice, so he’d assumed it was just the two of them.

In reality…that was not the case. 

Schlatt was still drinking whiskey, Karl was currently eating two McChickens at once, Sapnap was arm wrestling Quackity, and Fundy was lying on the table–all of which was insane behavior in a public place. Even if it was a McDonalds at three in the morning. 

And then there was George, talking to someone that Technoblade couldn’t see. He stepped closer, craning his head. Deep down, he already knew. Really, who else could it be? 

And of course, it was Dream. 

What the hell , Wilbur?

Fundy threw something at Schlatt, maybe a McNugget? Schlatt fumbled to catch it and then proceeded to forcefully shove it into Fundy’s mouth. 

“Don’t waste food, bitch,” Schlatt grinned. Fundy flailed and knocked the McNugget away, where it hit Wilbur’s chest. 

“Ooh, McNugget!” Wilbur said, popping it into his mouth without a second thought. Schlatt scrunched up his face in disgust and took a swig of whiskey. Despite being a good distance away, Techno could smell the deep, husky scent of scotch, even over the overpowering smell of fries and grease.

“Wilbur,” Technoblade grumbled once he was close enough. Wilbur turned to him, surprised at first, but his shock quickly turned to glee. 

“Technoooo!” He cried, lunging up from his seat to wrap his arms around his brother. Techno staggered under the sudden attack, wrapping one arm halfheartedly around Wilbur. 

He stunk like a minibar, and Techno couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose.

All of his friends were looking at him now, but he didn't care about any of them. No, his eyes were locked on Dream. 

What the hell was that asshole thinking, hanging around with Wilbur?

“Techno, Techno, drive me home, please. I can’t eat any more McNuggets,” Fundy gasped, swatting Schlatt away from his face. Schlatt quickly hid something behind his back that was distinctly nugget shaped. 

Technoblade rolled his eyes. “Fine, but someone’s buying me some food.”

Schlatt’s hand emerged from his back, fist unclenching to reveal the squashed McNugget. He offered it to Technoblade bashfully. 

“You know you want it, Techno-” He tried.

“Yeah, no thanks. But whatever, I'll drive you,” He looked pointedly at Dream. “Not you though, asshole. Find your own way home or spend the night here, I don’t care.”

Dream laughed, like it was a joke. At least everyone else had enough sense to see that he wasn’t kidding, falling quiet at his words. Dream raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Punz is on his way. He’s having a little afterparty, if anyone’s interested.” he explained, eyes settling on WIlbur as he smirked knowingly. Techno rolled his eyes.

“Afterparty?” Wilbur chirped, perking up with interest, trying to leave Techno’s grip. Dream was such an asshole. He tightened his hold.

“No.” Techno told his brother, earning him a disappointed whine from Wilbur and a malicious grin from Dream. He didn’t have time to tell Dream to fuck off before a familiar voice rang out from behind him. 

“Techno?” 

For pete’s sake, why couldn’t the kid just stay in the car?

“Tommy!!” Wilbur cried, detangling himself from Technoblade and lunging towards Tommy. Sure, his brother’s intentions were good. He probably wanted a hug, but that didn’t matter, not now, not to Tommy.

Techno reacted as fast as he could, snatching up Wilbur’s good arm and holding him back. It didn’t seem to change anything that Techno had intervened. 

The younger boy stumbled back, eyes going wide as saucers, watching Wilbur fearfully. 

“Tommy, I told you to stay in the car,” Techno grumbled, frustration leaking into his words. 

“I-I know, but you were taking a while, and–”

“Tommy, come meet all our friends!” Wilbur interrupted, oblivious to the tension in the air. 

“No, Wilbur. Not right now,” Techno said. He turned back to Tommy and saw the moment the kid spotted Dream. 

He took another step back, shrinking into himself, clearly regretting having made his presence known. 

“Yes Wilbur, listen to your mommy,” Dream mocked, smirking as Techno bristled. Sapnap muffled a laugh behind a cough, elbowing Dream halfheartedly. If it was encouragement or warning, Techno didn’t care. 

“Shut up, Dream,” Quackity cut in, rolling his eyes. 

“Make me, bitch,” Dream retorted instantly, standing up to his full height, though staggering off balance for a moment. Great, not only was Dream here, but he was also drunk. 

“Maybe I will,” Quackity said, feathered wings flaring out behind him. 

