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Tommy wakes up slowly.
The thick blankets on top of him encase him in the warmth that is clear all over his body, making him sweat buckets. His head is throbbing with a massive headache, making him want to turn around and get back to sleep.
The dull light coming from outside is blinding, making it too difficult to open his eyes.
He has to cough an irritating itch away, which brings pain in his chest. Tommy tries to untangle from his sheets, which only leads to him falling out of his bed. He groans.
God, he hates being sick.
After going through one foster home after another through the years, he knows the feeling of being sick well enough. No foster parents ever care enough about him to make sure that he’s alright or make him some soup, and Tommy never had a problem with that.
He doesn’t need anyone to take care of him. He can do that fine on his own.
But his immune system is weak, and he gets sick more times than he wants to admit.
He opens his bedroom door slowly, looking in the hallway to hear if he woke Phil up in his struggling of getting out of bed. When he doesn’t hear any sign of the man, he opens the door further, hoping to make as little sound as possible as he tiptoes through the hallway and into the small bathroom.
He locks the door, and he takes a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He flicks the light on, but regrets that idea quickly at the blinding lights coming from the ceiling. He groans, flicking the light back out.
How much he hates being sick.
He stumbles his way over to the sink, hitting the cabinet, hissing at the slightly painful touch. He stumbles further so he can see himself through the bathroom mirror to analyze the damage.
He looks like absolute shit.
He has heavy bags underneath his eyes and his face looks like a wet tomato. His hair is sticking to different sides and his nose is running. His throat is still itchy, but he keeps the cough inside, hoping to keep Phil asleep.
He sighs.
This is going to be a long day.
* * *
“Hey, Tommy,” Phil greets him as he slumps downstairs. It’s been a good three hours since he woke up, and he feels just as terrible as before.
He doesn’t think he looks as good as usual, but he did what he could to cover up the most obvious signs of sickness. He’s lucky he hasn’t thrown up yet, because then Phil definitely would’ve figured it out.
“Hey, Phil,” Phil gives him a concerned glance as he sits down at the breakfast table, but he doesn’t comment on how terrible he is looking, and Tommy is grateful for that. He doesn’t know if he’d have the energy to explain that he is in fact sick, and that he is going to school because he has something way more important that goes way beyond being sick.
That is, if Phil actually cares.
“Anything important today?” Phil asks.
He fills his bowl with oatmeal and milk, looking up a little at Phil. “Just theater practice, nothing big,” Phil hums, as if he’s only half listening. Something aches in Tommy’s chest, wishing that Phil would actually care about the conversation.
Why does he so desperately want this foster parent’s attention?
Ever since Phil took him into his house, he has been nothing but kind to him. He never pushed him, never neglected him, never got angry or disappointed. Tommy wondered when he was going to break, when he was going to shout, and hurt him, and do everything that everyone always did to him.
He’s still waiting.
He should be grateful that he has a pleasant home, that he can do what he wants, that he finally can gain new friends, that he can actually fail something and not get hit.
The problem is, he does nothing more than that.
He doesn’t praise him as if he’s his own son, he doesn’t hug him until he’s squished, he doesn’t play family games with him, he doesn’t do the stuff that normal parents do with their own son.
He isn’t Phil’s son, but still he wants to have that relationship with him, and that scares Tommy to the bone.
He can’t get close, he can’t think of foster parents as family or even friends, he made that mistake one too many times. He knows he needs to back off and pretend he hates him, but it feels so difficult.
He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult.
“Isn’t the play this weekend already,” He asks, looking up at him. Tommy nods shortly, trying to turn his attention to his oatmeal, pretending it doesn’t bother him. “Would you like me to come and look?”
Tommy wants to say yes. Tommy wants Phil to do that stuff without having to ask for permission. But Tommy is scared and he doesn’t want Phil to do anything he doesn’t want. Phil will just feel pressured by the orphan kid.
“You can choose. You don’t have to,” Phil nods. Their conversation stops there, and Tommy hurries to finish his oatmeal so he can pack up to go to school.
The tension feels thick in the room, and Tommy doesn’t know if he’s the only one who’s feeling it, because Phil keeps scrolling through his phone as if nothing odd has been said and Tommy wonders if he makes everything just worse for himself.
He stands up, clearing his throat as he picks his bag up from the ground, making a move to walk out of the door.
“I’m going to school,” Tommy says. Phil doesn’t look up, doesn’t interact, does nothing that Tommy wants him to do.
“Okay, have fun,”
Tommy has to stop himself from scoffing. He surely won’t have fun with his growing head ache that only worsens as he walks outside in the chilly spring air. Now, he wishes more than ever that he could walk back inside and go back to sleep.
* * *
Tommy has always said that math sucks, and that all math teachers don’t care about their students and that they’ll do anything to destroy their students with every chance they can get, and today was once again a good example of that statement.
