Rain's Writing Archive

i won't announce my sheer descent (but holy fuck there will be signs)

Originally posted to Ao3 on 6/5/2023.

A/N: hi!! first work in this fandom for me, dont judge too harshly <3

Tommy wasn't going to say he hadn't seen this coming, but he'd hoped it wouldn't happen so soon.

He was about to get kicked out of his foster house.

No one told him this, of course. No one ever tells him more than a day beforehand when he's about to be put back into the system, but it's happened enough times in the past that he's learnt to see the signs.

He'd been living in the Minecraft house for months - almost a year now - longer than any other foster house had put up with him in the past. It's only rational to assume they'd want to be rid of him in the near future. He's annoying, Tommy knows this, and it's stupid to think anyone would think otherwise.

But… he'd really hoped it'd be different this time.

The Minecraft's seemed like they were different. Phil never yelled when he got mad, never told Tommy that he was being annoying, never brushed Tommy's feelings aside in favour of his real kids. Wilbur played his guitar and sang for him, playfully teased, but was never mean about it, let him crawl into bed with him after a nightmare. Techno cooked all sorts of potato-centric foods for him, drove him around if he asked nicely, affectionately called him "Theseus".

They made Tommy feel like he was worth something.

And now they were throwing him away like yesterday's rubbish.

Tears welled up in Tommy's eyes, but he rubbed them away before they could fall. He's a big man. Big men don't cry.

Phil said it's okay to cry-

Don't think about it.

It had started out innocent enough, Tommy supposed. He'd gone into Phil's office in the middle of the night, searching for a book he'd misplaced. He spotted a manilla folder sitting innocently on his foster father's desk and, well… Tommy was nothing if not curious to a fault.

So, he took a peek.

It was his file, the one that Phil was given by his social worker before Tommy had ever even stepped foot in the house.

Why'd Phil have it out?

Doubt seeped into his mind, turning his veins to ice as he considered the possibilities.

Really, there was only one reason Phil would have Tommy's file out on his desk.

He sped out of Phil's office before his brain had even registered he was moving, his misplaced book long forgotten. His not his never his not really bedroom was only just down the hall, and thus had only taken a few quick strides to get inside. The door slammed shut in his haste, making a loud bang that he really hoped didn't wake anyone up. He clicked the lock with shaking fingers.

Tommy slid down to the floor, back pressing against the door uncomfortably. He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs in a pitiful attempt at self-comfort.

With tears springing to his eyes, he looked around the room, picking out things that the Minecraft's had gifted him. Things that he wouldn't be able to take with him to the next house.

The red and white bedding Phil got him in his first week there. It was rumpled and unmade from when he'd gotten up the previous morning. It was probably the most comfortable bedding Tommy ever had.

The electric piano keyboard Wilbur bought him as a six month foster anniversary gift. His foster brother would sometimes come in with his guitar and they'd fuck around, playing music together and singing at the top of their lungs.

The bookcase filled to the brim with books Techno insisted on buying for him at the bookstore. The books were in no particular order, which Techno had once said gave him a headache, but they were all pristine and well taken care of.

The PC Techno and Wilbur had helped him build on Christmas. The three of them would all play on Hypixel together, sometimes roping Phil into their games as well. Their favourite game to play with all four of them was Bedwars.

Henry and Duffle, the stuffed cows, leaned against each other on the bed. Wilbur had given Henry to him after a particularly bad nightmare, one so bad it had made Tommy climb into bed with him. Wilbur said he wanted Tommy to have it, and Tommy couldn't find it in himself to refuse. Phil had bought Duffle after seeing Tommy eyeing the toy in the store. Tommy had tried his best to convince him that he didn't need any toys, that he was a big man, but Phil just said Henry could use a friend. Tommy couldn't say no.

A picture frame sat atop the dresser; probably Tommy's most prized possession.

It was a photo from Christmas day, taken by one of Phil's friends -- Puffy, if he remembered right. It was taken in the living room, right after everyone had opened their gifts. Wrapping paper littered the couch and ground. Himself, Techno, Wilbur, and Phil were the focal point of the picture, all sitting on or standing around the couch. Wilbur sat on Tommy's left with an arm slung around his shoulders, a wide grin on his face. Phil sat on his right, a hand ruffling Tommy's hair, smile soft and fond. Techno stood behind the couch, arms crossed, but there was a slight quirk of his lips that betrayed his grumpy demeanour. 

Off to the side, half cut out by the crop of the photo, Tubbo and Ranboo threw crumpled-up balls of wrapping paper and gift boxes at each other, mouths open wide. Tommy knew they were both yelling at the top of their lungs.

The Tommy in the photo was mid-laugh, clutching his stomach and nearly falling off the couch, and he remembers that he shouted an insult at Tubbo and gotten nailed in the face with wrapping paper mere moments after the picture was taken, and that he'd joined Ranboo's side in the wrapping paper war in revenge.

Tommy smiled bitterly at the photo as tears dripped down his face, a mockery of the unabashed grin that graced his face in the picture frame.

He buried his face in his arms, and fell asleep that way.

The next morning was… difficult.

Knowing the foster family he'd lived with for nearly a year was trying to get rid of him, well, it hurt. It hurt more that he had to lie about not knowing.

Maybe if he feigned ignorance, they would keep him. Maybe if he was good, they'd let him stay.

He skipped breakfast, got dressed, and avoided everyone like the plague. He didn't fight Wilbur for shotgun when they piled into Techno's car like he usually did. He ignored Phil when he waved goodbye to them from the front porch. He didn't demand the aux cord to play Able Sisters from the car speakers.

The ride to school was tense and quiet.

Tommy knew that Techno and Wilbur could tell something was wrong with him, but they both kept their mouths shut. For that, Tommy was grateful.

The three of them went their separate ways once they were inside the school.

Once he was outside the house and away from his brothers Wilbur and Techno, Tommy found it easier to breathe, somehow. The tension of knowing what was soon to come was temporarily lifted from the air. Tommy knew it would be back at the end of the day, so for now, he relished in it.

Tubbo and Ranboo were quick to show up, and they pulled him out of his own head properly.

For the time being, he could forget.

Unfortunately, he couldn't forget forever.

That night, after a quiet car ride home and an awkward dinner, Tommy overheard Phil say his name from the living room.

He'd been on his way down the stairs to the kitchen to get a coke from the fridge (and maybe a package of oreos), when Phil's hushed tone caught his attention. He froze, wondering if it was too late to just turn back and shut himself in his room, when he heard his name. He decided, what the hell, he'd tune in. Eavesdropping shmeavesdropping, he wanted to know what Phil was saying about him.

"-'s been acting off, I think he might be sick." Phil's hushed tone came from down the stairs.

It was Wilbur that responded, "He didn't play Able Sisters in the car to or from school, and he didn't fight me for shotgun; he just climbed in the backseat."

"I saw him at lunch, was sittin' with Tubbo and Ranboo," Techno cut in, "Looked fine then."

The living room went quiet. Tommy pressed a hand to his mouth and nose to stifle the sound of his breathing.

Then, "Do you think he knows?"

"No, of course not," Phil assured Wilbur, "He has no reason to suspect anything."

Tommy's heartbeat roared in his ears, blocking out any further words they might've said.

He took that as his cue to leave.

He went to bed without any coke or oreos.

The following days passed much the same, Tommy's only reprieve being in school with Ranboo and Tubbo.

Ironic, considering how much he hated school.

His foster family was clearly gearing up to kick him to the curb, and failing to be sneaky about it at that. It felt like he was walking on eggshells at that house, trying his best to be good so they might let him stay just a little longer.

It was just so frustrating.

So, naturally, he vented to his friends.

"Phil is going to put me back in the system soon," Tommy began unceremoniously, dropping heavily onto the bench next to Tubbo at the lunch table. Ranboo, on Tubbo's other side, looked up, red and green eyes shining with concern.

"Whatcha mean, bossman?" Tubbo said, only glancing up from his laptop for a moment before continuing to type. His screen was filled with code jargon Tommy could never hope to understand.

" I mean , I found my file sitting out on Phil's desk a few days ago, and the three of them keep whispering about me when I'm not there," Tommy grumbled, "They keep saying something about me 'suspecting something' too. They're not subtle."

"Have you tried asking them about it?" Ranboo asked.

