Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As if Tommy’s day couldn’t get any worse, it’s raining. Not the light drizzle that does nothing other than have people frowning, but the torrential kind of rain that halts traffic, confines people to the warmth of their houses. Yet here he is, perched on the bench in the park. Fingers curl tighter into the trash bag in his hand, attempting to keep the items inside dry. His sneakers have holes in, and he watches as the puddle beneath his feat slowly gets soaked into the shoes, and then into his socks.

Sam’s on the phone. He paces back and forth, umbrella in one hand, phone in the other. Behind them, sirens light up the street of Tommy’s last home. He’s not sure what’s going to happen to the Clark Family, but he hopes the baby will be okay. The last thing he wanted to do was get her in trouble, he actually liked Clem. She was small, and fragile, and so tiny that Tommy was always fearful that he might accidentally hurt her.

He never did, not that it mattered in the long-term anyway. No foster kid could ever hope to compete with a biological child, that’s just the rules of the game.

‘—I know, and I wouldn’t be asking if I had anywhere else to take him. Please, Phil. Just a temporary placement, no more than two weeks. He just needs a bed, until I can find a home to take him, or get a bed at the community centre,’ Sam pleads, clutching the phone so tightly that it’s a miracle it hasn’t been sent flying from his grip.

Tommy watches the rain for a while longer. He knows he’s not exactly the easiest kid to foster, he knows that. But it still hurts when he actually tries, and it all goes wrong. Cold fingers raise to his cheeks, to prod along the nasty bruise lining his jaw.

Not all foster homes are bad. Before this one, Tommy’s never really been pushed around a lot. The occasional slap if he’s being too loud, sure. His second house had a cupboard where he’d stay if he was being too noisy, or too destructive. This is the first house where he actually hurt.

Tommy, however, is a Big Man, and so he does not cry. Not that anyone would know, because the rain slashing down his face could easily be tears. But he’d know, so he stays silent regardless, ignoring the throbbing pain from his chest.

Sam’s finished his phone call, with a half-smile that makes Tommy think that he managed to convince some poor soul to house him for the two weeks. ‘Come on, Tommy. We’ve found you somewhere to sleep,’ Sam says happily, as if he isn’t soaked to the bone at 3am in the morning.

He likes Sam. He’s one of the best social workers Tommy’s ever had, and he doesn’t protest when Tommy manages to find a payphone and call him in the dead of the night because he’s been beaten for something that wasn’t his fault. He doesn’t complain when Tommy brokenly admits that the verbal abuse – he’ll never tell the truth about the physical – had been going on for months, and that the only reason he didn’t tell Sam was because they threatened not only his limited possessions, but the beautiful baby sister that Tommy almost had.

Instead, Clem will go to her other family, and Tommy will make it back into the system. Ironic, considering he did everything to try and protect her.

Anyway, back to Sam. The man doesn’t wait for Tommy’s answer, simply begins to walk in the direction of his shitty little ford that looks moments away from falling apart. Usually, he’d comment on it. Today, Tommy gets into the backseat and clutches at his bag tightly. Sam starts the engine, turning the heat up and glancing at him in the mirror.

‘You’re not hurt anywhere else, right?’

It’s the fifth time he’s been asked this question. Sam probably knows he’s lying, but he can’t force it. Not when it’s a “traumatic” experience anyway. So, Tommy shakes his head, curling in on himself slightly to reduce the throbbing ache of his ribs. They’re not broken, he doesn’t think. Just bruised. He can check later, when he’s finally alone.

If he’s alone.

They pull away in silence. Out of the city they go, into the countryside. ‘You’re going to be staying with a guy named Phil, he’s an old friend of mine. He’s got two other kids, both fosters that are now adopted. Eighteen and twenty. Wilbur and Technoblade Craft.’

Fosters are worse than biological siblings, because they know that it’s a cut-throat environment. They know that, in order to survive, you have to be the best. However, they’re both adults. That alone settles his nerves a little; usually older siblings don’t want anything to do with younger kids. Tommy’s only fifteen, three years younger than the younger Craft.

‘It’s a big house. Phil’s one of the top programmers for that game you like, Minecraft?’

That’s… pretty sick. Tommy hides his interest by concentrating on the blur of trees and fields outside. It’s been a while since he played that game anyway; the last house didn’t let him use the computer or the console they had. His phone used to hold games, including the pocket edition version of Minecraft, but he doesn’t have that anymore.

He doesn’t have anything, apart from the bag on his lap.

Unbothered by his lack of response, Sam continues, ‘He’s a good guy, Tommy. He stopped fostering after he adopted Wilbur, but this emergency placement… just try your best, okay?’

Even after the last house, Sam still thinks that Tommy has any control over what happens. He wrinkles his nose, glaring at his social worker. ‘What, try and not get beaten up over the dishwasher breaking?’ he snaps, only mildly regretting it when Sam flinches.

‘Kid… I’m sorry. Their record was clean, I never… I would never send you somewhere I thought was bad for you,’ Sam quietly apologises, and Tommy curls his fingers into his palms. His foot bounces, unable to remain still.

They don’t speak again until they arrive. Pulling into the driveway, Tommy tries to not be overwhelmed by the long entrance, the trees lining the pave-lined road. A house stands at the end, although a more accurate term would be a manor. It’s huge. Biggest house Tommy’s ever seen in his life, with gardens that sprawl out in front. Behind the house, he can see a woodland near the back of the property.

It looks like something out of a horror movie. Especially with the rain, and the stormy sky over the top. Luckily, it’s not an actual thunderstorm. They pull up outside, Sam exiting first as Tommy reluctantly follows, gripping the bag in his hand as they make their way up the steps.

Sam doesn’t have a chance to ring the bell, because the door is thrown open. In the doorway stands a man, dressed in a green robe with… bunny slippers. Tommy briefly gets thrown off of his thoughts as he stares at them, the eyes staring right back.

‘Sam, good to see you again mate,’ comes an overly chipper voice, cheery despite the fact that it’s now probably getting close to five in the morning. He steps aside to invite them in, and Tommy knows the moment the man sees him.

Even with wet hair plastered to his face, and a bag hiding most of his form, there’s still the bruises that can be seen. He doesn’t make eye contact, just follows Sam into the entranceway of the house.

A staircase stretches in front of him, centrally. It splits at the top, leading to two hallways that wrap around. To top it off, a chandelier swings above them, the light almost blinding compared to the darkness of the night outside.

‘And you, Phil. Sorry for the rushed circumstances; I wouldn’t have called unless it was an emergency,’ Sam briefly says, shaking Phil’s hand.

Tommy stays silent.

‘How about we head through to the main room, the fire’s on. I’ll grab us a couple of warm drinks.’

The main room fits the theme of mahogany and rich-ass furniture. Several couches face an overly large TV, with a console underneath. Several consoles. There’re bookcases over the back wall, and a dining table at the far end that has glass doors leading out into the garden. In the centre of the room is the fireplace, with framed photos on the mantelpiece.

Sam takes a seat as Phil heads to the kitchen. Tommy does the same, opting not for any of the chairs, but for the mat in front of the fire. He slumps down onto it, wincing slightly at the ache of his ribs, before dragging the bag back to his chest.

‘Tommy—’ Sam begins, only to be cut off by the re-arrival of their host.

Phil carries a tray with three mugs on it, and a plate of biscuits. It’s put down on the coffee table, before Phil picks up one of the mugs and offers it to Tommy. ‘Here, mate. Hot cocoa should warm you up.’

He takes it. He’s not idiotic enough to turn down free kindness, even if he usually has to repay it later. For now, he mutters a quiet thanks under his breath, before bringing the warm liquid up to his lips. It burns, but he hardly cares. The moment it hits his empty stomach, Tommy can relax a little.

The two adults are talking. Discussing him, and the paperwork that Sam pulls out of his bag. There’re quiet discussions of the last house, and the exchanging of Tommy’s file. Phil doesn’t read it now, instead places it on the chair beside him. Tommy’s mostly zoned out of the chatter, full after his mug of cocoa. It becomes harder and harder to stay away, so eventually he settles for placing his bag behind him and leaning back on it.

Until a hand shakes his shoulder gently. It doesn’t matter that it’s just Sam, with his tired eyes and permanent frown from having to deal with Tommy, he still flinches. The hand is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Sam apologises. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. We’re done with the paperwork now, so I’ll be heading back to sort out the case. You’ve got my number—’ the man hurriedly reaches into his pocket, handing Tommy a scrap of paper with the number on it, ‘—and I’ll be back in two weeks, okay? If anything happens, just call me.’

Tommy blearily nods, curling the paper into his palm before sitting upright. Behind them, Phil observes with a warm smile, before offering to lead Sam out.

When he returns, it’s just the two of them. This is usually where the most awkward stage of any foster home happens, the part where he knows nothing, and neither does his family. There’s no way of telling how they’ll act around each other, no previous knowledge on what the other is like.

‘I’ve got a room set up for you, Tommy. It’s a bit basic at the moment, but we can sort that out when you’re rested. Do you want me to carry that for you?’ Phil asks, gesturing to the bag.

Tommy flinches, dragging it closer to his chest as he stumbles to his feet. ‘No! Uh, no thank you, Sir,’ he corrects, cursing his quick defence. The man’s smile widens, soft and concerned and fatherly. A look that Tommy suspects will only last a day or two, at most.

‘Just Phil is fine, mate. Come along,’ he instructs, and Tommy listens.

Up the flight of stairs they go, looping around to a second set. Ascending those as well, Phil chatters away, ‘So all the bedrooms are on this floor. Wilbur’s down that hall, Techno’s just over there—’ he points towards a door covered in stickers, ‘—and mine is here. Yours is just this way, I picked one with a view of the garden, but you can always explore later and find a different one.’

Just how many rooms did this place have? Tommy’s about to ask, when he remembers himself, watching as Phil opens the door to his temporary room.

It’s… big. A large four-poster bed sits in the centre, with curtains around it. There’s a desk, and a big window-seat. Two others doors are in the room, one of which is open, revealing a bathroom. The desk has a set of towels on it, with some soap and a set of clothes by the side.

‘Shower’s easy to use, just turn the dial to the right setting and hit the button for water. Towels are on the desk, and there’s a set of spare clothes for the night. I wasn’t sure what size you’d be, so I grabbed a set of Wilbur’s old pyjamas. Door locks from the inside, but I’ve got a master key, in case of emergencies. Nobody will come in without knocking, and your permission. We can go over the rest later on, but I’ll leave you to settle for now, unless you need anything else?’

It's a lot of information to take in at once. He tries to absorb as much as he can, before he settles on a shake of his head to the end of the ramble. Phil smiles again – he does that a lot – before leaving, hovering in the doorway.

‘Sleep well, Tommy.’

‘Night, Sir,’ Tommy responds sleepily, waiting until the door is shut before moving.

The first act is to lock it. Sure enough, as he rattles the handle, it doesn’t budge. He’s never had a room that locks before, but this is perfect. Next, he checks out the windows. They’re too high up to jump to the bottom floor, and there’s no drainage pipes or vines that could provide footholds. Not the best sign, but he can deal with it. Sticking his head out of the window, he looks up and notes that the roof it just above. There seems to be a balcony of some sorts, which he’ll have to explore later.

The sun’s beginning to rise. It’s the middle of June, so the rain is just a summer storm, but it means that it won’t be long till the day is supposed to start.

Not that Tommy cares. With the window shut, he stumbles blindly to the bed and topples onto it.

He’s out in seconds.

**

Tommy was incorrect about the most awkward part being the first night. It is, without a doubt, the first morning. He wakes at 10am to sunlight warming his still-damp body, and rolls from the bed. The sheets are stained with a mixture of dirt, blood and rainwater, which isn’t a great start. He’ll figure that out later, because his first stop is the shower.

The bathroom locks as well, but he determines that this one can’t be overridden like his bedroom door. There’s no key, just a knob that is turned to lock it. The bathroom is bigger than his room in his old house, with both a bath and a shower. A sink has a mirror over it, with lights around the edges. There’s a new toothbrush and sealed toothpaste, along with some more shower gels. Tommy cautiously picks up each one, examining it, before he looks at his reflection.

His cheeks are hollow. There’s a dullness to his usually-bright eyes. The split lip is hardly a good look, nor is the blood on his chin. His hair’s matted and a dirty brown, so he reluctantly heads to the shower.

His clothes are probably not saveable. Not even the sneakers, even if he loves them. He steps into the shower, which is actually just half of the bathroom with a lipped edge so that the water doesn’t spill, and pulls the glass doors around him. Once the spray is turned on, as hot as it will go, he begins to take off his clothes.

First his jacket, which he dumps onto the floor. Next comes his shirt, and he flinches as water hits the bruises on his chest. There’s a mixture of different bruises, some older than others. On his left side are the newest ones, dark blues and purples that he avoids as he checks over the others. His jeans are abandoned next, with his boxers and sneakers, kicked away.

He washes quickly, scrubbing his hair and only looking mildly perturbed at the red and brown water that swirls down the drain. Once he’s as clean as he can be, he steps out of the shower and dries, picking up the set of clothes that Phil had given him.

The underwear is in a fresh pack, which Tommy tears with his teeth to open. They’re a bit big, hanging of his hipbones that stick out too far, but he doesn’t mind. The socks are fluffy, which is a bonus. Grey sweats are tied tightly around his middle, and he rolls the ends up so that he doesn’t trip. Whoever this Wilbur guy is, he’s tall. The shirt is just as loose as the rest of the clothes, basically falling from his shoulders, but a nice sweater hides the worst of the bruises.

There’s a hairbrush on the side which he uses to untangle the worst of his hair, wincing at the sensitive spots from where his head hit the wall just yesterday. There’s a bruise under it, one that he pokes at and hisses when his head throbs.

His reflection hasn’t changed much. The bruise is clearer now that his skin is clean, and his lip has swollen up a little. His hair is drying quickly, revealing the beginning of the cut on his head from last night. Luckily, it isn’t bleeding anymore, which is appreciated.

Now comes the awkward part of trying to figure out whether he should be going downstairs. After chucking his wet clothes into the bin in the bathroom, he places his sneakers on the windowsill in his room, hoping to dry them out a bit. He looks at the messy bedsheets, then figures he can just sleep under them next time. Perfect.

The trash-bag of his stuff is an issue. He doesn’t want to leave it out in the open, so he carefully picks out some of the most important pieces and hides them. His compass, for example, is stored in the back of the desk draw.

Eventually, he has no choice but to unlock the door. Outside, the corridor is silent. He takes this as an invitation to retrace yesterday’s steps, back to the staircases and descending them. As he reaches the last flight, he hears voices coming from below him.

‘—pancakes, give them back!’

‘Mine now. Shouldn’t have been so slow.’

‘Boys! Stop bickering, the both of you. There’s plenty of pancakes, learn to share.’

All three of them. Possibly the worst outcome, but the smell of food is enticing. He follows the scent through the main room, towards the dining table, and then realises that the kitchen is attached. All open-plan, so the moment he sees them, they see him.

The two kids – if they can be called that, they’re both adults – stop bickering immediately. Phil is standing at the stove, flipping over another pancake, but he greets Tommy with a smile far too warm considering he was awake till the early hours today because of him.

‘Morning, mate. Sleep well?’ Phil asks, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

Tommy ignores the way his heart speeds up, thudding away in his chest. ‘Yes thank you, Sir,’ he says politely, not wanting to test any boundaries when his head is still moments away from crippling him.

‘Sir,’ one of the boys, the one with messy brown curls, says under his breath. He looks amused, but before Tommy can work out whether he’s being teased, the boy addresses him.

‘Call him old man, that usually works better,’ the boy chirps, and Tommy warily glances to Phil when he sighs.

‘You little shit. Tommy, mate, take a seat. Pancakes will be ready in a moment, once Wilbur and Techno stop fighting over them.’

He does as told, skirting widely around the man with the pink braid, and takes a seat opposite the boy with messy curls. It leaves a free seat next to him, which he presumes Phil will sit in.

‘I’m Wilbur,’ the brown-haired boy introduces, and Tommy recognises him as the younger of the two, ‘This idiot is Technoblade. You’re Tommy, right?’

He nods. He doesn’t trust his mouth to not insult their stupid names, so he stays silent and watches as Phil turns with a frying pan containing a pancake. It’s pushed out onto his plate, and Wilbur nudges the syrup towards him.

‘Dad says that after breakfast, we can take you shopping. My clothes are practically falling off of you,’ Wilbur remarks, nose wrinkling as he looks to the sweater Tommy’s wearing. Self-consciously, Tommy tugs at the hem slightly.

‘Uh, thanks for letting me borrow them,’ Tommy mumbles, feeling only mildly intimidated by the older teens. Mildly.

Wilbur rolls his eyes like he’s said something stupid. ‘Not like I actually offered them, I just woke up and they were gone.’

‘Wilbur,’ Phil warns, placing the remaining pancakes in the centre before sitting at Tommy’s side. A glass of orange juice is offered out, which is nice, and Tommy thanks him quietly.

‘He makes a good point, dad. You could have woken us up when you found out we were taking in a stray,’ the older sibling, the adult, says. Phil frowns, probably about to scold him, but Tommy’s mouth runs off before he can stop it.

‘Who are you calling a stray, dickhead?’

Call it a reflex from protecting himself from foster-siblings for nearly six years. Technoblade’s eyes widen dramatically, while Wilbur bursts out laughing. Even Phil looks slightly amused, lips twitching back.

No anger. No punishment, or not yet.

Techno blinks. ‘My apologies, kid. Would you prefer the term feral?’

Tommy scowls. He’s being insulted, and he hasn’t even had a bite of his breakfast yet. ‘S’better than whatever the fuck your name is,’ he mutters, cutting a bite of his pancake and eating it.

Wilbur claps his hands together in delight. ‘This is perfect. Another person to bother you, Techno.’

‘Wilbur, stop being mean to your brother. Techno, leave Tommy alone. If you’re done being children, can we get to the basic rules please?’

Rules.

Tommy hates rules. They’re always stupid, and impossible to keep, and end up in tragedy. Like a busted lip, bruised jaw and potential concussion. Actually, now that he thinks of it, Wilbur and Technoblade haven’t said anything about the fact that he’s bruised up. Phil must have warned them not to say anything to the poor little foster kid.

‘As I said last night—’ Phil begins, looking to Tommy, ‘Privacy is important. We won’t come into your room without permission, and in return, we ask that you do the same. Except from that, and my office, the entire house is free for you to explore. Don’t stray past the end of the driveway without telling one of us. Curfew during the holidays is at eleven, and just in case, during school-time it’s set at seven. If you’re going out somewhere, let one of us know. We’ll get you a phone today, so you can keep in contact.’

Tommy chews on his second bite of pancake slowly. He’s only here for two weeks. It seems a bit excessive to be doing this much.

‘Chores are written on the fridge, and are split up. Just make an effort to check it. After breakfast, Wilbur will show you around and cover the basics. Apart from that… oh! The music room has a guitar in it, that’s Wilbur’s. No touching without his permission. The piano is Techno’s, but he’s fine with you using it,’ Phil tells him, as Tommy’s body tenses.

A music room.

Music.

Static rings in his ears for a second, as brief flashes of his life before foster flood in. Memories that he shoves back down, forcing himself to listen to Phil.

‘Anything to add, boys?’

Wilbur pipes up, ‘Medicines in the cabinet over there are both mine and Techno’s, don’t touch. If I’m having an off day, it’s usually best to just stay away. Same goes for Techno, or come and get one of us.’

Tommy frowns. He must look confused, because Phil explains, ‘Wilbur’s got anxiety, and Techno’s on medication for his ADHD. Like you.’

Like him. He wants to snort, but he doesn’t.

‘Do you have your meds with you? It was mentioned in your file, and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep them with the rest,’ Phil questions lightly, as Tommy loses his appetite for the rest of his pancake.

Hey, three bites were a lot for someone that doesn’t eat breakfast.

‘Not got any,’ Tommy replies, opting for the orange juice. That hurts his stomach less.

Phil frowns, ‘You ran out? We can get them refilled today, when we go shopping.’

Tommy pauses. Firstly, shopping. They keep bringing that up, and he’s not sure why. He doesn’t need anything for the two weeks he’s going to be here, although it might be nice to have a set of jeans. Secondly, refills.

‘I mean I don’t have any. My last home took them away,’ he snaps, a little defensively, as he glares at his mostly-intact pancake.

The table falls silent. ‘That’s okay, mate. I was going to suggest we sign you up with the boys’ psychiatrist centre, they’ll be able to advise on a dosage.’

‘A shrink?’ Tommy replies, nervously.

He didn’t need to see a shrink.

Phil shrugs, ‘We all go. Not as a family, or anything. We have separate counsellors, but I think it’s healthy to talk to a neutral person.’

‘Fine.’ Weird, is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t. If they want to waste their money on a kid who’s going to be here for two weeks, Tommy isn’t going to complain. A rich house was rare to come by, and Tommy was more than aware that any items they give him, will be useful in future houses.

If they don’t get stolen, that is.

‘Any boundaries you’d like to add, Tommy? Questions?’

Don’t touch me, he almost says, as a reflex. No physical contact. None.

He doesn’t say that. Instead, he focuses on the most important question, ‘What happens if I break the rules?’

Phil chuckles, ‘I should have covered that, I suppose. Usually grounding, occasionally taking your phone away, but all punishments are negotiable. We’ll sit and talk about what happened before anything is decided. Usually extra chores are added.’

It’s probably too good to be true, but Tommy nods like he believes it anyway. He puts his fork down, leaning back in the chair and pretends not to notice the way that Phil frowns at the uneaten food.

‘Right, Techno and I will clear up breakfast, while Wilbur shows you around. Then we’ll head to the shops, if that’s alright?’

Tommy nods, figuring it isn’t exactly an option. Regardless, some part of him likes the way that Phil smiles at him like he’s done the right thing.

He’s going to kill that part, before it does something stupid like get attached.

**

‘This looks like the perfect place to hide a body,’ Tommy grumbles, watching as Wilbur demonstrates how to change the pond filter. Apparently, this is one of the chores that Tommy might be assigned. He doesn’t point out that he’ll probably end up killing the fish by accident; he doesn’t want them to get upset at him on his first day in the household.

Wilbur laughs, standing back up and dusting his clothes down. ‘If you ever need to do that, I’m sure Techno will help. He’s obsessed with crime shows.’

Tommy stares at the older teen, not bothering to point out that it doesn’t work very well considering he’s not here for long.

‘Right, if you want to go and get ready, we’ll meet down by the porch in ten minutes?’ Wilbur suggests, as they reach the back door and enter into the far end of the building.

There’s far too many entranceways and passages, including a separate staircase that runs all the way from the basement to the residential floor in the top, and then the attic above them. He takes that staircase now, already lost until he randomly stumbles across his actual room.

Inside, he goes to his trash bag and fishes through it for his foundation and concealer. Both are mostly empty, but it’s enough for today’s purpose. Most of the ten minutes are spent in his bathroom, using his fingers to smooth the makeup over the worst bruise on his face. By the time he no longer looks like a beaten up kid, he’s running late by two minutes.

His shitty converses are on in a heartbeat, and he races down the stairs in Wilbur’s oversized clothes. The others are waiting by the door, all of them looking up when he hurtles towards them.

Phil’s eyes are on his face, a look of surprise written over his features. Tommy doesn’t like the intense stare, crossing his arms and jutting his chin out. ‘Problem?’ he asks, even if his heart is hammering away. He shouldn’t be testing him, it isn’t a good idea…

‘You don’t have to cover them, mate,’ Phil says softly, and Tommy realises he was looking at the bruises, not at him.

Tommy snorts, stepping out of the door that Techno opens. ‘Not sure you want people thinking you beat kids, Mr Craft,’ he returns, trotting down the steps.

Phil doesn’t say anything to that.

The car in question is a lot nicer than Sam’s ford. Tommy slides into the back seat, shutting the door and watching as Wilbur gets into the other side. Techno takes the passenger seat, reaching for the aux cord as he does so. Tommy twists to grab his seatbelt, perfect timing because the engine starts right as he gasps.

His ribs. The pressure on them makes his head spin, and he curls in so quickly that it draws the attention of Wilbur.

Tommy ignores the questioning stare, cradling his ribs with one hand as he reaches for the belt, before pulling it around his form.

It’s a twenty minute ride. Tommy stays silent for the entire time, listening to the chatter of the others. They arrive at a shopping centre, and Tommy suddenly becomes aware of how big the crowd is.

He tucks closer to Wilbur. The man peers down at him, probably about to ask whether or not Tommy’s alright, but the others are off. ‘Clothes first, and then a better set of bedding. A bag to put items in, and maybe some stim toys? Techno, I’m sure you can help with that?’

‘Weighted blanket,’ the man suggests, walking at Phil’s side.

Tommy’s not sure what any of that means, but he’s not going to say anything.

They start with clothes. Phil keeps trying to insist on the most expensive items, loading more and more into the cart that Technoblade lazily pushes around the section. Tommy does his best to pick simple clothes, with dark colours. Ones that won’t stain with blood, and the thread is thick enough to not wear out.

‘More jeans! At least three pairs, and maybe some sweats? Wilbur! Help Tommy find sweats,’ Phil calls excitedly, like he’s thrilled at the thought of spending money on a child that isn’t his.

Tommy takes what he can get. Most of this will get taken during his next house, but for now, he enjoys the look of happiness on Phil’s face. It’s rare that anyone takes joy out of spending money on a foster kid. The paycheque that Phil gets for housing him is spent within minutes, and then doubled, and then tripled as they continue to pile things in.

Techno throws a blanket into the cart. ‘What… what’s that?’ Tommy asks, hoping that by speaking he doesn’t lose the privilege of having it.

The man gestures for him to touch it. He does, only to be surprised by how heavy it is. ‘What is that?’

‘Weighted blanket. Wilbur and I both have one, they’re good for calming anxiety-inducing situations. I added some stim toys as well.’

Tommy stares to the bunch of weird kid toys in the bottom of the cart. Seeing his confusion, Techno elaborates, ‘You get that overwhelming feeling in boring situations, right? Car rides, nervous situations, in classes? These help focus some of your energy.’

Tommy’s never actually met another person with ADHD. He was diagnosed as a kid, as a surprise during a session that was supposed to be for his mother. He had a habit of speaking up and interrupting conversations, even when it would put him at risk. No self-preservation, his mother had said.

Wilbur brings a bag. Phil brings a new set of bedding. ‘Do you want any posters or anything?’ Phil asks, as Tommy drums his fingers on the edge of the cart.

‘I think this is probably a bit overwhelming, dad,’ Techno says, bored, despite the fact that his eyes are flitting between Tommy’s hands and his face like he can read the situation.

Phil hesitates, looking to Tommy and then smiling. ‘How about me and Techno take this stuff to the cashier, while you and Wilbur look around a different store? Wil, you’ve got money on you right?’

‘When do we not, dad,’ Wilbur drawls, before he nods to Tommy.