Maybe he wasn’t paying attention, and maybe he was in fact more interested in the weird-looking tree outside, but give his brain a break. His head hurts enough, and it needs no more weird and complicated shit that makes little sense, just because the school system decided that 1+1 is more important than his health.
That didn’t give the teacher the right to get angry at him, if he wants to not pay attention, then that’s his own responsibility.
Tommy shouldn’t have gotten angry with him, but he has a lot of regrets.
Coming to school instead of skipping and going to some coffee place is one of them.
He also doesn’t understand why everyone decided to speak so loudly today and make so much noise. Tubbo was talking so loudly while saying something about some series of doctors that Tommy didn’t care about. Ranboo was laughing ten times louder than usual. Wilbur was being even more dramatic than he always is. Even Techno was participating in Wil’s conversation.
It’s as if everyone had decided that today was a good day to make Tommy’s life just a bit harder by being annoying little shits.
Tommy really wanted to punch them in their fa-
“Tommy?”
Tommy looks up startled at mister Sager, who observes him with slightly down warded brows. As Tommy looks around the theater room, he finds everyone is staring at him, expecting him to answer a question that Tommy definitely didn’t hear.
No one says anything, which is not something that happens a lot. Tubbo and Ranboo are always whispering about some drama that happened. Jack is always on his phone, not bothering to put on some headphones, so everyone has to hear what he’s doing, and there is just always some sort of chaos going on.
He looks to the side toward Wilbur, who peers at him as if Tommy is going to explode in a second.
Tommy looks back at his music’s teacher, as he clears his throat awkwardly.
“Sorry, what did you say?” He asks. Instead of Mister Sager, Wilbur answers his question.
“You didn’t say your line,” Wilbur says from beside him. Tommy honestly didn’t even know they started, as if he missed an entire chapter in his memory somewhere. He wonders how he got from lunch break to theater practice.
“I’m sorry, again, what line did I have to say again,” Tommy asks to no one in particular. He knows that there was someone who kept track of the lines, but Tommy forgot who exactly is.
No one answers him, and Tommy wonders if nothing’s wrong with himself, but everyone else has something weird going on because everyone is just staring at him without giving him an answer to his question.
“Tommy,” Wilbur says. Tommy turns his attention back to him, and Wil looks as concerned as his teacher. “Are you alright?”
No, he isn’t.
“I’m fine, totally. I just spaced out for a second big man, which line did I have to say,” To be fair, he did space out, so he didn’t exactly lie. Wilbur doesn’t seem pleased with his answer, but to Tommy’s delight, he doesn’t push further.
Wilbur stares at him for a second before eventually saying the line. “I’m always in the right,”
Tommy nods, slowly remembering the scene in question.
The start of Wilbur’s going crazy arc.
Tommy always laughed at the fact that Wilbur wrote his own character to have a cool villain arc where he gets this god complex and everything, while everyone’s just a traitor to Schlatt thinking that Wilbur’s the good guy.
He’s such a narcissist, so dramatic all the time.
It’s one of the many things he loves about Wilbur, and one of the many reasons he actually started hanging out with him. He’s also one of the reasons why Tommy really tries to do his best to stay here for as long as possible.
Not that he’d ever admit that.
He would never hear the end of that one.
Tommy repositions him behind Wil, trying to recollect himself and his ever-growing head ache as he makes himself ready for the scene. God, this day is awful.
If it wasn’t for theater practice, he probably wouldn’t have come in the first place.
“Okay, you can start,” Mister Sager announces and Tommy tries to get in the character of TommyInnit, traumatized child soldier.
“Tommy, we allowed the coalition. On the day, they said that they were going to make a coalition and our cockiness, our arrogance got ahead of us. And we allowed it. We said ‘yes, coalition governments are allowed,” Wilbur starts, walking slightly on the stage.
“There’s several videos on several channels of us saying ‘yes’ with millions of views, and here we are trying to overthrow them,” Wilbur says as they walk further on stage. Tommy frowns as he walks behind Wilbur, strolling behind as if he doesn’t want to be there. “Tommy, I think we’re the bad guys,”
Wilbur stops in his tracks, looking back around at Tommy. They are positioned in the middle of the stage. On the actual day, a big light would follow them, making them stand out as if they’re alone in the dark.
“But Tommy, I, I want to say something to you.” Tommy doesn’t like the tone in which he says it, making something appear in his chest that feels too much like fear.
“I,” Wilbur sighs, squinting his eyes, “Okay, me and you, we both agree that we’re right,” Wilbur asks, a threatening undertone under his words, warning him if he were to say something wrong. Tommy wonders when Wilbur got so good at acting because he surely sounds believable.
It almost sounds like his past foster parents.
Tommy can feel his head aching at the confusion of seeing his friends saying words in the same way the people that hurt him did, and he feels stuffy in his head, making his head ache only grow.
