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Not for the first time in his life, Tommy doesn’t want to go back to the house.
He'd really prefer not to, in fact; so instead, he drags his feet across the sidewalk, stopping to examine every little thing with a curiosity that he doesn’t really feel. Every single little flower is something that he looks at with great interest, staring at them but not really seeing anything at all. Really, all he can feel is the heavy dread that weighs him down- that’s weighed him down from the moment he’d turned and seen the teacher coming his way with a stupid walkie-talkie and an enraged expression.
They’d called the last people he’d stayed with because no one had changed the information yet, gotten no response, and then they’d called Phil after Tommy had reluctantly given them the number. He could have called Techno, who has online school and drives a car, or even Wilbur, who's in the same boat as Techno, but he'd had a feeling that the office bitch wouldn't have let him leave with teenagers who looked like they themselves should be in class. While they'd been waiting, the bitch of a lady had told him how lucky he was that his father's a nice man, how they'd usually give a suspension at the very least for this kind of roughhousing. Tommy could see her building up a speech for the poor man, who had no idea what he would be answering the phone to. Luckily, Phil hadn’t picked up, and she’d left a message and told him to either walk home or wait at the school until someone could come get him.
Tommy’d chosen to walk almost before he’d even heard the rest of the second option; he’s never gotten into trouble while staying with Phil. The guy seems nice, but Tommy has learned not to count on what you can’t confirm. At any rate, being stuck in a car with him after this wasn't a great idea, and Tommy was going to avoid it like the plague by any means necessary. Besides, the house was just a few streets away, so it wasn't a big deal to just walk.
Tommy will freely admit that he's got no frame of reference for an angry Phil, and that not having one scares him.
So no, he doesn’t want to go back to the house at all, but it’s not like he’s got anywhere else to go. All of his go-stuff is in the back of his closet, and he can’t leave without it- he wouldn’t get very far if he did.
His feet hit the driveway, still covered in sidewalk chalk from the stupid little contest between Techno and Wilbur yesterday, and he has to force himself up the walkway and to the door. It's painted a cheery red, and Tommy almost feels like the color is mocking him as his hand slowly turns the knob and opens the door as quietly as he possibly can. It creaks, which makes him wince, but no one comes running over with a belt or anything, so he tries to relax a little bit.
Even before Tommy comes into the house, he can practically feel the tension rolling off of it. Standing just outside, he considers running again for a few blissful seconds, but decides against it; it’s never worked before with the other families, and he’s not eager to find out what the consequences are here, especially when he's already in a bit of trouble. And he still doesn’t have his bag of go-stuff, or any other place to go.
Taking a nervous breath, he steps inside, hiding his bloody hand in his pocket like it will erase the call from the school that they’ve all surely gotten the message for already. Tommy can feel himself clamming up as he moves silently around the huge foyer and it's marble floors. His knuckles brush painfully against the fabric of his uniform pants, and Tommy doesn’t regret a single thing.
Well, he thinks as he sees Wilbur I-hear-everything-because-I'm-a-bat Watson-Soot round the corner, he might regret it a little bit. His eyes flick around so that he doesn't have to make eye-contact, and settle on the large chandelier that he can see in the kitchen. It's ridiculously bright and shiny, with little gold accents and real crystal hanging from it.
Tommy would resent it if he didn't find it so cool to be staying here.
This house, so big and expensive, was never supposed to take someone like him in- a house like this is meant for the nice children with good records and perfectly pleasant attitudes towards absolutely everything, even dog shit. It wasn't in the request forms that Phil had filled out, but it was just how foster kids were grouped sometimes; the good kids get the good houses, and kids like Tommy weren't even allowed in the neighborhood's vicinity. Him ending up here was never supposed to happen; there’d been some misplaced paperwork, and Tommy had ended up on Phil’s doorstep with a bad attitude and thunder in his expression, fully expecting to be sent away the second the man caught a look at the bruise on his jaw and the rage on his face. But he only opened the door further and told Tommy that they'd get it all sorted out in a few days. He'd naturally assumed that 'sorted out' meant sending him back, and had never fully unpacked in the days that he'd stayed; he mainly kept to his room, in the interest of not pissing off the nice man who hadn't left him outside like a lot of others had done. Tommy was never meant to stay.