They exit the store. Inside the centre, there’s less people milling around. He can relax, tapping his fingers on his arm as he looks around the stores. Wilbur walks at his side, humming under his breath as he does so. ‘You need anything?’

He hesitates. They’ve already bought him a lot of stuff, is this pushing it? He’s about to shake his head, when Wilbur interrupts him, ‘You don’t have to lie, kid. Take advantage of it.’

Tommy scowls. ‘I’m not a fucking kid, I’m a Big Man,’ he protests, which earns him a chuckle from the older teen.

‘Then tell me what you want, and we can go and get it.’

Wilbur waits patiently for Tommy to make his decision, not pushing the issue. Eventually, Tommy relents. ‘I need more foundation and concealer,’ he mutters, embarrassed.

Something flashes in Wilbur’s eyes, something unreadable. It’s gone in an instant, and Wilbur takes off in the direction of the nearest drugstore. ‘You know what shade you are?’

‘Yeah,’ is all he offers.

Wilbur lets him pick out the two items without questioning it. Once they’re done, he takes them to the counter and buys them, before handing the bag back to Tommy. He hides it away when they meet back up with the others, although he knows that they can tell what it is.

As they head home, Tommy wonders how long these items will last.

**

‘I keep it?’ Tommy asks, studying the sleep phone that’s being offered out.

It’s just after dinner. Tommy doesn’t have any chores for the first three days, so he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do during his spare time. He was going to return to his room and sort through his new items – maybe check out those toys Techno suggested, not that he’ll tell him that – when Phil stops him.

Phil nods. ‘It’s yours now. I’ve added our numbers, and put you in our group chat so you can message if you need anything.’

Huh. Tommy stares at the phone, then at Phil, before he takes it. Careful to avoid contact, the phone fits into his palm nicely. Better than the burner-phones he used to save up for, just so he could call Sam if he needed to.

‘We’re going to watch a movie in the main room, if you want to join?’ Phil asks hopefully, and Tommy shakes his head.

‘Uh, not tonight, if that’s okay? I’m tired.’

Phil doesn’t get angry at his decision. He doesn’t shout, or punish him for choosing for himself. He just nods in understanding, and reaches his hand out like he intends to pat Tommy’s shoulder.

He flinches away from the touch.

‘Sorry, mate. Have a good night, and remember that you can help yourself to food if we’re not up for breakfast.’

Tommy leaves Phil to be strange and understanding, before heading up the stairs to his own room.

He pauses on second floor, at the music room that Wilbur pointed out. Hesitant fingers curl around the handle, opening it and staring in. There’s a piano in centre stage, and Wilbur’s guitar propped to the side. There’re other instruments, but they’re mostly placed around the room as decoration.

Until he sees the instrument he feared would be in the room. Perfectly held in an open case, seated on the mantelpiece of the fireplace in the room.

He slams the door shut and runs.

Inside the safety of his own room, he locks the door and looks to the bags on the bed. New bedding new items, new shoes. A jacket, and a duffel bag to put things in. But rather than focus on any of those, he seeks out the compass that he’d hidden in the desk.

It’s a comforting weight in his palm, warming under his touch. He watches the broken spinner, tracing over the glass top and steadying his breathing.

Two weeks. Two, long weeks.

Chapter Text

On his fourth day in the Craft household, the peace changes. Tommy is woken up by somebody knocking on his door, which is strange, so he stumbles over to the door and unlocks it. When it swings open, he finds Wilbur standing in the doorway.

The boy briefly looks over Tommy’s shoulder, to the room behind. He’s probably staring at the mess of bags that Tommy isn’t sure if he should unpack, or the covers that are tangled from his nightmare last night.

‘What?’ he tiredly grumbles, rubbing at his non-bad eye.

Wilbur looks back at him, then stares at his arms.

Right, he’s wearing pyjamas that don’t have sleeves. There’re handprints around his arms, mottled bruising that spreads under his shirt. ‘You told your social worker that you weren’t injured anywhere else,’ Wilbur says softly, as Tommy steps back into his room and grabs a hoodie to throw over his torso.

‘What do you want? Come to stare?’

‘Today’s therapy day. You’ve got an hour before we leave.’

Huh. Tommy forgot about that part of the conversation from the first day.

God, he’s already been here for four days. That means today is the first day he has any chores.

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he tells the younger foster-sibling, and Wilbur disappears.

He gets dressed methodically, before slipping his phone into his back pocket. To delay the inevitable, he opens his windows and makes his bed, before cleaning some of his stuff away. The last thing to do is to grab the fidget cube that’s quickly become his favourite and put it in his front pocket, before heading down towards the kitchen.

He takes the back stairs, so he doesn’t have to go anywhere near the music room.

‘Morning, Tommy,’ Phil greets, drinking his coffee down like it’s water.

‘Morning, Phil,’ he replies, sneakily checking to see if there’s any reaction to using his first name. When Phil just continues to drink his “adult juice”, Tommy heads to the toaster. He makes a single slice for himself, perching down at the table and making a mental note to eat at least half of it.

‘We all have different counsellors,’ Phil randomly says, from over his coffee cup, ‘So you don’t have to worry about telling them anything about us.’

Tommy snorts, ‘In my fifteen years of life, you’re hardly the most exciting thing to mention.’

Phil chuckles at that as well. It’s a rare moment that it’s just the two of them, without the other two siblings. ‘I was meaning to ask you, how would you feel about making this an extended placement? To the twelve-week mark?’

Tommy halts.

In the scheme of things, it doesn’t impact him that much. A house is a nice thing to have, but nothing with be permanent until he’s eighteen, and able to claim back his inheritance that he can’t access.

He tries to look like the offer doesn’t affect him. ‘Doesn’t bother me,’ he lies, the toast bland in his mouth, ‘Gets me out of the centre for a bit.’

His foster-father hums, fingers curling tighter around the mug. ‘I’ll talk to Sam about it. But the boys like having you around, and it might be good for you to be able to have the summer here, out of the centre.’

Tommy silently agrees with that. He doesn’t get the chance to agree, however, because Techno comes in with a frown on his face. ‘Tell Wilbur to stop being an arse.’

Wilbur enters moments later, with the biggest grin on his face. ‘Tell Techno to stop being such a stuck-up.’

Phil puts his coffee mug down, as Tommy checks the fridge. His job is just to empty the dishwasher tonight; ironic considering how his last placement ended.

‘I’ve asked Tommy to stay for a three-month period.’

Both boys stop bickering. Wilbur’s head snaps to Tommy, before he smiles brightly. Techno just stares.

‘The gremlin stays!’ Wilbur happily cheers, and Tommy wonders why his chest feels too tight when he says it.

They feel sorry for him. They’re upset about the bruises on Tommy, which means that they’re keeping him around till they heal. If this is how Phil makes himself feel better – by picking a stray kid and keeping him safe for a bit – then Tommy isn’t going to complain.

‘It’s too early for your shrieking, Wilbur,’ Techno complains, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Phil ignores both of them to look at Tommy. ‘Therapy sessions last an hour, and then we usually go out to get food after. There’re no expectations to talk about anything, but we encourage it.’

Tommy is not going to therapy to discuss his problems. He’s going because it keeps Phil happy, and that gives him a better chance of staying here for longer. For a minute, he pictures what it would be like to make it to his sixteenth birthday here. Almost an entire year. He’d only be two years off adulthood, but there might be a shot that he could get emancipated, and therefore claim everything his mother left behind.

If he has to suck up a rich Tory, he’ll do it.

**

Puffy is a strange woman. She’s dressed in brown leather trousers and a white blouse, with her white hair half-braided. Freckles cover her face, but her eyes are kind as they study him. Her office is less bland than the reception was, with three different coloured couches, and a bunch of those stim toys, and a bookshelf that he completely ignores. The window at the far end overlooks the city; the city where his last foster home was.

He's seen a shrink before. He knows that she isn’t qualified to give him his medication, which is why there’s a man in the room, asking Tommy about his medical history. The questions are limited, and skirt around the bruising on his face entirely. He just has to tell them that he hasn’t been taking his medication, and what dosage he was on before.

By the time the Doctor, Fundy, is done, Tommy’s done a successful job of wasting fifteen minutes. In an hour session, he considers this a success.

‘Phil briefly told me that you’d be here for a twelve-week placement, which means we’ll have at least twelve sessions. As I told you earlier, everything stays within this room, unless I think—’

‘I’m going to kill myself, or somebody else. I got it,’ he tells her, and Puffy smiles. It’s different to Phil’s smile, less sympathy and more amusement.

‘Would you like to discuss anything in particular?’

Tommy focuses in on the table in the room, and the item that caught his interest. Puffy follows his gaze, before her eyes crinkle at the edges. ‘Chess?’

He’s not sure this is what Phil meant when he said therapy. Puffy laughs as she yet again loses, uncaring as Tommy resets the board for the third time. They swap colours, so that Tommy is playing on white. ‘Who taught you?’ Puffy asks, as they begin again. It’s a quick movement of pawns and knights forward, until Tommy brings his bishop out.

‘Learned from some of my mum’s clients,’ Tommy tells her, scowling as Puffy steals one of his pawns.

The woman nods. ‘My dad tried to teach me when I was a kid, but I never listened. I’ve got a son, five years older than you, and he plays quite well.’

Tommy takes her knight. ‘I’d beat his ass too,’ he tells her, and Puffy chuckles.

‘I don’t doubt that.’

When he wins his fourth game, Tommy realises that they only have ten minutes left. He’s managed to be distracted for longer than ever before, and he’s not had to say anything.

Therapy is fucking easy.

‘How about we play one more? Winner gets to ask the loser a personal question,’ Puffy tries, and Tommy hesitates.

He knows he’s okay at playing. But if Tommy loses, then he can’t back out of a deal. He doesn’t have a lot, and his word is basically all that he stands by. Still, he agrees, and Puffy offers out her hand. Tommy doesn’t take it, just nods to her to start.

He wins, easily.

‘Why did you become a therapist?’ he asks, as he replaces the pieces.

Puffy hums, leaning back in her chair and placing her linked fingers over her stomach. ‘I suppose I wanted to help. I specialise in abandonment issues and grief, which I think works well with my life experiences. I lost my mother as a child, and sometimes I think that I can offer wisdom for others that have gone through similar things.’

It’s more honest than he was expecting. He feels slightly bad about making her answer that, now. ‘I lost my mum, too.’

Puffy smiles. ‘Maybe we can help each other, then.’

Tommy doesn’t answer her. He just looks to the prescription she offers out, the one from Fundy, and takes it.

‘I’ll see you next week, Tommy.’

He leaves. Wilbur’s already out, sitting in the reception with his legs crossed, one foot bouncing anxiously. He… he doesn’t look great. There’re tears in his eyes, not that Tommy comments on that considering he’s only known the guy for four days. Instead, he sits beside him and offers out his cube.

Wilbur blinks, before taking it. ‘Thanks,’ he mutters under his breath.

They stay in silence until Techno arrives, and then Phil. The man that Phil’s talking to is clearly a friend, considering the fact that they’re laughing away at something. Therapy is apparently easy for Phil, too.

Techno remains indifferent. They walk out of the clinic together, with Phil looking over at Tommy’s prescription and agreeing to grab it after lunch.

They go to a café. Tommy picks a plate of fries and a milkshake, happy to sit in his window-seat as Phil starts discussion.

‘So, I spoke to Jordan about Tommy’s arrival, and the new development at work,’ Phil tells them.

Tommy decides that he’s going to ask to play Minecraft on the console.

Technoblade sighs. ‘I spoke to Dan about the community centre, and the project that we’re running in August.’

Phil hums in interest, ‘Does he think it’s a good idea?’

Technoblade nods. Tommy recalls that Techno is opening some activity centre for kids this summer, using Phil’s funding.

‘He likes it, and has a couple of kids he’s going to suggest. Most are foster kids.’

He picks at his fries as they continue to chat.

‘Wilbur, do you want to talk about what happened in your session?’ Phil gently asks, as Wilbur continues to thumb at Tommy’s fidget cube.

‘Not really,’ he says, and Phil nods in understanding.

‘Tommy?’

He blinks. They care about what he happened? ‘We played chess. Puffy told me why she became a therapist.’

Phil nods encouragingly. ‘Do you like her?’

‘She’s alright. Less of a wrong’un than you lot,’ Tommy lightly teases, waiting to see what will happen.

To his surprise, Wilbur chuckles. ‘You’re an idiot, Toms,’ he says, far too affectionately for the four days they’ve spent together.

Tommy just dips a fry into his milkshake, before poking it against Wilbur’s cheek. The boy scowls, going to bat at Tommy’s hand, before he realises his mistake.

He moves back slightly, so that Wilbur doesn’t touch him. If the others notice, they don’t say anything. They just eat their lunch together.

**

He takes his first pill that afternoon, after emptying the dishwasher. Phil is pretending not to watch him as he swallows it down, glaring at the bottle in annoyance.

‘Want me to add it to the collection?’ Phil asks, pointing to the medicine cabinet.

He nods, handing over the bottle. It’s been a while since he had to take them, so he’s not surprised that he’s a bit nervous about taking them. He’s about to leave the kitchen when Phil reaches for a label, putting it over Tommy’s bottle and writing his name in the same scrappy handwriting as the other bottles.

It sits beside Wilbur and Techno’s. Identical. The same. Perfectly in place, like it belongs there.

It’s too much. His chest feels uncomfortably tight, and his body is sweating so much. It gets worse the longer he stands there, a ringing in his ears as he tries to work out why he can’t exhale. When Phil turns to him, black dots begin to dance at the corner of his vision.

He walks towards Tommy, and the boy flinches. Stumbles backwards blindly, raising both hands to defend his face, hitting the counter behind him and sliding to the floor.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. There’re too many people in the kitchen, and he can’t hear anything other than his own heartbeat trying to escape his chest.

Someone is crouched in front of him, trying to talk. There lips move, hands reaching for him, and Tommy’s chest hurts. He’s not sure if it’s from the bruises, or the inability to breathe, but it’s hard to do anything. When fingers touch his skin, he whines in an attempt to get away.

Then, he’s free. A second person is tugging the crouched one away, before footsteps echo out as a third person appears. The feet come straight towards him, and before Tommy can do anything other than curl in on himself, something heavy drapes over him. It’s dark, and there’s less oxygen, but he’s tucked up and safe.

He exhales. It aches, but it’s a good pain that reduces the spotty vision. The blanket is easy to wrap around him, and he recognises it as his own weighted blanket. From his room. In his house, his foster house, with his foster family.

In the kitchen. There’s a tiled floor beneath him, and his feet are just in fuzzy socks.

‘Still alive under there, kid?’ Techno’s voice calls, and Tommy dares to peek his head out of the top.

Phil and Wilbur are standing back a bit, both watching. Techno is… making himself a drink. He steps around Tommy to get to the fridge, adding water to the cordial from the cupboard.

‘Yeah,’ he croaks out, letting his knees untuck and spread out.

‘I had to go in your room to get your blanket,’ Techno tells him, briefly looking down.

Tommy doesn’t like the idea of anyone in his room, but he gets why he did it. ‘Thanks.’

Techno shrugs. ‘No worries. Want to tell us what happened?’

The medicine. The cabinet, with his name. He’s never been placed along the same part as the other kids in a household. Never.

‘Nothing,’ he says, shrugging, ‘Guess I just freaked out over being back on the meds.’

It’s the worse lie he’s told.

But they don’t know him well enough. Nobody does.

**

Taking out the bins is a task that should be fine. It also doesn’t require two people, but Wilbur’s chore is to collect the post, so they end up taking the bins together.

‘Why are you up so early?’ Wilbur asks, rolling one of the bins down the driveway. Tommy is doing the same with the other two, wrapped up warmly considering it’s early morning.

Tommy looks over at the younger of his foster brothers. ‘Could say the same to you, Bitchbur.’

Maybe he was a bit snappy with the guy. Maybe, considering the fact that Wilbur had a shit time in therapy yesterday, he should be nice. Luckily, Wilbur does nothing other than roll his eyes at Tommy’s insolence.

He puts the bins by the spot while Wilbur checks the post. In his hasty attempt to drag them, Tommy twists to grab the last one.

Pain. White pain up his spine, focusing on his ribs. Both of his hands drop the bin, vaguely hearing it clatter to the floor as he presses down on his abdomen.

‘—look at me, hey, that’s it. Are you hurt?’ Wilbur’s standing in front of him, hands roaming but not quite touching him as he checks him over. Tommy realises with horror that he’s struggling to breathe, reaching out for the older before he falls.

‘Okay, shit okay, let’s get you back to the house.’

Weak.

He ignores the thought. Together, they make it back into the house and towards the kitchen, where another person is sadly awake.

Technoblade raises an eyebrow as Wilbur half-supports Tommy’s weight. ‘What happened?’

‘Tommy’s hurt, I need to get dad—’

‘No,’ Tommy wheezes, not wanting Phil to get involved. Wilbur doesn’t listen, moving to the door while Tommy debates what he could do. The man’s not going to risk laying a hand on him, not if he wants to keep Wilbur and Techno, so Tommy could just not show him the injuries.

Techno seems to reach the same conclusion. ‘We won’t get dad, if you let me take a look,’ the man bargains, sipping his coffee like this situation is perfectly ordinary.

‘What? No, we need to get—’ Wilbur starts, but Techno shoots him a look.

Tommy considers the offer. Techno’s not that much older than him. He’s a foster kid, like Tommy, so he probably gets the desire not to have a foster-parent deal with it. Eventually, he jerks his head in agreement, and Techno taps the counter.

He hops up hesitantly.

‘Where are you hurt?’

When he doesn’t immediately reply, Wilbur cuts in, ‘His side. I noticed it in the car the other day, as well.’

Techno hums in the back of his throat. ‘Shirt off.’

Absolutely the fuck not.

He grips the hem of it and tugs it up, but doesn’t remove it. Wilbur mutters some sort of curse, while Techno just studies the mottled colours on his abdomen. ‘I’m going to have to check you’ve not fractured a rib,’ the eldest says, before his hands move.

Tommy flinches. His chest curls instinctively, causing the ache to get worse.

‘I’m not going to hurt you, kid. Just sit still.’

He hates that he listens. Techno’s fingers are cold against his skin, putting pressure in different spots that make him grimace. His examination ends with a huffed breath, looking over to Wilbur. ‘Nothing’s broken. It’ll heal on its own, but I suggest you take painkillers for it.’

Tommy shudders at the thought. ‘No.’

Techno raises an eyebrow at him. ‘It’ll hurt.’

‘I don’t care, you’re not drugging me up,’ Tommy snaps back distrustfully. For some reason, that makes Wilbur wince, and Techno study him like he’s trying to read his thoughts.

He shrugs. ‘Fine. It won’t get you out of chores, though.’

‘Techno…’

‘Fine with me, big man,’ Tommy chirps, sliding off the counter and refusing to let his ribs disturb his balance.

**

Tommy is aware that he might be mildly trembling. It was all Wilbur’s fault, because he insisted on being a prick, and Tommy had nothing to do other than challenge him. Which was why, when Wilbur said that Tommy was a coward for avoiding the music room, Tommy responded by following them into it for the evening.

He doesn’t like it. Even curled up on one of the couches, listening to Techno’s faint melody on the piano and Wilbur bickering with Phil on whether his chords are correct, there’s something dangerous about this room. Something that makes his head feel fuzzy. His eyes keep getting drawn to the case on the mantelpiece.

‘Do you play anything, Tommy?’ Phil asks, once Wilbur’s concentrating on his guitar.

Unwillingly, he stares at his instrument. Phil’s too perceptive for his own good, looking mildly surprised. ‘The violin?’

Don’t you want to play it?

He grimaces. There’s nothing he wants less in this world than playing that violin. ‘Used to,’ he mutters distastefully.

‘You can play if you want,’ Phil offers, and Tommy’s heart threatens to burst from his chest.

Play again. To pick up a violin, and tuck it under his chin. To raise the bow to the strings, and listen to sound it makes when his heart cracks open again.

‘No thank you,’ he responds politely, missing the look shared between the other three.

The piano is nice, though. He can lean back against the seat, let his eyes shut and pretend he’s far away from here, in a home before anything bad happened.

**

Tommy decides that on Thursday, before therapy, that he’ll make breakfast. He’s not entirely sure if he’s allowed to cook, considering Wilbur is most definitely not, but he’s got a passion for cooking. Usually, unless Phil is up in time to make pancakes, they all just grab whatever. With their session at 11, Tommy decides that he has plenty of time to cook.

He’s done this is some of his other homes. Sometimes, it’s mandatory. He has no choice but to feed his family. Occasionally, he does it just because he wants to. In his last home, he got used to waking up and cooking for his foster parents, before tending to the baby as well.

Clementine. The baby sister he never knew he wanted, but he’d loved. She was cute, and soft, and perfect. Tommy loved her. Still loves her. A baby couldn’t be evil, a baby couldn’t hurt him. She just stared up at him curiously, tiny fingers curling around his own.

He cooked for his mum, too. Back when she’d had a rough night, or a special occasion, or just because he wanted to show his love.

Technoblade arrives as Tommy finishes up the omletes he’s been making. He pauses in the doorway, before taking a seat. A thanks is muttered to him as he hands the eldest sibling a plate, fetching fresh juice from the fridge.

‘This is good,’ Techno mumbles around a mouthful, looking surprised.

Tommy refuses to admit that he preens at the compliment. ‘Did none of you learn to cook?’ Tommy asks curiously, putting on the coffee pot for the people grumbling above them. Footsteps echo on the stairs, so Tommy knows that they’ll be here soon.

Techno chuckles. ‘Never needed to. My parents cooked when I was a kid, and Phil was my second home. I was fifteen when I came here, and I’ve had food ever since.’

Huh. Parents. Tommy has to admit, he’s curious. From the look on Techno’s face, the adult knows that he’s tempted to ask as well.

‘You can ask.’

‘What happened to your parents?’ he blurts, as soon as permission is given.

The pink-haired man looks faintly amused. ‘Dad went to jail, mom fled the country.’

Alive. Both of them were alive.

Phil comes walking in a moment later, looking just as surprised at the promise of food.

‘Am I interrupting?’

‘Nope, just telling the kid about my folks,’ Techno answers smoothly, as Phil’s smile grows.

He’s a strange man. It’s easy to work out that his motives lay with his sons. If they’re happy, then he’s happy. But Phil also seems to be happy if Tommy is happy, which is not something that he understands very well.

‘How did that come up?’ Phil questions, thanking Tommy for the offering of food and a coffee. His stomach gets a little twisted when he sees how happy the two of them are with his breakfast, with him providing for them.

They’ve spent so much on them, that the least he can do is cook.

‘Asked why neither me or Wil could cook, and I said my parents used to do it for me.’

Phil takes this as an invitation to look at Tommy. ‘Did your parents teach you?’

He’s read Tommy’s file. He knows that Tommy doesn’t have parents anymore. Well, he knows that he doesn’t have a mother. There’s nothing in Tommy’s file on a father, which is probably a good thing. The guy was a dick.

Tommy shakes his head. ‘I watched cooking shows and practiced.’

Trial and error, he told Sam when the man asked about his cooking abilities. What could be microwaved, and what had to be cooked on a stove. Dried pasta needed water, vegetables could usually always be eaten if boiled.

Wilbur’s the last to arrive, beaming at Tommy when he offers food. ‘Thanks, gremlin. You’re my new favourite.’

Techno snorts. ‘That’ll change later, when Tommy beats you at Mario Karts.’

**

Playing chess is the best part of his Thursdays. Well, the breakfast scene was nice, but this was testing his mind. Puffy speaks a little about her week, and how her son has come back from university to work for the summer. Tommy, in turn, tells her that he has been added to the chore rotation, and that watching the fishes in the pond is his favourite thing to do.

‘You came in with a smile today. Was there anything in particular that happened?’ Puffy inquires, moving her bishop across the board.

Tommy snorts, moving his pawn to force her to move it again. ‘I made breakfast.’

Puffy smiles encouragingly. ‘That was nice! Was there a reason for that?’

Did there have to be? Had he done something wrong? He hesitates, making a stupid mistake when Puffy moves into check of their fourth game. ‘Just thought I should pay Phil back for looking after me.’

The shrink doesn’t seem worried, although her lips twitch slightly. ‘It’s a sweet gesture, but you know you don’t have to do that. Phil wanted to take you in.’

‘I was an emergency placement,’ Tommy points out, only for Puffy to steal his queen.

‘True, but he extended it.’

Tommy considered this, before fixing the situation he made on the chess board. Puffy doesn’t ask him to speak again, not until they have ten minutes left and Tommy decides to ask the question that’s been hovering in his thoughts.

‘They have a music room.’

Puffy glances up at him. ‘Do you play an instrument?’

Maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up. ‘I used to, uh, play a violin. But I don’t want to anymore,’ he quickly adds, and Puffy’s brow furrows.

‘Why not?’

This wasn’t what he wanted. ‘I want you to tell me why I feel all weird when I stare at the violin.’

He tries to look intimidating. He crosses his arms, jutting his chin out aggressively. Puffy finishes her move, leaning back in the chair and tilting her head to the side. ‘We can work on this next week, if you’d like? For now, I want you to write down what you feel when you go into that music room, can you do that?’

Homework. He almost tells her to abandon the idea, but he hesitantly nods.

This is just to fix the problem.

Chapter Text

Sam arrives on the Sunday. He greets Phil with a warm handshake, followed by a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies as they all settle in the main room. He’s got a briefcase of paperwork that he puts up on the table, as he asks the general questions.

How are you? Are you settling in? Do you like the idea of the extended placement?

‘The bruise on your face is healing nicely,’ Sam comments, studying Tommy’s face. He has to admit, there’s something comforting with that statement. That’ll mean that the bruises on his abdomen are also fading, which is good.

Tommy shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t, but he does, because he’s always been selfish. ‘Is Clem okay?’

Sam’s smile grows. ‘She’s fine. Moved in with her Aunt, and she’s happy. If you’d like, I could see if they’d allow visitation?’

Clementine was perfect. And for that reason, Tommy cannot be anywhere near her.

‘Nah, it’s good big man.’

Sam sighs. Disappointed, as always. Phil takes over conversation again, before he asks for the tour of the house. It’s a general check-up, to make sure that there’s nothing dodgy going on. All of them are forced to walk after Phil and Sam, as they’re shown around. Sam even has to look in the boys’ rooms, Techno grimacing when Sam comments on the nice colour scheme.

‘Tommy, would you like to show me your room?’

He does. Sam steps in without invitation, whereas Tommy’s foster-father hesitates. ‘May we come in, Tommy?’

He knows that Techno’s been in his room before. They respect his privacy usually, so he nods stiffly, watching as they take in the mess.

Actually, it’s pretty clean. He’s put stuff away, save for the bag that’s perched on the desk-chair with a set of clothes, some cash, and some important items stuffed in.

Sam notes this. He frowns at the bag, glancing over to Tommy with a slight look of worry. ‘You’ve still got a runaway bag?’