Sapnap’s arm flew out, grabbing hold of Dream’s arm, but was shaken off instantly. The teen muttered something under his breath at the treatment, inky black ears flattening against his head in annoyance.

Wilbur strained against Techno’s hold, and there was too much going on for Techno to control the situation. He hated it. He had to protect Tommy and Wilbur, but keep Wilbur away from Tommy, had to step in for Quackity, but keep Tommy behind him…he couldn’t do it all. 

“Dream, leave him alone,” Schlatt muttered. Dream rolled his eyes, still grinning in that twisted way of his. 

“No fighting in McDonalds,” George warned, opening one eye. Techno hadn’t even noticed the brown haired teen had started sleeping, but he seemed upset that his rest had been disturbed.

“Let’s go outside then,” Quackity offered, cracking his knuckles. What the hell was Quackity thinking? He couldn’t take Dream in a fight. None of them could, except Techno, and maybe Sapnap. 

Dream laughed, loud and unrestrained. 

“You think you can take me, birdie? Tommy would put up more of a fight than you,” Dream taunted.

“Leave Tommy out of this,” Technoblade warned immediately, because he didn’t like where this was going, at all. “Quackity, we’re leaving. Tommy, go back to the car.” 

He kept his eyes on Dream the whole time, eyeing him as Quackity made a face and stood. He flipped Dream off before making his way over to Techno, Fundy and Schlatt following behind warily. He wasn’t sure if Tommy listened to his instructions. Probably not.

Techno kept a hand on Wilbur’s arm as the other teens walked past, before turning to follow them. The moment he turned his back, he heard footsteps. He didn’t have time to react before the hybrid shoved him. 

Techno managed to keep his balance and his hold on Wilbur, but only barely. He staggered back under the force, whipping around to face Dream. 

“I’m not doing this right now, Dream. Fuck off,” He growled. 

“What, don’t tell me the Blade is scared of a little roughhousing?"

“Are you itching for another nose job already?” Techno warned, trying to remind Dream of the results last time they scuffled.

“So cocky,” Dream laughed. His gaze slid past Technoblade, catching on the way Techno was still holding Wilbur’s arm. His eyes flitted to Tommy, who was practically cowering. Immediately, Schlatt stepped in front of Tommy protectively, obviously aware of what the look in Dream’s eyes meant.

Technoblade had never been a bigger fan of Schlatt than right now. However, Dream seemed to notice it too.

“Look at this, all three Watson’s in one place.” he mused. His eyes flashed with humor. “The drunk, the brute, and the weakling.”

“Don’t be meannn,” Wilbur slurred unhelpfully.

“Tommy’s not a weakling. If you’d been through half of what he has, you’d understand he’s stronger than you’ll ever be.” Techno hissed.

“So you admit Wilbur’s a drunk, then? You don’t care that he was out partying all night, that he can hardly stand–I thought you’d fixed him, Techno. I thought he was under control. Or did you fail him, just like everyone else?”

“Wilbur is fine,” Techno growled through clenched teeth.

Because he was. He had to be.

“Is he?” Dream scoffed, tilting his head curiously. His eyes glinted. Dream knew something, something Techno didn’t. “Wilbur, aren’t you forgetting something?” 

He drew something out of his pocket, tossing it up into the air before catching it once again. 

Lifting it up so Techno could see, Dream shook the little baggy in front of his face. White powder shifted inside the bag.

For fucks sake. 

He yanked Wilbur up to his face, grabbing his chin so he could stare into his unfocused eyes. But…his pupils seemed normal , not blown wide like they would be if he’d been snorting cocaine all night. 

“Don’t worry, he didn’t take any. I made sure of that. It’s a good thing there was someone looking out for him tonight.” Then Dream furrowed his brows, looking puzzled. “But I thought that was your job?”

He tossed the bag at Techno, who caught it in shaking hands. Techno’s blood boiled, roaring in his ears. 

How dare Dream toy with addiction like it was all some game? How could he pretend holding this over Wilbur’s head was funny, and not some kind of threat? 

Even worse–how could Techno have let this happen? Dream was right. He was supposed to be looking out for Wilbur. But he hadn’t thought Wilbur would go this far tonight…and he should have. 

He should have assumed. He should have known.

Techno wanted to punch Dream. Rage curled his hand into a fist around the baggy. 