So, one could imagine his surprise when Phil took only two days to sign the adoption papers and three days to completely refurnish the guest room to be his. The man was loaded, apparently, and he liked kids enough to keep another one around.
Tommy's never really trusted the adoption as something permanent, but he's enjoying while it lasts.
“Tommy,” Wilbur says lowly, eyes zeroing in on his hidden hand with the sort of precision of a bloodhound tracking a scent.
“Hey, Wil,” Tommy greets carefully with a wide smile, shifting his feet into a more balanced stance in case he has to move quickly. It’s not that he thinks Wilbur will hurt him, but there’s something in his eyes that has Tommy on edge. The man is angry- pissed really- and he can't help but ready himself for anything that could happen.
“‘Family meeting’ in the living room,” Techno interrupts their staring contest easily, putting finger quotes around the term as he says it. The bottom of Tommy’s stomach drops at the sight, despite knowing that it’s just Techno’s sense of humor. None of them are blood related, and the pink haired man always puts quotations on anything to do with the word family.
‘Family dinner’.
‘Family outing’.
‘Family movie night’.
It feels different now though, with the cold atmosphere and all of the tension in the air.
“Right, let me just-” his hand goes to the strap of his bag, intending to take it up to his room to buy himself some time and maybe grab his go-bag, but Techno’s hand closes around the wrist of the hand in his pocket. He doesn’t tear it free of Tommy’s pocket- he doesn’t have to. They’d all heard the call, probably, so there’s nothing he can do to hide it now.
“Just leave it on the stairs,” Techno instructs as he lets go of Tommy’s wrist and takes a few steps back; he’s rather awkward with touch sometimes, due to being on his own for so long before Phil got to him. Tommy's pretty sure that he's seventeen like Wilbur is, but he can't be sure how long of that wa Techno on his own.
The look on the man’s face when Techno makes orphan jokes at his own expense is always priceless.
(The first official night of his supposedly permanent stay, Phil orders a movie night to celebrate Tommy’s existence in the household. Which is something that's never really been celebrated. Ever. But he'll take it in stride, just like everything else that's different in this house.
They, after realizing that there’s nothing to stuff their faces with while mindlessly watching a movie, wreak absolute havoc on the peace of a local shop. The shop owner visibly deflates at the sight of the group, though Tommy is almost positive that it was more towards Techno and Wilbur than it was Phil.
“Techno, I said family sized,” Phil says with a smile as the pink haired teen tries to put a single serving chip bag into the basket.
“This is family sized,” Techno responds as he drops it into the cart. Tommy watches him do so with surprise at how sure he is, and how calm Phil remains in the face of a seventeen year old dropping things into the cart after being told no.
Phil doesn’t get mad, but he does look incredibly confused as he takes it out and examines it like it’s going to inflate- like a lake raft or something. He turns it over in his hands twice before he holds it away from him and just stares at it with a puzzled look on his face.
“It’s a normal bag, Techno.”
Technoblade, obviously fighting to keep the smile out of his voice, stares at Phil expressionlessly.
“I’m an orphan, Phil. It’s family sized.”
Wilbur, who’d been browsing the actual family sized bags, lets out a cackle as Phil sputters and tries to convince Techno not to joke about that.
Tommy puts in a small bag like Techno had, and Wilbur replaces it with a large one before he walks off without even looking in Tommy’s direction.)
“Living room, now,” Phil says sternly as he comes around the same corner that Technoblade had. He’s trying to keep a lid on his anger, trying to hide it, but Tommy sees it straight away like it's a lit up neon sign that reads 'avoid me' in a bright flashing neon. Without even really thinking of it, he leans back slightly, and Phil noticeably tries to collect himself even further, shoving down any negativity. The man doesn’t know a lot about Tommy- which is how he likes it- but he’s obviously picked up some of the hints and the knowing looks that Techno shoots at Tommy sometimes when he acts a certain way. Tommy always ignores the looks, but no one else has the decency to do the same, apparently.