Tommy hates the fact that he’s saying that in front of the family that have taken him in. Still, Phil’s had fosters before. He knows they’re prone to fleeing. When he doesn’t say anything, Sam just continues pointing things out. Nice blanket. Good clothes. Happy?

His social worker pauses when he sees the bathroom door has a lock. He stares at it for a very long time, before he looks over at Tommy.

His foster family look confused at the interaction.

‘Is that an issue I should be writing down?’ Sam quietly says, giving him the chance to make his mind up.

‘No,’ he promises, and Sam’s smile grows.

‘Great! Well, I know you have a phone now, so do you need—’

Tommy cuts off that request by opening his desk drawer.

Surprisingly, Sam looks close to shock. Tommy didn’t think it was that big of a deal, staring at every piece of paper with Sam’s number on. He always kept them safe in an old foundation bottle that he had, which was nice. He had at least one for every house, stored up over the past five years since he lost his mum.

‘You kept them?’

Tommy dislikes the look of affection that Sam sends him. ‘Don’t make it into something it isn’t, big man.’

Sam leaves shortly after. Phil walks him to the door, while Tommy lingers on the stairway to listen in to the two of them speaking.

‘He’s a good kid, Phil.’

‘I know. He suits this place,’ Phil replies, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Tommy suits this place.

He’s never suited anything. Not his old job, with his mum. Not any of his houses. Not even with his big-brother role to Clementine.

Yet Phil looks happy, and Sam looks happy, and Tommy…

Tommy jumps, because a hand lands on his shoulder. It withdraws immediately, and Tommy looks up to see Techno standing there. ‘Sorry kid, forgot you don’t do touch. I was going to suggest we raid the cupboards for sweets, I used to hate having my social worker visit.’

He blinks, then nods in a hurry, scrambling after the oldest.

**

Tuesday finds the four of them in town. Phil apparently has a meeting, which leaves Tommy under the supervision of his two older foster-brothers. Badgering them until they agreed to buy him ice cream, they wander down the main street in Manburg. He has to admit, since the visit from Sam on Sunday, he feels slightly unnerved in his foster household. He rarely makes it in an emergency placement; they send him back as they are supposed to. Yet here, Yet here, there’s no mention of the fact that he’s going to leave. The date is set, obviously. Second week of September. Annoyingly, it’s two weeks after school starts, which is a pain.

‘Gimme,’ Tommy says, making grabby hands at Wilbur’s ice cream cone. The man frowns, but Tommy is persistent.

Wilbur relents. Techno mutters something under his breath about Wilbur being a softie, but Tommy doesn’t care too much about that when it works. ‘What’s wrong with your own?’ Wilbur protests, as Tommy hands over his chocolate cone for Wilbur’s mango.

In truth, he didn’t actually mean to pick a flavour he didn’t like. But he wasn’t sure which one would taste good, and he had tasted chocolate before, so he put two and two together to try and make four. Now, Tommy’s rarely wrong, but he can admit that he’s not a big fan of the chocolate taste. ‘Don’t like the flavour,’ he tells the teen, cautiously licking the mango flavour.

Better.

Wilbur’s frown grows. ‘Then why did you pick it?’

Tommy doesn’t get why he looks upset. He’s eating the chocolate ice cream anyway, regardless of the fact that Tommy’s taken the mango one. But the displeasure on the man’s face makes something twist in his gut, a painful ache at the memory of making people angry. He’s not sure why he should care, anyway. In less than three months, Tommy will be back in the centre, and this will all be forgotten. Although it’s only been two weeks, he’s pretty sure that neither of them are going to hit him. Nor would Phil.

‘Didn’t know which flavour I’d like,’ Tommy replies, aware that his tone gives away the slight bubble of nerves.

Both of his foster-siblings look surprised. ‘You’ve not had ice cream before?’ Techno questions, as Tommy bristles at the pity in their tone.

‘Course I have,’ he lies, shoulders tensing up defensively.

They know he’s lying, but they don’t call him out on it. Well, they might have been preparing to, but they’re interrupted by somebody else’s voice.

‘Wil! Techno! I didn’t expect to see you out,’ comes a light voice, Tommy blinking as a pink-haired girl approaches them. At her side are two boys, both of whom look to be close to Tommy’s age.

What is it with people and pink hair? He attempts to hide behind Techno, which would usually work considering his size, but the girl’s eyes flit to him.

‘Hey, Niki. This is—‘

‘Tommy, yes, I remember. It’s lovely to meet you, I went to high school with Wilbur,’ Niki says, smiling warmly at him as she offers out her hand.

Tommy frowns at it briefly, before he returns the greeting. Her hand drops, but she apparently isn’t offended by it.

‘This is my brother, Ranboo, and his best friend—‘ Now, it is Niki’s turn to be cut off by the shorter boy that steps forward.

He doesn’t have the same nervousness that Tommy is feeling. Not that he would admit it, because he’s a Big Man and therefore isn’t scared of a small interaction between strangers.

‘Toby, but my nickname is Tubbo. What are you up to today?’ Tubbo asks quickly, and when Wilbur says they’re just waiting for Phil to finish his meeting, the boy grins.

‘Come cause havoc with me and Boo.’

Niki looks apologetically at the three of them, ‘Sorry, he’s always so excitable…’

Tubbo, ignoring her entirely, reaches for Tommy. Small fingers curl around his bare wrist, skin hot against his own. They slip down into his hand, entwining their hands together, but it’s gentle and careful and ready to let go in a heartbeat. ‘Coming, boss man?’ Tubbo asks, while watching Tommy’s reaction to having his hand held.

Someone is touching him. Someone that isn’t hurting him, either. Tommy realises he’s been silent for far too long, and so takes a step closer, nodding his head. ‘Where to, Tubs?’

Wilbur tells him to text them when he needs collecting, and Tommy brushes off that information in favour of following Tubbo and Ranboo down the street, away from his foster brothers.

He’s free. He could run, he realises. There’s nothing to stop him from fleeing into the city, away from his foster house and the pressure of being a kid without a home. Hell, he has enough cash on him to catch a bus to the other side of Manburg, to the district where he grew up.

Instead, he releases the hold on Tubbo’s hand, and looks between the two boys that are his age.

‘So, Tommy, how do you feel about chaos?’ Tubbo asks with a smirk, as Ranboo frowns.

Tommy grins in return. ‘I’m a master of chaos,’ he brags.

With that, an alliance is formed.

**

Wil messages later that evening to tell Tommy that Niki is coming over for pizza, so the three of them are welcome to join them back in the house. He also asks if Tommy needs a lift, but Tommy is happy spending time away from his newest foster home.

Glancing over to the two teen boys, he evaluates his new friends.

Toby – Tubbo – is the oldest. He’s turning sixteen soon, followed by Ranboo’s birthday in December. He lives in a townhouse in Manburg, with his older brother, Dream. He’s the same age as Techno, apparently, and they went to school together. In addition, Tubbo has a tendency for chaos, and explained that they would probably be in the same class at school.

Tommy didn’t have the heart to point out that he wouldn’t be there for long.

Ranboo’s quiet. He doesn’t talk that much, but he smiles softly at Tommy throughout the day. He’s also in the same class, and lives with Niki and their older sibling Eret, while their parents are off in Snowchester on deployment.

They spend the day in the park in Manburg. Tommy isn’t surprised when Tubbo leads the way back to the Craft house, considering he’s apparently been there multiple times over the years.

‘You like it with them? Techno’s always seemed scary to me,’ Ranboo says as they walk down the pavement, all three of them in a row. Tubbo’s shoulder almost constantly bumps against Tommy’s side, like the boy has no concept of personal space.

It doesn’t bother Tommy that much. For some reason, he likes Tubbo. Trusts that he doesn’t have any malicious intentions. Sure, he’s a bit odd. He struggles to read the street signs as they walk in the sunset together, and he spouts random facts about bees – “did you know their penis explodes after sex?” – but he’s a kid. Surprisingly well-versed in the foster world, as well.

‘For an emergency home, they’re good. Proper Tories though,’ Tommy adds, happy when both of the boys laugh.

Tubbo nods, ‘I got that vibe. It’s a big house.’

Tommy lets them into the house. Noise comes from the main room, and he walks in to find Niki and Wilbur challenging each other to a round of Mario Karts, with Techno sitting in a chair off to one side. Phil’s walking around in the kitchen, but he pokes his head around the wall when he sees the three of them.

‘Welcome home, mate. And hello, boys,’ Phil adds, smiling to the two teens behind him.

Home.

‘C’mere, gremlin, help me beat Niki,’ Wilbur calls, and Tommy walks over to his foster-sibling. Wilbur grins, shuffling to make room for Tommy on the couch with space between them.

Space that’s completely eradicated when Tubbo flops down beside him, kicking his legs up onto Tommy’s lap.

Niki laughs, ‘You’re so clingy, Tubbo.’

Tommy feels his body tense at the thought of Tubbo leaving his spot. This is the most affection he’s had in… a while. A long while. He’s not entirely sure how long, but Tubbo’s the first to be so open. The teen looks up at Tommy like he can read his mind, or maybe just his body language, and curls closer to Tommy. ‘S’like a heater, nice and warm,’ Tubbo tells Ranboo’s sister, and Tommy relaxes.

Phil ordered pizza for the group of them. It turns into all of them seated in the room, chatting away as a group.

A group that Tommy is part of.

‘Your club starts tomorrow right, Techno?’ Niki asks, chewing on a slice of pepperoni as she speaks.

Techno, who mostly stays silent during social interaction, smiles over at Niki. Although they aren’t in the same year, they seem to be friends. Tommy figures that because there’s only two years between Techno and Wilbur, so they probably manage to find common interests. ‘Yeah. We’ve got eight kids signed up so far, and Tommy’s coming.’

He blinks. ‘I am?’

Techno rolls his eyes, ‘Yeah kid, you are.’

‘Dream’s mentoring as well isn’t he?’ Tubbo speaks up, and Tommy tries to follow the conversation.

Dream, Ranboo’s brother Dream?

‘He is. We’ve put differences aside for this,’ Techno mutters, implying a conflict that Tommy definitely needs to look into.

Niki and Wilbur both laugh at the same time, while Phil just looks amused. ‘You going to let him teach Tommy?’

Teach him what? He’s lost. Even more lost when Techno frowns, ‘Not a chance.’

Tubbo curls closer, and Tommy just continues to snack on the pizza offered out.

**

‘Uhhh…’

Technoblade glances down at him with a blank stare. ‘They’re other fosters. Go make friends.’

‘I’m not a dog, you don’t have to socialise me,’ Tommy grumbles, but he hesitantly walks closer. There’s a bunch of kids, none of whom he recognises, but there’s another older looking guy that Tommy presumes is Dream.

Apparently, there’s a bunch of activities they’re going to be doing. Today’s is fencing, which requires actual padding clothes. Tommy hesitantly skirts around the group of kids, until he finds one that actually meets his eye.

The thing about fosters is that they usually are shy, or abrasive. No in between. Tommy’s always bordered on the latter, but this kid doesn’t seem to agitated. He’s surprised that he doesn’t recognise any of them. Then again, Techno mentioned that these kids do have families. Not adopted, they’re still fosters. Considering the centre isn’t in Manburg, but in L’Manburg, the bigger capital, it doesn’t matter too much.

‘You get roped into this?’ the kid asks, arms crossed as the mentor – who Tommy correctly guessed was Dream – speaks to the group of kids about armour.

Tommy snorts. ‘Yeah. Techno’s my current foster. Name’s Tommy,’ he offers out.

‘Purpled. Social worker told me this would get me some brownie points if I end up back in the centre.’

Another alliance. Different from his one with Tubbo, because Tommy doesn’t trust Purpled. But they’re both fosters, and that makes it a good idea to band together. In this instance, that means laughing at each other when they get dressed in armour.

‘I’ll take you four,’ Dream speaks up, gesturing vaguely to them. That includes him and Purpled, but Tommy doesn’t miss the way Techno tenses.

He’s not arguing. Purpled and him head over with the other two, who introduce themselves as Aimsey and Fundy. Both kids that are older than him by two years. Purpled is only sixteen, so Tommy’s not too young.

It’s actually fun. That’s the surprising thing, Techno’s idea actually works. It starts with the nine of them staying silent and listening to the two mentors, and ends with them all talking and attempting to hit each other with swords. There’re multiple times when Tommy overexerts himself, and flinches at the protest on his healing ribs.

He hides it.

Dream calls time at 7pm, removing his helmet and wiping his hair from his face. ‘Good job guys, you want to head to the showers? We can grab food after if you want?’

Purpled and Tommy stick together, even in the locker-room. They head to the showers next to each other, maybe by coincidence, or by the knowledge that they pick a corner that’s defendable.

‘You good if I go back out?’ Purpled calls, once he’s showered. Tommy, who is struggling with his injured ribs, grunts in affirmative.

The locker room is empty. Tommy steps out of the shower cubicle so he has more space, briefly staring at his reflection. The bruises aren’t as dark anymore, he notes.

‘They better not be from your current home,’ a voice says, and Tommy tenses when he spots Dream.

The man’s keeping a good distance, blocking the entrance so that nobody else could come in. His eyes have no sympathy, and there’s something in the tense line of his mouth that tells Tommy that the man understands. ‘They’re not,’ Tommy replies, pulling his shirt on.

Dream nods. ‘I’m Dream, adopted older brother of Tubbo.’

Adopted. A foster kid, like him. Like Technoblade and Wilbur. Which makes sense, considering they’re all fosters here.

‘Tommy. Temporarily with the Craft house.’

Dream’s smile is soft. ‘Temporarily?’

‘I’ve got three months.’

The man is tall, probably a couple of inches taller than he is. Sandy blond hair, freckles over the bridge of his nose, and a scar that Tommy suspects is a result of his time in foster. He hums, nodding along to what Tommy said, while also maintaining the neutral posture.

Tommy’s not an idiot. The man is trying to appear non-threatening, so that Tommy isn’t uncomfortable.

‘They say anything about those?’

He hesitates. Techno seemed to have an old-standing issue with Dream, but the man is nice. ‘Just to check them over. Pointed out I didn’t tell my worker.’

Dream’s laugh is funny. He wheezes slightly, looking amused at that entire idea. ‘Like that ever works.’

Oh. Tommy gets it. Dream’s a foster that’s more like him, than Techno. ‘How many houses?’

‘Fifteen. Last one was with Toby, when I was sixteen.’

Tommy grabs his stuff and shoves it into his bag. ‘Thirteen,’ he replies, and Dream nods.

Then, the guy smirks. ‘If you ever need to beat some shit up, I’m usually either in the gym downtown, or in my house. Here,’ he offers out a piece of paper, just like Sam did every time he got a new house.

‘Why?’ Tommy asks accusingly, hesitant to accept it.

Dream shrugs, ‘I get what it’s like to be moved around all the time. No offence to your foster-house, but it’s hard to understand the… numbness.’

It’s an accurate word. Most people think it hurts, which it does, but the overwhelming feeling is always a prickly sensation that spreads over his body.

He takes the piece of paper.

**

Today, he’s struggling to concentrate on the chess game at hand. The fidget cube in his hand is so sweaty that it almost slips from his hand, and the music playing in the room does nothing other than leave a ringing in his ears.

It’s evident when he loses six pieces easily, and then is put in check.

‘Is there something on your mind today, Tommy?’ Puffy asks calmly, with the warmest smile on her face.

‘I didn’t do what you asked me to,’ he tells her, warily glancing up as he expects repercussions.

Puffy just continues the game of chess. ‘That’s okay. We can always come back to it at a different time.’

Instead, he tells her about Dream. She listens along, before asking if she kept his number.

‘Yeah. He’s, uh, more likely to understand.’

He loses his first game of chess. Annoyingly, as he resets the board, he realises that the game took way longer than it should have done. Twenty whole minutes.

Puffy nods. ‘He’s had more homes?’

‘Two more than me, at the moment.’

Something in that sentence makes the shrink pause. The same way Dream picked up on “temporarily”.

‘How about we go back to that bet? If I win, I get to ask a question.’

He agrees, even though he knows his mind is distracted today. It’s hardly a surprise when he loses, but Tommy isn’t really… there. His mind is somewhere else for some reason, focused on last night. On how happy Techno was, on how proud Phil was. When they got back, Techno asked him if he thought it was a good idea. Tommy promised it was, and was surprised when his heart warmed at the smile on Techno’s face.

‘You don’t have to answer,’ Puffy begins, cutting off his thoughts, ‘But can I ask what you think will happen in your future? Do you have any plans?’

It’s an easy answer. ‘Apply for emancipation if I can. Get the stuff my mum left for me, and then—’ he cuts himself off, but Puffy just waits.

‘—get someone to look into what happened.’

Her head tilts to the side, white curls disturbed by the movement. ‘Do you want to expand on that?’

Pale arms stretch out, blue eyes staring at him as he stays quiet. Stays hidden. His only job, perfectly preserved.

‘Not today, Big Man.’

**

‘Who would like to start today?’ Phil asks, as they sit in the booth in the café downtown. Tommy snacks down on his burger, figuring that he’ll go last, as usual.

Wilbur surprises him by speaking up. ‘I’ll go! Jimmy mentioned that I probably felt threatened by Tommy’s arrival—’

Tommy almost chokes on his bite of burger.

‘—but we figured out that I was probably more stressed about another person in the house, and how that would effect all of us.’

Keeping his head low, he continues to eat. His appetite has been increasing recently, which is annoying. He doesn’t want to be a burden, and having to eat more to fill his ever-hungry stomach is a pain.

Wilbur doesn’t sound angry though.

‘It’s good that you recognised that,’ Phil says calmly, looking at his youngest with love, ‘I’m proud of you for that. And you know that nothing will change my love for you.’

Wilbur’s grin makes Tommy feel sick. ‘Your old age is making you into a big softie,’ he teases, ‘But I love you too.’

Techno, observing the situation over the top of his milkshake, awkwardly nods his head. ‘What Phil said.’

His burger is good. The fries are salty, and that used to settle bad on his stomach, but it works now. Chewing on his food, he’s glad when conversation picks up again.

‘I think with four of us in the house, it might be important that we spend some time with individual bonding. Wilbur, would you like to start our music sessions again?’

Whatever that means, Wilbur looks delighted. He nods his head so quickly that his curls escape the stupid emo-beanie. ‘And Techno, our book selections could be made into a regular thing.’

Techno nods.

Phil then stares at Tommy. He’s about to say that it doesn’t matter, because he totally understands that he isn’t actually part of the house, but the man just smiles. ‘How would you like to cook together once a week? Or bake, whatever you’d prefer.’

Tommy doesn’t like the attention from the three of them. He sits by the window, with Wilbur at his side, so that nobody notices him. Being involved in conversation is annoying after therapy, because it’s all about emotions. ‘Sure.’

‘Wil, we can go back to our fencing sessions, if you want,’ Techno suggests, and Wilbur agrees.

They all know each other well. It’s no surprise, considering they’re a family.

‘Gremlin, how do you feel about gardening?’

Tommy frowns. ‘Plants and shit?’

Wilbur laughs, ‘Yeah, plants and shit.’

He shrugs, then agrees with that suggestion. Then, figuring it’s bound to happen, he looks to Techno. ‘Chess,’ is all Techno says, and Tommy smirks.

‘I’m going to beat you,’ he warns, and Techno rolls his eyes.

‘Did anything happen in either of your sessions, boys?’ Phil cuts in, and Tommy has already finished his food, so he has nothing to occupy his time with. Luckily, Techno goes first, chatting a little about the session yesterday evening.

Unfortunately, all luck runs out. When Techno is done, they look at Tommy.

For the past two sessions, he’s just talked about chess. The first time, they were fine with it. The second time, he didn’t miss the slight look of surprise on Phil’s face, like he’d been expecting more. ‘We played chess again, and I mentioned Tubbo I guess.’ He hesitates, wondering if he should say more.

Phil reads his expression too well. ‘Was there something else?’

Puffy asked what his future meant, and Tommy told the truth.

‘Nope. Nothing else,’ he lies, looking out of the window rather than staring at the others.

They don’t call him out on it, though.

Chapter Text

Tubbo becomes a normal part of his life at the Craft household. Along with Ranboo, he spends most of his time with Tommy, either out on the streets of Manburg, or in the house playing on the Xbox. It’s weird how quickly they bond, in comparison to the time he spends with Purpled. His second and third sessions are strange, combined with Tommy stabbing at everyone and Purpled encouraging the chaos. Despite this, they don’t communicate outside of the meet-up.

A routine is set. Monday nights are cooking nights with Phil. Tuesday evenings he plays chess with Techno while Wilbur does his strange thing with Phil in the music room. Wednesdays are his day with Purpled in the centre, and then Thursdays are shrink time. His gardening is at some point over the weekend. These things stay static, while Tubbo and Ranboo dot themselves in throughout the weeks.

At the end of week five at the Craft household, something goes wrong. It’s a Sunday, and Tommy comes down to breakfast to find Techno and Phil in deep conversation over the coffee pot. When he emerges, he looks between them suspiciously. ‘Big men?’ he questions, and Phil’s eyes soften.

‘Good morning, mate. We just wanted to let you know that today is a bit of a difficult day for Wil, so he might not be—’

Phil shuts up when feet on the stairs indicate the last member of the household is coming. Tommy wonders what the big deal is about today, but takes his seat in silence when Wilbur appears.

He’s in an oversized sweater, sleeves clutched between his fingers with his beanie on, and his eyes red-rimmed. When he takes his seat, Tommy offers out the orange juice.

‘Morning, Wil,’ Phil says softly. Wilbur doesn’t bother to look up, he just stays silent. ‘Would you like to head out after breakfast?’

Tommy doesn’t like a break in routine. Not that he’s going to say that to anyone, he just sits and eats his slice of toast, and then another one for good measure. ‘Fine,’ Wilbur snaps, refusing to look up.

That’s basically how the day continues. They get in the car, with nobody bothering to tell him where they’re going, and head into town. Arriving at a florist, Wilbur emerges with the biggest bunch of flowers, before they drive further downtown.

Tommy figures out where they’re going when they arrive at the gates of the cemetery.

Obviously, they don’t know that his mum is also buried in this cemetery. They don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, because they’re here for Wilbur. That’s the only reason he follows the trio, before Phil comes to a halt.

‘Would you like us to join you?’

Wilbur nods once, stalking off in the opposite direction to Tommy’s mum.

The plot is nice. There’s a beautiful marble stone, with two named carved in. They died three years ago, according to the stone. Parents. An orphan thrown into the foster system at fifteen, ouch.

While Techno and Phil stay behind Wilbur, Tommy moves over to the side, where a bench sits. It allows him to perch down, taking out his snake-fidget from his pocket to occupy himself.

Silence stretches. It’s uncomfortable, and makes Tommy wonder if he should go and visit his mum’s stone.

‘We’ll give you a minute, Wil,’ Phil murmurs quietly, placing a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder and squeezing. Techno also goes to leave, so Tommy stands up and wanders away from the group.

Nobody is watching him, so he sneaks around to the other side of the cemetery. It’s the cheap side, the simple slabs of stone that show Manburg’s poorer population. His mum’s stone is at the edge of the plot, covered in ivy and cracked on the top side.

Despite her will, she hadn’t actually left a lot of money for her own funeral. Probably because she hadn’t been planning on dying, no matter what the stupid report said. Tommy sits down on the plot, and fiddles with pieces of grass that grow over it.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. Only, he’s so far in his own head that he doesn’t realise that he’s not alone until someone clears their throat.

Wilbur’s standing not too far away. Behind him, on the path, are the other two. They all look surprised at the fact he’s sitting here, so he stumbles up to his feet and tries to use his body to block the stone behind him.

The brunet cocks his head to the side. ‘Dead parents?’

Laughter slips from his lips before he can stop it. It’s funny. ‘Only one.’

Wilbur nods, looking to the stone. ‘Mine died because of a car crash, three years ago. They were in a coma for a bit, and I got sent into an emergency placement with Phil. When they died, Phil kept me.’

The honesty is strange. ‘Sorry, must have been shit,’ Tommy awkwardly says, and Wilbur’s lips quirk into a smile.

‘You’re not great with sympathy.’

‘Fuck you! I’m great with sympathy, I said sorry! Not all of us can be a little bitch like you,’ he snaps back, turning his nose up at the teen.

Wilbur knows he’s joking, which is probably why he just rolls his eyes. ‘Get up, Toms. Let’s go grab harass Niki.’

**

‘Did you add the salt?’ Tommy questions, staring down at the bubbling sauce. Over the other end of the kitchen, Phil is washing up the multiple chopping boards that were used for Tommy to make the Bolognese sauce. A lot of it as well, considering that they’ve got Ranboo, Niki, Tubbo and Dream over for dinner.

Phil chuckles, ‘Yes, Tommy, I added the salt.’

Nodding, he stirs the sauce. ‘The best of men, Philza Minecraft.’

It turns into laughter. ‘Thanks, mate.’

This is a nice moment. Even if there’s shouting from the other room from those playing on the console, and laughter that echoes out as somebody wins.

‘Did you learn this one from a show?’

The bubbling is hypnotising. ‘I kind of just practiced by throwing random things in a pan until it tasted good.’

‘When did you start cooking?’ Phil asks, finishing up the dishes and wandering over to his side.

Something feels uncomfortable recently, especially when it comes to being close to his foster-family. He knows what it is, but it doesn’t mean he’s ready to acknowledge it. ‘I’m not sure, before I was a foster,’ he lies, knowing exactly when he started, and why.

Phil accepts the answer. Tommy abandons the sauce, and walks into the room with the others. Mario Karts is on the screen as usual, with the group spread out over the couches.

Domesticity isn’t something he’s ever experienced before. Nor has he seen anything like Tubbo and Dream’s brother-relationship, with a biological and a foster on the same level. None of it makes a lot of sense to him. Not the way they act with him, or Wilbur telling him the truth about his family, or Techno mentioning his own parents. Not Phil including him in family time.

Not the haunting threat of knowing this is all going to end.

Tubbo moves to make room for him, knowing that the only one that gets close enough to touch Tommy is himself. Everyone else knows it too, which makes it less awkward.

However, today he ignores the offering and instead looks to Dream, sprawled out in one of the chairs and goading Techno as he tries to maintain his lead. Green eyes flick over to him, like they can understand what Tommy is silently requesting, and he chucks his controller to Tubbo. ‘Win for me, bro.’

Tubbo grins, happy with the opportunity, as Dream rises out of his chair.

Tommy turns tail and heads towards the doors to the garden, with Dream right in step behind him.

Once out in the fresh air, with the doors shut, the man speaks, ‘What’s up?’

‘The honeymoon stage. How long… how long did it usually last for you?’

Fosters go through stages in houses. Usually, if the foster-parents aren’t complete dickheads, the stages go as follows: awkward initial phase, the relaxing phase, the honeymoon phase, and then the rebellion.

Tommy’s afraid of the last stage.