But even worse, he wanted to hit himself. For being so stupid. For thinking, even for a moment, that Wilbur just wanted a night with his friends. For thinking anything had ever been fixed at all, when it had only ever been bent into shape. 

Mostly, he realized how stupid he’d been by bringing Tommy here, to witness this trainwreck. 

“Dream–” Karl started, seeming agitated. Angry, even, which was rare for the teenager.

Dream didn’t seem to care what Karl had to say, speaking over him without much thought.

“Oh come on, no need to look so angry, Technoblade. If anything, you should be thanking me. I happen to like Wilbur when he’s all coked up and crazy. Just figured I'd do you a favor.” he asked, words sickeningly sweet, dripping in venom. 

Techno didn’t have it in him to be grateful. Dream might have done something halfway decent for once, but it couldn't excuse everything in the past. 

“I’m not thanking you. This isn’t some kind of game, Dream. You’re fucked in the head,” Techno growled. 

“And you’re not? Wilbur isn’t? Don’t even try to tell me that Tommy isn’t,”  Dream laughed. “Whatever. Drive safe, Techno. We wouldn’t want another accident.” he drawled, smirking as though any of this was laughable.

Techno shook his head in disbelief. 

“You’ve always been a bit of a jerk, Dream, but lately...I don't even recognize you. Whatever your deal is, you better cut it out, or we’re gonna have a problem,” Techno warned. 

“If you want a fight, you know where to find me.” Dream shrugged, still smirking. Techno took a deep breath, trying to reign in his anger. 

As much as he wanted to take Dream up on the offer, he had a brother hanging onto his arm and another one hiding behind his friends. Besides, there was no point in this fight.

“Just stay the hell away from my family,” He growled instead, mustering all of his strength and forcing himself to turn away. He pulled at Wilbur’s arm, nearly sending him to the floor, but Fundy grabbed his other arm and helped the teen stumble his way to the door. He could almost feel Dream’s eyes on his back, watching him go with that smug smirk on his face.

Tommy came up beside Techno, eyes wide with fear. Techno put his free hand on the kid's shoulder to steer him through the door ahead of the group. 

He didn’t have time to apologize for causing the kid to flinch. 

“Techno, I'm sorry,” Wilbur pleaded. 

“Shut up and get in the car.”  Technoblade growled. Wilbur’s mouth snapped shut, and he opened the passenger door. 

“No. Backseat.” Technoblade said. Wilbur looked at him in surprise, but did as he said, piling into the back with his friends. Techno opened the passenger door for Tommy, who climbed in shakily. 

Fundy followed Wilbur into the backseat, then Quackity, leaving only Schlatt. The teen turned to Technoblade. 

“I swear, Techno, I didn't know Wilbur had that–”

“Get in the car, Schlatt. I’m really not in the mood.”

“Okay, okay,” Schlatt relented, before stepping into the car and managing to squish himself into the backseat. 

“Techno!” someone called. Immediately, Techno groaned.  

“I don’t have enough seats, Karl.”

“I know, that's not why I'm here. I’m sorry about Dream. Sap is yelling at him right now, that was uncalled for–” Karl began, blurting out the words in a rush, like he knew Techno was going to cut him off.

“Save it. I don’t pick your friends, you do.”

“I know, and I–after what Dream pulled tonight, that's it. I’m done with all three of them.” He insisted.

“Sure.” Technoblade muttered sarcastically. Karl could say whatever he wanted, but Techno didn’t buy it.

“I mean it. Get home safe.”

“...you too,” Techno relented, but his words were hollow, too upset to care much about Karl at all. 

And then he climbed into the car, starting the engine. It was almost four now, and the adrenaline from everything that had just happened quickly dissolved, leaving him empty and drained. 

Exhaustion seeped into him.

He’d loved Wilbur, he really did. But how much longer could this go on? 

How many more nights of stress and anger? Hadn’t he worried about his brother enough for a lifetime?

He just wanted a break–one week where no one was trying to fight, no one was in a coma, no one was having panic attacks and breakdowns and relapses. 

He wished everything would be calm and easy, for once in his life. 

As he started driving, he had a feeling his wish wouldn’t be granted.

Notes:

massive chapter today lol idk how it got so long (also no idea how this fic has become 44 chapters?? I planned it to originally be like 30 argh)

What's everyone's thoughts on Dream does this give him any redemption or is he still public enemy no 1?