"Well, no-"

Tubbo whacked him on the back of the head.

"OW! What was that for, you actual fucking dickhead-"

"Don't just jump to conclusions like that, you idiot," Tubbo scolded, the code on his computer screen temporarily abandoned, "Talk to them, Tommy."

Tommy scowled, but nodded anyway. He rubbed a hand against the spot where Tubbo hit him, trying to soothe the lingering pain.

To Tommy's credit, he did try to talk to his foster brothers and father, but the three of them were stubborn, and refused to give anything up.

Tommy lifted a hand and knocked on Wilbur's door. The gesture felt foreign -- normally he'd just barge right in, but with all the avoiding he'd been doing lately, he felt obligated to.

The door opened a few seconds later. Wilbur stood on the other side, glasses askew on his face and looking like he'd just woken up. For all Tommy knew, he could have. It wasn't uncommon for Wilbur to fall asleep at his desk in the middle of the day.

"Oh," said Wilbur (and Tommy really hoped that he was just tired and that wasn't disappointment in his voice), "Hey, Toms."

"Hi, Wil."

They stood in silence for a minute.

"Do you-"

"You're keeping something from me," Tommy interrupted, only feeling a little bit guilty. "You and Phil and Techno. What is it?"

Wilbur's poker face was never the best, and Tommy was always especially good at reading his expressions. He could recognise the face that he made was Wilbur's 'about to tell a really shitty lie' face.

"Don't lie to me, Wilbur," Tommy pleaded. Wilbur's face fell.

"I- Tommy, I…" he sighed. He pulled his glasses off his face with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. "I'm sorry, I can't-"

Tommy's heart sank. He turned away from Wilbur's door and walked back to his own room without a word, ignoring Wilbur calling after him.

A few hours later, he cornered Techno in the kitchen.

"Why are you and Wilbur and Phil keeping secrets from me," Tommy demanded, blocking the doorway to the living room, as if that would prevent Techno from leaving. Techno could pick him up and carry him like a sack of potatoes with no trouble.

"What secrets?" Techno asked, stirring the mashed potatoes in the pot on the stove like Tommy wasn't trying to interrogate him.

"You can't gaslight me, Technoblade. There's something you guys aren't telling me, and I want to know what it is."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about."

Techno turned off the burner on the stove and transferred the potatoes to a serving bowl. He stuck a serving spoon in the bowl and started walking towards the dining room.

"Mind settin' the table, Theseus?"

Tommy bristled at the nickname, but trudged over and grabbed plates and silverware to set the table anyway. It wouldn't do any good to argue if Techno wasn't going to admit anything.

He confronted Phil in his office, just after midnight.

It was eerily similar to the night Tommy found out about all this shit, except there's no file on Phil's desk anymore, and Phil himself was there this time, sitting at his desk with papers spread out in front of him.

Phil looked up from the paper he was signing to look at Tommy, and he smiled softly. It made Tommy's stomach roll. Phil tucked the papers away in a filing cabinet before turning his full attention to Tommy.

"Hey, mate," Phil said soothingly.

"'Ow do," Tommy responded, lingering in the doorway. Phil quirked a brow at him.

"You can come in, if you want, Toms."

Tommy noded stiffly. He made his way into the office and sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the desk as Phil. He looked a bit confused about Tommy's choice of seat (there were others that were much more comfortable elsewhere in the room), but didn't question him.

"Whatcha need, mate?" Tommy didn't respond, nerves making his stomach protest. Confronting Wilbur and Techno had been one thing. Phil was a whole other ballgame. When Tommy stayed silent, Phil's brows furrowed. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Mutely, Tommy shook his head.

"Then… what's up? Are you sick?" Tommy shook his head again.

"I-" Tommy swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"What are you guys hiding from me?"

Phil went still, wings not even twitching. He seemed to study Tommy's face for a bit, before he relaxed back in his chair.

"We can't tell you, mate. I promise it's nothing bad, though."

Promises meant nothing to Tommy. They were always broken. Nausea rolled in his gut, threatening to have his dinner make a reappearance.

"Okay, Phil."

Phil tilted his head at him, looking especially birdlike. Tommy might've laughed, had the situation been different, if Phil wasn't trying to get rid of him. The lump in his throat blocked it from escaping.

"C'mere, kiddo," Phil opened his arms, offering a hug.

Tommy choked down the automatic 'I'm not a kid' response that tried to crawl its way up his throat. Hesitantly, nervously, he stood from his chair, rounded the desk, and allowed Phil to wrap his arms around him.

He let out a shuddering breath, resting his face in the crook of his father's Phil's neck. With dawning horror, Tommy realised there were tears leaking into Phil's shirt.

He tried to pull away, but Phil's hold was unrelenting. Somehow, though, Tommy didn't feel trapped.

"It's okay to cry, mate," Phil said, rubbing circles in his back. "Just let it out."

And that was Tommy's last straw.

He grabbed the back of Phil's shirt like a lifeline, as though it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Maybe it was, Tommy didn't know. He tucked his face infinitely farther into Phil's neck, and he broke.

Tommy didn't know why Phil was being so nice to him. Butter him up before shipping him away? Make the hurt worse when it eventually came? Maybe Phil was just some kind of sick bastard.

But… Tommy had to admit, this was nice. He decided he'd cherish it while it lasted.

He wasn't sure when he and Phil sank down to the floor, or when he started wailing in earnest, but some time later, Tommy blinked away the last of his tears and swallowed against his raw throat. He pulled out of Phil's hold, and this time, he let Tommy go.

There was a patch of wetness on Phil's shoulder. Shame burned in his chest.

Phil must've seen what Tommy was looking at, because he said, "Don't worry about it, Tommy. It'll wash out."

Tommy nodded, but the words didn't really register.

His eyelids were growing heavy, his throat hurt from sobbing, and he had a headache -- probably of dehydration.

Between one blink and the next, Tommy found himself off the floor and in Phil's arms (when had he stood up?).

"Let's get you to bed."

Tommy was too drained to argue.

Before they'd even made it out of Phil's office, Tommy's eyes slipped shut against his will.

When he opened his eyes next, he was laying in his bed. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, and there was a glass of water on his nightstand that wasn't there before.

Tommy stayed home from school that day; Phil had called him in sick so he could, quote 'take a mental health day '. Phil had brought him lunch -- since he missed breakfast -- and let him eat it in bed, then set up the TV in his room with a DVD player and the Up DVD. After the credits rolled, Tommy decided it was his favourite movie.

Other than that, though, Phil mostly left him alone.

A part of Tommy was glad to be left to his own devices. He didn't need Phil going full mother-hen on him, he didn't want to be doted on by the very same man who was going to send him back to his social worker without a thought for what Tommy might want.

Another part of Tommy, the selfish, childish part that he hated to acknowledge, wanted Phil to wrap him up in his jet black wings and never let go.

Tommy made sure to keep that part of him sealed away under lock and key.

He went downstairs for dinner, and some of the tension from the past week seemed to have lifted. Wilbur and Phil were chatting calmly, and Techno read his book, occasionally chiming in on the conversation. 

Tommy allowed himself this one night to be a little selfish.

He ignored the looming threat of getting kicked out, and let himself experience a bit of normalcy. Just a bit.

He talked with his family, joked and laughed and stole food off Techno's plate and kicked Wilbur's legs under the table. It felt good.

He went to bed smiling, but his heart ached.

"I did talk to them!" Tommy shouted, face buried in his hands. "They told me jack fucking shit!"

Ranboo, sitting on the bench to Tommy's right, awkwardly patted his back in sympathy. His traitorous mind insisted that Phil's back rubs were better. Tommy thought that part of his brain could fuck off.

"Well… at least you tried?" Ranboo said, the statement coming out as more of a question. Tommy groaned into his hands.

"It's probably not as bad as you're making it out to be, bossman," Tubbo said flippantly, typing at a, frankly, inhuman speed.

Tommy pulled his head out of his hands, staring at his friend incredulously.

"You're saying you think they're not trying to get rid of me?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying, Tommy."

In all honesty, the thought that they weren't going to kick him out hadn't even crossed his mind. Between all the secret-keeping, the tension, the goddamned file, it was all too similar to how previous foster families would act before sending him away.