“yes,” Tommy agrees, trying to sound confident in his answer.
“We’re in the right here,” Tommy feels light-headed. He feels anything but good.
“I mean, yeah, I’m always in the right,” He throws his arms up slightly, trying to show his confidence with a small but scared smirk. The corner of Wil’s mouth turns up in a smirk, stepping closer to Tommy. He has to stop himself from flinching.
“Then let’s be the bad guys,” Wil smirks.
Tommy wants to answer, he wants to say his line because this is a musical and this isn’t real, but Wilbur sounded so much like his past foster parents and his head feels stuffy and light and he’s just so confused.
He can feel himself getting taken over by gravity, pulling him down to the ground.
His head rests against the wooden planks of the podium, feeling as if splinters would get in his face since the wood had a big lack of sanding done, which makes Tommy wonder how the school even allowed students to practice on the podium.
Even then, the wood is more comfortable than standing up and getting threatened by Wilbur, or waking up in his bed all sweaty and sick. Tommy wonders how he survived the day with his headache and never leaving a nauseous feeling that made him want to throw up desperately.
He faintly wonders if that might be the reason how he ended up on the ground of the theater podium, because his head is stuffy and his memory is hazy.
He closes his eyes, hoping to soften his head ache if he forgets about the world for just a second, curling into himself.
He feels himself being placed in someone’s lap, the rough wood replaced by the soft feeling of cotton and leather. An unknown hand finds its way to his sweaty hair, untangling it slowly as he weaves through the knots. Tommy can’t help but lean into the unfamiliar touch. The touch reminds him of something he never had, and he could never dream of having.
No one ever touched him this kindly, not to hurt him or to punish him, but just to ground him and to comfort him. He never thought he would need it so badly.
The hand stops as he leans further into it, and Tommy lets out a low and painful whine at the loss of the movement. The person seems to understand him because the hand weaves further and Tommy calms down again, feeling his muscles relax and uncurling himself from his position.
He dares to open his eyes, trying to see who could touch him so kindly. He only sees the blinding lights of the large theater hall he knows very well, making him wince as he tries to find something else to focus on.
He looks up further, trying to stretch his aching neck further than it’s able to do in its painful state.
Wilbur looks down at him, giving him a reassuring smile.
Tommy relaxes, falling back in his previous position, letting a content smile overtake him as he closes his eyes. He hasn’t felt this loved in years, and he’s content with laying here forever while Wilbur takes care of him.
* * *
“Do you know who we can call?”
Tommy feels himself come back to consciousness, his head ache reduced and the nauseous feeling gone. He isn’t lying down on the ground anymore, rather on something soft, a soft blanket lain on top of him. He feels himself curl into the blanket.
“No idea. He never really mentioned anything about his parents,”
Only now he notices that the hand in his hair disappeared, leaving a burnt mark behind that Tommy already misses, even though he has never had a need for it before, not before Phil and Wilbur. He hopes he won’t get attached to that feeling.
“Can we ask someone to call his parents, we can’t keep him here like this,”
Tommy opens his eyes. He isn’t met with the blinding lights of the theater hall, or the sound of constant chatter, but with a darkly tinted room where there’s no sound except for the muffled conversation from Wilbur, Purpled and Techno.
“I don’t know if anybody who could help us is still at school right now,”
Tommy wonders what they’re doing there, and who they’re talking about. He feels a cough building up deep in his chest. He can’t find the energy to stop it from coming, so he coughs, which sound more like a person suffocating than a real cough.
That seems to be enough to catch the attention of the trio, because someone is at his side before he could stop coughing.
The hand is back in his hair, and Tommy wants to scream out of shear delight as it moves through his hair again, the movement doing a better job of calming him down than any other foster parents ever could achieve.
“Hey Toms,” Wilbur’s voice is soft. He has a lousy smile as he tries to hide his concern in his eyes. Tommy tries to say something, tries to reassure that he’s alright, but he thinks nothing came out that actually made enough sense for Wil to understand him.
“I know, sunshine, you got yourself a bit of a fever,” Wilbur chuckles. “We’re going to call your father and you’ll feel better, alright,”
The words make Tommy freeze inside.
They’re going to call Phil.
When Tommy walked out of the house this morning, he was planning that Phil would never figure out that he’s sick, over his dead body, and Wilbur is planning on doing that specific thing that he can’t ever do.
If Phil finds out, he’ll get angry at Tommy that he got sick, and that he hid it from him. He’ll get angry just like every other foster parent always does in the end and he’ll get sent back. He’ll never be able to see Wil again, and Techno, and Tubbo and Ranboo and he’ll get sent back to a home where he doesn’t know if he will get food or if he can get through the day without being beaten to death.
He doesn’t want that to happen, he can’t let that happen, because then he’ll lose control again.