Phil trying to hide his anger makes the feeling of slight panic worse, but he’s certainly not going to complain about that while he’s already in some deep shit with the guy who technically owns him until he's eighteen.
Tommy reluctantly sets his bag down by the railing and follows behind Phil and Wilbur as Techno ducks into the bathroom with a dismissive wave and a promise that he’ll be there soon. Left with the other two, Tommy follows them into the living room and sits himself down on the chair that he usually stays in for everything else.
They all sit on the large couches with Tommy in the chair, and it makes him feel singled out, even if there's no where fr anyone else to sit on his chair. Exiting just to spite people, Techno comes over with some neosporin and minecraft band aids and sits on the arm of the chair.
Tommy gives up his hand without complaint, and he sees the way that Phil freezes up just a bit at the sight of it; the blood is mostly dried, if a bit tacky now, and his knuckles are split open and run a deep purple. It's definitely not a pretty sight, which is only confirmed when Techno sets down the band-aids and begins prodding his hand in the same way that doctor's look for broken bones.
“Jesus fuck, Tommy!” Wilbur shouts, looking like he’s watching a car crash in slow motion.
He’s horrified, but he’s still looking. Tommy really wishes that he wouldn't, even as Techno picks the band-aids back up and begins spreading too much neosporin on the cuts.
“I’ll try to be fair about this,” Phil says, staring more at his hand than his face, “what happened?”
Tommy, surprised that they even want to listen to his story, has a moment of pause before he can actually get around to it.
“Well, you see, they were bullying Tubbo. And you know me, I wasn’t about to let that slide-”
“Tubbo can take care of himself, Tommy,” Phil says evenly as he stares at him. Tommy’s skin crawls under the weight of his attention, causing his shoulders to hunch over even further than they already do. He looks determinedly to the side, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he defends his position.
“He shouldn’t have to.”
He sees Phil nod lightly from the corner of his eye, “and neither should you. Just tell someone, an adult, maybe-”
And Tommy, against his better judgement and his own promise to keep his head down, explodes into a flurry of movement as he whirls back around to stare at them. He’s halfway out of his seat, with Techno’s hand being the only thing keeping him from standing fully, and he's so angry suddenly. Angry that these people, who've lived rich, cushy lives compared to his, are trying to tell him that standing up for someone is wrong.
“Adults won’t do shit about it- they don’t care.”
Wilbur, who’s been silently seething since he saw the hand, finally snaps at him.
“For fucks sake, Tommy! We’re trying to help you here, and you can’t be anything but ungrateful like you always fucking are-”
“You never should have taken me in, then! I hate it here anyways-”
“You don’t mean that, Tommy,” Techno says, stopping what he’s doing to stare into his eyes. His fingers are loose and trying to read his expression is like staring at a wall. Tommy takes the opportunity to rip his hand back and hold it to his chest as he tears at the band aids and lets them stick to the floor and his clothing.
“I do! I really fuckin’ do! I hate it here, and I hate every last one of you!”
“Phil’s given you a home-”
“And I bet he regrets that, doesn’t he! Well, he can take it back! Call them and I’ll be gone by tomorrow, three days at the most-”
“Tommy.”
“I was never supposed to be here anyway-”
“Go to your room, Tommy,” Phil says quietly.
“You’re not my dad, don’t fuckin act like you are-”
“Go to your room!”
Stunned into silence, Tommy stares at Phil like he’s never seen him before-
Like he’s seeing someone else.
How ironic is it that he can’t even think of Phil as a dad, unless he’s being shouted at by him?
Tommy huffs angrily but leaves, snatching up his school bag before he stomps up the stairs and throws the door to his room open. He has to fight the urge to smash everything in his room to pieces, clentching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut as a hurt-filled rage comes up in him.