Dream’s expression softens, before he hops up onto the wall of the garden-beds around the patio and gestures for Tommy to do the same. The sit side-by-side, looking out to the forest at the back of the property. ‘Depended on the house. In some of the shitty ones, I never really got that phase. In the good ones, I feel like it came when I realised I wanted to stay.’

He understands that.

‘You think it’s happening here?’ Dream asks, understanding the line of questioning.

He wants to stay out of the community centre. He’d do anything to stay out of the centre. ‘It happened in my third house. I wanted to stay, and I thought they wanted me to stay too.’

But then it happens. The inevitable. The point where Sam appears, and he sits down with Tommy. “They can’t foster you anymore, Tommy.”

‘I’d never been sure of a placement until I met Toby. He was young, only eleven years old, and was desperate for a sibling. We got along in a way I couldn’t explain, and my dad, Jschlatt, was nice. Didn’t treat me differently.’

Tommy shuffles closer to Dream as he speaks. It’s hard for any foster to speak about previous homes, or emotions, to another foster. But he gets it. ‘You’re brothers,’ Tommy points out the obvious, and Dream cracks a smile.

‘You know, Philza fosters for adoption.’

The knife in his stomach twists.

‘Not this time, he doesn’t.’

They go back in a while later, and Dream comes to help him with the cooking. The similarities are astonishing, in the way that Dream knows every trick that Tommy thought was unique to him. How to strain the pasta efficiently, and prepare salad quickly. How to avoid the pasta sticking before it is served.

How to balance everything at once, without making a mess. Not a single drop, because it might be a risk to do so. They dance around the kitchen together as the others move to the dining table, able to watch the two of them plate up food.

‘Left,’ Dream calls, spinning with the pasta as Tommy ducks out of the way, Bolognese in hand.

Preparing food makes him feel good, especially with the easy compliments that are sent his way from Phil when they sit down. Tommy realises that he’s waited till everyone else has started before eating his food, sitting like an idiot and staring as Phil takes the first bite.

Then, when he realises he’s hovering, he looks to Dream.

The older foster is doing the same, and when they meet each other’s eye, they both laugh.

‘What’s funny?’ Wilbur asks, confused.

‘S’a multiple house thing,’ Dream says with a laugh, as Tommy snorts and tucks into his food.

He misses the annoyed stare that his foster-siblings exchange.

**

‘Checkmate.’

‘You cheated,’ Tommy accuses, searching the board for any signs of foul play.

Techno leans back in his chair, looking entirely at peace with the accusation. ‘You’re distracted. Did you take your meds?’

He did, but that isn’t the reason he’s distracted. It’s got everything to do with the fact that their chess-playing has moved to the music room. That, as they compete against each other, Wilbur’s at the guitar while Phil is reading over in the corner.

‘Probably,’ Tommy replies, resetting the board.

‘Tommy,’ Phil chides, and Tommy sighs.

‘I did, I swear.’

They play again.

Puffy wanted him to tell her how he felt in the music room. It feels a bit stupid to be thinking about this now, when it was something they discussed almost four weeks ago at the second session. Yet, as he sits with his mind distracted, he tries to pinpoint the feeling in his gut.

It’s complicated. He’s drawn to the violin like a moth to a flame, yet the thought of picking it up makes him want to throw up.

‘Tommy, are you sure you took your meds?’ Techno asks again, as Tommy blindly stumbles into checkmate.

‘I’m not a fucking child, Techno. I can manage my own meds,’ he snarls, not meaning to sound so aggressive.

Phil raises an eyebrow over at the two of them, and Tommy forces his anger back into his stomach.

As the evening progresses, the others leave. Phil goes first, claiming he has a meeting in the morning. Wilbur goes next, explaining that he needs his beauty sleep. Tommy has great fun teasing him for that. For a while, it’s just him and Techno, talking about Greek mythology. The older foster-sibling is a right nerd, Tommy thinks, as he’s told the story of Theseus.

When Techno finally excuses himself, Tommy realises it’s the first time he’s been alone in the room since he first discovered it.

Remembering Puffy’s request, he moves over to the violin case. It’s open, so he can see the bow clipped into place, and the violin nestled into the silk lining. The resin is stored in a separate compartment, and the shoulder rest is tucked next to the neck of the violin. He has to admit, she’s beautiful. Delicately carved, strings taut.

The thought of picking her up makes him flee from the room so quickly that he’s worried the door slams too loudly. He makes it to his room, turning the lock before stumbling to the bathroom to lean over the porcelain bowl.

By the time he’s done gagging, he thinks that he might have to bring this up with Puffy.

**

After the “fucked-up foster kid session” on Wednesday, or “Activities for Fosters” as Techno tells him to call it, they end up having to go shopping. Tommy sits in the passenger seat considering it’s just him and Techno, before stepping out when they get to the store.

At some point, he manages to lose his foster-sibling in the aisles. Considering how tall Techno is, and the bright pink hair, that should be impossible. Annoyingly, he manages to do it, and randomly walks around the store in an attempt to find him. When he does, he finds that Techno is on video call with Phil, asking what they need.

He’s not the only one on a call. In the crisps aisle, a woman is struggling to balance a baby on her hip, the cart she’s pushing around, and the phone pressed to her ear. Combining that with the screaming infant, Tommy feels a momentary wave of pity.

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he says politely, remembering the manners that he was taught, ‘Would you like me to hold them while you take your call?’

The look of relief makes his nerves disappear. ‘That would be lovely, thank you so much! It’s so hard to balance…’

She trails off, handing over her baby to a random teenager in a store. Tommy’s careful, balancing the baby’s head and bringing her close to his chest. When the tears stop, apparently confused by the new person holding her, bright eyes stare up at him. Most babies have blue eyes. This one is no different, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking about his last house, and Clementine.

Most of his houses that had younger siblings realised he was good with kids. It was probably why he had hundreds of different jobs to do orientating around them.

The baby latches on his shirt with tiny, pudgy fingers. A happy gurgling sound falls from her lips, and Tommy rocks the kid gently as the mum finishes her conversation at the end of the aisle.

‘There you are, Phil says we need…’ Techno falters, staring at the child in Tommy’s arms.

‘Tommy, mate, where did you find a child?’ Phil’s voice echoes out through the speaker of the phone, intriguing the baby in his arms. She gurgles again, batting one hand against Tommy’s cheek and squeezing the skin.

He smiles. ‘Oh, you’re adorable. So cute,’ he murmurs, before his answer to Techno and Phil is cut off by the return of the mother.

‘Thank you again, I can never get her to stop crying! You must have younger siblings,’ she says with a breathless smile, as Tommy hands the kid back across.

It’s almost funny how the baby starts crying again.

‘No problem, ma’am,’ he assures, waving goodbye to the tiny baby.

Falling in step with Techno, he’s aware that his foster-brother is staring at him. ‘What’s your problem, dickhead?’

Techno snorts. ‘There’s the Tommy we know.’

**

‘Morning, Tommy,’ Puffy greets, as Tommy enters her therapy room. He shoots her a grin, heading over to the chess table and settling in the comfy chair. Puffy copies, abandoning her notebook and instead collecting her cup of coffee, sitting opposite him.

‘How was your week?’ Tommy asks her as he makes the decision to go first.

Puffy responds with just as much enthusiasm as she did in the first week. ‘Good, thank you. I managed to catch up on a lot of paperwork, and I took Foolish to see the art exhibit downtown.’

He wonders if most parents do things like that with their children. Wracking his brain, he tries to recall if he ever went out with his mum like that. Everything was usually for work, or for practice, or for necessities.

‘How was your week?’

‘Tubbo taught me how to break someone’s kneecaps, which was cool. Techno beat me at chess, but I was distracted and all that, so it didn’t actually count. Dream and I had a chat about foster homes, and… oh! Wilbur went to visit his parents’ gravestone, so we all went,’ he recounts, telling her the events of the week. He leaves out the cooking with Phil, and the fact that he’s nervous that the seedlings he planted with Wilbur won’t grow.

Puffy takes the bombardment of information without batting an eye, though she picks up on the important parts, as usual. ‘That must have been difficult for Wilbur.’

Tommy thinks this over. ‘I guess so. He explained what happened a bit.’

‘He trusts you,’ Puffy says, although it sounds like a question. Now that Tommy considers it, he realises that Wilbur might trust Tommy. Just a little bit. It’s a strange thought.

If Wilbur can trust Tommy, then Tommy can man up and speak to Puffy. ‘I went into the music room again.’

It’s a weird thing to tell her. Tommy’s only doing it because he wants her to fix the problem, but from the look of contemplation on her face, he doubts it’ll be a simple fix. ‘What did you feel?’

He thinks. ‘When I’m in the room, it’s hard not to look at the violin. But then I walked up to the case, and it was… uncomfortable,’ he awkwardly tells her, and Puffy crosses her legs.

‘Overwhelming? Is it the thought of playing that makes you afraid?’

Tommy bristles at the accusation. ‘I’m not a fucking coward,’ he hisses, defensively raising his knees closer to his chest.

Puffy watches his reaction neutrally. ‘No, you’re not. But I think your nerves towards the violin are based on what used to happen when you played.’

‘Nothing fucking happened,’ he denies, heart hammering away in his chest.

Nothing happened. He would play the violin, and it would make his mum happy.

‘You mentioned that you learned to play chess with some of your mum’s clients. Did you learn the violin from them, too?’

His foot taps anxiously on the seat. The chess board stays between them, paused in time as they instead focus on the conversation. ‘No. Mum knew how to play, and she needed someone to entertain the guests.’

‘What did your mum do for work, Tommy?’

‘She… she collected secrets. Worked for some big companies and found rats in their networks.’

‘Take a seat, Sir. Relax into the music.’

‘And you’d play the violin during these meetings?’ Puffy asks. At some point, the notebook ended up in her lap, which Tommy didn’t like. The scratching sound of pencil on paper made his ears hurt.

‘Yeah.’

Puffy’s eyes scan him. ‘So you witnessed these meetings, when your mother used information she had on people.’

His skin itches. It’s too hot in this room, sweat rolling down the back of his neck and making his shirt stick to him. ‘I guess.’

‘Must have been a little frightening.’

Terrifying. ‘Of course it fucking wasn’t.’

‘Perhaps your aversion to playing the violin is based on the remembering those meetings.’

He’s up on both feet before he can stop himself. The chess board hits the floor, and Tommy curls his fingers into fists. ‘Shut up. Stop… it’s not that. I’m not a coward,’ he bites out, but it’s getting harder and harder to think when his heart’s threatening to leap from his body.

Vaguely, he realises that his legs have given up from under him. Carpet hits his knees, and Tommy reaches for his hair and tugs, desperate to stop the pounding in his head. Warm fingers lay over his own hands, soft touches and encouragements to move closer, to tuck into the person sitting by his side. ‘M’not afraid, there wasn’t anything wrong,’ he pleads, and the hand in his hair scratches gently into his scalp.

His head is buried into Puffy’s shoulder. There’re tears staining her white blouse, but she doesn’t seem concerned when he finally pulls away from her. Blue eyes trace over him, lingering on his wet cheeks. ‘I apologise for pushing you so far, Tommy,’ she tells him gently, as he sits amongst the fallen chess pieces.

‘Nothing happened,’ he lies, and Puffy can tell. They both can.

‘You said you wanted to prove what happened to your mum,’ Puffy begins, studying his reactions carefully, ‘Did something go wrong in the meetings?’

‘Keep your eyes shut, runt.’

He doesn’t answer. They sit in silence for a while, until Puffy gently helps him stand up. There’s blood on his palms from where his nails dug into the skin, and he’s pretty sure his eyes are swollen from crying.

Usually, Tommy’s the first out in the waiting room for the others. Today, Wilbur and Techno are both sprawled out over the couch, and Phil’s scolding them both for bickering with each other. A perfectly normal sight.

‘Ah, did the chess take—’ Phil cuts himself off, which Tommy appreciates, because Puffy’s still got an arm around his shoulder and he doesn’t know if he can talk at the moment.

‘Tommy’s had a bit of a rough session today,’ Puffy tells his foster-father, and then her arm is gone.

He misses it immediately. ‘I’ll see you next week, Tommy. Remember, you have my number.’

Instead of replying, he shuffles over to the others, ready to leave.

**

He doesn’t order food. A simple milkshake is occupying his thoughts, swirling in his stomach as he drinks it down. Outside of the window, people walk down the pavements of Manburg like they don’t have a care in the world. It might feel like his world is crashing and burning, but to everyone else, there’s nothing wrong.

He’s insignificant.

It’s not like he’s never felt that way before. But in this household, with the Craft family, he felt like he was at least worth a little of their time.

‘Tommy, mate, do you want to talk about your session?’

The others have. He hates the stupid talking aspect of this outing, he hates that he can’t just drink his milkshake and fade into the leather booth-seat. ‘No.’

They move on. Nothing is said about his blunt reply, which is nice. Nothing is said as they move to the car, or as they drive home. They chatter amongst themselves, and Tommy watches as the city turns to the countryside, just like it had on the first moment Sam brought him out here.

Puffy thought he was afraid of the violin. But it’s just an instrument.

They arrive at home, and Tommy exits the car first. He’s up the stairs and slips into the house as soon as Phil unlocks the door, kicking his shoes off and racing up to the next floor.

The music room is cold. He shuts the door behind him, refusing to hesitate as he moves straight to the case. If there’s a tremble in his hands when he reaches out, nobody is there to point it out. Nobody sees him struggle to attach the shoulder rest, or to run the resin along the bow.

When he raises the violin and tucks it under his chin, he hesitates.

The piece is obvious. He plucks the strings quickly to check the tune, surprised by how he barely needs to adjust it, before he raises the bow to the strings.

It’s just as easy as always. The moment the music starts to play, the nerves in his stomach vanish. There’s nothing but the beautiful emptiness inside his mind, the way his eyes flutter shut and absorbs the music. His body moves with it, dancing over the strings as he lengthens the drag of the bow, listens to the vibrato as his fingers practice movements that he never forgot.

He becomes aware of the tears on his cheeks when he reaches the crescendo, fingers moving so quickly that there’s nothing but a blur as the muscle memory performs his mother’s favourite, Swan Lake.

Ironic, because just as the swan did, Tommy comes crashing down after the final note.

He’s no longer in the music room. There’re dark curtains covering the only window, and the scent of smoke hanging heavy on every piece of furniture. His music stand is in front of him, the pages scribbled on and faded from use. The reclining seats sprawl out around the small stage, capturing his performance as usual.

‘—hear me, mate?’

‘What do we—’

‘—call Puffy, I don’t know—’

The violin stays under his shoulder. He waits, and waits, and continues to wait. There’s a person on the seat, leaning back and studying him with dark, unyielding eyes. ‘Where is it, runt?’

‘—on her way. She says not to touch him.’

‘But he’s crying—’

Swan Lake echoes in his head. Soft and gentle, vicious and demanding. The haze of the music is enough to keep him silent, as he’s always been taught. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say a word. Simply stands and stares, waiting for her to return.

She doesn’t, but someone else does.

‘Tommy, can you hear me? It’s Puffy, and your foster-family are here too. I think you’re experiencing a form of trauma-response, so I’m going to try and talk you through it. I’ve asked your family to stay, in case this happens again and they need to do this.’

His mouth is dry. Each muscle in his body feels too heavy, and the violin trembles in his grip.

‘You’ve just finished your performance. When that happened before, what would you do after? Did the clients leave with your mother?’

The figure on the couch grins devilishly.

He’s finished his performance, that’s what the newcomer says. ‘Finished?’ he croaks, knowing he isn’t supposed to speak, but the usual signal hasn’t been given.

‘You’ve finished.’

He puts the violin away. The case is in a different spot, which is strange, but he places her away gently. Then, with that done, he sits down.

‘Why are we sitting?’ the woman asks again, copying his actions.

‘Hiding.’

She hums. It’s a nice sound, and Tommy likes it.

‘Do you remember what you said earlier, about not being afraid? Did your mother scare you when she used people’s secrets?’

Stay quiet, stay hidden. Watch and learn.

‘Keep your eyes shut, runt.’

‘Did you play the violin while she did that, Tommy?’ the woman asks, more quietly this time, ‘Were you there?’

‘Didn’t see anything,’ he swears, and someone sighs.

‘I’m going to put a hand on your shoulder now. I’d like you to shut your eyes and focus on my words, okay?’

His mum never touched him after he played the violin for her, but he sinks into the contact anyway.

‘Your name is Tommy, you’re fifteen years old. You’re sitting in the Craft house, and your best friend is Toby Smith. You’ve got a stuffed cow named Henry, and your favourite colour is red.’

Tommy listens, and parrots it back to her hesitantly. Fifteen. He’s fifteen.

He flicks an eye open.

Puffy’s sitting cross-legged on the floor watching him, but her eyes crinkle in the corners when he stares at her. ‘Puffy,’ he says cautiously, and she smiles.

‘Hello, Tommy.’

‘What… what did you do? What did you do to my fucking head?’ he snaps, yanking away from her touch.

The others are in the room. Other people watching him freak out.

‘I believe you playing the violin triggered a response in your mind. It’s a factor of conditioning and repetitive movements, but I’ll explain that later. For now, I think you might need some rest, and I’ll book you in for tomorrow.’

Another change to his schedule.

‘Wilbur, would you make sure Tommy gets to his room okay? I need a quick word with Phil.’

Tommy doesn’t acknowledge Wilbur walking by his side. They don’t speak, and Tommy reaches his room. He climbs up onto the bed, hides under the weighted blanket and retrieves Henry from under the pillow.

Wilbur shuts the door.

**

Someone knocking on the door wakes him up. Vaguely, he hears a warning that someone is coming in, before Tommy blinks back sleep and stares at the pink-haired man in the doorway. Techno lingers for a moment, before coming closer and perching on the edge of the bed.

He’s not sure whether it’s worth the embarrassment of having to leave his bed. ‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah, kid, you’ve had a rough day,’ Techno says with a slight smile on his face.

Tommy groans, disappearing back under the covers. ‘Kill me.’

‘I do like killing orphans,’ Techno mutters to himself, which Tommy doesn’t doubt, ‘But I’m pretty sure I’d have to go after Wilbur first.’

That earns a snort. It’s funny sentence. ‘I’ve got a dad that’s living anyway, I think that means I’m not an orphan.’

Techno tugs at the blanket and reveals Tommy’s face. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘S’not on my file. Anyway, is Phil going to kick me out?’

The man frowns. For a second, Tommy tenses up, gripping Henry like it might protect him if Techno gets angry. But then the guy huffs out a breath, shaking his head softly. ‘You’re not leaving here, Theseus. And you don’t have to tense up around us, we’re not going to hurt you.’

‘Not even after earlier?’

Concerned eyes narrow in on him. ‘Never.’

Tommy half believes it.

**

They don’t discuss it. Save for Phil promising that he’s there if Tommy ever wants to talk, it doesn’t get brought up. Tommy quietly apologises at dinner, and then does the dishes even if it isn’t his turn, before heading to his room again. But the nap earlier meant that sleep wouldn’t come, so he ends up sitting on the patio early in the morning, when it’s too cold to be outside.

‘Kid.’

Tommy huffs. Technoblade stands in the doorway, hands curled around a mug of something warm.

‘Blade.’

‘Can’t sleep?’

It’s the mess of emotions and the confusion that means he actually tells the truth. ‘I want to play the violin.’

Techno sits beside him, offering out the drink.

‘Because you like playing, or it reminds you of what happened before foster-care?’

He doesn’t reply to that question. The hot chocolate settles in his stomach as he gulps it down hungrily, thinking back to the incident earlier.

Conditioning. Puffy called it conditioning. He’s not an idiot, he knows what that is. He knows that the fuzzy feeling in his mind is him drifting away, disassociating. He’s known it for a while, he just never had reason to bring it up. Never had reason to acknowledge what was going on in his head.

‘Do you think Phil would help me get emancipated?’ Tommy asks instead, staring at across the garden. It’s pretty in the dark, the trees effectively forming a barrier at the end of the lawn. The pond filter is the only sound, save for the rustling leaves.

Techno glances over at him. ‘Is that what you want?’

No. ‘Yes. Mum left me stuff in her will, but I can’t get it until I’m an adult, or I’ve got a legal guardian.’

‘Money?’

‘Something like that,’ Tommy lies, knowing that there’s something far more important than money in what she left him.

Something that could avenge her.

His foster-sibling hums quietly. ‘If it’s money that you’re worried about, you don’t have to be. Phil will look after you.’

Not forever.

‘Only till September.’

The older boy snorts. ‘Tommy, if you wanted to stay, Phil would make this permanent.’

The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach returns. Tommy’s getting too comfortable here, too used to having someone to rely on. It’s why he doesn’t say anything to Techno, and simply slips back into the house once the hot chocolate is done.

Chapter Text

They took his chores off the board.

He stares at the fridge, trying to work out why they’ve decided he isn’t capable of doing anything today. Was it because of his freak-out yesterday? The fact he has another session with Puffy? Absolutely ridiculous, so he ignores it and decides to take over Wilbur and Techno’s chores. Dishwasher unpacked, kitchen cleaned, and then he walks to collect the post. With that done, he waters the houseplants that are dotted around the bottom floor, before noting that Phil’s job today is to feed the fish.

He does that as well. The golden fishes swim to the surface happily as he drops the pellets, watching in amusement as they gulp them up hungrily. He’s never had a pet before, but he kind of likes the fish.

Maybe he could pick one as his favourite. It’s a bit difficult considering they all look the same, but there’s one that is swimming a little funny. His fin looks damaged, Tommy thinks, before claiming it as his own. ‘Gertrude,’ he names the fish, who eats a pellet happily after being named.

Back in the house, he crosses off the chores he did. Sadly, he can’t stop the fact that Wilbur’s on packing the dishwasher later, but he’s done enough to feel useful.

When the rest of them come down for breakfast, Phil’s the first to see the fact that the chores are crossed off. His eyes flit from the fridge to Tommy, who does his best to keep his eyes on the toast in his hand.

‘Tommy,’ Phil begins, tone unrecognisable, ‘Did you do the chores?’

‘You took mine off the board,’ Tommy replies, rather than answering. He knows he sounds angry, but he’s not sure why.

‘I thought you needed a day off.’

‘Well, I don’t.’

He waits for the inevitable telling-off that comes with being snappy, but Phil just stares at him for a long moment. ‘Noted.’

Tommy wants a reaction. He wants Phil to get pissed off, but the man returns to drinking his coffee like Tommy hadn’t just backchatted.

‘After your session, Wilbur suggested we have a movie afternoon with takeaway,’ Phil changes the subject, aiming the words at Tommy even if he smiles at both of his sons as well.

‘Crime shows,’ Techno argues, and Wilbur pouts.

‘C’mon! We always watch crime shows! You know how to get away with killing someone, Tech.’

I do too, Tommy thinks numbly.

‘Boys, I swear your bickering will be the death of me,’ Phil cuts in, frowning, ‘Tommy will decide when we get back.’

Both Techno and Wilbur look at Tommy like they’re about to plead their case. Despite the fact that he wants to upset Phil, he doesn’t actually want to upset the other two. ‘Movie first, crime shows after.’

The siblings glance to each other, before Techno shrugs. ‘I can deal with that.’

**

‘It’s a natural response to a set of negative stimuli—’

Puffy is talking a lot. Tommy sits there with his fidget cube, mostly ignoring the conversation between the two adults in the room. Phil has to be present apparently, so that he can understand how best to treat the symptoms.

‘We’ll continue to work in our sessions on the causes of this response, but I still believe that gradual exposure will be beneficial.’

Phil is taking notes. Jotting things down that Puffy says, like it matters. Like he’s actually wanting to fix Tommy.

Tommy dislikes the conversation he had with Techno last night; the implication that Phil might let him stay isn’t one he’d considered. The expectation was to end up back at the centre after his stay, and make it to his sixteenth birthday.

‘Do you have any questions?’ Puffy ends her rant on Tommy’s fucked up mind, looking mostly to Phil considering Tommy’s distracted.

Phil assures her that he’ll call if he has any. They walk out of her office side by side, although Tommy makes sure to keep a distance between him and his foster-father. He also sits in the back of the car, despite the fact that the passenger seat is empty.

They don’t talk until Phil pulls into the driveway. ‘I know you might not think it, mate, but I care about you. If there’s anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable or at home here, just let me know.’

Emancipation.

‘Thanks, Philza Minecraft,’ Tommy mutters, avoiding eye contact as he slips out of the car and into the house.

The sound of his foster-siblings on the console is enough to distract him from the man following him into the house, and the quickly depleting time that he has left in this household.

**

‘Hypothetically—’ Tommy begins, eating out of the carton of Chinese in his hand, ‘—how easy is it to overturn a ruling on manner of death?’

‘Hypothetically,’ Wilbur says with a laugh, rolling his eyes like Tommy’s just said the most amusing thing ever.

He was being genuine, but he’s not going to push it. Luckily for him, Technoblade doesn’t mock his question. ‘Depends on the circumstances. Usually the post-mortem indicates death pretty well, and you’d have to find some compelling evidence to reopen a case.’

Tommy digests this information carefully. It’s a lot of words he doesn’t exactly understand, but he’s pretty sure he can work it out. It might be helpful, though, to have someone like Techno on his side. Or at the very least, explaining the terms that Tommy’s unsure of. ‘Like a witness?’

The pink-haired man looks over at him with something curious in his eyes. ‘A first-hand witness would be difficult to ignore.’

‘What makes them untrustworthy?’

Wilbur groans. ‘Seriously? Don’t encourage his weird obsessions, Toms. We could watch Up again if that would change the topic.’

Figuring he’s pushing his luck, Tommy falls silent. Techno mouths later to him, which makes some form of hope bubble in his stomach, before they return to the show.

By the time bedtime comes, Tommy’s tired. He wants to leave, but he has to wait until both Wilbur and Phil have gone to bed before he glances over at his older foster-sibling. ‘Hot cocoa?’ the man suggests, and Tommy agrees easily.

Perching on the kitchen side as Techno prepares two mugs, he swings his legs lazily.

‘A witness can be discredited for multiple reasons. Anything that might impair their ability to remember, like drugs or alcohol. A bias towards either the assailant, or the victim. Previous silence might get brought up in court if they choose to testify months, or years, after an incident.’

The mug is pressed into his hands as they head towards the garden without having to verbally suggest it to the other. ‘What if the witness had evidence?’

‘Of the crime?’

‘Yeah.’

Technoblade hums. ‘Murder weapon would be brilliant. Method and motive are almost as good.’

Tommy could do that. The end part, and he could explain the method. It could work.

Technoblade is watching him, but he doesn’t push. No demands for answers, no questioning his intent. Just a silence that stretches until Tommy nervously admits the truth. ‘I need that emancipation.’

‘To get something your mum left you,’ Techno states, though it comes out as a question.

Tommy nods.

‘What happened to her, Tommy?’

The million-dollar question, he thinks numbly, tightening his hold on the mug. It’s hot, burning the tips of his fingers as he looks out across the garden. ‘Suicide.’

His tone gives him away, or the questions. ‘You don’t think it was.’