Maybe they weren't going to send him away-

Just as quickly as the idea planted itself in his brain, Tommy ripped it out with all the ferocity of a feral raccoon.

"No."

"...No what?"

"No, that's not right," Tommy insisted. "This is the exact same as all the other foster homes. They're gonna kick me out."

Ranboo leaned into his line of sight, allowing Tommy to see the worried look on their face.

"You sound like you want to be put back in the system, Tommy…"

He reeled back like he'd been slapped, accidentally shoving Ranboo off the bench in the process.

Ranboo landed on the ground with an 'oof '. Tommy spluttered in a fruitless attempt to deny the accusation and save face.

"I- ugh- Ranboo, big man, going back into the system is my worst fucking nightmare," he finally managed to stammer out. He offered a hand to pull the other teen to their feet, doing so with only a small amount of difficulty.

"Then why are you so insistent on getting kicked out of the Minecraft's house?" Tubbo pushed, shutting his laptop and focusing his full attention on Tommy.

And Tommy…

He didn't know.

Maybe it's because that's what every other house had done. Maybe it's because it's become an inevitability to Tommy. Maybe it's because the Minecraft's were just too nice to him, and it couldn't last forever.

Maybe it's because he's scared of finally having a home.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Tommy just said, "I don't know."

He tried to ignore the sad, pitying looks on his friends' faces.

Things fell back into some kind of normal after that.

On the drive home, he demanded the aux cord and blasted Able Sisters as loud as the speakers would go. He didn't fight Wilbur for shotgun, but made a point to kick the back of his seat until Wilbur made a valiant attempt to climb into the back and throttle him. Techno, somehow, didn't crash the car in the chaos.

This was why Techno was the designated driver.

When they got home, Phil was waiting on the couch with fresh popcorn and 'a bunch of pirated movies burned on DVD's', as Phil put it. Tommy said they should watch Up. Wilbur and Techno shouted out their protests. Or, well, Wilbur shouted his protests, Techno just said they should watch Immortals instead.

Phil wordlessly put Up in the DVD player.

Tommy's convinced it was even better upon a second watch.

They watched three more movies before the night was over. After the fourth bowl of popcorn spilled everywhere when Wilbur tried to steal it from Phil, they didn't make any more. Tommy did not pout about that, he swore.

About halfway through the second-to-last movie -- something about two girls and their dad moving into a new house, and there were forest spirits or something? -- Tommy fell asleep on Techno's shoulder.

He didn't mean to, really! But… being surrounded by his family set him at ease. Techno was warm (as Nether hybrids tended to be), and with his arm wrapped around Tommy's shoulders, he felt safe, like nothing could ever hurt him.

Wilbur, and Tommy's sure it's him from the calluses on his fingers, ran a hand through his hair, using blunt nails to scritch at his scalp.

Tommy thought he understood why cats like head scratches, now.

Distantly, he noted a brief flash of light and a camera shutter sound -- someone just took a photo of him -- but Tommy couldn't find it in himself to care.

He fell asleep, his brothers at his sides, and he felt safe.

He woke up sometime later to hushed voices, he grumbled a bit at being woken up, but a hand ran through his hair again, and he quieted. He almost slipped back into unconsciousness, but the sound of his name kept him awake.

"-do you think Tommy's ready?" That's Phil's voice, Tommy noted.

Wait, ready for what?

Wilbur answered before Tommy could get his mouth to work and ask.

"God, I hope so. I can't wait until we aren't fostering him anymore, Phil, you have no idea how long I've wanted this."

Tommy's heart stopped.

"I know, Wil. I can't wait either."

The early stages of rigour mortis must've just kicked in, because Tommy found all his muscles tensing and joints locking up.

His family (not his not his never his) really did want him gone. They were getting rid of him, kicking him out and sending him back to his social worker. Back into the system that had chewed him up and spit him out over and over again.

Back to the system that they'd promised he'd never have to see again.

This was why Tommy didn't believe in promises.

He could still hear Wilbur and Phil talking, but the words had become nothing but white noise to Tommy's ears.

They didn't want him. They haven't for a while, if Wilbur's words were to be believed.

He thought he had finally found his home.

A hand -- warmer than Wilbur's and larger than Phil's, Techno's then -- shook him out of his stupor.

"Uhh, kid? You alright?"

He forgot he was lying on Techno.

Tommy shot to his feet, ignoring the startled shouts from his family the three of them. There were credits rolling on the TV screen, a cheery tune coming from the speakers. It didn't match Tommy's mood at all.

"Tommy, mate, what's wrong?"

"You okay, Toms?"

"Theseus?"

Tommy spun around and stared them all down. He ignored the sting behind his eyes, the cavern that replaced his stomach, the vice gripping his heart. His breaths came to him in short gasps, oxygen never seeming to reach his lungs.

They all looked worried. Tommy wonders how they all became such good actors.

"Tommy-"

Tommy ran.

He was out the door before any of them could even make it off the couch. He was barefoot, rocks digging into the soles of his feet. He was still short of breath, and his lungs burned from exertion. Tears blurred his vision. The air was still chilly, not cold like in winter, but not necessarily warm either. He wasn't wearing a sweatshirt when he ran out the door, left in just a t-shirt.

It's one that Phil bought for him, he bitterly noted.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going, all he knew was that he needed to get far, far away from that house.

Over the sound of his bare feet hitting the pavement, he heard a shout. It sounded like Techno, possibly calling his name, or just screaming obscenities at him, Tommy would never know.

Another shout, this one closer and sounding a lot like Phil, came from above him.

Shit, he forgot Phil had fucking wings.

Tommy realised that as long as Phil had eyes on him, he wouldn't be able to escape.

A half-baked plan began to form in his mind, and Tommy took a sharp left, cutting through a random front lawn and hopping the fence into the back garden.

Now this was something Tommy's familiar with. Running away from authority, climbing fences and slight trespassing? Easy. He could do it all day.

Well, not literally, his legs would give out after an hour, but it was the thought that counted.

Tommy scrambled up another fence and kept running.

There was a forest at the edge of the neighbourhood; if he could get there, it would obscure Phil's bird's eye view and force him to go on foot. Hopefully, it would also confuse Techno and Wilbur enough for him to get away. Even if Tommy didn't know the woods, he'd bet he could find a climbable tree that he could hide in until they left.

He didn't have a plan for what to do after that, but he'd cross that bridge when he got there.

"Tommy!" He heard Phil yell, closer than before. He was gaining on him.

Tommy flung himself off course, diving under a deck behind a random house. He pressed his hands to his mouth, muffling his gasping breaths.

"Phil!" He heard Techno call, "Did ya see where he went?!"

"No! He just bloody vanished!"

The sound of Phil's wingbeats strayed further from his hiding spot, his and Techno's voices growing fainter. Tommy's breathing was finally under some kind of control. He scrambled out from under the deck and continued his mad dash for the forest.

He hopped a couple more fences before Phil spotted him again. He was barely keeping himself on his feet, stumbling every few steps and barely getting any air in his lungs anymore. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.

He tripped.

Tommy landed face first in the middle of the street, hands and knees scraping against the asphalt.

Desperately, he clambered back to his feet. He was almost at the woods, now, he only needed to climb one more fence and he'd be there.

"Phil! Techno!" That was Wilbur's voice, where did he come from? "Stop chasing him, he's clearly scared!"

Tommy chanced a glance backward.

In the street, Wilbur sat in the driver's seat of Techno's car, leaning halfway out the window and shouting at Phil and Techno, who had also turned to look at him. Tommy could hear his heartbeat racing in his ears as he realised how close Phil and Techno got to catching him.

"But, Wil-"

"No, Techno. Leave him be. He'll come back when he's ready."

Tommy swallowed back bile that had risen in his throat. 'When he's ready ', Wilbur said, not 'if '.

They expected him to come crawling back like a scared little kid.

Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

Tommy turned his back on his former foster family and darted into the forest.

Not long after Wilbur called Techno and Phil off the chase, it began to rain. Tommy's clothes were quickly soaked through, sticking to his skin and chilling him to the bone. He could barely feel his fingers anymore, let alone his toes.

He wandered the forest, not sure what he was meant to do next.

He couldn't go back to the Minecraft house, no way in hell. That's exactly what they wanted him to do.