Tommy’s been here for a week and a half, and never once has he had to hide or fight or scream for something. Phil treats him well, Tommy thinks as his heart fills with guilt that clashes with the rage and the hurt. Phil treats him well, and he’s just not sure how to react to it. Despite the guilt, he doesn't think that what he's done is wrong; adults aren't going to do shit if they don't have to- won't even lift a bloody finger unless they're forced, and Tommy can't rely on odds that low when his friend is getting the absolute shit kicked out of him for being smart and nice.
Phil’s always been nice to him, and Wilbur and Techno have never once tried to bully him in an intentionally mean way, but they aren't going to do anything about Tubbo.
The door to his room hasn’t even fully shut before Tommy is biting down on his fist to muffle whatever the hell is trying to crawl out of his throat. He checks that his bag is packed, and then he leaves it in the corner where he can see it perfectly.
When Tommy goes to school again the next day, people watch him warily, like he might bite them if they get too close. They avoid him, stepping out of his way and avoiding eye-contact, sometimes even freezing up like he won't be able to see them if they don't move. Someone like him, Tommy thinks as he walks into class and sees everyone glance in his direction, shouldn't be in this school. People here are soft, fighting over the most petty things imaginable.
When he sits down at his desk and stare straight ahead, people slowly sit down as well.
And that's how his day progresses, with everyone either avoiding him or watching him like he's a wild animal that's going to rip into them the second he gets the chance. Everyone, that is, except for Tubbo. Tubbo, who runs over the second he sees Tommy during their free period and grabs his hand in a crushing grip and just holds it like he needs the contact as much as Tommy does.
(And here's the thing: Tommy's only known Tubbo for about a week, and, as much as he pretends otherwise, he would do almost anything for the other teen, who hadn't been afraid to approach him on the first day. Tommy had looked rough around the edges, and Tubbo- wonderfully oblivious at times- had just waltzed right up to him and said hello like he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. It had been odd, to say the least, when someone who looked like he'd eaten caviar everyday for breakfast his entire life had approached someone who looked like he skipped breakfast and ate people half the time. It was the day that he'd learned that odd can be good, in certain situations.
In short, Tommy very much likes Tubbo, and would prefer it if people left his friend the fuck alone.)
Tubbo, who was late to their meeting spot today just like he was yesterday, and who's walking like he's in pain.
"Good morning!" he greets, using his free hand to wave at Tommy, who's eyes watch his sleeve slide down and has so press down white hot anger. Those bruises weren't there yesterday, which he knows because he made damn sure that they didn't get further than his foot in their goddamn teeth when they had gone after his friend. That had been their first mistake, thinking that Tommy wasn't going to do anything about it. Everyone that goes to this school, Tubbo excluded, are rich assholes who would rather stand by than step in, and he hates it.
"Good morning, Tubbo," he says easily as he scans the room around them for some certain smug bitches. His hand still hurts, but he's willing to let it get worse if it means he gets to wreck someone's shit again. He's got the steam to blow off today, and there couldn't be a more perfect way to do it in his opinion.
Tommy finds who he's looking for smoking in the bathroom, and he cuts to the chase as soon as he sets his eyes on the bitch.
"You think it's fine to bully someone half your size, just because your daddy's a big man? I don't fuckin' care who you are, I'll kick the shit out of you again and again until you get it through your thick fuckin skull that you need to piss the hell off-"
The fist catches him in the mouth and nearly splits his lip.
"I'd watch my mouth if I were someone like you," the bully spits before he turns around to walk away, leaving Tommy sprawled on the floor with a hand pressed to his mouth to check for blood.
"Right, okay then-"
Tommy launches himself at the guys back and takes them both to the bathroom floor.
The phone in his hand rings and rings before it goes silent and reads out a voicemail option. Something ugly springs up in his chest as he dials Wilbur's number again and watches it suddenly switch to voicemail, a sign that the teen had declined the call this time, rather than let it ring out. When he tries Technoblade, it rings out again.