Something fierce burns in the back of his mind.

‘I know it wasn’t.’

**

Over planting sprouts for the winter, Tommy and Wilbur bond. He’s still not convinced that anything planted by his hand will grow, but Wilbur seems adamant that they tend to the garden together. Apparently, Wilbur was the one to begin the garden when he arrived at the Craft household three years ago. The only thing he didn’t tend to were the potatoes, which Techno had a strange obsession with.

‘Why gardening?’

Wilbur brushes dirt from his hands, glancing over at him. ‘My mum had a flower garden, and dad used to have a greenhouse.’

Parental things. Tommy digests the new information hungrily, eager to learn more about the musician. ‘You’ve always liked gardening then?’

‘God no,’ Wilbur says with a laugh, ‘Absolutely not. Used to pretend to be sick to get out of weeding.’

Tommy hums, continuing to plant the tiny seedlings from the greenhouse. It’s a delicate job, oddly reminding him of playing the violin. Fingers having to gently coax out the music, or in this case the life, from his project. ‘Always a bitch then, hah. Bitchbur.’

Wilbur scowls, flicking dirt in his direction.

‘What about you? Did you have a garden growing up? Or I should say being more of a child than you are now,’ Wilbur mutters the last bit under his breath, as Tommy considers hitting him with his trowel.

‘Nah. Lived in an apartment in Manburg most of the time.’

He hums quietly at Tommy’s words. ‘Most?’

‘We moved a lot for work. Into the bigger cities, like Essempi.’

‘The capital? I’ve never been.’

Tommy ignores the flashes of large, sky-scraping buildings and the wealth that poured from the streets. ‘Don’t bother, it’s a shithole. Full of Tories,’ Tommy pauses, then glances to Wilbur, ‘Although I guess you’re used to that.’

‘I’m not a Tory,’ Wilbur protests, while Tommy just sympathetically nods.

‘Of course not, Wimbler.’

When more dirt gets thrown at him, Tommy responds by lunging at his foster-sibling. He’s not sure what his plan was, considering he ends up ramming into Wilbur’s torso and knocking them both back to the grass.

He’s touching him. Bare fingers on Wilbur’s arms, attempting to pin him while smearing dirt all over the older teen. Wilbur’s screeching like a banshee, kicking and fighting right back at him, but all Tommy can think about is the fact that he’s less afraid.

Even when Wilbur manages to get him in a headlock, ruffling his hair and laughing loudly. ‘Dirty crime boy,’ Wilbur says cheerfully, as Tommy pushes him away and glares.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Go shower, gremlin.’

‘I’m going to punt you,’ Tommy tells his foster-brother, who just smiles at him like he’s said the most wholesome thing ever.

‘Aww, am I growing on you Toms?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘It’s okay,’ Wilbur says teasingly, ‘You’re allowed to think I’m awesome.’

‘Honestly, Wilby, you’re just an idi—’

‘Did you just call me Wilby?’

Tommy distinctly hears his heart skip. Oh no.

‘No, I fucking didn’t, I—’

Wilbur’s smile reaches the corner of his eyes. ‘You can call me Wilby, sunshine.’

‘I hate you.’

Tommy heads in the direction of the house, ignoring Wilbur’s cackling entirely.

‘Sure you do.’

**

Tubbo and Ranboo come round on Sunday to play Minecraft with him. They don’t talk much, save for the occasional comment on the game. It’s a peaceful break from the constant looks that his foster-family are giving him, so Tommy appreciates their presence. Ranboo, for example, is now seated at his side. Neither of them acknowledge the fact that their thighs are almost touching, that this is the closest Tommy has chosen to get with him.

When Tubbo dies, a screeching sound fills the room as the boy flops down dramatically onto the carpet, clearly frustrated. ‘I hate this game. This game, and Philza Minecraft for ever inventing it.’

Phil, sitting in the kitchen with Technoblade, pokes his head around the corner moments after Tubbo speaks. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, mate,’ Phil jokes.

The doorbell rings, and Wilbur disappears to answer it from where he was sitting in the corner.

‘Don’t apologise to him; he’s just annoyed that he’s not as big of a man as me,’ Tommy chirps in response, ignoring the warmth that comes when Phil smiles dotingly at him. Tubbo responds by hurling a pillow in his direction, so Tommy hides behind Ranboo’s lanky frame.

‘Protect me,’ he hisses, ducking under Ranboo’s arm and only mildly freaking out at the fact he’s in contact with the older teen.

Ranboo doesn’t bother to hide his look of delight. ‘You did imply he was less of a man.’

Tommy scowls. ‘Betrayal.’

Wilbur reappears in the room with Dream in tow. Techno, as if sensing that his sort-of-reluctant friend is in the room exits the kitchen as well, joining the growing gang.

‘Evening, I’m here to pick the boys up,’ Dream greets, briefly flicking a glance to Techno.

The pink-haired man huffs, before slumping onto one of the couches without replying. Rather rude, although Tommy’s never bothered to ask what the issues are between them. He makes a note to question him later.

‘Just a little longer?’ Tubbo pleads, and Phil chuckles.

‘They’re welcome to stay for a bit longer if you don’t mind waiting? I can fix you up a drink,’ Phil offers with a smile, even if Techno glares at him.

Dream relents. Tubbo immediately goes back to the game, roping Ranboo into joining him, while Tommy decides to intervene before Phil can lead Dream away. ‘I’ve got it,’ he says, hopping off the seat and looking to Tubbo’s older brother.

He follows. They stay silent in the kitchen, considering others are just around the corner, but once he’s made a drink he gestures for them to head away from the main room. Up the back staircase and towards his floor, guiding Dream to his room.

‘Guessing you aren’t drawing me back here to kidnap me,’ Dream drawls, taking in the room as Tommy shuts the door behind him.

‘You… you said I could talk to you if I had any issues,’ Tommy awkwardly begins. Dream’s head snaps towards him, shoulders tensing slightly.

‘They do something?’

The protectiveness, strangely, isn’t hated. In fact, Tommy finds himself smiling slightly. At the centre, Tommy was one of the oldest. He looked after the younger kids, helped them pack their bags when they were going to a new home. Sure, there were other teens he fought with. Ones that would take his stuff, and bully him for any perceived weakness.

Dream’s protectiveness is a result of the foster system. Tommy recognises it, and relaxes. ‘Techno said that if I wanted to stay, all I had to do was ask.’

The older man recognises the issue immediately. Foster kids don’t just ask to stay. It doesn’t happen.

Dream takes a seat. ‘You said that you thought you were going to stay in one of your old houses.’

It’s an encouragement to talk. Tommy remembers that Dream never got that feeling, not until he met Tubbo, so he wonders if the man can relate to this. ‘I was fresh in the system, it was only my third house. First one that wasn’t an emergency placement. The family were nice, they had two children already but they wanted a third. I stayed there for four months, and it was long-term. One day, they sit me down after school…’ he trails off, remembering the feel of the shitty couch beneath him, the wallpaper on the walls.

Dream’s eyes are understanding. ‘You thought it was adoption.’

‘You hear about it as soon as you’re in the system. The ones that get chosen.’

Sandy hair falls in front of green eyes when the man nods. ‘The lucky ones. I think it took me till my fifth house to realise that wasn’t me.’

They sit in silence for a moment, both similar in so many ways. Except, Dream has been adopted. He has a father, legally. He has a brother. Tommy has a house that he doesn’t want to mess up, but he doesn’t dare ask for them to extend the placement. In all his plans, he only ever considered getting to sixteen, of gaining emancipation and living off what his mother had left him. There was never the word adoption. Not after house number three.

Not even in his last home, where he wanted to stay with Clementine.

‘You said Phil fosters to adopt.’

Dream eyes up the compass that’s sitting on the desk. He knows better than to touch anything belonging to a foster kid, instead just staring at it for a while. ‘A two for two record.’

‘I don’t want to be adopted,’ Tommy lies, because deep down, there’s always some desire to have a family. To have someone to rely on.

‘Then don’t be. If you want emancipation at sixteen, I’ll help you get it. You need a place to stay, I’ve got an apartment in Manburg that I share with my mates. If this goes wrong, I’ve got you.’

Tommy doesn’t trust Phil to not get fed up with him, but he trusts Dream.

They don’t promise, verbally. Instead, Dream offers out a smile, and Tommy returns it. An agreement of sorts.

Someone knocks on the door, and Tommy allows them to enter. Wilbur’s in the doorway, sparing a glance to Dream. It’s almost annoyed, but it’s gone in a heartbeat. ‘Tubbo died again, and now is threatening to burn the house down.’

Dream groans. ‘I’ll take him home.’

Wilbur vanishes, and Dream hesitates before turning to Tommy. ‘Come to the gym tomorrow? I need a sparring partner.’

Tommy agrees easily, remembering his curfew allows him as long as he asks Phil. They head downstairs together, finding Tubbo screeching at the TV screen whilst Ranboo tries to pull him away. Phil’s watching in amusement, while Techno and Wilbur seem to be bickering amongst themselves.

‘Phil, am I good to go out tomorrow?’ Tommy asks, as Dream collects his brother and Ranboo.

Phil looks delighted that Tommy has asked. It’s not like he doesn’t usually, when Tubbo and Ranboo come over. He supposes this is the first time he’s asked to go out, rather than have people come over. ‘Of course. Normal curfew, do you need one of your brothers to drop you off?’

To most people in the room, the sentence is perfectly ordinary.

Brothers.

Dream’s head snaps over to stare at Tommy with an unreadable expression. But Tommy’s in the same situation, the ugly band in his stomach tightening at the words. Where he falters, Dream picks up the slack. ‘No need, I’ll pick him up. Ten sound good to you, Toms?’

The nickname is the same one Wilbur uses for him, the same one that his…

That thought is shut off.

‘Sure, big D.’

He frowns at the name, but ushers his brother and Ranboo out of the door without commenting on it. Tommy waits until the lock clicks before he glances over to his foster-family, ignoring everything that just happened in the past minute. ‘What’s for dinner?’

**

‘I don’t see the issue,’ Sapnap pants out, wincing as Tommy yet again strikes his exposed side. The boxing ring provides a great place for Tommy to work out his frustrations over the situation, without actually doing harm. Well, limited harm.

‘It’s the idea of siblings,’ Dream provides, watching from the sideline. He’s already had a go with Tommy, and admittedly, the teen lost. Dream’s good, annoyingly. Sapnap, however, is too stubborn and prideful to watch his sides.

Another punch to the man’s side has Sapnap tapping out of the fight. Tommy relents immediately, moving over to where George is seated, scrolling on his phone. He wordlessly hands Tommy a water bottle, without bothering to look up. ‘So? You call me brother all the time,’ Sapnap says, the word filled with affection when aimed at Dream.

‘It’s different. You’re my brother through choice. When you get thrown to a family, there’s no way they can get rid of you if you’re adopted. Not unless the same thing happens that meant you ended up a foster in the first place.’

In Tommy’s case, a suicide (murder). In Dream’s case, a deadbeat dad and an alcohol mum.

Sapnap pauses at this. ‘You’re worried that something goes wrong after adoption?’

‘Yes,’ both Dream and Tommy say in unison, exchanging a look of surprise.

George finally puts his phone down to stare. ‘Then ask for a permanent foster home.’

‘But then Tommy can’t access his inheritance until he’s eighteen.’

The brunet hums thoughtfully. ‘What’s the worst that could happen if you did get adopted?’

Again, the two of them are in perfect sync. ‘Abandonment.’

Tommy then darts a look to Dream, softening his expression. ‘You won’t be, though. You’ve got a family.’

Dream’s eyes shine with equal mixtures of amusement and pride. ‘I know, kid. Still difficult sometimes.’

‘Not to interrupt the sappy shit—‘ Sapnap says, looking to Tommy, ‘— but what’s in your inheritance that can’t wait?’

Tommy’s not told Dream that much. The bare minimum; that his mum left him something that was important to her work, and that she wanted him to keep safe.

Dream gives him the opportunity to back out of this conversation, but he doesn’t. ‘The coroner ruled my mum’s death as a suicide.’

The same amount that he told Techno.

Sapnap’s eyes widen. ‘And you don’t believe it?’

The same question, near enough.

Only he doesn’t have to answer this time, because George speaks for him. ‘Obviously, idiot, otherwise there would be no point in getting the inheritance,’ the man chides, frowning in Sapnap’s direction.

The youngest of the trio of friends blushes. ‘Hey! I didn’t want to presume anything.’

The look on George’s face is priceless. ‘Sapnap being thoughtful? Hell must be freezing over.’

Dream’s wheezing laughter fills the room, and Tommy can’t help but join in.

Ironically, though, Sapnap made a good point. If he could wait till he was sixteen to try and prove his case, then could he wait till he was eighteen? Or he could do what George suggested, and open up to the idea of adoption. Then he’d have a family, and a legal parent that would mean he could claim what was his.

Would they want him, if they figured out what had happened?

Dream’s arm slings around his shoulder in comfort, and Tommy leans into the embrace. For now, at least, he doesn’t have to think about that.

**

‘Check.’

Tommy frowns. ‘All part of my master plan, dear Blade.’

Opposite him, Techno rolls his eyes in amusement. It’s funny, because this is part of his plan. Sort of. He’d been so consumed with thoughts of the room they’re in, that he might have missed the Bishop’s approach. He recovers with his Knight, before forcing his mind back onto the issue at hand, rather than the music room.

Wilbur and Phil have just finished their music session together. The guitar is still being played, chords strummed as Tommy risks a glance to the violin case.

‘If you’re going to stare, you might as well try and play,’ Technoblade interrupts, following Tommy’s gaze to the instrument.

Phil and Wilbur do their best to pretend like they aren’t listening in to this conversation. In fact, Phil stands up and says that he’s going to go downstairs and heat up the lasagne that they made yesterday. When Wilbur offers to help by cooking garlic bread and salad, Tommy realises that they’re giving him space.

With them gone, Tommy abandons the chess board. Techno simply stays seated as Tommy lets his feet guide him across the room. ‘What if it goes wrong?’

‘Last time you let yourself get lost in the music. This time, why don’t you try and focus on me instead?’

Tommy doesn’t verbally answer, but he does pick up the violin. The shoulder rest is put on, and he retrieves the bow before stepping away from the case and staring back at his foster-sibling. ‘This is stupid.’

The pink-haired man shrugs. ‘Stop panicking. If you fall, we’ll be here to catch you.’

If you fall, we’ll be here to catch you.

He doesn’t like having to trust them, and Techno knows it. The staring contest between the two of them drags for a minute, before Tommy raises the bow. Just as it did the first time, his heart leaps at the thought of having to play.

Unlike the first time, he isn’t stupid enough to play a piece that can wreck him so easily. He sticks with Tchaikovsky, opting for a piece from one of his symphonies.

The moment he begins to play, his eyes threaten to shut.

‘Eyes on me,’ Techno says, orders, and Tommy obeys. It’s hard to concentrate on his figure when his fingers begin to move quicker, to compensate for the tune. Some parts of the song sound distant, without the accompanying orchestra. Without the tracks that used to be played while Tommy performed.

He lets his gaze focus on the violin, instead. Watches the way he performs, and realises that it’s easier to concentrate when his eyes are open. The only thing that terrifies him is the idea of an audience.

The door to the room opens, and Tommy briefly falters on an A-sharp as Wilbur pokes his head around.

Two more people come in, cautious and observant, and Tommy continues his mission of performing. As he reaches the crescendo, he realises that he is indeed floating again. The warm, fuzzy feeling is back. Even if he wanted to stop playing, he couldn’t. Nothing would stop his body from rocking into the music, pushing the beauty of it into the room.

Eventually, though, it ends. It always does, and for a second, he forgets his location. He intends on waiting for command, before realising that his bare feet are on soft carpet, rather than hard wood.

The violin leaves his shoulder.

It takes a hell of a lot of effort to turn his back on them, to put the violin away.

‘Tchaikovsky a favourite of yours?’ Technoblade asks, breaking the momentary silence.

A favourite. He thinks about all the pieces he has played, and everything that he remembers. ‘Not really. I played his symphonies the most, though.’

His fingers linger on the edge of the case, keeping his back to them as he controls his racing heart. His nails dig into the velvet lining, before he swallows. With a dry throat, he finally spins around.

‘Very impressive, mate,’ Phil praises, looking… awed.

‘Beautifully done. Exquisite.’

Wilbur looks just as amazed. ‘We should play together some time, when you… if you want. Or not. I just think it would be nice.’

To save his brother, Techno speaks, ‘Or better yet, play with a piano accompaniment.’

While the two brothers scowl at each other, Tommy can’t help but feel the slight thrill of playing with someone else. Someone that didn’t have another violin. Someone that wasn’t his mum.

‘Stop bickering like little bitches, and tell me if it’s dinner time yet.’

Phil, who mostly just observes the arguing between his two sons, chuckles. ‘C’mon, mate, I’ll let you have first dibs on the food if you set the table.’

Tommy doesn’t need to be told twice.

Chapter Text

Today, they are learning how to tie knots. Techno is with some of the younger fosters that have only just arrived at the club, a bunch of eleven year olds who poke and prod at his pink hair. Throughout the evening, Tommy has to physically restrain himself from laughing at Techno’s look of annoyance. Dream has no such reservations, and openly shoots smirks at his friend/nemesis/acquaintance.

‘Do you know how to tie any knots?’ Techno eventually gets to their group, and Purpled goes first. A simple fisherman’s knot is presented, and the group all look impressed. Aimsey goes next. He manages to make an impressive, double looped contraption that Tommy stares at. Fundy’s got nothing, but Dream is quick to assure him that this is why they’re practicing today.

Techno then looks to Tommy, who ties his rope perfectly into a Hangman’s noose.

Techno and Dream somehow manage to both look concerned, while Purpled just grins. ‘Nice one.’

Tommy beams. ‘Always a useful one to have.’

When Purpled laughs, Tommy demonstrates how to do it. Techno leaves them alone after that, while Dream goes back to teaching Fundy and Aimsey.

The evening progresses. Tommy and Purpled end up competing to see who can make a noose the quickest, scaring some of the younger kids in the process. When it’s time to leave, they walk out side by side. Purpled’s foster parents are waiting to collect him, so Tommy says goodbye with a brief smile.

‘Hey, Tommy, wait a second,’ Purpled says, looking hesitantly around like he’s worried someone might overhear, ‘There’s a new movie out this weekend I wanted to see. Do you, uh, want to come with me?’

Tommy has his foster-siblings, and Tubbo and Ranboo, and Dream and his friends.

He also has Purpled, who waits for an answer with a growing look of nervousness. ‘Sure. I’ll text you later this week?’

Purpled nods, before jogging away to his family. There’s a moment where his foster-mum ruffles his hair, wrapping her arm around him and guiding him away towards the car.

Tommy wonders if Phil would ever do that to him. He knows he’s not the best with physical affection, or contact at all, but he wouldn’t mind trying.

‘Movie night?’ Technoblade asks, appearing behind him. Tommy refrains from jumping, following the man towards his car.

‘Sure, as long as we start with Up.’

Techno rolls his eyes, but Tommy’s fully aware that he’ll win this argument.

He does.

The evening ends with them all spread out over the couches, Wilbur occasionally throwing popcorn in Techno’s direction. Once they’ve finished Up for the fifth time since Tommy’s arrival seven weeks ago, they put on a horror film that Wilbur wanted to watch. Under his blanket, Tommy fights the sleepiness that threatens to take hold.

There’s something about this moment that he wants to preserve. The way his foster-brothers are bickering, yet eventually reconcile so that Wilbur can braid Techno’s hair. Phil, sitting on the same couch as Tommy, offering him yet another blanket and hot chocolate.

Domesticity.

He’s happier in this moment than he has been in a while, he realises. A long while. He wonders if now would be a good time to think about the possibility of staying longer, but dismisses the idea as his body slumps.

When his eyes next try and open, he realises that he’s leaning sideways. There’s something under his cheek, and fingers stroking through his hair.

‘Shh, boys, you’ll wake him up,’ Phil says quietly, and oh, Tommy’s curled against his chest.

He doesn’t have the energy to fight that at the moment. He’ll deny it in the morning, but for now he just tucks closer, tilting his head against Phil’s heartbeat and letting out a pleased sigh when the hand continues to scratch at his scalp.

‘Awww.’

‘Less of a feral raccoon, and more a tamed one.’

Tommy lets himself drift back to sleep.

**

After therapy, Tommy decides that now is the best time to bring up the awkward conversation about the ever-approaching end of his placement. Wilbur’s finished his conversation about his own session, focusing on the fact that he’d skipped a set of meds last week. An interesting reaction from Phil, who simply nodded encouragingly and listened to Wilbur’s reasoning, even if it didn’t make a lot of sense. There was no punishment for it, not even a hint of anger. Just a “I’d prefer you tell me, mate” and then a reassuring hug.

Technoblade opens up a little about his “confrontation” with Dream. In high school, they were both placed in foster homes at similar times. Techno, however, got adopted after only three months. Dream had to wait ten months before Jschlatt offered the permanence that most fosters never get. The rivalry began between them, and they competed in everything. Not necessarily enemies, but they had different friendship groups. When Wilbur appeared, one of Dream’s group tried to bully him, and Techno had taken the issue to Dream. Now, they’re reluctantly working together to give other fosters a better shot.

Basically, what Tommy understands from the conversation is that it’s basically a “whose dick is the biggest” competition. One that Tommy’s not going to get involved in at all.

‘He’s a jackass,’ Techno mutters under his breath, while Phil sighs.

‘Mate, you can’t just say that because you’ve got a rivalry with him. Besides, Tommy gets along with him, don’t you?’

The salty fries almost get stuck in the back of his throat as all attention turns to him. ‘Uh, yeah, I guess so,’ he awkwardly replies, snatching Wilbur’s coke and draining it.

Techno narrows his gaze. ‘What do you even bond over? Both being loud and obnoxious?’

Tommy scowls, kicking his foster-brother under the table. ‘Dickhead. And no, he’s just a foster.’

‘So are we,’ Wilbur points out, a frown on his face. Techno, however, is smarter than his younger brother.

‘Dream was in the system for a while.’

Tommy nods at the statement. That’s what bonds them, an understanding that he can’t share with Wilbur or Techno. Well, he can, but they might not relate on the same level. Besides, it’s nice to have someone to talk to that he doesn’t have to see every day.

‘Speaking of the system—’ Tommy begins, warily looking over to Phil, ‘—my session with Puffy was about what I was planning on doing in my future.’

Phil looks pleased by the fact that Tommy’s offered out a conversation. It’s encouragement for Tommy to continue, ‘My original plan was to apply for emancipation when I turn sixteen.’

He’s surprised when Phil looks shocked at his sentence. Even Wilbur’s eyes widen, confusion marring his expression. ‘Emancipation?’ Phil questions, as Tommy darts a look to Techno.

When he told Techno about his plan, he hasn’t realised that the man would keep it a secret. Seeing his hesitation, Techno just shrugs his shoulders, ‘Wasn’t my place to tell them, kid.’

Huh. ‘Yeah,’ Tommy begins, looking away from the pink-haired man, ‘I needed to be a legal adult to get some stuff my mum left for me, so that was the plan. But then you obviously came along, and I was thinking that, uh, maybe you wouldn’t mind fostering me for a bit longer? You don’t have to, I can go back to the centre and figure out the rest and—’

‘Tommy,’ Phil interrupts his rambling, reaching over to place his hand over Tommy’s. He realises belatedly that his hand was shaking, stilled only by the brief comfort that comes from the man opposite. ‘If you want to stay with us, then you’re more than welcome to do so. For however long you want.’

However long he wants.

‘Till I’m eighteen?’ he asks hopefully, refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the table as his leg bounces, teeth chewing on his lower lip.

‘And longer,’ Phil promises softly, thumb brushing over Tommy’s knuckles.

Oh. That’s… nice. Nice, and reassuring, because the air comes rushing out of his lungs in a hurried breath as he relaxes.

‘That doesn’t change the inheritance thing, though,’ Wilbur points out, but he’s smiling at Tommy with the most brilliant grin. Tommy doesn’t complain when an arm wraps around his shoulders, tugging him closer.

‘No,’ Phil muses, looking to both his children, and then to Tommy, ‘But I suspect we’ll get there.’

Tommy has no idea what that means, but he knows he’s happy to be sitting here.

**

Week ten of Tommy’s stay at the Craft household sees a change from the normal routine. Mostly the fact that Sam is coming to visit, and it’s the first week of September. That means school starts next week, which is brilliant. Honestly, great. Tommy’s always loved school. In most households, his constant moving meant that school was near impossible.

Here, he doesn’t have any excuses to fail, which means he’ll have to figure out how to not disappoint Phil. It helps that both Tubbo and Ranboo go to his school, he supposes, because they can help him with work. The only issue is that he’s going into year 11, and that means the dreaded GCSE’s. To put it bluntly, he’s screwed.

The only redeeming thing about this entire situation is the fact that Wilbur, who should be three years ahead of Tommy, is actually only two because he took a break for his mental health. The sixth form is in the same building as Manburg’s high school, so Tommy has the delight of going to school where his foster-brother does. At least he doesn’t have to walk, considering Techno will be driving them on the way to his job.

Apparently, he’s a teacher at the high school. Part-time, three days a week working as an English teacher for the younger years. With both of his foster-siblings in the same building, there’s some form of protection if something goes wrong.

Also somebody there to watch him fail, inevitably, but he doesn’t mention that.

Tommy voices these concerns with Sam on Monday afternoon, while showing off Gertrude the fish.

‘I’ve already been in contact with the school, and I assure you that they’re aware of your situation. Extra help will be available for your classes, and you’ve got extenuating circumstances already in place for your results,’ Sam assures him, as Gertrude rolls over. Tommy’s not sure a fish should be doing that, but he ripples the water with his fingers to praise him anyway.

‘Whatever you say, big man,’ Tommy responds. Nothing Sam says to the school will change their attitude towards him, or his attitude towards them.

Sam’s huff of laughter tells Tommy that the man can read his thoughts. Maybe Sam is secretly a telepath, because he reads Tommy better than anybody else ever did. ‘I’m glad you like it here, Tommy. A permanent foster-home is a great thing,’ Sam tells him, like they haven’t had this discussion three times before. Just because he usually was only in short-term placement, didn’t mean people hadn’t asked for long-term before. House three, obviously, was the first. Houses six and eight were also supposed to be long-term, but neither made it to the three month mark.

In fact, if he makes it to three months, this will be Tommy’s third-longest placement. Only his last house, and house three, beat it. ‘I just don’t want to fuck it up,’ Tommy admits quietly, as Gertrude disappears into the upside down plant pot in the corner.

Sam’s hand settles on his shoulder. Phil must have told him that Tommy was doing better with touch, because he squeezes softly. ‘You won’t,’ he pauses for a moment, before speaking again, ‘I hate to bring it up, but I have a few questions I need to ask about your old placement. Some things that got brought up in court.’