But it's not like he could go back to his social worker either; they'd just bring him back to Phil and Phil would just tell them that he didn't want him. He'd end up back in the system. He'd rather live on the fucking streets than go back into the system.

But those were really his only options, weren't they? It's not like he had friends-

Wait a minute. He did have friends.

Tubbo and Ranboo.

They lived in the city, quite a ways away from the suburb where the Minecraft house resided, but Tommy could walk. He'd managed before, he could do it again.

He determinedly squared his shoulders and started walking back out of the forest.

The quicker he could get out of the rain, the better.

It took nearly two hours for Tommy to walk all the way to Ranboo and Tubbo's apartment. By the time he got there, the sun had long since set, but the rain refused to let up, beating down on him like there was no tomorrow.

The apartment complex his friends lived in was shoddy and run-down, but the rent was cheap -- or that's what he was told when he first came over and asked why the place was so dogshit -- and they could pay for it with just the money from their part-time jobs and Tubbo's occasional coding commissions. And the place allowed pets, which was apparently a must for any apartment the two of them shared.

Tommy trudged up the stairs, water dripping off his clothes and hair and soaking the floorboards below him. He could feel cuts and welts on the soles of his feet send sharp jolts of pain up his legs with every step he took. He sneezed, a shiver working its way up his spine.

He arrived outside his friends' door (which was painted in an absolutely hideous shade of faded maroon) and banged his fist on it as hard as he could.

He walked in the rain for two hours, he deserved to be a bit rude.

"Just a second!" Ranboo called from inside the apartment. A cacophonous clatter sounded from behind the door, followed by a cat's yowl.

The door flung open abruptly, revealing Ranboo dressed in a Lemon Demon sweater and holding a half-empty coffee mug. They looked like they were trying to pull an all-nighter and failing. Miserably. But hey, who was Tommy to comment on other people's appearances? He's the one that's sopping wet and barefoot.

"Oh, Tommy! What're you doing here?" They studied his state of sopping-wettedness for a moment, before continuing, "And… why are you soaking wet…?"

"Got caught in the rain," Tommy answered, not entirely untruthfully. "Can I borrow your shower? And possibly your couch?"

"Um, sure?" Ranboo stepped aside, allowing Tommy to walk inside the apartment.

"Boo! Who's at the door?!" Tommy heard Tubbo shout from the direction of the bedroom.

"It's me, bee boy!"

Tubbo was out in the living room in an instant.

"What the fuck are you doing here?! And why are you dripping water on the linoleum?" Tubbo didn't stop talking for long enough for Tommy to respond. "You know what, I don't care right now, the bathroom is over there-" he pointed just around the corner, "-I'll give you some of Ranboo's clothes to wear after you shower. Now, go!"

He shoved Tommy in the direction of the bathroom, and Tommy went with only a little bit of complaint.

The hot water was heavenly for the ten minutes that it lasted. After that, it turned freezing cold, and Tommy was quick to finish his shower. Tubbo or Ranboo must have come in without him noticing, because a pile of clothes that wasn't there before sat on the countertop. It was a plain black shirt, grey sweatpants, and a red hoodie, all belonging to Ranboo.

Tommy put on the clothes and found that, unsurprisingly, everything was too big on him. He made sure to tie the drawstring tight around his waist. Despite his best efforts, the cuffs of the pants still dragged on the floor.

He left the bathroom, dropping his old soggy clothes into the empty washing machine on his way past. Ranboo and Tubbo were sat on the couch, the TV playing a random channel while they were on their phone and laptop, respectively.

Tommy, without warning, flopped on top of his friends, head in Tubbo's lap and legs in Ranboo's. Michael, their cat, appeared from out of nowhere to curl up on Tommy's chest, never one to pass up cuddle time.

Ranboo simply sighed in defeat and returned to scrolling Tumblr (or whatever site it was that they used), while Tubbo gave him a light smack on the head. A 'light smack' from Tubbo still hurt like a bitch, though, so Tommy grumbled his wordless complaints.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have laid on me if you didn't want to get hit." Tommy only groaned in response.

Ranboo glanced up from their phone, "What are you doing here, anyway? Not that we don't want you here! But, just- why?"

"I was right," Tommy declared, "They really don't want me."

Tubbo tilted his head at him, eyebrows furrowed. "How do you know?" Tommy scowled in response.

"Because I heard Wilbur say to Phil that he, and I quote, 'can't wait until we aren't fostering him anymore', and, 'you have no idea how long I've wanted this'. How else can that be interpreted, huh?" 

The others went quiet. 

"Yeah. I thought so."

The air between them became heavy. The TV chattered indistinctly in the background. Michael stopped purring, as if sensing the tension.

"Um… yeah, that-"

"That's really shitty of them, bossman."

Tommy just sighed. He closed his eyes and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyelids until a colourful kaleidoscope appeared in his vision.

"I just wish- ugh, I'm being stupid."

"It's not stupid to want things, Tommy," Ranboo told him seriously. When both Tommy and Tubbo shot them a look, they explained, "My, uh- my therapist told me that. It's one of the things I keep in my memory book."

Tommy licked his lips nervously, psyching himself up to speak. He was never any good at emotional talks like these.

"I just wish they actually wanted me," he whispered, barely audible.

Tubbo's fingers slowly, ever so slowly, began carding through his hair. Tommy let out a shuddery breath, doing his best to choke back the tears that wanted to spring to his eyes.

"Oh, Tommy…"

"Can we just-" he interrupted, "Can we stop talking for a while?"

Tubbo looked at him sadly.

"Of course, Tommy."

Tubbo didn't stop running his fingers through his hair. Ranboo pat his leg in a way that was somehow both awkward and comforting. Michael began purring again, and Tommy lifted a hand to pet his fur.

He couldn't fight the tears that spilled down his cheeks.

They fell asleep that way, cuddled up together on the couch. Tubbo layed down on top of him, arms wrapped securely around his middle. Michael slept on the arm of the couch by Tommy's head. Ranboo remained on the other end of the couch, legs pulled up to their chest and head cushioned on their arms, which were resting atop their knees. It was nice.

And yet, Tommy wished it was Phil, Techno and Wilbur he fell asleep with instead.

But he could never have that again. They didn't need him, they didn't even want him. Not like he wanted them, not like he needed them.

Their lives would move on without him. Their world would keep spinning.

Tommy's remained stagnant.

Tommy poked Tubbo in the side, trying to wake him up, but the other teen only grumbled in his sleep.

He sighed, resorting to prying Tubbo's arms off his waist and wiggling his way out from under him. After several minutes of finagling, Tommy was free of his clingy prison.

The clock on the microwave read 10:38, a frankly unreasonable time to be awake if you asked Tommy. Usually on weekends, he'd sleep in until noon, at least.

Well, in Phil's house anyway. There was no way to tell what the next foster house's rules would be.

Maybe he'd have to get up at 5:30 sharp every day again. That would suck.

Stop thinking about it.

Tommy sighed again -- he seemed to be doing that a lot these days -- and headed for the fridge. If he was going to be crashing at his friends' place for a while, he might as well make it worth it for them.

He scrambled six eggs, two for each of them, and set the plates out on the table. He put ketchup on Ranboo's, since that heathen would only eat eggs with ketchup. Eugh, disgusting.

He walked back over to the couch and nudged Ranboo awake.

"Ranboo. Boo. Boob boy." He punctuated each word with a prod. They woke up with a snort, lifting their head from their arms and blinking blearily.

"Tommy? Wha-"

"I made breakfast," Tommy interrupted, "Wake up or I'll eat yours." He paused. "Actually, I'll eat Tubbo's, yours has ketchup in it. Gross."

Ranboo rolled their eyes at him, but got up and went over to the kitchen table obligingly.

Tommy didn't even attempt to poke Tubbo into wakefulness, he knew it wouldn't work. Instead, he just grabbed his friend under the armpits and dragged him off the couch and over to the table.

Once he was at the table, the aroma of freshly scrambled eggs in his nostrils, Tubbo awakened.

And immediately began stuffing his face.

Tommy couldn't say he was surprised. At least none of the eggs he used would go to waste.

"D'oo make fis 'ommy?" Tubbo said, mouth full. Tommy nodded, taking a bite of his own breakfast.