Tommy doesn't bother to call Phil, instead putting his phone face down on the bathroom floor and tuning back in to what Tubbo's saying.
"You can come home with me if you want," Tubbo offers quietly from where he's leaning into Tommy's space with a wet paper towel and an ice-pack from the nurse. It's just a frozen sponge, and the plastic bag around it is wet with condensation, but he doesn't fight the treatment. It'll make his friend feel a little bit better, and there's no harm to it.
"My parents are off on a trip- won't even be home until next week, I'm pretty sure."
He says it like it's supposed to make Tommy feel better, imagining him all alone in that big house for weeks on end. Still he smiles and shakes his head, which pounds from being slammed into the wall by one of the guy's buddies who had shown up later on.
"That's alright Tubbo, they're just busy with something I bet, fuckin bitches that they are."
Tubbo leaves when the bell rings, apologizing the entire way out, and he waves him off with a tight smile as he goes.
Tommy picks himself up, dusts himself off, and walks home just like he had the day before, but this time with slightly more pain. His feet don't drag as much as they did before, but he's definitely in no hurry to get back to the house. His phone doesn't ring the entire walk back, but he keeps a tentative hand on it just in case; the bloody hand is kept tucked away in his uniforms pocket again, hiding in plain sight.
When he finally opens the door, no one is waiting for him. Tommy takes that at face value and goes to his room for the rest of the night.
This big empty house was never meant to be silent, Tommy thinks as he stares at the ceiling above him. His body aches every time he tries to shift positions, but he can fight through it easily. It's finally the weekend, and even he knows that he got lucky in the bathroom- he's got the time to recover from it now. But he also knows that he can't do it again. Tommy needs to find someone who'll come get him when he calls, or at the very least answer him. Tubbo doesn't really count, as he's often worse off than Tommy is, and he's built like a stick man who makes paper flowers and gives them to paper bumblebees. Also, he's always there anyways; he counts as a very small point, but he counts.
(The sponge is wet and cold on his face as Tubbo presses it to his mouth. His lip isn't split, thank god, but it's certainly going to swell if he doesn't keep some ice on it. Tubbo's taken up the task though, letting Tommy stare down at his phone as he waits for a call back from Techno or Wilbur.
"Tommy, you need someone to help you with this. I- I can't do anything to stop it. Tell someone, please," his friend pleads.
And Tommy is hit with the realization that Tubbo doesn't have anyone to call on- he knows this pain better than anyone.
His friend rises slowly, pressing the icepack into Tommy's hand as he goes.
"You can't go on like this- you need people.")
No, Tommy needs more people on his side for this, and all he's got near him is Techno, Wilbur, Phil, and a time limit. His eyes trail down the wall to his bag, which has been sitting in the corner for nearly a day and a half. He could be going any second now, and the last thing he wants is to leave here just as angry as he'd arrived on that first night. He needs people, and he'd really prefer to be on speaking terms with these people when he's shipped off to another awful foster house, the kind that takes kids like him.
When the clock reads around seven in the morning, Tommy swings his legs over the side of the bed.
"I called you yesterday," Tommy says as he shoves the eggs around in the pan. His head still aches, and his lip is slightly swollen, but his ribs are the worst of it; if the damage had been any more visible, they would have both been caught again and likely suspended. Which Tommy, a man with nothing to lose, was perfectly fine with but the bully had some sort of thing he couldn't risk messing up for. Out of spite, Tommy had almost not iced it, just to see the guy sweat, but then Tubbo had told him not to be an idiot, and that had been the end of that.
He almost wishes that his face was fucked up, just to see how Wilbur would react to it, if he would put two and two together and realize that Tommy had been calling him for help. He wonders if Wilbur would care, or if he'd just snort a bit like a dick.
"That's weird, I ignored you yesterday. What a funny coincidence," Wilbur replies icily as he slides onto a bar stool to watch as Tommy fumbles his way through his task. He nearly knocks over the salt when he twitches at the older teen's hash words, but he quickly corrects himself to make it look intentional.