The uncomfortable tightness in his stomach, the one that always comes when the Craft family bring him in to their family bonding, is back. Only it’s tighter than usual, with thorns pricking around the edges as he ignores the worry in the back of his mind. ‘Inside?’ he asks, and Sam gestures for him to lead the way.

Phil’s in the kitchen. It’s their cooking evening later, so he’s probably checking that they have everything for the burgers that Tommy wants to try and make. When they come in from the garden, Phil looks up with a smile, checking in on Tommy first. Everything okay?

Fine, Tommy quietly sends back with a smile, hoping that the man understands.

‘Everything up to your standards, Sam?’ Phil jokes, once he knows Tommy is okay. His social worker chuckles, unable to answer before Wilbur pipes up,

‘You didn’t show him where we hide the bodies, did you Toms?’

‘Wilbur!’ Phil chides lightly, while Tommy just laughs.

Sam’s smile doesn’t fade immediately, but it does when he looks between Tommy and Phil. ‘I need to ask Tommy a couple of questions about his old house, some stuff got brought up in court that the system wants answers to—’

Shit, shit, shit.

‘—so is there anywhere we could go? Do you want it to be just us?’ Sam adds, glancing to Tommy.

He hates one on one conversations with Sam about stuff like this, but he also isn’t sure what the questions are going to be. It’s a risk that he weighs up in his head as Phil suggests one of the upstairs rooms, or even the library or study.

Tommy cuts off the long list of the many rooms, ‘We could just do it here, if you’re okay with staying?’

Phil looks mildly surprised, but he agrees instantly. They head to the couches, where Wilbur and Techno both wait for Tommy to decide if they can stay. When he just shrugs, they stay seated, and Tommy moves to sit by himself.

It’s a weird situation. Phil and Sam on one of the sofas, and Techno and Wilbur on the other, while Tommy picks at his jeans. Sam’s nothing if not thorough, taking out his paperwork and flicking through until he finds whatever he needed to look at.

It’s awkward. ‘Right. So both Mr and Mrs Clark were held accountable for multiple instances of child neglect and abuse—’

Focus.

‘—but on the stand, Mrs Clark mentioned that the, uh, incident on the 13^th of June wasn’t the first time that there was physical violence. She also admitted to a level of injury that doesn’t match what you told me that morning.’

Lies, all lies.

‘That’s not a question,’ Tommy bluntly says, staring at his socks.

Sam sighs. It’s the same sound he made when Tommy always ended up in his shitty car, on the way back to the centre after another failed attempt at playing happy families. Disappointment. Tommy’s not had a constant in his life since he lost his mum, aside from Sam, so it’s always hard when he’s upset with him. ‘Were there any other injuries I should know about?’

He doesn’t want to answer that. It’s difficult to admit to it when the bruises are only just gone, when he can poke and prod at his ribs without remembering. ‘Some.’ He sneakily glances to the only other people in the room who were aware of this.

‘Tommy,’ Sam says, in the parental tone that he hates, ‘I need more than that, kid.’

His saviour comes in the form of a pink-haired adult that looks near-bored to death as he speaks, ‘Minor bruising on his ribs and left abdomen. Couple of marks on his arms.’

Phil’s head snaps to his son in confusion.

Sam looks just as surprised. ‘Were they treated?’

‘I treated them.’

Tommy’s going to thank Techno for the rest of his life.

Sam writes this down. ‘First incident of violence?’

He can answer that one. ‘The day Clem was born.’ A month into his stay. It’s added to the paper.

‘Your denial of medication was noted, but is there anything else I can put on record?’

There’re things that he could say. Hypothetically. Things that he hasn’t really discussed with anyone apart from Dream, late at night when they’re texting because Tommy can’t sleep.

‘Nope,’ he lies, and Sam glares at him. He doesn’t push it, and instead packs away his papers. ‘I’ll see you again at the end of October, to check in with how school is going, but that should be it for now.’

Phil sees the man out. Tommy doesn’t dare leave the couch, because he knows there’re going to be questions. Sure enough, when he returns, Phil looks between the three of them with a frown.

‘Oh lay off, Dad. The kid wasn’t about to let a doctor look at him, and we both know that’s the first thing you’d have done if we told you,’ Techno gripes, arguing for Tommy’s lies.

He’s on his side. Tommy isn’t sure why that makes tears prick at his eyes.

‘I would have preferred to be kept in the loop,’ Phil tells his son, before looking to Tommy, ‘Not that I’m blaming you. I’m glad you trusted someone, even if it wasn’t me.’

No punishment, no anger.

Part of him is disappointed at the lack of reaction. He wants to see Phil get angry, wants to see what will happen when the man finally snaps. Instead, Phil asks if he still wants to cook dinner with him, and then heads to the kitchen when Tommy agrees.

He rises off the couch, ready to follow, but halts to stare at Techno. ‘Thanks,’ he mutters quietly, and Techno shrugs.

‘Don’t mention it, kid.’

**

Techno looks just as surprised as Tommy is that they’re in this situation. Wilbur and Phil have gone grocery shopping, leaving Tommy to badger his older foster-brother until the man let him watch the process of dying his hair. It’s awfully messy, the shirt that Techno’s wearing is now stained a splotchy pink as he combs the dye through.

‘Now what?’ Tommy asks, staring at the long strands.

Techno shoots him a smile, bagging his hair into one of those shower cap things before setting a timer. The bathroom – Techno’s bathroom – is a mess of dye and hair utensils, including the scissors that Techno had used to trim the ends of his hair. ‘Now we wait.’

‘Ugh,’ Tommy protests, feet dangling off the side of the counter he’s perched on. The amused look on Techno’s face doesn’t fade as he stands over the sink, washing his hands and the comb. When that’s done, he turns to stare at Tommy, vaguely gesturing to his mess of hair.

‘Want me to cut yours?’

Tommy glances at his reflection. His hair is quite long. Longer than Wilbur’s, which is saying something. But he kind of likes it long. Would it ever be long enough to braid like Techno’s? ‘Just a trim?’ he asks, and the man responds by turning the sink on for him to wet his hair.

He’s done this himself in the shitty bathroom at the centre, with some rusted scissors as he takes chunks out of his blond hair. Here, Techno instructs him to wash his hair properly, using some fancy conditioning stuff that smells of mangoes. When Tommy protests that the angle is weird and soap is getting in his eyes, Techno’s hands hesitantly take over where his had been.

It’s a slightly vulnerable position. A hand on the back of his neck, guiding him to go back under the water. If the man feels Tommy tense up, he doesn’t say anything. Once the conditioner is gone, a towel is wrapped around his shoulders and Techno tells him to sit on the edge of the toilet seat. He does as told, facing the wall and doing his best to sit still. ‘S’cold! The water’s dripping.’

‘You’re such a child,’ Techno grumbles, approaching with scissors and guiding his head down.

Tommy does freeze at that. Scissors so close to the back of his neck, close enough to hurt. ‘You good?’ Techno checks in with him, clearly able to see Tommy’s nerves.

‘Fine, big man.’

He doesn’t point out the lie. Snipping sounds fill the air as Techno works, and Tommy relaxes when his mind realises that nothing is going to happen. ‘I’m going to get all the ladies now,’ Tommy tells his foster-brother, grinning when Techno sighs.

‘I doubt that.’

‘S’why my name is Tommy Wife-Haver Innit.’

The snipping pauses, before continuing. ‘I know for a fact that none of those are on your actual birth certificate.’

Tommy admits defeat. ‘You’re right,’ he mutters, before smirking, ‘I’m Tommy Danger Kraken Innit.’

When Techno just scoffs, Tommy laughs. By the time the timer on the man’s phone rings out, Tommy is just about done with sitting still. Well, as still as he can sit, which is apparently not enough to satisfy Techno.

‘You’re done,’ Techno tells him, and before Tommy can move, a fresh towel is placed over his wet hair and the man rubs it dry.

He lets his eyes shut, humming in the back of his throat at the gentle touch. To his horror, when Techno finishes drying his hair, they make eye contact in the mirror. Tommy’s blushing, looking thoroughly pleased with the contact, while Techno just raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re like a cat, scratching our eyes out one moment and purring at affection the next.’

Tommy responds in the only plausible way, by whacking him on the arm. Techno just snorts, moving over to the tub and kneeling down. ‘Wash my hair out for me?’

He can do that. Only because Techno’s been nice enough to trim his hair, though. He settles on the rim of the tub, reaching for the showerhead and then belatedly realising that they could have done this for him. Rather than complain, he takes the cap off of Techno’s hair, and begins the mission of washing out the dye.

Footsteps echo outside, from the hallway. Whoever it is knocks on Techno’s door, and the man calls out to let them in. A second later, Wilbur’s peering around the doorway to the bathroom, eyes focusing in on the two of them. ‘Aw, did I miss brotherly bonding?’

‘You don’t let anyone touch your hair, Wilbur,’ Techno says, still leaning over the bath as Tommy continues his job.

Wilbur’s nose wrinkles, ‘That’s because my hair is delicate.’

‘What’s left of it, anyway,’ Tommy murmurs under his breath, but the brothers must hear, because Techno bursts into laughter and Wilbur scowls.

He turns the showerhead off, handing a towel to Techno so that he can dry his own hair. Wilbur reaches for Tommy, fingers curling around his wrist and tugging. ‘C’mon, let my dry your hair and show you how to style it.’

Tommy sends a pleading look to Techno, but the man just shoos him away.

Wilbur’s room is chaotic. He doesn’t go into any of their rooms that much, Techno’s is probably the only one that he could picture. Wilbur’s is the opposite of the neat and orderly fashion of his brother’s. Vinyl’s are stacked in one corner, clothes spread out over the floor and a mess of different books spilling out of the shelves. His bed is unmade, and the only neat place is the desk.

‘Sit.’

Tommy does as told, frowning at the ridiculous amount of products that are seated in front of him. ‘You’re an actual girl, Wilbur.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Wilbur chides, and Tommy rolls his eyes.

‘I know that, innit. I’m the Wife-Haver.’

Unlike Techno, Wilbur just smiles fondly as he reaches for the hairdryer.

It takes even longer than it did to wash his hair and trim it. Normally, Tommy’s a big man that can do anything, but sitting still in a chair for ages while Wilbur tries to get every single piece of hair into place is tedious. He settles for bitching to Wilbur the entire time, taking great joy in squirting hair mousse into his hand and aiming for Wilbur’s face.

By the time they’re done, Wilbur’s banishing Tommy from his room on pain of death.

It’s worth it, though, because Phil comments on his hair later when they’re eating dinner together.

‘The boys did a good job with your hair, mate. You look very grown up.’

‘Thanks, Philza Minecraft. I’m getting all the wives now,’ he tells his foster-father, who chuckles in response.

Chapter Text

School.

His arch nemesis. The end of his tolerance. The thing that he’ll drag down to hell with him.

‘See, that wasn’t that bad,’ Tubbo comments, after the teacher made him stand up at the front and introduce himself. Ignoring his best friend, Tommy turns to Ranboo who sits on the other side of him. Apparently, the teacher wanted to split the two of them up. What she didn’t realise was that she’s placed the most chaotic of the three of them right in the middle.

He’ll made Mrs Hudson pay for that stupid introduction.

‘Help me plot her murder,’ Tommy asks, and Ranboo just rolls his eyes.

Everything about school is miserable. The uniform which Phil ordered online for him, the annoying younger years that race around the corridors at break and lunch. The stupid lockers which only the older years get, so Tommy now has to keep a key safe for an entire year.

At lunchtime, Tubbo introduces him to Eryn and Freddie, two other guys that are in their year. Tommy’s only half paying attention, because he’s spotted Aimsey and Fundy over in the lunch queue. They’re in the sixth form building, but the cafeteria is shared.

That means that Wilbur might walk through. He gets the luxury of not having to wear the uniform, and took great joy in mocking Tommy this morning.

‘Is it weird going to a school where your brothers are?’ Ranboo speaks up, probably trying to include Tommy in the friendship group.

‘Nah, just means I get to bother them more,’ Tommy replies, spotting Niki before he sees Wilbur. She’s easier to find, with her bright pink hair. Niki apparently also took a year out, which means she could be in the same year as Wilbur. The two of them head towards the lunch queue, right as someone calls his name.

‘Ay, Tommy.’

He turns quickly, then nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Purpled standing there. ‘Purpled! Hey, man, I didn’t know you went to Manburg’s sixth-form!’

His friend just shrugs awkwardly, briefly looking over the rest of the table. ‘Didn’t ask. You up for going to the gym on Wednesday?’

Now that the school year has started, the sessions that Dream and Techno run are put on hold till the holidays. ‘Sure. You asking Aimsey and Fundy?’

Purpled shrugs. ‘If you want. Think you can get us access to the boxing rings?’

Tommy glances down at his phone. ‘I’ll text Dream.’

‘Sick, see you then.’

Purpled leaves, and Tommy unlocks his phone to text Dream. Tubbo nudges his shoulder, smiling over at him. ‘Don’t go replacing me with my brother.’

Tommy laughs. ‘Course not, Tubs. You’re the only man ever, apart from Philza Minecraft.’

Ranboo looks between the two of them in amusement. ‘And me?’

‘I suppose you can be added, Boob.’

**

Wilbur’s in the kitchen when Tommy returns home from Tubbo’s in the third week of September. The rest of the house is silent, so Tommy makes his way over towards his foster-brother. ‘Ayup.’ He puts his homework sheets down on the counter in favour of going to the fridge.

There’s no reply. Wilbur’s staring at the counter, at the glass of water in his hand, without saying a word. Tommy moves around him to head for the cupboard where his meds are kept, knowing that he’s ten minutes late thanks to the alert on his phone. ‘Why are you here?’ Wilbur asks as Tommy shakes one tablet onto his hand.

The tone is weird. Empty. ‘Got back late from Tubbo’s.’

Wilbur shakes his head, turning to stare at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘I mean why are you here? In my home.’

Something uneasy settles in the bottom of his stomach.

Wilbur has off days. Days when Tommy knows to avoid him, because the older teen can get irritable easily. This, however, has never happened before. Never has Wilbur stared at him with such anger.

‘That’s what happens when your parent dies,’ he jokes, regretting it when the glass of water is knocked over and spills over the counter. He watches as his homework is soaked, ruined.

There’s not enough space in this large kitchen for the way that Wilbur turns to him, blocking him in against the counter. ‘You think that’s fucking funny? You don’t deserve to be here,’ Wilbur spits out, and Tommy vaguely realises that he’s released his hold on his meds.

They hit the floor, spilling out over the kitchen and catching Wilbur’s attention. ‘Can’t do anything right, can you? You’re a fucking charity case that dad took in cause he felt pity.’

Tommy knows he doesn’t mean it. There’re meds that Wilbur needs to take if he has a really bad breakdown; he remembers Phil telling him where to find them. However, as he reaches to grab them, Wilbur snatches his wrist. ‘I’m talking to you.’

‘Get the fuck off, Wil, and stop being such a bitch. You’ll feel better after your meds.’

Maybe it was his fault that Wilbur reacted poorly to that sentence. Maybe pissing off a person in an already bad mental place wasn’t a good idea, but Tommy did it anyway and has to deal with the fact that fingers tighten against his skin, nails digging in. ‘You just make everything worse, Tommy. No wonder your mum fucking offed herself.’

The band squeezes so tightly that he can’t do anything other than stare. Wilbur’s oblivious to his blank mind, to the ache that’s building in his chest. ‘I had… I had parents. I lost my parents. They loved me, and I— I didn’t go with them, and—‘

Tommy’s had enough panic attacks to recognise one. He catches Wilbur before the teen can buckle and hit his head on something, ignoring the flailing limbs as he guides his head to his knees. From there, it’s a rush to the boy’s room, grabbing the nearest blanket and then racing back downstairs.

Wilbur’s pressed against one of the counters, curled into a ball as he breathes too heavily. Tucking him up in the blanket, Tommy searches through the meds in the cupboard to find the ones he needs, before grabbing a bottle of water as well. ‘Open,’ he instructs, popping the pill into his mouth when Wilbur listens.

His meds are all over the floor, and the water is dripping off the countertop and onto the floor opposite them. All in all, it’s a mess. A mess, and Tommy’s maths homework is completely destroyed.

‘M’sorry, I didn’t, oh god… I’m such a fucking mess,’ Wilbur sobs, hiding his head in his arms that are crossed over the top of his knees.

Tommy’s about to agree, before figuring that probably isn’t the best thing to say. Instead, he just sits there until he hears the front door unlock, occasionally glancing over at Wilbur to check he’s still breathing.

‘Boys, we’re home! Where… Tommy?’

Phil’s eyes look from the mess of pills, to Wilbur, to Tommy, then back again. ‘Uh, Wilbur’s not feeling great? I gave him his emergency meds,’ he blurts, rising to his feet before excusing himself from the situation.

Nobody tries to stop him, so he goes up the stairs and makes it to his room. With the door locked behind him, he finally lets the band snap. The first sob breaks out of his chest without permission, followed by another as he sinks down to the floor.

His wrist is a dangerous shade of red, nail-marks from Wilbur’s fingers dotted over the skin. He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to have to face Wilbur after that, when all of his biggest fears got exposed so openly.

He texts Dream. It takes seconds for a reply to come through, and Tommy heads out of his room after grabbing his jacket. Down the back stairs, ignoring the voices from the kitchen, and slipping out of one of the side doors. Heading around to the front, he races down the driveway as quickly as he can. He makes it to the road by the time the headlights appear.

Dream doesn’t ask as Tommy slips into the front seat.

‘Want to head back to my apartment, or grab food?’

‘Your place.’

They don’t speak for a while. The radio is on, so Tommy stares out of the window as they drive back to Manburg. He realises that Dream must have sped to get here, but he doesn’t point that out as they pull up outside. Entering the building, Dream doesn’t say anything when Tommy explains he can’t take the elevator up, and they instead climb to the third floor.

Inside the apartment, he hears Sapnap and George in the main room. It’s spacious; an open plan living and kitchen area spreads out in front, with a corridor that Tommy presumes leads to the bedrooms. It’s cluttered and busy, unlike the modernity of Phil’s house.

‘Hey, Tommy,’ Sapnap greets as Dream guides him in, and Tommy settles for smiling in response.

‘C’mere, kid, let me sort your wrist out.’

Dream fetches ice, placing it over his wrist as he guides Tommy to perch at the kitchen table. He makes hot chocolate — almost as good as Techno’s — before sitting opposite him. ‘You good with pizza for dinner?’

When Tommy agrees, Dream fishes money out of his wallet and gives it to Sapnap, who drags George with him to go and get food. It leaves the two of them alone. ‘Want to tell me what happened?’

Tommy refuses to meet his viridian eyes. ‘Wilbur had… he was in one of his moods, and he said some stuff that he doesn’t mean.’

‘He do that?’ Dream asks, nodding his head towards the handprint that’s forming around Tommy’s wrist.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs quietly, afraid of what Dream might do.

Nothing happens. ‘What did he say?’

‘Stuff about how I didn’t deserve to be in the house. He… he mentioned my mum.’

Dream sighs, reaching forward to lift the ice and check Tommy’s wrist, before settling it back down. ‘What did Phil and Tech say?’

‘I didn’t tell them.’

That doesn’t surprise the older foster. Instead, he guides Tommy to the couch with him, and says nothing when he hesitantly curls closer to the man. In fact, Dream just allows Tommy to stay at his side, wrapping an arm around him. No mention of the tears that fall from his eyes, staining Dream’s shirt. No mention of the muffled sobs, or the fingers that card into Tommy’s hair.

They eat pizza as a group, taking turns with the two controllers as they play Mario Karts. At some point, Dream leaves to make a phone call, before returning and telling Tommy that he’s welcome to stay the night, that he’s told Phil where he is.

Tommy agrees. He’s apparently staying in George’s room, which makes Tommy raise an eyebrow at Dream, who just stammers out that they usually share. Sapnap bursts into laughter, which earns him a pillow being thrown in his direction, before Tommy saves the information in the back of his mind for later use.

‘I’ve got a spare set of Manburg uniform that might fit you for tomorrow, kid. You need any school supplies?’

George’s room is clean. Clearly, he doesn’t sleep in it very often, because the room is untouched. Fresh towels are handed to him from Dream, before he finds a new toothbrush. Clothes for school tomorrow are laid out, and Dream grabs him a bag and his old pencil case to use.

It’s more than he deserves.

‘Thank you, Dream.’

The older foster lingers in the doorway, before smiling softly. ‘Sleep well, Tommy.’

**

School does nothing to help his mood. Especially when he gets to maths, and Tommy has no choice but to stay behind after class to explain that his brother ruined his homework sheets, so he can’t hand it in today. He does his best to smile, to be polite as he tells her he can have it done by tomorrow if she hands him some new sheets, but the old bitch just glares at him. ‘Tommy, I taught Wilbur Craft. I understand that settling in a new home might be difficult, but you don’t get to lie about your brothers just because you’re struggling to do the work.’

Behind him, he hears Tubbo shift in the doorway. Dream apparently texted Tubbo a brief summary of what happened, because Tommy had been greeted with a hug this morning.

‘I’m not lying, Wilbur—‘

‘Maybe, Mr Simons, you’d have better luck in this class if you followed in his footsteps.’

Tommy falls silent.

Then, his rage gets the better of him. ‘You’re a fucking bitch.’

Mrs Wilson does nothing other than raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Detention, Mr Simons. Friday evening after school, for your late homework and the attitude.’

He doesn’t argue anymore. He takes the new sheets she offers out and shoves them into Dream’s bag, before leaving the classroom. Tubbo and Ranboo have been waiting for him, looking concerned as he comes storming out. ‘I’m sure you could get Phil to—‘

‘I don’t need them to stick up for me. I’m a big man, I can handle a fucking detention,’ he snaps at his best friend, before quickly apologising.

Tubbo doesn’t get mad at him. He just nudges his shoulder, while Ranboo walks at his other side. Together, they head towards their next class.

The day passes slowly. At lunch, he avoids the cafeteria in case Wilbur’s in school today. During last period, he texts the family group chat to tell them he doesn’t need picking up because Dream’s going to drop him off at his therapy session.

During the school time, Wilbur and Tommy’s sessions are moved to different times. It means they no longer have to go as a big group, which is sort of nice. Especially today, when he can run down the school steps and strategically avoid the sixth form building that Wilbur will be leaving from, in favour of heading to where Dream’s car waits to pick up him and Tubbo.

‘Afternoon, boys.’

‘Hey, Dream,’ they chime in unison, Tubbo taking the front seat.

‘Therapy, then I thought we could grab ice cream before we drop Tommy off?’

It’s a perfect idea.

**

Unlocking the door, Tommy slips into the house quietly, hoping that he can get to his room without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work, because Wilbur’s sitting on the fucking staircase.

‘Tommy!’

Fuck.

‘Wilbur,’ he tensely greets, darting a look towards the main room. No doubt the others are in there.

‘Can… can we talk? I need to apologise.’

Tommy grimaces. The last thing he wants to do is talk about whatever happened yesterday. ‘No need, big man, I get it.’

Wilbur shakes his head, ‘Tommy, I said some things that really weren’t acceptable. I… I was having a bad day, and I took it out on you, and that wasn’t okay. You have every reason to be angry—‘

‘I’m not. I’m over it,’ Tommy lies, wondering if it’s how Wilbur really feels.

‘I’m trying to apologise here, Toms,’ Wilbur says, with the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

Tommy gestures to the kitchen. Wilbur follows.

Sure enough, the other two are in the main room. Phil greets him with a “hey mate”, while Techno just nods his head. Tommy moves to the medication cupboard, flinching when he sees that he doesn’t have many meds left.

‘So, as I was saying, I’m really fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have said that shit, so if there’s anything you want me to do… Tommy,’ Wilbur halts, staring at his wrist, ‘Did… did I do that?’

Tommy flinches, quickly lowering the hand that had been holding his pills. ‘S’nothing.’

‘No, let me see!’ Wilbur demands, stepping towards him.

He knows Wilbur won’t hurt him, but he still flinches. Silence fills the room, and Tommy has to look away from Wilbur’s heartbroken expression. ‘Tommy…’

‘I get it, you didn’t mean it. It’s over, I forgive you and all that shit.’

‘I hurt you.’

‘It’s fine.’

Wilbur shakes his head, ‘It isn’t. I… I’ll make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.’

Tommy does something stupid. Something he’s wanted to do for a while, but he’s never quite dared to.

Wilbur must be surprised that Tommy’s just barrelled into his chest, but he recovers quickly. Arms wrap around him gently, hugging him back. ‘Sunshine?’ Wilbur whispers, clearly confused.

‘Just don’t be an idiot again, kay? I… I don’t want to lose you.’

He hears Wilbur’s breathing hitch, before a hand comes to settle in his hair. He’s held tightly, embraced so tightly that he almost can’t breathe.

It’s perfect.

‘You won’t, Toms. Promise,’ he swears, and Tommy believes him.

He believes him, but he can’t help but wonder if it works if Tommy breaks the promise first.

**

Friday is the worst day ever. Mostly because he’s just read the group chat, and Wilbur wanted to take him out to the movies tonight. Tommy grimaces, because he wants to go, but he’s got detention, and a shit pile of work that Mrs Wilson set him because of his “attitude”. So, regretfully, he has to seek out Wilbur at lunchtime.

‘Hey, Tommy!’ Niki greets, spotting him first. There’re some other people at the table they’re sitting at, including a girl that Wilbur admitted to having a crush on.

‘Hey, Niki,’ Tommy smiles back at her, before staring over at his foster-brother. Wilbur’s beaming up at him, which is nice, because it means Tommy can steal a fry from his plate without too much hassle.

‘Gremlin. Did you come to steal, or do you want something?’

Tommy scoffs. ‘Can’t a man harass his br- foster-brother without reason?’

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. ‘No.’

‘Fine. Then no, I can’t go to the movies tonight, but that’s okay cause there’s that new film about that songwriter that you and Sally might enjoy.’

Sally laughs, sending him a grin. ‘Who told you?’

‘Wilbur won’t shut up about how you enjoy music… stop kicking me!’ Tommy protests, glaring at Wilbur who’s blushing the brightest shade of red.

Perfect.

‘In that case,’ Sally says, glancing to Wilbur, ‘I’d love to go.’

‘You would?’ Wilbur asks in surprise, before he nods so quickly his curly hair bounces. It’s funny, like a puppy-dog.

‘Wait, what are you doing this evening?’ Wilbur questions, and Tommy falls quiet. ‘Tommy?’

‘I’ve got detention.’

Wilbur’s eyes widen dramatically. Sally shuffles to the side to make room for Tommy to perch on the bench, which he quietly thanks her for. ‘Why, what happened?’

‘Will Phil be mad?’

‘No, but I’d let him know.’

Tommy’s saved from having to answer by the bell. He slips out, promising Wilbur that he’ll tell Phil before racing to his class. He does it through text into the group chat, to which Techno instantly replies “L”. Phil’s response is more parental, “Okay, Techno will pick you up after, and we can chat when you get home.”