"You didn't have to, y'know," said Ranboo, who'd already finished their breakfast. Tommy deflated a little at their words. Their eyes widened, and they backpedalled a bit. "Um! Not to sound ungrateful or anything, thank you, really! But uh, just because you spent the night doesn't mean you have to make food for us."

"Yeah, bossman," Tubbo agreed after swallowing his mouthful. "Thanks, the eggs are delicious, but you don't have to repay us for letting you stay or whatever."

Tommy decided, internally, that he'd do it anyway. If he made food for them, then they'd want him. Then they'd need him.

They'd need him like he needed them.

If only that would work for-

Stop it.

"Sure," he agreed obligingly. He'd do it anyway, but he didn't need to tell them that.

The rest of the morning went similarly. Tommy insisted on doing the dishes for them, and then did all the laundry (washing, drying, folding even), and made lunch without telling the others until he was done -- it was PB&J, nothing fancy, it was really one of the very few foods he could actually make without instructions.

Tubbo, again, told him that he didn't need to work for them to earn his keep. Tommy, quite honestly, thought that was bullshit. He kept his thoughts to himself, though.

He continued doing odd jobs well into the night. From fixing the bedroom's squeaky door hinge to reorganising the TV cables, Tommy never stopped working. Ranboo managed to make spaghetti for dinner while he was distracted with the clogged bathroom sink drain, but he grabbed all the dirty forks and plates afterwards and washed them before anyone could protest.

"Tommy," Tubbo said, grabbing Tommy's attention before he could find something else to fix, "You can stop. Please, Boo and I don't want you to act like a maid. This is the cleanest the apartment's been since we got it! You can chill!"

"I- I just need something to keep myself busy," Tommy responded, swallowing down the guilt at lying to his friend.

"Please, Tommy."

Tommy hung his head in defeat.

"Okay," just for now, he didn't say.

Tubbo took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom, where Ranboo had already passed out. The shorter teen climbed in first, situating himself in the middle of the bed. Ranboo, in their sleep, cuddled closer to Tubbo and made a noise of contentment.

Tubbo patted the open space on the bed invitingly. Tommy clambered in after him, laying down and letting Tubbo pull the comforter over him. The bed was a queen, if Tommy guessed correctly. There definitely should not have been enough space for the three of them, but Ranboo and Tubbo, being snuggled together as they were, took up the amount of space one person normally would've.

Tommy made sure he kept an invisible barrier between himself and Tubbo. He could tell his friend was hurt, despite Tubbo doing his best to hide it.

"Goodnight, Tommy."

"'Night, Tubs."

Tommy couldn't sleep that night.

He twisted and turned, he kicked off the covers and then pulled them back up, he tried every sleeping position imaginable, but nothing worked. His thoughts were going a million kilometres a minute and showed no signs of slowing. Tommy could practically feel the bags under his eyes.

When the sun rose, the clock read 6:34, and Tommy hadn't slept a wink.

With an exhausted sigh, he climbed out of bed and went to make himself useful.

He still hadn't cleaned the oven and fridge yet, and there was a bit more laundry to do.

Monday rolled around, and Tommy remembered with dismay that Wilbur and Techno went to his school. They would see him and almost certainly try to talk to him. He couldn't talk to them, he couldn't take the verbal -- and, quite possibly physical -- abuse they'd throw at him.

He debated pretending to be sick, but he knew that would just make Tubbo and Ranboo worry about him, so he decided he'd just avoid them like the plague.

It couldn't be too hard, right?

Tommy cursed his past self. Those were famous last words, and he thought them anyway.

Damnit.

Techno and Wilbur seemed to be searching for him just as passionately as he was avoiding them. At multiple moments, they came mere milliseconds away from spotting him. He had to duck behind Ranboo more times than he could count to avoid their vigilant gazes.

Both his friends gave him sad looks whenever he did it.

Tommy hated them for it.

He skipped lunch, much to his stomach's chagrin. Having three full meals a day spoiled him, he'd better get into the habit of only eating once or twice a day again before the next house forces him to.

He spent the allotted lunch time in the library, flipping through the pages of random books that caught his interest.

A book of birds had called to him, and he had it open in his lap as he sat on the floor. He came across the page for crows.

He couldn't help likening the crow wing diagrams to Phil's wings.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about them?

The bell rang, sharp and piercing. He put the book back on the shelf and trudged to his next class.

It was Thursday when he was caught.

He was in the library instead of the cafeteria for lunch, reading an autobiography of some kind (he wasn't really reading it, just skimming the words enough to keep his mind off the hunger pains in his gut). It was a new normal for him. 

The door opened.

Nobody else should've been in the library during lunch. Tommy wasn't supposed to be in the library during lunch.

Tommy dove behind the nearest bookshelf, crouching low to the ground, ready to move at a moment's notice.

As long as it wasn't who he thought it was, he'd be okay.

"I know you're in here, Tommy."

Fuck, that was Wilbur. He was screwed.

"I- I just wanted to say sorry for whatever upset you last Friday-" Why did he sound so sad? It was infuriating. "-and we noticed you left your phone at home."

Why was Wilbur talking about his phone? Was he going to break it right in front of Tommy's face, just because he could? Try and lure him out with it? Well, too bad, 'cause it wasn't going to work.

"Uh- Phil thought it'd be a good idea to give it back to you, but we haven't been able to find you all week, and uh- well, it's on this table, so… um… you can have it back now," Wilbur said. 

Tommy peeked around the bookcase, and saw Wilbur set his phone down on the table closest to the door. Wilbur took one last glance around the library, eyes completely missing Tommy, and sighed. He left, and Tommy waited for his footsteps to completely fade before leaving his hiding spot.

He walked up to the table that his phone rested on.

The device was sitting face-down on the table, so he couldn't see the screen, but that was definitely his phone case, at least.

Tommy glanced around, wary of any lingering eyes, but he was well and truly alone.

He turned the phone over with a cautious hand and inspected the screen for the familiar cracked pattern. Sure enough, it was his phone and not a decoy of some kind.

He turned on the screen and unlocked it with his ten-digit PIN -- he was not paranoid, he just didn't want anyone going through his phone. His suspended apps were the exact same as he left them, the full apps list didn't show any unfamiliar icons, and everything seemed untouched.

He still turned off his location, just in case.

Tommy didn't see hide nor hair of Wilbur or Techno on Friday.

It was odd. For the past week, it seemed like he was seeing nothing but the two of them, and now they were gone.

Not that Tommy was complaining. It meant he could finally safely sit in the cafeteria with Tubbo and Ranboo again, though he didn't eat. He still had to get used to less than three meals a day, after all.

After school, the trio took the bus back to their apartment, where Tommy immediately started looking for something to fix, clean, or help out with. After a full week of crashing there and doing the same routine every day, there really wasn't much else he could do, though.

Maybe he could regrout the bathroom tiles?

"Tommy, wait-"

Tommy turned to look at Tubbo. He could just barely see the concern in his friend's eyes from under his fringe.

"You're not doing any more chores around here," Tubbo told him firmly, "I won't let you."

"But-"

"No buts, Tommy. You need to chill. You've been doing everything that could possibly be done around here. You even regrouted the kitchen tile! Were you planning on regrouting the bathroom, too?"

Tommy looked away guiltily. Tubbo knew him way too well.

"Yeah, that's not happening. We're all going to sit on the couch and put on the worst movies imaginable, and we're going to point and laugh at them. Right, Boo?"

Ranboo, who had been standing very awkwardly behind Tubbo during the whole interaction until that point, vigorously nodded their head in agreement.

Fucking simp.

Without another word, Tubbo grabbed both of them by their wrists and made them sit on the raggedy old couch while he put the Bee Movie VHS in the player and rewound it to the beginning.

Why Tubbo had the Bee Movie on VHS remained a mystery to Tommy.

They sat through the entirety of the Bee Movie, laughing at the absurdity of the thing.

"The bees just- what? Sued all of humanity? For stealing honey? And it worked !?" Ranboo, in particular, was very worked up about the plot consistency. Tommy thought their ramblings were funnier than the movie.

"Well, yes, what else were they to do?" Tubbo asked, clearly trying to work them up more. Somehow, it worked, and they fell for the obvious bait.