He plates the food in silence, heaping it onto Wilbur's plate and leaving the pan in the sink for later, when he's not walking on eggshells while trying to do an apology breakfast.
“I didn’t mean it, you know,” Tommy mumbles as he pushes the food across the counter to where the older teen is sitting. He accepts the plate and the fork that Tommy slides soon after it, but he doesn't take a bite.
“Well, you seemed quite sure of yourself in the moment,” Wilbur replies snappishly, pushing his food around without really touching it at all. Tommy will be the first to admit that he can't cook a lot of things very well, but he knows how to make eggs. They're good eggs.
“I’m sorry, Wil,” Tommy finally says, staring down at the table. There's not a whole lot else to say to someone as stubborn as Wilbur, so Tommy leaves the ball in his court, rather than trying to pile on more apologies.
“Tommy,” Wilbur sighs, sounding irritated even as he finally takes a bite of the food. Tears well up in Tommy’s eyes and he angrily scrubs them away, knowing that Wilbur is watching him like a surprised hawk. It's silent for a little bit before Tommy mutters out an excuse about something in his eye from when he was cooking.
A fork clinks against a plate, and then Wilbur is standing and walking around the counter with his long stride that Tommy couldn't run from even with a head-start.
“Tommy, it’s alright,” Wilbur says in a whisper, trying to wrap his arms around him. Tommy fights him on it, pushing the hands away every time that they come close. His ribs still hurt, and he's feeling vulnerable enough with out Wilbur finding that bit of information out.
“It’s not, Wilbur- It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have said it-”
Wilbur finally manages to wrap his arms around Tommy, who latches on to his forearms with shaking hands. He's never felt more afraid than he does now; he's practically holding his breath, like a singlw wrong move will make Wilbur drop him and call it all a joke.
“It’s alright, we know you didn’t mean it."
Tommy finally stops scrubbing at his face and lets Wilbur turn him around and tuck Tommy's head under his chin.
The older teen stays wrapped around him for a good part of the morning, though they move to Wilbur's favorite spot on the couch.
Tommy shuffles slowly across the hallway, silent in a way that he’d never thought would come in handy in this house. His hands linger at Phil’s door before he bypasses it and goes to Techno’s instead. Techno is more likely to be sleeping than Phil is, but Tommy's almost scared to talk to the man, so he's saving him for last. Even with his mind made up, he still hesitates for some time before he can even convince himself to touch the knob to the older teen's room. The door creaks as it opens, but the lump on the bed doesn’t move. Tommy sighs in relief and closes the door behind him; Techno's sleep schedule has been shit because of his online classes, and he often sleeps in until well past noon.
After this morning's cry session with Wilbur, Tommy would bet that he probably feels as exhausted as Techno does.
The lump on the bed still doesn’t move when he gets closer, or even when he crawls into the bed next to it and curls up against it like a child seeking comfort from a nightmare. He feels a little small and pathetic doing it, but Tommy stays, willing to wait for Techno to wake up and talk to him. As long as it takes, he'll be here- even if his social worker shows up, he'll at least get to say goodbye. The thought that Phil wants to get rid of him is sharp, and it hurts to think about.
(But hadn't Tommy yelled that he wanted to leave anyway?)
Tommy dozes off for what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, and wakes up under the blankets and is someone’s arms. His ribs hurt, making him shift slightly, but he doesn't try to get away. Tommy knows who it is, and he knows why he's here.
“I’m sorry, Techno,” he says in a whisper, not even attempting to move from the man’s arms. The older teen shifts behind him, readjusting the blankets in the messily made bed. Eventually, he just sighs softly into the dark room and taps the top of Tommy's head lightly with his fingers, like his head is a keyboard.
"I know you are, Tommy, I saw the regret in your eyes the second you said it.”