Detention comes around quickly. He says goodbye to Tubbo and Ranboo, before heading to his hell.

Mrs Wilson greets him with a frown. ‘Mr Simons. If I were you, I’d take this time to do some of the work that you’ve failed to do in class.’

He swallows down his pride. If he starts another fight with her, then Phil will undoubtedly hear about it and end up sending him back to the centre. Considering he’s managed to make it three months in this home, he doesn’t want to leave just yet.

Seeing his lack of response, she clearly gets agitated. ‘I’ll have to let Mr Craft know about your lies—‘

‘I’m not lying. Wilbur got mad and spilt water on the sheets, I did the work!’

‘Mr Simons!’ Mrs Wilson cuts in, raising her voice just as she did, ‘I will not stand for your dishonesty in my classroom. I can only hope that you’ll inherit some of your brother’s good manners—‘

‘He’s not my brother,’ Tommy snaps back, before he falls silent.

‘Do your work, Thomas.’

He does as told. It’s agonising, and ten minutes in, he fishes into his pocket for the snake toy that Techno gave him. It occupies some of his thoughts, until Mrs Wilson appears at his desk. ‘Hand it over.’

‘But it’s—‘

‘Now.’

He hates maths. Hates it, and struggles to do anything. When the bell finally rings, Mrs Wilson dismisses him. She doesn’t bother to hand back the fidget, so he storms out of her room and towards the car park, where Techno’s car is waiting.

Slamming the door shut, he realises that Techno is staring at him. ‘Everything good, kid?’

‘Fucking peachy.’

Techno snorts at his attitude, driving them home. Phil’s in the kitchen when they return, cooking dinner for the evening. ‘We’ll talk about school over dinner, if that’s good with you? You’ve got half an hour to kill.’

Perfect.

Tommy heads up the stairs to the first floor, beelining towards the music room. Dumping his school bag on the floor, he heads straight towards the case on the mantelpiece. The violin requires a little tuning, a quick resin on the bow, before he begins to play.

The anger from earlier fades away. Every ache and pain, including the throbbing from his wrist, vanishes as the music fills the room. He makes sure to follow the techniques that Puffy taught him, to stay focused on one point in the room so he doesn’t disassociate, but it becomes harder and harder with the music.

Eventually, he gives in. His eyes shut, and Tchaikovsky fills every nerve, lighting the world around him.

High above the clouds, he floats. Even when the music ends, and he places the violin back, he feels his hands tremble slightly. There’s a spring in his step as he moves downstairs, vaguely realising that he’s not entirely back with it yet. Phil glances over at him, probably more than aware that Tommy’s not exactly in the best headspace, and guides him to sit. ‘You played beautifully.’

‘Thanks,’ he happily chirps, blinking when he realises there’s a hand on his shoulder.

He hadn’t even felt it.

‘Take a hot shower, kid. You’re all spacey,’ Techno tells him, sitting at the counter with a pile of workbooks in front of him.

Tommy glares. He doesn’t want to leave them, not when he’s like this.

‘Did something happen that upset you, mate?’ Phil inquires calmly, stirring the suspicious looking sauce as he asks.

Tommy huffs. ‘Stupid bitch of a teacher took my fidget toy.’

Techno’s head snaps up. 

‘She did what?’

‘Hush now,’ Phil scolds his son, before focusing in on Tommy, ‘Did she tell you why?’

‘No. Just took it in detention and didn’t give it back. Probably cause I pissed her off.’

Techno’s fingers curl into fists. Tommy wonders why, but doesn’t verbally ask, considering he’s the one being questioned at the moment. ‘Why did you get a detention?’

‘My homework got wrecked, so I tried to explain that, but she said I was lying.’

‘The sheets that Wilbur spilt water on?’

Tommy nods enthusiastically, ‘Yeah! I tried to say that, but she just kept going on about how Wilbur was a good kid to teach and how I needed to be more like him.’

If Techno looked angry before, he looks positively furious now. Even Phil looked pissed, abandoning the food to stare at Tommy. ‘She accused you of lying?’

Tommy nods. He’s unsure why the floaty feeling doesn’t feel so good anymore, not when Phil’s upset. Something on his face must change, because Phil’s expression softens, and he moves around the table so that Tommy can lean against him. He hums in the back of his throat in thanks, beaming when fingers curl into his hair. ‘You’ve had a rough couple of days, hm?’

Tommy hums in response.

‘How about you go take a shower and get into some comfy clothes, and then we watch a movie together?’

They do just that. The three of them eat food on the couches, with Tommy slowly working to get closer to Techno without the man noticing. It’s a mission that is going successfully, because he seems fully distracted by the show they’re watching, so Tommy hesitantly rests his head on the man’s arm.

Techno’s head turns, and Tommy almost jumps out of his skin. ‘Easy, kid. Just thought this might be more comfy,’ Techno tells him, offering out his arm.

Tommy tucks up to him. He’s taller than Phil or Wilbur, but also broader. Probably from the fencing and boxing with Dream. He also smells of the same mangoes that the conditioner smelt of, so it’s not a bad thing to curl into his chest, relaxing. ‘Part kitten,’ Techno murmurs, and Tommy doesn’t have the energy to deny it.

He can scratch out his eyes later, after all.

Chapter Text

After that, life settles down. Tommy doesn’t question why Mrs Wilson has been replaced by a young man named Mr Roberts, nor why the detention is no longer on the record and his fidget toy is returned to him. In fact, life is going so well, that Tommy makes the mistake of voicing that to Tubbo and Ranboo one evening in mid October.

‘It’s just… they’re a good family.’

Tubbo beams, halting his mission of trying to kill Ranboo with the chemicals he’s mixing. ‘You think it’s permanent?’

Ranboo looks seriously concerned that his hair might end up falling out or something stupid like that. In all fairness, Tommy might actually be inclined to agree with him, not that he’s going to say that out loud. Instead, he just avoids the fumes that are coming from the beaker. The window is open, and Tubbo’s dressed in an appropriate lab coat and goggles. Apparently, this is a safe experiment.

‘I mean, as permanent as long-term foster can get,’ Tommy agrees.

Four months. Four whole months, and Tommy’s almost hit his longest record if he makes it another month. There’s something terrifying about that, but also thrilling. Puffy calls it a side effect of his brain determining this place as his home. Dream says that Tommy is still nervous about what happened in house three.

Tommy calls them all pussies — in all fairness, it’s sometimes easy to get Puffy’s name mixed up — before ignoring everything they said.

‘What about adoption?’

Tommy turns so quickly that he almost falls off the swivel chair, and Ranboo’s lap. The taller teen settles a hand on his waist to steady him, which is sweet, but Tommy doesn’t need it.

‘You can’t just say shit like that, big man,’ Tommy protests, ignoring the flip in his heart at the thought.

He’s got to this point before. The point where he thinks adoption is the ultimate endpoint of his foster home. Never again will he reach that conclusion. Tubbo’s eyes widen minutely, before a small smile crosses his face. ‘Dream had the same reaction when I first asked him if he wanted to be my brother.’

Tommy scowls at the comparison between him and Dream, but he doesn’t say anything against it. For the rest of the night, he considers what it might like to finally have a family.

**

Sally stands out in the same way that Niki does, by her hair colour. The redhead is exiting the sixth-form building when Tommy heads over to her, a spring in his step at the plan forming in his mind. Honestly, he’s a genius. So incredibly smart. He’d be surprised if nobody noticed his excellence.

Back to his idea. He had first thought of it during English class, which was dull and boring and nobody needed to analyse a poem for hours. Honestly, Techno should get his head checked, because there was nothing more exhausting than having to read. During his daydreaming, Tommy figured that Wilbur needed to get out of the guilty persona he’d adopted for the past couple of days, since the incident on Thursday.

What better way to do that, than by playing matchmaker?

‘Hello, Sally,’ Tommy greets, holding the door open for her as a gentleman should as she smiles at him.

‘Good afternoon, Tommy. Are you looking for Wilbur? He left early for—’

‘Therapy, yes, I remember. I was actually wondering if you were busy this evening?’

Sally’s lips twitch at the corners. ‘Are you asking me out on a date?’ she asks jokingly, knowing that he isn’t. Tommy thinks it’s rather rude, because he totally could ask her on a date. She’s only two years above him, although it would be strange for him to go after a woman that his foster-sibling has his eyes on. Anyway, Sally was not his type. He didn’t necessarily know what his type was, but it wasn’t Sally. Not to insult her, of course, but…

His mind’s rambling.

‘Wilbur’s been moping recently,’ Tommy tells her as they head down the steps. He’s already messaged Techno to let him know he doesn’t need a lift home, that he can manage by himself. Honestly, it’s only a thirty minute walk, so even if this doesn’t work he’s fine. ‘He’s written this new song, you see, and is upset that the second verse isn’t fitting in. I thought a fresh listener might help.’

Sally’s eyes light up, a smirk crossing her expression. ‘Tommy, are you playing matchmaker?’

‘Me? Never. I just hate listening to the same chords on repeat whenever I’m awake,’ he jokes, and the girl laughs. They reach the carpark, and for a minute, he fears he’s failed in her mission.

Then, she shrugs. ‘Sure, why not. I’ve not been to the house in a while.’

Tommy knows this. Apparently, the last time was a couple of years ago, before Wilbur realised he had a crush on the girl in the year below. They’d met before, and he was tutoring her in music in return for her helping with his history.

‘Milkshakes sound good before?’ Sally adds, guiding Tommy to her car. It’s nice, better than Sam’s ford, so Tommy decides he can probably approve of the match.

Plus, she’s just offered to go and get milkshakes.

The car ride is actually fun. Sally’s taste in music is better than the classical that Techno plays, and she doesn’t protest when he rolls down the window and sings loudly. In fact, she joins in. When they arrive, Tommy is half-way through the milkshake, opening the door and loudly proclaiming that he’s home.

‘We’re in the kitchen, mate!’ Phil calls, as Tommy kicks of his shoes and Sally follows.

‘I brought a guest,’ Tommy dramatically says as he barges into the room. Techno’s seated at the dining table, more workbooks in front of him and a red pen in his hand. Poor students.

Phil’s drinking what has to be his fifth cup of coffee – at least – and Wilbur is raiding the fridge for snacks. There was a slight risk of bringing Sally home on a therapy day, but Tommy had faith that this was the perfect plan.

Which it clearly is, because Wilbur’s cheeks go red the moment he sees Sally. He drops the chocolate bar that had been hanging out of his mouth, just managing to catch it. ‘Sally! Hey, I… what are you doing here? Not that you’re not welcome, obviously you are, I just…’

‘Smooth, Wilbur,’ Techno mutters under his breath, and Sally giggles.

‘Tommy here—’ she shoots him a smile, ‘—told me you were struggling with a song. I thought I’d come and see if I could help you?’

Wilbur’s smile makes Tommy’s nerves fade. That’s the Wilbur he knows.

‘Sure! Yeah, we can take a look at it! Do you… are you hungry?’

‘We got milkshakes on the way here, but thank you.’

Wilbur nods frantically, before gesturing towards the stairs. ‘After you.’

‘Keep your door open,’ Phil calls after them, as Wilbur splutters out a protest and Sally laughs.

‘It’s good to see you again, Mr Craft!’

‘Please, Sally, just Phil is fine.’

Tommy watches the duo disappear upstairs, before he turns back to the other two in the kitchen. Phil’s got one eyebrow raised, looking at him with an amused smile. ‘What game are you playing here, you little shit?’

Placing a hand over his heart, Tommy does his best to look innocent. ‘Mr Minecraft, I assure you, my intentions are only honourable.’

From the laughter that comes from Technoblade, it must have been a funny sentence.

**

There’s nothing wrong with the current situation that Tommy is in. He repeats this over and over, curling tighter into a ball in the darkness in an attempt to stop the sound of thunder crashing overhead. The first thunderstorm since he arrived at the Craft household, and Tommy forgot how much they affected him. He’s not a coward, but it’s difficult to think when his heart is pounding and he’s hyperventilating. Puffy’s techniques only help so much; there’s nothing he can do to stop the panic.

Thunderstorms are pretty rare where he lives. In fact, over the years, he has developed a specific technique to deal with them. It’s not great, considering he also has a fear of small spaces, but it’s overridden by the booming sound that shakes the house. Unfortunately, there are very few small rooms in the Craft household. The one he’s found at two in the morning is the cupboard under the stairs, the rear set that runs behind the kitchen. It’s a tiny space, and Tommy stays curled up there with his blanket, rocking back and forth in the dark.

At least here, he can’t see the lightning. That’s just as frightening to him as the thunder, the terror that comes when the door to the closet rattles. Nails dig into his skin, blood beading under the aggressive touch. It’s not a problem, he tells himself, swallowing down another choked sob when another round of thunder breaks his shaky exhales.

Suffocation might actually be a threat at the moment, with his desperate attempt to silence his sounds in case he wakes someone up. The blanket is over his head, stuffed into his mouth and blocking the much-needed air.

The storm gets closer. Tommy shrieks at a particularly loud clap of thunder, biting down on his lip hard enough to feel blood dribble down his chin.

Someone knocks on the closet. ‘Kid.’

Fuck. Fuck.

‘Fuck off, blade,’ Tommy snaps, shaking silently at the threat of both being discovered, and the sounds outside.

He hears his foster-sibling sigh, before the sound of someone sitting down tells Tommy that the man has no intention of leaving. ‘Scared of thunderstorms?’

‘Fuck you. Fuck you, you fucking wrong’un, I’m not fucking scared—‘

‘Easy, Tommy. Deep breaths, or I’m opening the door.’

He does as told. Licking at his lips, he winces at the taste of blood on his tongue. ‘Go away.’

‘Not a chance, kid. Not until we get this worked out. I’ve got some noise cancelling headphones in my room, I’m going to go and get them, and then you’re going to open the door.’

Tommy doesn’t like any of that sentence. Reluctantly, he has no choice but to obey, in case. Techno decides to wake Phil up. Footsteps echo on the stairs, but true to his word, Techno returns in less than a minute. ‘Tommy,’ Techno calls, and he silently opens the closet.

It’s dark, but the window allows moonlight — and lightning — to illuminate the two of them. Techno is dressed in fuzzy dinosaur pyjamas, which is hilarious. As soon as they make eye contact, a set of headphones are offered out, and Tommy puts them on.

Silence. He can hear his own heartbeat, which isn’t great, but it’s better than nothing. Techno’s lips are moving, probably trying to say something, but he can’t actually hear him.

Then, he remembers one of those random facts that his foster-brother once told him. Something that he saw in action at the activity centre, with one of the younger fosters.

Hesitantly, Tommy moves his hands. Sign language isn’t something he’s fluent in, but he knows enough to say ‘I can’t hear you, idiot.’

Techno’s eyes widen minutely, staring at his hands as they move. Then he nods, and signs back, ‘Come to the kitchen. I need to clean you.’

Or, that’s how Tommy interprets his smooth movements.

In the kitchen, Tommy flinches at every bolt of lightning. Techno shuts the blinds and curtains in the entire downstairs, before he puts on milk to warm. Then he grabs the first aid kit and moves towards Tommy, using his hands to explain he’s going to have to clean his lip.

The antiseptic stings. He tenses, refusing to pull away from the gentle hands that remove the metallic taste from his lips. He signs something else, something Tommy doesn’t understand. Well, the second word is tape, but the first word isn’t one he’s familiar with. Seeing this, Techno spells it out instead, fingers creating the letters.

Butterfly tape.

He nods, watching the white strips be placed.

Did he bite his lip that hard?

His hands are next. Techno cleans his palms, then reaches for the nail-scissors and trims his nails down so that they aren’t as sharp. By the time Tommy’s patched up, the milk is warm and Techno adds the chocolate, stirring occasionally as they sit in silence.

Tommy realises that he could talk. There’s nothing stopping him from speaking. Yet Techno doesn’t care that he can’t bring his mouth to work, to shape words.

‘Upstairs, come on,’ Techno signs, and Tommy follows.

They don’t go to Tommy’s room, but to Techno’s. It’s the only time he’s seen the bed unmade, the only time there’s been clothes thrown over the chair at the desk. He hovers in the doorway, unsure of why they’ve come up here.

‘Bring your drink, get in. Don’t steal my covers.’

Tommy shuts the door. The bed is big, but he still sticks to the furthest edge. Techno doesn’t seem to care that he’s here, ignores his hesitance as he drinks his own cocoa, tucked up under the sheets. The light by the bedside is on, and Techno picks up a book and begins to read.

Tommy lets his cocoa warm his stomach. With the lightning hidden, and the world silent, it’s hard to think about sleep.

The idea that forms is a mildly dangerous one. Techno, unlike Wilbur, doesn’t exactly do touch. He shuffles closer quietly, until he’s lying by the man’s side. His blanket stays wrapped around him, the edge stained slightly with his blood, so he makes sure to keep it away from Techno’s sheets. He taps Techno’s arm gently, biting his already-broken lip when the man stares at him.

‘Stop that. You can ask.’

‘Read?’

Techno looks confused, but he begins to speak. Tommy can’t hear the words, but as he cautiously tucks closer to the man, placing a hand on his chest, he can feel the vibrations. His foster-brother gets the idea, and continues.

He falls asleep quickly after that.

**

Someone is tapping on his arm. Which isn’t unusual, except from the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s waking up, which implies someone is in his room. Tommy blearily swipes at whoever it is, snuggling closer to the warm pillow underneath him.

His pillow chuckles.

Tommy opens his eyes.

Techno peers down at him, a slight smirk on his lips as he does so. The speed in which Tommy pulls back has him getting tangled in the covers, and his own blanket, before toppling out of the bed and hitting the floor. He loses the headphones that had somehow stayed on the entire night, and Tommy realises they aren’t the only ones in the room.

Phil’s in the doorway, with Wilbur behind him, both looking amused. ‘Morning, mate.’

Oh, he’s never living this down. He grimaces, glaring over at Techno for the betrayal. He just shrugs. ‘I left the first aid kit out, they wanted to check you weren’t injured.’

Ah. He raises his fingers to his lips, prodding at the slightly swollen injury that he gave himself last night. At least it’s a weekend, and he has no need to rush to school today. It should heal by Monday, he hopes, untangling his legs.

He realises he hasn’t spoken yet when Techno asks, ‘Are you feeling verbal yet?’

There’s never been an option to be non-verbal. If Tommy didn’t talk in his old homes, then he didn’t get anything. He opens his mouth, expecting something snarky to come out, but it doesn’t. A steady exhale, then silence.

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Techno muses, getting out of the bed.

Tommy throws a pillow at his head. ‘Bitch.’

‘You know how to swear, but not the word butterfly? Feral child.’

Tommy ignores the teasing, and rises up. Keeping his blanket around him, he huffs, jutting his chin out and striding from the room.

He showers, gets dressed and briefly stares at the bruising around his lip, before racing down the stairs.

When he sees the three of them sitting around the kitchen table, eating pancakes without a care in the world, Tommy grins. ‘Good morning to the best of men, and Wilbur,’ he cheerfully calls, sitting at the younger sibling’s side.

Wilbur responds by stealing one of his pancakes, but Tommy finds that it’s difficult to care when it feels so much like a family.  

**

Sally is the first one to take him to the music store in Manburg. He’s not entirely sure why she still insists on hanging out with him, when it’s perfectly clear that he’s already done his job of getting her with Wilbur. Well, they’re apparently staying “casual” because of University and future plans, but Tommy is pretty sure they’d make a good couple.

Anyway, Sally becomes another person he hangs out with. She invites him for milkshakes to begin with, before they both head over to the Craft household. Then, after school one day, Sally takes him to the music store.

Here, he meets the lady that owns the store. Sally knows her, apparently she used to be tutored by the nice lady, and so Tommy makes an effort.

It’s not difficult. Kristen is kind, yet strangely okay with the chaotic energy that Tommy brings to the store. She shows him the different instruments, and doesn’t ask why he stares at the violins for too long. Sally doesn’t always have to be there, either. Tommy starts going after school, picking up spare music sheets for Wilbur or just chatting to Kristen.

On one of these days, when Sally and Wilbur are out on a date, Tommy realises something. ‘Kristen, you know that you are the best of all women,’ he says, and Kristen laughs. Her dark eyes study him, where he’s sprawled out on the floor, tuning a cello that someone brought in for Kristin to fix. It’s not difficult; Tommy learned how to tune instruments before he could read.

‘Thank you, Tommy. What do you want?’ she teases, and Tommy stares at her hand.

‘Are you married?’

She blinks. ‘No.’

‘Would you like to meet the best of all men?’

Her lips quirk up at the corners. They have talked a little bit about the family he is staying with, because he had to make it clear that he doesn’t have a mum, and his dad is gone. He’s in foster care. ‘You’re talking about Phil?’

This, he decides, is perfect. Kristen is pretty cool, and if Phil’s going to meet someone worth his time, then this would be it. When Tommy nods, Kristen just rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t have time for dating, I have a shop, and children to tutor...’

‘And Phil’s got his business meetings, and his two sons, and I guess me for now.’

Kristen’s gaze softens.

‘You deserve some time off,’ Tommy adds, finishing off tuning the cello and rising up off the floor, ‘This Friday, 7pm, give him a shot? Even if it’s just friends.’

The woman rolls her eyes, although there’s a mild look of intrigue in her eyes. ‘I can’t believe I’m taking dating advice from a teenage boy,’ she says with a sigh, affectionately smiling over at him.

Tommy just puffs his chest out. ‘I am the best with relationships.’

**

It’s over family dinner on Wednesday evening that Tommy decides he should bring up his idea. Chewing on his mouthful of spaghetti, he looks over at Phil. The man has been stuck in meetings for most of this week, stressing about the constant deadlines in coding that he’s supposed to have taken charge over. Tommy doesn’t pay attention most of the time, so it’s honestly a miracle that he’s remembered this much.

‘How was your date with Sally?’ Phil asks his youngest son, and Wilbur’s cheeks adopt the same hue that he almost always wears now.

‘Good,’ he says with a smile, ‘Sal likes the new song.’

‘You finished it?’ Phil looks slightly surprised, sipping on his wine as Wilbur enthusiastically tells them that they worked on the lyrics together. Techno raises an eyebrow at the word “worked”, which makes Tommy smirk.

‘—make a good matchmaker, Toms,’ Wilbur affectionately says, drawing him back into the conversation. Tommy, as the Biggest Man in the room, agrees.

‘Course I am, I’m the best with women,’ Tommy brags, turning his attention to Phil, ‘Speaking of…’

‘Don’t tell me Tommy has a crush,’ Wilbur teases, earning laughter from the other two.

Tommy flips him off. ‘I already have too many women. I have, however, found Philza a wife.’

The room falls silent. Well, Phil chokes on his wine and Wilbur loses the spaghetti he’d had on his spoon, but apart from that, there’s silence. ‘You what?’ Phil asks incredulously.

An interesting reaction, but he can work with it. ‘I found you a wife. Well, actually just a friend, but you both have been working too hard this week so you’re going out on Friday.’

‘I… I am?’ Phil looks baffled. Wilbur’s head is snapping back and forth between them like he’s watching a tennis match, and Techno…

Technoblade is studying Tommy like he’s reading his soul.

‘Yep. 7pm, you get a break from all your boring adult shit,’ Tommy chirps, stealing a piece of garlic bread from the middle.

‘Tommy, mate, did you just find a random woman and—’

‘No,’ Tommy blurts, embarrassed, ‘I do not accost women, women come to me. But this one is too old, and Sally introduced us. She’s nice.’

Phil looks completely lost. ‘I… she agreed to a date?’

‘Uh huh. No idea why, old people are freaky,’ Tommy mutters, then looks to his foster-father, ‘Her name’s Kristen, you’ll be picking her up before your reservation.’

‘What reservation?’

Tommy shrugs. ‘The one I made for you.’

**

Phil looks… rather good. He’s combed his hair, and actually bothered to get out of the sweats he wears most days. He looks rather nervous, flitting around the house and giving instructions to Technoblade on who to call if something goes wrong, and what the emergency number is, and how he’ll have his phone on if they need him.

Techno responds by shoving the car keys into his hand, and pushing him towards the door. ‘Go have fun, old man.’

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!’ Wilbur adds, grinning cheekily at his father.

Tommy just watches the situation unfold, pleased when the door finally shuts and he’s left alone with his foster-siblings. Wilbur looks over to him, and apparently is a mind-reader, because they both blurt at the same time, ‘Mario Karts.’

They order Indian to eat while playing, and by the time they’ve finished, Tommy’s successfully managed to beat Wilbur on every race. Techno is another matter, nobody can beat him, but it was worth a shot.

‘Fine! I fucking give up,’ Wilbur shrieks, before throwing the controller onto the couch and moving towards the stairs.

Tommy snorts, ‘Sore-loser.’

They clean up the takeaway cartons in silence, him and Techno. The quiet makes him slightly uncomfortable, with the urge to fill it with his loud, aggressive attitude, but he refrains from doing so. Finally, when he can’t bear it any longer, Tommy gives in, ‘What’s with you? You keep staring at me funny.’

The pink-haired man pauses, before looking over at him. ‘You’re doing a good thing for them, I know that. I’m just wondering if you know why you’re doing it.’

Tommy has absolutely no idea what Technoblade is talking about. He goes to voice this out loud, but the man just shakes his head gently, ‘Bring it up with Puffy.’

He leaves before Tommy can ask what he means by it.

Just in case, though, he’ll ask Puffy what she thinks.

**

He flings the door open so quickly that Wilbur nearly jumps out of his skin, not that Tommy cares, because his eyes are set on the older sibling. ‘You.’

It’s a Thursday evening, and Tommy’s just returned from therapy. Only, he’s pissed. Because when he asked Puffy about what Technoblade has said, the answer hadn’t exactly been a good one. Which is why he storms past Wil and his girlfriend, and lunges for Techno.

The pink-haired man hardly cares. He’s taller, and it takes little energy for him to block the hit that Tommy threw at him. Not that it stops him from kicking and screeching, which causes Phil to come rushing down the stairs and demanding answers.

He’s pulled back by the scruff of his collar, which is rather humiliating, but it doesn’t stop him from baring teeth at the older man.

‘What the hell is going on? Tommy? Techno? Will one of you explain?’

Techno just raises an eyebrow.

‘I fucking hate you,’ Tommy spits out, though it’s mostly a lie. Mostly. At the moment, he’s upset. ‘Fucking die. Wrong’un. Prick. Douchebag. Dickhead. Ass—’

‘Okay, I think that’s enough. Tommy take a walk in the garden.’

He’s released, and for a split second he considers lunging again, but he doesn’t.

The garden is still wet from the rain they had last night, and Tommy’s kicked off his shoes already, so he stares at his socks as they get soaked. Pacing in circles does nothing to calm his anger, so he eventually gives in and goes to talk to Gertrude.

Inside, he can hear Phil asking Technoblade what he did, and the man explaining that he’d made an observation that Puffy might have spoken to him about. When pushed further, Techno did what he always does, and says it isn’t his place to say.

Tommy’s a little bit thankful for that.