"Anything but that!?!? Tubbo- Tubbo, you're the bee guy, you know that human-kept bees and their beekeepers have a symbiotic relationship. Humans only take about half of the total honey made by the hive, and grant protection that normal beehives just don't have!" They said, frantically scrolling through Wikipedia to factcheck. "The bees could just leave! They don't even have to stay in the human-kept hives! There is nothing stopping them!!"

"Maybe the bees are just dumb," Tommy suggests. Tubbo turned to gasp in offence, while Ranboo only hung their head in complete and utter defeat.

"You will not talk about bees that way!"

"I just did." Tommy smiled, all teeth. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?"

He promptly took a pillow straight to the face.

"Oh, you should not have done that."

Tommy and Tubbo quickly devolved into an all-out, no holds barred, pillow war. Not a pillow fight , mind. It was far too serious to be called something as silly as a pillow fight. Tubbo was collecting pillows from anywhere he could find them in order to make a defensive wall. Meanwhile, Tommy tried his best to beat him to death with just one pillow and sheer force of will. Ranboo, in the chaos, managed to escape to the bedroom.

Pussy.

Tommy would deny the incredibly manly shriek that escaped him when a nerf dart nailed him right between the shoulder blades until his dying breath.

Tommy spun around and came face-to-face with his worst nightmare. 

Ranboo with a nerf gun.

"Uh," said Tommy, very eloquently, if he did say so himself, "Team?"

"I'm sorry, Tommy," they said, raising their gun, "It's neef or noth."

They shot him right in the stomach.

Tommy shrieked again, collapsing to the floor like the dramatic bitch he one hundred percent is not (no matter what Tubbo says).

Tommy slept until 5 PM on Saturday, fatigue from doing every chore imaginable, plus hiding from Wilbur and Techno during school, plus the pillow war from the previous night finally catching up to him.

Every one of his joints ached, all of his muscles twinged with pain when he even attempted to move them. His throat was sore and voice rough from all of the screaming he'd done the night before.

It's the worst Tommy's felt without being properly sick in a long time.

He thought the last time he felt this bad was the day before he was placed in Phil's house. 

The house before Phil's had not had very kind parents.

Cut it out. Stop.

Back to Tommy's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad DayTM, Tubbo had come into the room about twenty minutes ago with "food".

Tommy wouldn't go so far as to call it food though. Hence the air quotes.

It was white bread -- yes, bread, not even toasted or anything -- with baked beans and horribly undercooked mini sausages on top. Even when Tubbo first gave it to him, it was cold, and now even more so. It looked vile.

Tubbo really, really, could not cook. He was worse than Ranboo, and they could only make spaghetti and cake (as long as it was from a pre-prepared cake mix).

Truly, Tommy was their only salvation.

Needless to say, Tommy could not eat the rancid so-called "food" Tubbo had cooked up, but he also couldn't get up to make his own food, either, and Ranboo was unavailable on account of them being at the store restocking their food supply. Which left Tommy on his own.

Fantastic.

"Tubbooo!" Tommy called out, voice cracking slightly from the strain.

Tubbo's hoofsteps could be heard from the other side of the apartment, sprinting towards the bedroom.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud bang .

"Tommy! What's wrong, are you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?" Tommy rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Tubso. I just can't eat this." He raised the plate of dubious "food" for his friend to see. "It's cold and the sausages are undercooked and you didn't even toast the bread, you heathen."

Tubbo crossed his arms, "You just have shit taste in food."

"Wha- I have shit taste in food?!" Tommy screeched, aggravating his already sore throat, "I'm not the one that eats cold baked beans and undercooked sausages on bread!"

"Yeah, which means you have shit taste!"

"Oh that's it-"

Tommy was interrupted in his preparations to launch at Tubbo, muscle fatigue be damned, by the front door of the apartment opening.

"Tubbo! Come help me with groceries!" Ranboo called. Then, quieter, "Please oh my god this stuff is heavy-"

"We're not done here, we'll talk about this later," Tubbo said with a glare, far too dramatic to be serious.

"Tubbo!!" Ranboo shouted again.

"Coming!"

Tubbo left the room the same way he'd entered; in a dead sprint and slamming the door.

Tommy found himself rolling his eyes at his friend's antics.

He eventually did get food that wasn't a crime against humanity, but it was still just spaghetti. Curse Ranboo and their refusal to learn to cook anything else.

He quickly fell asleep after that, at the disgraceful hour of 8 PM.

Like, seriously, he had a reputation, he was Big Man Tommy Innit. Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit. And he did not go to bed at 8 PM.

Well, it was a one-time thing, anyway. No one else had to know.

Sunday morning, Tubbo and Ranboo pulled him out of bed and onto the couch, saying they needed to have a, quote, "important talk". Tommy, in his infinite wisdom, thought it was stupid.

He wasn't nervous. He wasn't.

It's just… well…

"Important talks" never really went well for him.

So there he sat, squished between Tubbo and Ranboo on the couch, Michael purring up a storm in his lap. He swore that the cat could smell his anxiety.

"Sooo…" Tommy said, full attention on Michael's fur. The cat was shedding a bit more than usual. He needed to be brushed soon. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Do you want to go out today, Tommy?"

Tommy blinked in confusion, lifting his eyes from the cat and meeting Tubbo's gaze.

"Why? Where would we go?"

Tubbo looked up at him blankly. Tommy glanced at Ranboo for an explanation, but only got another blank look.

"Tommy," Ranboo said, voice uncomfortably pitying, "What's today's date?"

"The ninth of April? What's that got to do with anything?"

Tubbo looked constipated. Tommy said as much. Tubbo just ignored him and shook his head. "Okay, well, do you want to go out or not? We could go shopping, or to McDonald's, or even just to a park or something."

"Or maybe to the museum?" Ranboo suggested, "We have enough money for three tickets as long as Tubbo pretends he's eleven."

They were both acting so fucking sus. Tommy didn't like it.

Neither of them would ever offer to spend money unnecessarily, their bank account just couldn't afford to. Why the fuck were they doing it now?

"Why are you offering to spend money on me?" Tommy asked bluntly. "Is it some kind of pity thing? Or repayment for the chores? Because if it is, I'm not going anywhere."

Tubbo looked completely bewildered, as though he'd never even considered that to be a possibility. Tommy supposed that meant he wasn't lying; Tubbo was never a very good actor.

"It's not, I swear," Tubbo told him, mouth set in a firm line, "We just want to treat you to some time out of the apartment. That's not school, anyway."

Tommy supposed that answer made some amount of sense.

(His verdict was not influenced by him going somewhat stir crazy from being cooped up inside all the time. It wasn't and anyone who said it was is a liar.)

"Alright," said Tommy, satisfied, "I want to go to McDonald's then."

"Of course you want to go to McDonald's," Ranboo, the local McDonald's hater, said under their breath. Tommy glared at them.

How someone could hate McDonald's baffled Tommy. McDonald's was the best.

"Alright!" Tubbo clapped his hands and stood from the couch, dragging Tommy up by the wrist to stand with him. "We're going to McDonald's, then!"

"Yippee," said Ranboo, completely monotone.

They all piled into Ranboo's car for the five minute drive to the nearest McDonald's. Tommy was honestly unaware that they even could drive, but he supposed it made sense. They were always the one to be sent out to get stuff from the store and whatnot.

They parked the car in the nearest parking spot, and everyone got out. Tommy was jittery with excitement. He hadn't had proper fast food in so long. The mere idea of it made his mouth water.

Tommy bolted for the entrance, Tubbo hot on his heels. Ranboo followed at a much more sedated pace.

They looked nauseous just setting foot in the building.

Tommy ordered a Big Mac meal, with a large fry and a coke. Tubbo decided on a ten-piece chicken McNugget after several minutes of internal (and external) debate. They each got a McFlurry, as the ice cream machine was miraculously unbroken. 

Ranboo, unsurprisingly, got nothing, because they were a weirdo.

All of the food totaled out at a fairly reasonable £14.77, and despite not getting anything, Ranboo pulled out their debit card and paid for it.

What a strange, strange person Ranboo was.

Tommy all but inhaled his food the second he got it, Tubbo not far behind. While he and Tubbo pigged out, Ranboo shot them the most uncomfortable and disgusted look Tommy had ever seen anyone make before -- and he'd seen the faces people made after catching him eating out of the trash -- from across the table.

Tommy made sure to flip them off and chew louder in response.