He pauses, moving his hand down to begin lightly patting Tommy’s arm. Neither of them is very good at this kind of thing, and Tommy knows that some part of Techno will always latch on to what he'd said when he was so mad that night. But for now, he's pretty sure that they're okay. Tommy wipes at his eyes a little bit, not really trying to hide but also not outright showing emotion.
“You gave me second-hand regret, Tommy. And I'll never recover from it.”
Giving a watery laugh at being back in familiar territory, Tommy begins sitting up only to be yanked back down. He fights against it a little bit; he's still got to talk to Phil, who he hasn't seen in two days and who has all of the power in him staying or leaving.
“Oh no,” Techno says as he throws the blankets over both of their heads and traps Tommy under them with hi, “you’ve doomed us both. Suffer the consequences.”
“You’re a bitch,” Tommy grumbles as he tries to pull the blanket back down so he can breathe, at least.
“Oh, ouch,” Techno says in monotone.
Tommy stays there until late in the afternoon, past the time that Technoblade would have gotten out of bed on his own. They stay, not saying anything, until Wilbur comes to get Techno to help him cook. Tommy gets a meaningful look and a nod towards Phil's room, but he also gets a smile that doesn't feed any of his anxieties, so he goes.
Tommy had assumed that Phil would be the first to forgive him, without him even having to do anything; that’s just how the older man was. He was always ready to forgive someone, even if they didn't deserve it at all, even if they weren't really all that sorry.
Tommy felt the deep ache of his sorry in every bone of his body, even if he hadn't done anything about it until now. Phil always forgives people so fast that it makes his head spin sometimes; Tommy didn't have to stay for more than a day to see that.
But it’s been two days, and Tommy can tell when he’s being avoided. Still, he knocks lightly on Phil's door.
“Phil? Are-”
Tommy stops and has to start again, feeling a little lost without any plan of what he was supposed to do.
“Are you going to come out for dinner?”
Silence greets him, even though Tommy’s positive that the man is behind the door. He wouldn’t just leave Techno and Wilbur, this is something that he knows for sure. Phil loves those two, and no matter how badly Tommy's upset him, Phil would never take it out on them.
“Phil, I don’t know if you can hear me but- but it’s been two days, and I don’t know what to do to make it better,” Tommy admits softly, letting his forehead fall against the door with a dull thud.
“I’m sorry, really. I do like it here- I really like having brothers who aren’t mean all the time and a dad who doesn’t yell and- and a house that I feel safe in-”
He’s crying at this point, trying his best to keep it quiet enough that his brothers couldn’t hear him from the kitchen. Going off of the clanging of pots and pans and Wilbur's occasional cackle that mixes in with the low tones of one of Techno's witty one-liners, he's good.
“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry-”
The door is ripped open, and Tommy immediately falls into Phil’s arms when they come up to catch him. His fingers clutch at the back of the man’s shirt, and Tommy’s never been someone to form attachments, he's never had the chance to, but he promises himself that he's never letting go.
“It’s okay Tommy, we’re okay.”
Phil rocks him gently in the doorway, and all of his anxieties come pouring out of his mouth unhindered.
"Have you called her yet? It's alright if you have, I- I'm even packed-" Tommy sniffles and buries his head further into Phil's collar when the can's hold on him tightens.
"Tommy, I haven't called anyone. I don't want to call anyone," Phil mumbles softly against the top of his head. And that's that- nothing else has to be said in that moment.
Despite his best efforts, they find out about his ribs.
"I called you, and no one picked up, but-" Tommy sighs, looking to the side as Phil sets his shirt back down.
"Tubbo said that I need people, and I thought that, if I made it right with you all, I wouldn't feel so free to throw myself into things like that."
"So, you've curbed your anger issues?" asks Wilbur with an eyebrow raised in disbelief. The emotion is echoed on the faces of everyone else, which Tommy feels a bit indignant at, but it's deserved.
"Oh, no," Tommy assures him, "I'm still going to cut a bitch for Tubbo if it comes down to it. I just expect you all to help me next time."