Tommy tries to sit up. He tries to shout out in protest, but Wilbur makes a noise out of surprise and pushes him back in the couch. The concern shines brightly on his face, and it aches that Tommy is the one to cause it, but he has to make Wil understand he can’t do that to him.
“You can’t,” Tommy protests, looking Wilbur in the eyes desperately, “Please don’t call him,”
It doesn’t seem to be the good thing to say, because now Techno is next to the couch, also looking at him, and Tommy doesn’t know what to say to convince them.
“What?” Wilbur says, furrowing his brows as he stops the movement of going through his hair with his hand. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer him, because he has already said too much, he’s already too vulnerable in front of them.
“Tommy,” Techno begins, face serious and furrowed brows in something that Tommy fears is anger, “Has your father ever hurt you?”
Tommy shakes his head quickly, because he never did. He is one of the few people to not hurt him in his life.
“He didn’t, hasn’t hurt me, but,” Tommy tries to say, as the tears fall over his cheeks, making him panic more because surely they’re angry at him and they will probably hurt him. “They always do,”
He turns away from Techno and Wilbur, looking at the side.
He can hear a choked noise from beside him.
“Tommy, what do you mean?” Tommy doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to answer, but he dug his grave too deep already and he doesn’t want to anger them. He looks up slightly, meeting Wilbur’s terrified eyes.
“They always act nice,” He tries to explain between his tears, “They always do, but they eventually hurt me when I slip up anyway, it’s always the same story,”
No one says anything, and Tommy wonders if he said something wrong, if he crossed a line, if he should’ve just sucked it up and not dump his life problems on them.
“Toms,” Wil whispers, and it’s quiet, and he sounds so broken down, “Tommy, who are they?”
This is it. This is the moment where they realize that he’s an orphan and that they’ll realize that he’s fucked up and leave him behind and ruin his life even more, just as everyone always does.
“Foster parents,” He admits, avoiding eye contact with Wil. He awaits the shouting, the hurting, the disgust in their voices as they leave him alone to pick up the pieces.
Instead, he gets engulfed in a bone-crushing hug, making him whimper.
The touch is unfamiliar and overwhelming, it feels like needles are pressing into his skin, burning every part of flesh that’s exposed to the touch, but he feels safe, and loved. He leans into the touch, tears coming faster while he’s pressed in Wil’s chest.
“You’re alright,” Wil whispers in his hair, but Tommy hears it clearly, and he believes him. Wil has never lied to him, has never hurt him, has done nothing to make him distrust the older, so what can he do except believe him. “You’re going to be okay,”
He tries to stop his tears, match his breathing with Wil’s heart that he can hear beating steadily underneath his ear. He breathes, and he cries silently and he calms down enough for him to make any sort of sound that sounds like a sentence.
“I don’t want him to hurt me,” Tommy whispers, suppressing a sob as Wil shushes him.
“Can I ask you something, Tommy?” Wil asks. Tommy nods silently, not trusting his voice anymore, “Can you tell me your current foster parent his name?”
Tommy knows the name all too well.
Phil Watson.
He always remembers the names of his foster parents, so he can easily report them if they go too far. Few have gone as far as needing to go to the police because he’s in imminent danger, but he can’t help but be prepared for everything.
He also wonders why Wil would need it, because did it really matter who it was now?
“Phil Watson,” He whispers, pressing himself deeper into Wil’s chest as the man says nothing.
He opens his eyes, hoping to see their reaction, if they know the man, if they want to hurt Tommy, but he can only see Techno’s expression of surprise.
“Phil Watson,” Purpled repeats, looking at him with a skeptical look.
“I’m not lying,” Tommy bites, feeling anger building up inside him.
“We never said that, Toms,” Wil reassures him, making the anger fade again as he scratches his scalp. Wil forces Tommy out of the hug, making them both sit crossed-legged on opposite sides of the couch.
He keeps his hands on Tommy’s arms, making sure that Tommy’s listening and looking at him.
“Toms,” He says, his eyes full of love, “I do not know what you’ve been through, and I wish I could’ve stopped you from going through it, but I know Phil Watson, and he would never hurt anyone,”
Tommy wants to believe him. He wants to agree and trust Phil and be loved and everything, but foster parents hurt him, so why would Phil be different.
“You may not believe me, but Phil Watson helped a lot of teenagers before, way more than you could imagine,” He tries to explain, “He helped get Techno of the streets and put him back on his feet enough so he could get education and a simple house,”
Tommy looks up at Techno, who is standing next to Wil. Techno nods as he sees Tommy look at him.
“He helped Purpled get his grades up before his parents found out and kicked him out,” He says further. “He helped me get out of my addiction to smoking,”
Tommy looks back at Wilbur. He can’t imagine Wilbur, the person who always encourages him to be on his best behavior and do nothing stupid, with a cigarette in between his fingers. Neither can he imagine Techno alone and on the streets. That must prove that you know nothing of a person, even when you think you know them best.