They left McDonald's in just over half an hour of getting there. Ranboo visibly relaxed as they drove out of the parking lot.

All in all, it was a successful McDonald's trip.

Tommy didn't notice that they weren't driving back to the apartment until it was too late.

They rolled to a stop, and only then did Tommy look out the window.

The car was parked in Phil's driveway.

A pit opened in Tommy's stomach. Suddenly, it felt like all the food he'd just eaten was going to make an unpleasant return.

"Why are we here…?"

Tubbo, beside him in the backseat, tried to take Tommy's hand in his own. Tommy ripped it away from him and cradled it to his chest.

"Toms-"

"Don't fucking 'Toms' me, Tubbo, why the fuck are we here?!"

Tommy's lungs weren't working right, he thought. It felt like he couldn't get a full breath in. His throat was tight, it hurt to speak. That didn't stop him from screaming at his "friends" though.

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?! I thought we were friends!"

"Tommy, we are your friends-"

Anger burned hot in his chest, bubbling up behind his ribcage alongside the bone-chilling fear he felt in that moment.

"Then why. Are. We. Here?!"

"Because Phil asked us to bring you!" Tubbo shouted back. Tommy staggered back, not expecting to be shouted back at.

Something hot and wet spilled down his face.

Tears. Those were tears.

"I don't wanna be here," Tommy sobbed, startling everyone with the disparity of it, including himself, "Please- please… I don't- I-"

"We're sorry, Tommy," Ranboo said through Tommy's open door. When had they gotten out of the car? Or opened Tommy's door?

Tommy's pretty sure they said something else, but his brain had officially checked out for the day, apparently. Tears kept falling from his eyes, but he felt detached and a bit floaty. Ranboo's mouth was moving, and Tommy could hear them speak, but the words just didn't… register.

He found he didn't particularly care.

Why was he crying, again?

Tommy blinked, and between the time he closed his eyes and opened them again, he was in an entirely new location.

Instead of Ranboo's car, Tommy found himself curled in the fetal position on familiar red and white bedding. He was in his bed in Phil's house, his brain absently connected. There were, somehow, still tears lazily dribbling from his eyes.

Tommy's hand seemed to move of its own accord, smoothing out a wrinkle in the comforter.

His eyes slipped closed, but he did not sleep.

Someone entered his room, at some point (how long had it been since- since… since what?) and talked for a bit. The words were nothing but white noise to him, but whoever it was had a very nice voice, so Tommy didn't mind too much. He was content to listen to the musical lilt to the speaker's tone.

The person with the nice voice eventually left. Tommy whined in the sudden silence.

There were two others that came in and talked. One with a low rumbley voice that made him feel warm, and another with a higher pitched voice that had an odd tonality that made him think they probably had an accent.

Tommy thought all their voices sounded good.

The three of them came in and talked to him, and even though he had no clue what they were saying, it was nice to know that they were nice enough to keep Tommy, of all people, company.

Slowly, slowly, Tommy started to come back to himself. He clenched his hands into fists and then stretched them out, over and over, counting the amount of times he'd done the motion.

Finally, he felt like his body was his own again.

He sat up in bed -- his bed, his bed in Phil's house, why was he back at Phil's? -- and looked around the room.

It was the exact same as he'd left it, aside from the light film of dust that covered every surface. The piano sat against the wall, all his books were where they were meant to be on the shelf, his PC was still sitting unlocked on the desktop.

Henry and Duffle were both cradled in Tommy's arms. He hadn't even realised he was holding them.

A knock sounded at the door, and a moment later it swung gently open, revealing Wilbur.

Oh. Shit .

"You're up," Wilbur said, surprise clear in his voice. Tommy licked his lips, but just nodded instead of attempting to speak. "Well, that's better than you've been in the past nine hours."

"Nine hours-'' Tommy's exclamation was cut off by a sudden coughing fit, wracking his whole body with the force of it. He was vaguely aware of Wilbur getting close enough to rub soothing circles on his back.

"Should I get Phil?" Wilbur asked, voice thick with worry.

"Don't get Phil," Tommy demanded, before coughing some more into his fist.

They didn't speak again for a while, even after Tommy had come down from his coughing fit. The silence was deafening; Tommy's ears started ringing.

Wilbur, eventually, stood up. He was trying to hide it, but Tommy could see the way his hands were shaking.

"I'm just… gonna go. Now."

Tommy didn't stop him.

Techno came in a short while later with food.

Tommy couldn't force himself to eat it.

Phil didn't show up for a while. Tommy believed Wilbur had told him that Tommy didn't want to see him. Which was great! Wonderful! He didn't want to see Phil, and Wilbur told him that, so Phil didn't come to see him.

He simultaneously hated Wilbur for it and wanted to thank him.

But, eventually, Phil did have to show up. And "eventually" just so happened to be right now.

Phil stood in the doorway, wings fluffed up behind him. With his wings like that, he blocked the entire doorway. Tommy did his best to not show how tense he was because of it.

"Hey, Tommy."

Tommy just stared.

Phil cleared his throat, "Can I come in?" Tommy scoffed.

"It's your house, innit?"

"But it's your room."

"I don't see why that matters." Phil went quiet, head tilted to the side. He'd decided to act like a fucking bird again, Tommy saw. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "You can come in, I guess. Might as well get this over with…"

Phil stepped into the room and finally unblocked the door. Tommy steadfastly ignored the way his shoulders relaxed, and instead chose to focus on Phil's every move.

"Are you feeling better now? We think you had a dissociative episode back there." Phil stood about a foot away from the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. "You scared Wil about half to death."

"Yeah, sure I did," Tommy sneered, "What should I care?"

(Tommy did care. A lot. It was honestly kind of annoying how much he cared.)

Phil sighed. His wings ruffled behind him, feathers fluffing up and then resettling. He moved over to the bed and sat down, leaving Tommy just out of his arms reach.

"What's wrong, mate?" Phil asked.

Tommy debated not answering. Like, seriously, what was he gonna do if he didn't answer?

He might get hit, his subconscious reminded him. Phil had never hit him (or Wilbur or Techno for that matter), but the possibility was always there. And before, he didn't have a reason to hit Tommy.

If he didn't answer, then he would have a reason.

"Why are you acting like you care?" Tommy asked after a long internal debate, "You're gonna send me back to my social worker. Why put in all this effort?"

Phil looked genuinely taken aback, whether by Tommy answering in the first place or the words themselves, he didn't know.

"We do care about you, Tommy. And we're not going to send you back to your social worker," Phil said, and it was so clearly a lie, but Tommy wanted to believe him anyway. He so, so desperately wanted to believe them. But his trust had been broken a few too many times for that. "Why would we do that?"

"Because you don't want to foster me anymore. I'm not stupid. I heard what Wilbur said."

Realisation dawned on Phil's face like a sunrise.

And then he laughed.

This was it. He was going to drop the act. Finally, Tommy could stop walking on eggshells, he could stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He felt like he was gonna be sick.

"Tommy," Phil said, tone all too fond. It made Tommy want to vomit. "We don't want to foster you anymore-"

He fucking knew it. He knew it was too good to be true.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, but Phil was still talking, so he swallowed it down.

"-because we want to adopt you," Phil finished, "Wilbur is just shit at words."

…Wait. Back up, rewind.

'- because we want to adopt you.'

Tommy must have been hearing things, because Phil could not have just said that.

Wilbur wanted Phil to adopt him? Him, Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit, wife haver and annoying kid -- not a kid -- supreme? Tommy, who'd been kicked out of god-knows how many foster homes in the past, and never planned on having a family of his own? Tommy, who knew how to run away and live on the streets for months at a time because it was preferable to some of the houses he'd been put in?

Maybe they'd confused him for some other tall blond kid named Tommy that they fostered.

...

Yeah, no, even he knew he was fooling himself with that one.

But what other explanation was there? They weren't supposed to want him, and yet they did anyway. And even if they tricked themselves into wanting to adopt him, they should have known how bad and disobedient he was. He ran away from them, for god's sake!

Tommy's head was spinning.

It just… It didn't make sense.

"Why?" Tommy found himself asking.

Phil hummed, tapping a clawed finger to his chin in an over-exaggerated thinking motion.