He also can’t imagine that Phil, his foster parent, helped all those people, that he’s so kind to get a homeless person off the streets instead of throwing them away like everyone else does.
It seems so odd that someone keeps him in his house who is actually kind and actually wants to help him and doesn’t keep him for the attention of other people.
But maybe Wilbur is right, maybe he could trust Phil.
Tommy nods, looking down. “You can call him,” Wil tilts his head up so he’s looking back at Wil, who gives him a reassuring smile.
“Techno will call him, and Purpled and I will do something against that fever of yours,” He chuckles. Techno was already out the door, as the words were spoken.
Wil stands up from the couch. Tommy wants to follow suit, but Wil forces him to lie back down fully, forcing a whine out of Tommy. The same blanket as before is placed on top of him, forcing him to stay down.
Purpled is next to him, a rag and a bowl filled with steaming water next to him.
“We don’t have any medicine, or soup, or anything to treat a fever really,” Purpled explains as he dips the rag into the bowl, “So we’ll have to do what we can with what we have,” The wet rag is placed on his forehead, and the warmth of the water spreads through his aching head, making a calmness overthrow his pain.
“You can go to sleep,” Wil reassures, doing the movement with his hands again, making him relax even more.
The warmth through his head from the rag and the hand in his hair and the soft fabric of the blanket feels like his own personal lullaby, making him want to sleep forever.
He’s asleep before he can think of anything else.
* * *
Wilbur doesn’t quite know what’s going on anymore.
He always acted as if he knew everything and nothing could shock him since he had seen everything already, but he didn’t quite get the situation he found himself in.
Tommy
Tommy was a junior, coming in randomly in the middle of the year, being a shy kid who always seemed to get in trouble, until you got the know him and he became the smuggest piece of shit that could walk on the earth.
Wilbur never questioned why Tommy only came in the middle of the year, nor did he ever press for him to explain anything about his life. Everyone has had some sort of past that they don’t want to admit to anyone.
He never expected him to be an orphan, neither for his foster parent to be literally Phil Watson of all people. Phil Watson is the definition of a good person who would never hurt a fly, so the fact that Tommy was acting as if admitting that he’s sick would make Phil hurt him was a strange sight for Wil.
He doesn’t want to imagine what could’ve happened for him to be so scared of something so simple, something that seems like a normal thing to do.
He shudders at the thought of anyone hurting Tommy.
But that’s life, isn’t it? People have hurt Technoblade way more than he deserved. Purpled gets yelled at when he gets a grade lower than an A, Ranboo gets bullied just because he’s tall, so why does it feel so different with Tommy?
“Where is he?” Phil asks as he practically runs into the school hallway. His hat is put on quickly, it seems, because it looks like it’s about to fall off his head. In the few years that he has known Phil, he hasn’t quite seen him this concerned before.
Maybe Tommy can find his way into everyone’s heart.
“He’s inside,” Purpled says. “He’s mostly fine, but you should talk some stuff out,” Phil gives him a confused glance, looking between him, Purpled and Techno.
“He was scared, Phil. He was terrified of you finding out that he got a fever,” Wil begins, catching the older’s attention, “Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s very touch starved. I don’t think it’s healthy for him,” Phil looks down in guilt.
“God,” He says, “I should’ve known. He always looked at me like he wanted something from me. I thought he wanted me to fuck off or something,” Phil admits.
“You couldn’t have known,” Techno argues.
“I should’ve, but that doesn’t matter right now,” Phil says, “Thank you for calling me, and for taking care of him,” Wil shoots him a reassuring smile, debating to ask if he should go with him just to sooth Tommy’s worries, but he decides not to, hoping to not infiltrate in their moment.
Phil walks through the door into the dark room, only lit by the outside light.
He hopes they’ll be alright, because he doesn’t want to see either as terrible as they are now.
* * *
The room is empty. Purpled left, Wilbur left, Techno left, the rag with warm water is now cold and uncomfortable. He quickly takes the rag and lets it fall loosely on the ground. He feels better than before, but he can feel the exhaustion still lingering in his movements.
Tommy can hear muffled talk outside. He can faintly recognize the voices of Wilbur and Purpled, but he can’t make out what exactly they’re talking about. He wonders if they’re talking about him, or if they just forgot about him.
He knows realistically that he’s thinking unrealistic, but who knows for sure. Maybe they lied about Phil, and he’s two seconds away from being beaten to death.
Maybe someone is there to take him away from Phil.
The door opens, making his thought shut up and his body freeze. He can faintly see the typical green and white bucket hat he knows well enter the room.
Tommy wants to flee. He didn’t know he had to do this without Wilbur or Techno to stop Phil from doing anything. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Phil crouches down next to the couch, just like Wilbur did only an hour prior. He has a kind smile on his face as he pushes Tommy’s hair out of his eye. Tommy has to stop himself from leaning into the touch.
“Hey, mate,” He greets. Tommy only whines at the small touch, something he wanted from the man for quite some time, even though he never wanted to admit that. Phil chuckles, placing his hand on the back of his head.
“Hi, Phil,” Tommy whispers, giving him the tiniest smile.
“You got yourself sick, mate,” He says, as if Tommy doesn’t know that already. “You could’ve called me,”
Tommy furrows his brows. Does this mean that Phil isn’t angry, does this mean he won’t get hurt? He didn’t want to call Phil, but he didn’t really know why. It should be really easy to know why. Phil could get angry, could send him away, could starve him, but still.
Phil’s here, and he doesn’t look angry in the slightest, the concern light in his eyes but still obvious for the few months he has been living with him.
“I wouldn’t have been angry,” Phil admits, soothing Tommy’s worries.
Tommy hesitates, not sure if he’ll cross a line, but still he dares to whisper the words he has wanted to say for weeks on end. “Can I get a hug,” The words are quiet, but Phil hears them because he’s engulfed in a hug, somehow more familiar than Wilbur’s, and he can’t help the tears from falling again.
Phil doesn’t complain, he doesn’t get angry, he keeps him close as if Tommy is his son and it feels like everything he ever wanted.
Maybe he could be Phil’s son.
“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Phil says. Tommy makes a noise of confusion, because Phil did nothing wrong. Tommy is the problem child who can’t do anything right. There is no reason for Phil to apologize.
“I wanted to give you space, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you, I should’ve told you how much you mean to me, even though we know each other for only a few months,” Tommy can’t help the sob coming from his chest.
“I should’ve hugged you and driven you to school and play stupid board games with you and I shouldn’t have kept my distance, because you deserve so much more,” Phil says, and it sounds like he means it, like he actually believes what he’s saying, and it’s everything Tommy needs.
“Are you proud of me?” Tommy dares to ask.
Phil smiles brightly, “I’m so very proud of you, Tommy,” He says, and Tommy is sure that his heart is breaking, “I’m proud of you for trying, I’m proud of you for getting such good grades and for making friends, I’m proud of you for being the person you are,”
Tommy cries and he cries, and he feels as if someone stabbed his heart repeatedly just by hearing those words that have such a grand meaning for him, even though they should be normal to hear.
Phil holds him, just like Wilbur did, and he lets him cry his eyes out, no matter how much Phil’s shirt gets wet.
It feels like home.
* * *
Tommy is pacing through the hallway as if when he stops walking, a kitten would die. It’s not like he can help himself. His thoughts are going crazy again, just for some stupid reason that doesn’t even matter all that much.
After the talk with Phil, they went home, and he got the care he needed for his fever. He felt better after Phil gave him some soup and medicine, and they talked about everything that was bothering them. He felt like he could finally trust someone to be there for him.
Phil said that he would be there, that he would come to the play and cheer for him. He reassured Tommy that he wouldn’t want to miss it for the world. He doesn’t know if Phil is there, because he tried to look into the dark room where all the visitors sit, but he couldn’t find the older and his nerves are acting up.
Maybe something happened to Phil, or maybe he didn’t want to come anymore, or maybe Tommy just didn’t see him. Who even knows.
“Dude,” someone says, walking up to him. Purpled gives him a chill smile as he forces Tommy to stand still, much to Tommy’s displeasure. “You need to chill, alright. You can’t get on the stage like this,”
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to calm down,” Tommy says, trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t feel better, but maybe he’ll stop annoying him.
Purpled looks at him with a calculating look.
“What’s wrong,” He asks.
Tommy sighs. He wonders when he stopped being able to lie like he used to.
“I haven’t seen Phil yet,” He admits, not looking at Purpled, “I just, what if he doesn’t show up?” Purple doesn’t offer him an answer, so Tommy looks up slightly at the boy.
Purpled clicks with his tongue, looking faintly at the busy technical room where he was setting up everything for the musical only minutes prior. He doesn’t think they would need his help, anyway.
“I’ll go check,” Purpled says, not giving Tommy the time to ask a question or protest. Tommy watches Purpled leave the backstage in the direction of the school hall.
He sighs, adjusting his white and red shirt.
He was looking forward to the musical. They have been planning it for ages now.
They weren’t sure if they could make the musical happen since they didn’t have a musical to do, nor a director. Wilbur came to the student board and told them about the musical he wrote once in his free time when he was obsessed with musicals.
He immediately applied for one of the head roles.
He went to every practice, he tried to be serious when he needed to, he knew his lines perfectly, he did everything to be here today.
But he’s just being an anxious little bitch about it.
Tommy looks at the clock in the hall, scared to see the number five getting closer and closer. He doesn’t know if he can do this, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get this stuff done. He probably shouldn’t have applied for this role, should’ve given it to someone who was actually talented.