"Because you complete the family dynamic?" Phil offered, "Because we like you for you, because Wilbur always wanted a little brother, and you fill the role perfectly, because Techno is attached even though he won't admit it, because I missed having a fledgling in the nest… I could go on."

Tommy felt a fire ignite in his chest, small and flickering, but there all the same.

"Oh yeah!" Phil continued, wings fluttering happily, "And because we love you!"

The fire burned hot and bright, as though it had been doused in gasoline, hot enough to melt away any lingering fear and doubt.

"You mean that?"

"Of course I do."

Phil brought a hand up to Tommy's head, threading his fingers though Tommy's tangled curls. Tommy melted into the affection, leaning all his weight into Phil's side, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit-Minecraft would be a pretty poggers name, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

"That is a lot of fucking papers."

Phil sighed, looking down at the stack of papers he'd set on his desk. They were all adoption and foster papers, all of them filled out and signed by Phil (and Tommy, when applicable).

"It is a lot of fucking papers, and I had to fill out every one of them." Tommy cringes.

"Sounds like rotten work," he tells Phil seriously.

"Not to me. Not if it's for you."

Tommy pauses, studying Phil's face for a moment.

"Did you just quote Pylades at me?"

"Paraphrased it, actually. I didn't say the exact words," Phil grinned. "And you're the one that said 'it's rotten work'."

"Yeah, because doing all that paperwork sounds like actual hell on earth," Tommy argued, just for the sake of it.

It was nice to know he could joke around like this, that he wasn't going to get hit for speaking out of turn or insulting someone. He could get used to it.

He would get used to it. They were adopting him!

It still didn't quite feel real.

Heavy hoofsteps stomped up the stairs, approaching at a rapid pace. A lighter set of footsteps followed the first, moving just as quickly.

Phil's office door swung open, revealing Techno in all his pink-haired glory, Wilbur standing behind him.

"Are you talking about Greek mythology in here?" Techno asked, a crazed look in his eye, "Without me?!"

"Phil started it!" Tommy shouted. He ran up to his brothers, grabbing both of them by their sleeves and dragged them into the room. "He par-a-phrased Pylades at me."

"You're the one who pointed it out, gremlin." Phil ruffled his hair affectionately. Tommy absolutely, one-hundred percent did not lean into the touch.

Oh, who was he kidding, of course he leaned into it.

"Tubbo and Ranboo are downstairs playing Mario Kart," Wilbur told them, "D'you wanna come back down with us and join? Get out of this stuffy office and away from that boring paperwork?"

"My office is not stuffy-" Phil tried to protest. Wilbur ignored him.

"We were thinking about ordering pizza, too."

Tommy bounced on his toes, excitement manifesting in little hand flaps.

"I want Hawaiian!" Tommy declared. He grabbed Wilbur's sleeve, pulling the man down to stare him in the face. "We're getting Hawaiian." Wilbur recoiled away, lip curling in over-exaggerated disgust.

"Hawaiian?! Fucking gross, Tommy, ham and pineapple?! On pizza?!"

"Pineapple is good, man!" Tommy yells back. "Wilby, it's not my fault your taste buds are broken."

Wilbur went silent, staring at him, mouth slightly agape. Tommy looked to Techno and Phil, who'd started grinning and snickering, respectively. Tommy decided to ignore them.

"Wilbur? Are you-"

"Did you just call me Wilby?" Wilbur shouted suddenly. Tommy spluttered in response.

"I didn't call you Wilby!"

"No, you definitely did," he insisted.

"I didn't! Your ears must be broken too now, you're hearing things." Tommy crossed his arms over his chest, turning his face away from Wilbur in an attempt to hide his burning face and ears. "We need to get you hearing aids, you're becoming an old man like Phil."

Wilbur had seemingly chosen to ignore Tommy's insults, instead choosing to prod him in the side and keep teasing him.

"Aww, Tommy! You can call me Wilby if you want."

"I don't want to call you that," Tommy denied, "And I didn't call you Wilby!"

The burning in his cheeks said otherwise.

Wilbur laughed at his expense. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. Tommy dropped his head onto his brother's -- his brother's, how poggers was that?! -- collarbone and groaned in annoyance. Wilbur rested his chin on Tommy's head, humming happily.

"So…" Techno interrupted, "are we orderin' pizza or not?"

"Hawaiian," Tommy mumbled into Wilbur's chest. Wilbur lifted his chin from Tommy's head and pulled away enough to ruffle Tommy's hair. Tommy squawked indignantly, trying and failing to bat Wilbur's hand away.

"You're not going to have an entire pizza to yourself, child."

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

"Says me," Phil cut in, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Tommy and Wilbur pulled fully apart, and Tommy grabbed the sleeve of Wilbur's sweater again. "You can get half-Hawaiian and half-cheese to share."

Wilbur and Tommy groaned in unison. Phil rolled his eyes.

"Keep complaining and I'll get you both an anchovy and olive pizza." Tommy faked a gag. "That's what I thought."

The pizzas arrived at their door half an hour later. They had switched from Mario Kart to Super Smash Bros a few minutes ago, because apparently there was only so many times Tubbo could come last in Mario Kart before he started trying to strangle people.

He wasn't much better at Smash Bros though, if Tommy was honest.

Phil brought the pizzas into the kitchen, deliberately walking slowly directly in front of the TV, just to be annoying.

"Phil! You're blocking the screen!"

"You'll survive."

"Aaauuuugghhhhhhhh-"

Phil finally got out of the way, and Toon Link instantly hit Isabelle straight off the edge of the map.

"NO!" Tommy screamed at the same time as Tubbo screamed, "YES!"

Ranboo sat quietly, still struggling to figure out the controls while Techno patiently coached them through it.

"How many slices do you want, Toms?" Phil called from the kitchen.

"All of them, I'll eat all of- Fuck you, Technoblade!" Tommy yelled as Kirby threw Isabelle past the edge of the screen and she exploded.

"You're getting two!" Phil shouted back. "Wil! come out here and help me with this, would you?"

"Aw, I was having fun watching Tommy get his ass beat," Wilbur sighed, forlornly watching the screen and moving as slowly as possible on his way to the kitchen. Ranboo, playing as Peach, pulled off a combo attack against Isabelle as Techno told them the buttons to press, Tommy screeching obscenities all the while.

The match ended a minute later, Techno in first, Tommy in second, Ranboo in third, and Tubbo dead last.

"Techno barely even did anything last round, how's he in first?!" Tubbo shouted. Techno shrugged.

"Cracked at the game," was all he offered before getting up and following Wilbur out to the kitchen. Tommy, Ranboo, and Tubbo set down their controllers and followed suit.

Phil gave Tommy a plate that already had two slices of Hawaiian on it, and then gave both Tubbo and Ranboo two slices of pepperoni each. Phil took his own plate -- with meat lovers, if Tommy had to guess -- and led them back to the living room, leaving Wilbur and Techno to fend for themselves.

Wilbur returned with one slice of cheese and like, way too many breadsticks, and Techno brought his entire pizza box back out with him.

Tommy wouldn't be surprised if he was planning on eating the whole thing in one night.

"So!" Phil began, pulling out his stash of pirated DVDs, "No video games while we eat. Does anyone have a preference in movie?"

"Do you have Moana?" Tubbo asked. Of course he would want to watch Moana. He'd seen the trailer a little while back, but had never gotten the chance to actually see the film.

"In fact, I do," Phil said, holding the case aloft triumphantly. Tubbo cheered.

Phil put the DVD in the player and switched the HDMI input, then plopped down on the couch next to Tommy.

Tommy sat in the middle of the couch with Phil now on his left and Tubbo on his right. Ranboo was on Tubbo's other side, legs folded to their chest, and Techno was next to Phil. Wilbur lounged on the arm of the couch next to Techno, using his shoulder as an armrest.

Phil pressed play on the remote, and the Disney logo flared to life on the TV screen.

Here, squished together on the couch with his dad, brothers, and best friends, Tommy thought he could finally be happy.

A/N: ive been working on this thing for two weeks straight, i swear, its the only thing thats been on my mind. no thoughts, only sbi + bench trio
i liveblogged writting this fic on my tumblr (@dead-in-a-damn-ditch), so you can follow/yell at me/watch my descent into insanity on there if you so wish
most people find me annoying at first, so if you dont, please kudos and leave a comment. it is completely free and it helps out a ton :]

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