He sighs.
He walks into the darkness of the wings, just behind the podium. A few people where whispering among themselves, talking about their lines, or their costumes. Tommy couldn’t make out who was who in the low light, nor did they talk loud enough to recognize the voices.
The clock ticks at five; the lights dim and the curtains open.
Everything becomes dead silence, not a whisper to be heard as Dream, George and Sapnap walk onto the stage, beginning their lines just as they practiced. The music of a ukulele sounds out of the speakers.
“Think of all the things we could do. With this place, it’s all brand new,” Dream’s voice sounds through the room, taking Tommy’s breath away at how good the man actually can sing. “So many places to go and see, so many things we can achieve,”
He can feel someone walk next to him. He looks to the side to be met with Techno, who gives him a reassuring smile, which is something Tommy hasn’t seen a lot from the older.
“Phil is in the third row, somewhere in the middle,” Techno whispers in his ear, patting him on his back as he walks to the other side of the stage. Tommy’s heart warms up. Phil is actually here, he’s actually here for him.
“We could build a house on the lake,” George sings, “make it out of wood,”
“No, brick,” Sapnap interrupts.
The song slowly ends, signaling Tommy to make himself ready to go on the stage. He takes a breath and walks into the wing. The dream team leaves the stage, the lights turning darker.
Tommy walks on the stage.
He locks eyes with Phil, who’s giving him the grandest smile in history, and he feels a lot more confident all at once. He can do this.
“I’m in,” Tommy grins as he walks further onto the stage, “I am in the dream SMP. I am one of the dream team now.” He walks further onto the stage, being positioned in the middle now.
“Who are you?” Someone asks from behind him. Dream is standing there in all his might and glory, looking at him, a sword in hand.
“Hello, dream team,” Tommy says with a grin on his face, “I am the one and only TommyInnit,”
* * *
“My L’Manburg, a place for us Europeans to thrive,” Wil’s majestic voice sings to the crowd, low and powerful, “It’s the answer, and with our words,”
“Weapons,” Tommy interrupts.
“We’ll find a way to survive. This could be something bigger than you or me. Sweet L’Manburg, my pride and joy, my perfect symphony,”
Tommy scoffs, walking further so he’s side by side next to Wilbur, glancing to him. “Why do you say ‘My symphony’?,”
Wil looks at him as if he said something stupid, “Cause I came up with the idea,”
“Yeah, but I came up with the name,” Tommy argues.
“Yeah, but I’m the president,”
* * *
“We won,” Tommy says, looking with a tired sigh at the Wilbur, “I ensured our independence,”
Wil looks at him, mouth open wide and eyes shocked. Everyone else looks around the same as they look at Tommy, who really just wants to sit down and not think about it anymore. “What?”
Tommy sighs, “I traded the discs for our independence.”
* * *
“My first decree as the president of L’Manburg, the emperor of this great country,” Schlatt yells, “Is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit,”
Everything is dead silent, not a word spoken. Wil grabs his hand, continuing to pull him away from the crowd of the stage.
“Surely not,”
* * *
The sound of TNT fills the room. The decoration is broken down by background actors. Everyone makes sound of confusion and fear. It looks like chaos, but a controlled chaos they trained a lot for. The only thing remaining was Tommy, a group of people lingering behind him, and Wilbur, a sword in his gut, dead.
The lights dim, only one spot focusing on Tommy, fake blood on his head, a sword in his hand, a shocked expression on his face. He looks away from Wil’s corpse and into the crows, that’s nothing more than blackness for Tommy.
The spot dies, everything is dark.
* * *
Clapping fills the room.
With a big smile, he walks on the stage, hand in hand with his friends. The lights turn on, they bow for the crowd before parting so that everyone can bow. The clapping doesn’t stop for anyone, not until the curtains close and the lights in the grand theater hall turn on again.
* * *
When he walks outside the building, the sky has already become dark and all the parents and students had returned home. Phil awaited him with a smile as Tommy ran to him to give him a hug.
Phil laughed and hugged him back. “You were amazing, Toms,” He praised him, breaking the hug so he could look Tommy in the eyes. “I think you were even better than Wilbur,” He whispers in his ear. Wilbur seemed to have heard it because he complains and punches Phil in the arm.
“Don’t say that, or you’ll give the gremlin an even bigger ego,” Tommy laughs, smiling widely at Wilbur, who smiles just as brightly back at him. Wil huffs, ruffling the younger his hair.
“C’mon, we’re going home to celebrate,” Tommy agrees, babbling as they walk back to the car. They’re going home.
He doesn’t remember the last time he could call a place home, the last time he felt that he could actually go somewhere to talk about his problems, to have people to care about him. He wonders how long it will last, how long it will take for them to break, but for now he’s happy to just live his life for once.
He hopes it will last forever, how unlikely that might be, but now he’s sitting in the car, music blasting loudly through the speakers, everyone singing loudly as they sing a bunch of stupid songs. He hopes it will.
Maybe he’s stupid and naïve, but he thinks he can be for once.
* * *
“Hello, Philza Minecraft,” Wil greets him as he opens the front door.
“Hallo,” Techno greets the older. Phil laughs, letting the two boys inside the house.
“I should really just give you guys the keys, with how much you come here,” Phil comments, closing the door behind the two. Wil laughs at the comment.
“You are absolutely right,” Wil agrees, “We will definitely not abuse it,”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Phil threatens, but he has a grin on his face, saying something completely different.
“I definitely would,” Wil says, “Anyway, where’s the birthday boy,” As they walk further inside, the room is covered in decorations. There are balloons and garlands covering the walls, giving the house a festive atmosphere.
Wil can faintly hear some people talking from the garden, which is enough of an answer for him.
“He’s in the garden, mate,” Phil says. The man looks curiously at Wil’s wrapped gift. “Your gift looks a bit big, don’t you think?” Wil brushes him off. No gift is big enough for Tommy. He makes his way to the garden.
Tommy is talking to Tubbo and Ranboo, two party hats on his head, making it look like he has horns on his head. He has a red dino-sweater on, similar to the ones Ranboo and Tubbo are wearing and he has a big grin plastered on his face.
Looking around the perimeter, he can see a lot of known and unknown faces. Almost everyone from the school musical is present, along with some family members of Phil that Wil has never seen before.
Techno looks around uncomfortably, not liking all the surrounding people. Wil has to stop himself from laughing at him.
“WILBUR, TECHNO,” Wil looks up at the voice, Tommy running at him. Wil quickly puts his gift to the side, engulfing Tommy into a bone-crushing hug. “I almost thought you wouldn’t show up,”
Techno scoffs, “We wouldn’t want to miss it.” Tommy breaks the hug with Wilbur, looking at Techno with mischief. Techno looks in fear, knowing what’s about to happen. “Tommy, please don’t,”
Tommy ignores him, giving him the same treatment as Wilbur. Techno fake complaints about the hug, but Wil can see how he melts a bit in the hug.
“Stop with your fluffy shit and open my gift, you gremlin child,” Wil says, pushing the heavy and grand gift, wrapped in striped wrapping paper, into Tommy’s arms. Tommy grins as he tears the wrapping paper apart.
The wrapping paper leaves to show a brand new guitar.
“I custom made it in a shop a few cities away,” Wil explains, “It has some carvings in the wood, and I thought you would like it,” Tommy looks at him with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.
For the second time that day, he’s engulfed in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Tommy rambles in Wil’s chest. Wil only chuckles, kissing Tommy on his temple.
“No worries, mate,” He says. Tommy breaks the hug, giving him one last smile before looking at the gift Techno has in his hands, albeit a little tinier, but still a gift he’s eager to open.
Techno says nothing as he pushed the gift into Tommy’s hands. Tommy opens it slower than Wil’s gift, probably wrapped together more carefully, but eventually can open it fully.
Techno’s book he couldn’t stop reading.
It was a special occasion where Tommy was in Techno’s apartment, and he had nothing better to do than to touch everything, until he landed on the book and couldn’t stop reading it.
And now he has a copy in his hands.
“Can I hug you again?” He asks as he looks up at Techno. Techno fake sighs as he opens his arms and Tommy runs into the hug once again. “You guys are amazing,”
“We know, Tommy, we know,”
Phil interrupted them, standing in the middle of the garden, asking for everyone’s attention. The garden quiets, only a few whispers evident.
“We are here today to celebrate the birthday of the amazing human being that is Tommy,” Phil begins, and the crowd claps, making Tommy’s cheek turn a soft pink. “I fostered him almost a year ago, and he’s still here and I can’t say that I’m not proud of him,”
Phil now turns to Tommy, who’s still sitting on the ground.
“But I still haven’t given my gift yet,” He smirks. “Tommy, ever since you came into my life, you made my life brighter and better, and every day you felt more and more like family,” He walks closer to Tommy, and Tommy scrambles to his feet so he’s standing right in front of Phil.
“You already feel like a son to me, Tommy,” He says. “You want to make it official?”
A stack of papers if pressed into his hands, but it doesn’t take him long to understand what’s going on. He looks, just to be certain, up to Phil, looking for confirmation that he’s not lying and not playing with his feelings.
Phil nods, giving him a bright smile.
Tommy nods, as tears flood over his cheeks. His throat is stuck, speaking is too difficult, so he does what he does best.
He hugs Phil, and Phil hugs him back. Somewhere in the hug, he started sobbing, tears of joy. He finally has a father. He can finally be safe in the world.
He’s finally home.
“Thank you, dad,”