Eventually, footsteps echo out as they crunch over the grass, and Tommy sees the shadow of his older foster-sibling standing behind him. ‘Kid.’

‘Blade.’

‘I… I apologise, I shouldn’t have pushed that point.’

Tommy sniffs. It’s got nothing to do with the tears that were forming in his eyes, because he is a Big Man, and Big Men do not cry over something so stupid. ‘You’re wrong, you know. Absolutely insane,’ Tommy says, even if Puffy agrees with Techno and there might be the tiniest bit of truth to it, ‘But I guess I’m sorry for shoving you. And calling you names. You’re probably only a dickhead some of the time.’

Techno huffs a laugh, and Tommy suspects he rolls his eyes as well. ‘Get off the wet grass and come back inside. Sally’s staying for dinner.’

He does as told. Phil sends him a look as he walks in, the are you okay? one that Tommy always ignores. Sally and Wilbur are both in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Phil cooks, so he figures he should apologise. Only to Sally, though, cause she’s not a wrong’un like the others.

‘Hello, Sally. Sorry you had to see my fight with Blade,’ he cheerily says, moving to the fridge to find a drink. Wilbur snorts, whereas Sally just smiles in his direction.

‘That’s okay! It was actually rather impressive, I’ve never seen anyone asides from Dream try to fight him,’ she teases, and Wilbur groans.

‘Don’t encourage him.’

‘Sally, this is why you are my favourite of all of these wrong’uns.’

The redhead looks delighted by this fact. In fact, she goes as far as to nudge his shoulder when he comes to stand beside her. ‘You’re pretty cool too, Tommy.’

He likes her. She’s nice. ‘You could do better than Wilbur,’ Tommy tells her, which earns him a scowl from his foster-sibling, and laughter from Phil.

Sally also grins, but she leans back against Wilbur’s chest, so she probably isn’t going to take that piece of advice. ‘Wil told me that you play the violin?’ Sally asks, effectively changing the conversation. Unknowingly, the sentence gains her a panicked look from Wilbur, and both Techno and Phil’s attention. Obviously, Wilbur’s not told her about what happens when Tommy plays the violin.

‘I do,’ he awkwardly replies, wondering if he can retreat before she asks…

‘Would you play for me? I’ve only ever listened to the orchestra at Manburg.’

Bam. Too late, and now Sally is standing in the kitchen waiting for his response, while Wilbur’s frantic eyes are darting between them.

He could just say no. That’s the word that should come out of his mouth, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t, because what Puffy and Technoblade both said is true, and Tommy’s a coward. ‘Sure, uh, now?’

She says yes. Why would she say no?

They reach the music room. Wilbur’s still trying to make eye-contact with him, and Technoblade and Phil have joined, so quite clearly nobody trusts him with the violin. Sally is oblivious, chatting away to him as he resins the bow, checking she’s in tune before raising her up. ‘Anything in particular?’ he asks, praying she stays away from the obvious choices.

She does. ‘Do you know any pop songs?’

Nobody’s asked him to play modern before. He does, just in case the request came up, but he’s not performed one in front of an audience before. Still, he chooses one that he’s most confident with, and plays the first note to test the tempo.

Pop songs are hard, because there’s less interpretation with the notes. It’s supposed to sound accurate, and he’s only one violin, so he has to play the tune while ignoring the backing that he needs. Regardless, he can tell that Sally recognises it a moment after the melody begins, her eyes lighting up.

As long as he keeps his eyes open, he’s fine. That’s what he keeps saying, staying focused on Sally as opposed to the way his bow moves. It’s working beautifully, until Sally sings.

‘I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her…’

He shuts his eyes. It’s too much, or maybe not enough, because someone is enjoying his music. Sally is joining in, and as her notes become bolder, so do Tommy’s. He loses the slight hesitation about performing for someone, and allows the music to wash over him.

Puffy said that the reason that he found Sally and Kristen was to keep Wilbur and Phil happy. To prove he was worth something. That they had a reason to keep him around. Because if they found happiness in a partner, they might maybe remember that it had been Tommy that had found that match, that had helped.

He didn’t think it was true until this moment, when he lets himself fall because Sally asked, because he wouldn’t risk anything going wrong.

When the song ends, Tommy forces his eyes to open. Sally claps her hands together, praising the accuracy of the tune and how well he played, and Tommy vaguely replies and says she’s got a nice voice.

He excuses himself as quickly as possible, and makes it to his own room. With the door locked, and then the bathroom door shut and bolted, Tommy stares at his reflection.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, sinking down over the porcelain as he tries to forget everything that just happened, ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it isn’t Sally’s voice praising his playing.

**

November brings with it colder weather. Tommy’s wrapped up in several layers as he heads home from visiting Kristen’s store, where the woman allowed him to pluck at the strings of a violin that was so beautiful that Tommy’s heart almost burst. She was a collector’s piece, and Kristin had been lucky enough to win her in auction. When Tommy asked if Kristen was going to sell the violin, she said that she had a different plan for it.

She also mentioned that she was thankful for the fact that he’d introduced her to Phil. Since their first date, they’ve met for four more. There’s something about the way that Phil smiles for days after they meet up that tells Tommy it was worth it.

The pavement fades to the country road as he heads towards his home. Tugging at the edges of the beanie he stole from Wilbur, he hides his ears from the nippy temperature of the wind that whips around him. He collects the post on the way in, heading towards the front of the house when he spots a familiar car in the driveway.

Sam’s ford.

Sam, who’d visited at the end of October only two weeks ago. Sam, who was here unexpectedly.

Inside, the tiny piece of hope that told Tommy he’d made it to the five month mark smashes into hundreds of pieces.

He tries to think about what it was. Did he forget to do one of the chores? Or did they… did they just not want him anymore? He thought he was doing well! Puffy told him that he’d been improving with his mental health, and he always remembered to take his meds – except for that one time last week – but that’s it!

The inhale he takes before opening the door is one of freezing air.

He kicks off his shoes, abandons the coat, and heads to the main room when Phil calls his name.

Sam is sitting on the couch. His briefcase is at his side, and Tommy forces his feet to stay still, rather than flee. ‘Can’t get enough of me?’ Tommy jokes in greeting, and Sam’s smile is genuine.

But there’s something in his eyes that can’t be trusted. ‘Hey, Tommy. Want to come take a seat?’

He does. He sits beside Wilbur, able to hide the fact that his nails are digging into his skin thanks to the sweater he’s wearing. ‘So, big men, why have we gathered here?’ he asks, proud when his voice doesn’t waver.

What he really wants to ask, is how long have I got left?

Sam scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, ‘This is a bit of a difficult conversation to have—’

Why are they all here? To see the look on his face when they get rid of him?

‘—so I asked Phil about how best to phrase this—’

Tommy’s done nothing wrong. He tried this time. He did. He put all his effort in, just like Sam told him.

‘—you’ve got a visitation request.’

Tommy blinks, then cocks his head to the side. ‘What?’

‘You’ve got a visitation request, and—’

‘You’re not sending me back?’ Tommy asks, head snapping to Phil.

The man’s eyes widen. ‘Of course not! No, why would you think that?’

He’s not being sent back. He… he’s allowed to stay. Sam must recognise something in his expression, because he swears quietly. ‘Shit, I’m sorry Tommy, I didn’t even think…’

Tommy huffs out a laugh, slumping back onto the couch. ‘I thought I was going back!’ he mutters, then sits up and claps his hands together, ‘This is great. I honestly thought I’d missed a chore or something, or it was the fact that I accidentally dyed Wilbur’s white socks when I did the laundry last week—’

‘That was you?’

‘—but this is so much better. Ah, thank fuck.’

His outburst earns him a nudge from Wilbur, and Tommy doesn’t care that he might be called clingy, he nudges him back.

‘No, this isn’t… this is about the visitation,’ Sam says, trying to get them back on topic.

Tommy’s leg is bouncing, and his body is basically vibrating with energy because he’s staying, and he couldn’t halt the excitement even if he tried. Phil’s watching him with a sort-of sad smile, which is nice, Tommy will tell him off later. ‘Visitation? Pretty sure I’ve got nobody to visit me, unless ghosts can apply. Not that I believe in ghosts, cause that’s more Wil’s thing, but—’

‘Toms,’ Wilbur cuts in, placing a hand on his jittering thigh, ‘Take a breath, okay? You’re staying here.’

He listens. It’s difficult, and his attention slips away from Wilbur to stare out of the window, before he finally zones back in on Sam.

His social worker looks… worried. More worried than he usually does during Tommy’s outbursts. ‘You can obviously deny it immediately, there’s no need to see them, but I am legally obligated to inform you.’

Tommy blinks. ‘Shit, you’re serious? Who is it?’

Clem? She’s a baby, she can’t apply for visitation. He thinks to all his other homes, trying to work out if any of them would want to see him again. He hopes it isn’t house number three, that might be painful.

‘He… he wasn’t originally on record, but he brought a DNA test with him to prove that… well, it’s… it’s your father.’

His first thought, ironically, is Phil. That’s something he’ll deal with later.

His second thought is oh fuck.

His leg stops bouncing. The adrenaline vanishes, simply abandons his body, and leaves him very much alone in a room with a violin case and a couch and another figure and the spilt bottle and ‘keep your eyes shut, runt.’

Sam’s talking again. He’s explaining that he can say no, that it isn’t an issue. There’s no obligation to see him. Tommy can pretend this never happened.

‘What if I say yes?’ Tommy croaks out, unsure of why he asked that.

Sam blinks. ‘Then I’d organise a meeting in a public place, probably, or somewhere else where it could be monitored. That could be here—’

‘The café downtown?’ Tommy asks, thinking to the place they go during the holidays after his therapy.

His social worker nods. ‘That would work. It might take a little while, I could probably could organise a meeting for next weekend if that would work with you.’

He’s really about to do this. To say yes to the worst idea he’s ever had.

‘Okay.’

‘You can back out at any time, there’s no reason for you to—’

‘It’s fine, Sam. Just… just sort it out, or whatever.’

It’s not fine. It’s really not fine, and he’ll need to speak to Puffy about this next Thursday before the meet.

Sam leaves. Phil asks Tommy if he wants to talk, and Tommy tells him he isn’t hungry so he’s just going to go to bed tonight.

Phil tells him there will be leftovers in the fridge, and that he can come and find any of them if he needs to.

Tommy doesn’t answer.

Nightmares plague his sleep.

**

The next day, Tommy asks if Dream can come over after school. Phil says yes, and so that’s how they end up in the main room playing Minecraft together that evening. With a brief explanation of why Tommy needed the company, Dream hadn’t hesitated to cancel his Friday plans to sit with him as they try and speedrun the game, laughing at every death and sharing the snacks that Phil brought from the pantry.

Nobody complains about how loud Tommy is that evening. Not Techno, who sits at the dining table and marks books again. Not Wilbur, scrolling on his phone at the kitchen island with Phil, as they think about what to cook for dinner.

Tommy’s screeching at an Enderman when Dream finally brings up the forbidden topic. ‘I had a visitation once, from my mom.’

He glances over at him. ‘The alcoholic?’

It might be rude to anyone else, but Dream gets it. He nods, a smirk on his lips. ‘Apparently she’d gone through rehab, and wanted to see me.’

‘Did it go well?’

‘Nah, she wanted cash to get out of debt. You know how useful a kid can be to a deadbeat parent.’

Tommy hums in understanding. It’s easy to do some of the work for a parent when they’re spending their time doing… other things. ‘You’re saying it was a mistake?’

Dream shakes his head. ‘Gave me some form of closure, I guess. Don’t know what I was expecting, considering the whole alcohol thing for one parent, and the disappearing act of the other.’

He sympathises with that. ‘My father only appeared when I was six.’

Green eyes dart over to him, before focusing back on the TV screen. ‘Just you and your mom?’

‘Yep.’

‘What’s his poison?’

Tommy doesn’t miss the slight look of confusion out of the corner of his eye from the eavesdroppers.

‘Heroin.’

Dream snorts. ‘Nice,’ he pauses, then hesitantly asked, ‘Your mom’s?’

A difficult question to answer correctly. ‘You name it, she’s probably done it. Alcohol, drugs,’ he hesitates, wondering if he should add the last word, then thinks better of it.

Tommy collects the enderpearl and runs over to Dream’s character.

‘Any reason your dad would contact you now?’

He wants something.

‘No clue. To see what a talented Big Man I have turned into.’

His friend laughs, before they head towards the portal they’ve created. A quick stop for a snack, and then the chatting continues. ‘Toby never understood my random list of abilities, you know the ones you get from our kind of childhood?’

Tommy hums in agreement.

‘Like what?’

Tommy blinks, staring over at Wilbur, who’s taken a seat on the couch. It takes him a moment to remember that, while Wilbur is a foster, he had a family. A pretty good one, apparently. Even Techno’s parents were nice to him, just not to others.

Dream answers, ‘Cooking is the basic one. Memorising street names and numbers. First-aid, how to gain and avoid attention in certain situations.’

Wilbur looks intrigued. ‘First-aid?’

‘Hangovers,’ Tommy and Dream both answer in unison, then look at each other with a smirk.

‘Recovery position, that kind of shit,’ Dream finishes, looking to Tommy to see if he’s going to add anything.

He doesn’t.

‘So you… you look after yourselves, basically?’ Wilbur quietly asks, and while it’s aimed at both of them, Tommy knows that he’s basically prying for information on him.

‘And our parent, yeah. Usually it means we’re good with younger kids,’ Dream randomly tells him, as Tommy debates how good he was at taking care of his mum.

Not good enough.

Wilbur looks slightly… horrified. ‘I didn’t… I never thought about any of that.’

‘It’s usually not a thing that’s easy to understand if you weren’t raised in it,’ Dream says sympathetically, assuring Wilbur that he isn’t to blame for his lack of knowledge.

‘And the foster system? It… it helps?’ Wilbur asked quietly, to which Tommy snorts.

Nothing about the foster system helps.

Even Dream looks amused. ‘Not really. I hated it, wanted to go back to my mom. Until I met Toby and my dad, there wasn’t anything good about being a foster.’

Tommy is mostly focused on the game, but he still answers. ‘You usually end up hating everyone in the system for putting you there in the first place. At least with my mum I had a home, but in foster-care you don’t get shit. Just a bunch of parents that make false promises,’ he adds the last part angrily, and Dream looks over at him.

‘House three?’

Tommy nods. ‘House three.’

‘What was house three?’ Wilbur probes, and Tommy realises that this entire thing is just him telling his current foster-family more than he ever has before.

Puffy will be pleased by this update.

‘My now third-longest placement. Long-term foster, and I… I thought it was going to be an adoption. Obviously it wasn’t, and I got sent back.’

Dream sympathetically nudges his leg with his foot. ‘You go into the system thinking you’ll be one of the chosen, and then by your fourth house you figure out that you’re the scrap that nobody else wants.’

Tommy laughs in surprise, and delight. ‘I am nobody’s scrap, Big D. I simply chose to not be adopted.’

Dream’s eyes light up in amusement. ‘I’ll adopt you, Toms. Sapnap’s always complaining about being the youngest.’

It’s a funny joke, because fosters can’t adopt very easily. Especially not ones like them. ‘Daddy Dream,’ Tommy jokes, and watches his friend wrinkle his nose.

‘I take it back.’

‘I shall be your perfect protégé. Teach me your ways, sensei.’

‘You’re awful, and this is why nobody has adopted you,’ Dream says, and they make eye-contact.

Tommy has to quit the game because he’s laughing so hard that he gets blown up by a creeper.

Chapter Text

Kristen meets the rest of them on Sunday. She drives him home after a date, and Phil insists on bringing her in so that she can meet Wilbur and Techno, so here she is. Tommy, who had been ignoring his foster-siblings for the evening, comes down the stairs just because he likes Kristen and therefore figures he should say hello.

‘I thought you’d like to meet Kristen! Kris, these are my boys, Technoblade and Wilbur. You’ve met Tommy, obviously,’ Phil adds teasingly, as Kristen greets the other two.

Tommy gets slightly hung up on the fact that he was included in the “my boys” category.

‘Are you staying for a bit?’ Wilbur asks, clearly smitten with the music teacher already after she inquires about his song-writing.

Kristen shakes her head, ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go home, I’ve got work in the morning. Though, I might steal a quick word with you, Tommy?’

He nods, sticking his tongue out at Phil and saying he’s going to steal the future Mrs Minecraft, before following Kristen out to her car.

‘Phil said you were having a bit of a rough time,’ Kristen says, glancing over at him.

Tommy thinks this house in a bunch of rats. ‘I am not. It’s just a visitation with my biological father, I don’t get what the deal is.’

Kristen studies him for a second, like she’s trying to work out if he’s telling a lie. When she finds nothing, she shrugs. ‘Phil invited me over on Wednesday, I was wondering if you wanted to play the violin with me.’

His chest constricts tightly. ‘What?’

‘I’d like to try out the special collection, the Stradivari. Or you could try her out, if you want?’

Unknown to Kristen, or to anyone other than himself and a dead woman, and perhaps the person that took it to place it in collection, his own violin was a Stradivari. Too big for him to hold, because it was a full-size and he was a child, so he sometimes had to play on the other one.

‘Uh, sure. Any piece in particular?’

Kristen considers the question, before nodding, ‘Have you heard of The Untold?’

He has. He’ll have to familiarise the notes, but he’s sure that he can play it with her guide.

He’s not played the violin with anyone since his mother, though.

‘I’ll see you on Wednesday, then,’ Kristen says, pressing a kiss to his forehead rather suddenly before she gets into her car.

Tommy watches her drive away, and considers everything that just happened.

**

‘Anyone got any sevens?’

‘I… I thought we were playing snap?’ Ranboo questions, darting a wary look to Tubbo. When he just grins like a maniac, Ranboo reluctantly looks through his cards and hands a seven.

Tommy is mildly distracted. His attention is on the plate of food in front of him, and how satisfying it is to nudge it around while wondering if he’s made a mistake by saying yes to meeting up with his father, or maybe for saying yes to Kristen’s invitation to play together.

‘Tommy, stick or twist?’

Ranboo thumps his head down on the table.

‘Twist, big man,’ Tommy lazily calls, receiving the other card from the oldest of the trio. He doesn’t bother to stare at it, considering the game will have changed by the time it gets back to him.

When he doesn’t make a joke, Tubbo halts the card game. ‘Are you okay, Tommy?’

He doesn’t reply for a minute, remembering the last time he saw his father. It… it hadn’t been a great experience. Especially not if Tommy’s correct in the fact that his mum… she didn’t…

‘Huh?’

Ranboo’s eyes narrow in on him. ‘Is this about the visitation this weekend?’

Tommy tenses. It’s an instinct, and he avoids eye contact with the others for a minute. ‘S’not an issue.’

‘Dream had a hard time during his, you know. If you need to talk…’

‘I’m fine, boss man. No need to worry.’

He’s not sure that either of them believe him, so he instead changes the subject. ‘Your obsessive photos about spaghetti were disturbing,’ he tells Ranboo, who begins to chat about the snaps he sent last night.

Tommy zones out again, until a hand lands on his shoulder. He flinches, then quickly relaxes when he sees Sally looking down at him. ‘Milkshakes after school with me and Niki?’

**

On Wednesday evening, Kristen appears at the house. Phil greets her warmly, kissing her cheek and ignoring the gagging sound that Tommy makes. She laughs, waving to him as his eyes drift to the case in her hand.

‘Are you staying for dinner, Kristen?’ Techno asks, as she walks into the room. The case is abandoned on the side by Tommy, and he stares at it.

She’s stunning. He’s always had a soft spot for the beautiful sounds that a Stradivari can make.

Tommy listens to the chatter of the adults – if Wilbur counts as an adult – as he watches the scene. He realises that he hasn’t actually told Phil that she’s here to play the violin, which is probably why Phil finally sees it. ‘What’s this?’

Kristen follows his gaze. ‘Did Tommy not tell you? We’re going to play together.’

Phil’s head snaps to Tommy.

He remembers Puffy’s words, about how he’d do anything to make his current family happy.

None of his foster-family look like they agree with this situation. But Tommy’s so in love with that violin that he just smiles up blindly at Kristen.

The music room is their destination. This is exactly what happened with Sally, he tells himself. The three men sit down, leaving Kristen to glance to the violin on the mantelpiece. ‘Which one would you prefer?’

Tommy’s heart lurches. ‘Can I try her? Stradivari’s… they’re beautiful,’ he whispers, reaching for the case that Kristen put down.

The musician laughs. ‘Have you played one before?’

‘Mine was one. She… she was a full size, but I was so small, so it was difficult to play,’ he blurts, unsure why the words are spilling from his lips. Kristin doesn’t seem to mind, though, because she’s tuning the other one as she watches his awe.

‘Did you get to keep her when you entered the system?’

Tommy unlocks the case, breath catching when he sees the sleek red silk. ‘It’s in a deposit box with the rest of my inheritance.’

The violin itself is smooth wood, carved intricately. Warm under his touch, light as a feather as he rises it up. Then, hesitantly, he puts the shoulder rest on.

‘When you get her back, I’d love to see her,’ Kristen warmly says.

She’s as confident as anything, when she raises the violin and steps into the middle of the room. ‘First, or second part?’ Tommy asks, having glanced over the sheet music over the past couple of days.

‘Whichever you’d like. Have you played with someone before?’

Just my mum. ‘Yeah.’

Kristen knows what that means. They all know what that means, because he’s explicitly said that Tommy was trained by his mum. Her expression softens, apologising silently with her stare. ‘Did… it might be easier for you to lead, and I’ll pick up your style.’

He doesn’t wait to shut his eyes this time. The thought of watching someone else plays makes his stomach turn, so he just begins without hesitation. His timing is mildly faulty, so he corrects it quickly and, after only a few of the introductory beats, Kristen joins.

His vibrato is less a trained skill, and more the tremor in his hand at someone playing by his side.

The song is a powerful one. The build-up, the tension that seeps into the music as his body rocks into each note. Kristin matches his tempo, matches his aggression when they hit the sharp notes that echo around the room. At the moment, they play the same notes, yet it changes as they hit the climax.

Tommy takes lead. His eyes open as he strikes the bow down, looking over to her.

She’s smooth, and graceful, and fully aware that she can captivate the room with her playing.

His stomach twists angrily, the air knocked from his lungs as he forces himself to continue. To match her, stride for stride as they approach the end.

It’s like hurtling off a cliff. He’s running, racing over the grassy field towards the endless blue, and he jumps without hesitation.

Kristen lowers her bow, a smile on her lips but concern in her eyes.

Tommy was right, the Stradivari is incredible. But she was also dangerous, and he abandons her in the case quickly and flees from the room.

It’s a rush to his room. To the desk, fishing out the compass that remains hidden, before he makes it to his bathroom in time for his guts to rebel.

Soft feet pad over the carpeted room, reaching the tiled bathroom but not pushing any further. Tommy wants to turn his head, but there’s no chance when he’s still hunched over the porcelain. ‘I’m coming in,’ Phil says, and Tommy weakly nods.

A hand settles between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently over his back before reaching for the nape of his neck. ‘Too much?’

‘S’fine, I just need a minute,’ Tommy slurs, head pressed against his forearm.

Phil hums sympathetically, swiping his hair out of his face and tucking it behind Tommy’s ears. ‘Deep breaths, mate. You did really well, I’m so proud.’

He shudders. When he reaches to flush the toilet, and turns to face his foster-father, he’s mildly pleased when the man hugs him first.

Then, Phil tries to pull away.

‘No! No, just… just wait, please? Just for a bit,’ Tommy quietly asks, curling closer to the man.

Phil’s lips press to the top of his head. ‘If you want affection, Tommy, you only need to ask one of us.’

He feels tears spill down his cheeks. ‘Don’t send me back,’ he pleads, and Phil’s grip on him tightens.

‘I won’t. I swear to you, you’re not going back.’

‘I can get better, Puffy said I was doing really well and—’

Fingers curl under his chin, tilting Tommy’s head up to meet Phil’s blue eyes. There’s anger, and concern, and love that makes Tommy want to melt away into nothingness, to forget all this ever happened. ‘You don’t need to change, Tommy. You… you’re one of my boys, you know that? My… my son.’

His heart cracks. It cracks, and shatters into thousands of pieces as he sobs, fingers gripping at the man’s shirt as he rocks forward, the compass pressed between them.

Phil just holds him. Holds him, and whispers a promise that he’s not going to leave.

Tommy can only pray that it won’t change.

**

There’s nothing more nerve-racking than having to sit in a booth opposite his biological father.

He wished he’d asked Phil to stay. As it is, his foster-father is in the mall close by, with his foster-brothers. If Tommy needs them, he only has to send a text. They’ll be here in minutes. Phil promised, kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair before Sam guided him into the café.

Sam stayed until Tommy’s father arrived. Then he sat down a couple of booths away, to give them some space.

It’s awkward.

He’s aged. Greying hair that’s swept back into a neatly combed look, with the stubble that used to line his jaw completely gone. He’s dressed in a suit, one that fits his form too well to be anything other that tailored.

‘It’s good to see you again, Thomas,’ the man says softly, after they’ve both quietly ordered some fries to share.

The voice is the same. There’s less of a rasp, more of a tone of elegance that doesn’t suit him. They both know that whatever he might pretend to be, he isn’t. A snarky response is on the tip of his tongue, until he reminds himself who this man is. ‘And you, sir,’ Tommy quietly replies.

His father beams. ‘How have you been? Still performing?’

Tommy regrets snapping at Wilbur this morning, when all the older teen wanted was to make sure he was feeling okay about this meeting. Since Kristen’s visit on Wednesday, they’ve all been kind to him. Gentle in a way he most definitely didn’t deserve after breaking down so easily.

‘I’ve started again recently,’ Tommy admits, fingers nervously playing with the fidget cube in his hand.

The fries arrive. The waitress clearly recognises him from his other visits, but Sam must have said something to her about the situation, because she winks in his direction.

‘That’s good, very good,’ his father says, ‘And your studies? I bet you’re as smart as your mother.’

He flinches. It’s hard not to.

The reaction is noted by the man sitting opposite him. ‘No, I know you’re smart.’

He knows that Tommy knows. And Tommy knows that the man opposite, a businessman that lost everything because of Anna Simons, also knows. It’s a confusing mess in his mind, and he regrets ever saying yes to this meeting.

It’s been twenty minutes. That’s enough, right?

‘I want to leave.’

An eyebrow is raised. ‘How about we get some fresh air?’

Tommy sends a text to the group chat, telling them to come to the carpark outside the diner. He says nothing when his father places a twenty down on the table for the waitress, and gestures for Tommy to lead the way.

Sam is close by. That’s what he keeps repeating as they step out into the November air.

A cigarette is lit. Tommy watches the smoke fill the air between them, as they both look out over the carpark and the street beyond.

‘Where is it, Thomas?’

He regrets being so tall. In moments like this, there’s a desire to curl in and hide, to tuck himself safely away so that nobody would ever spot him. ‘I don’t have it,’ he says honestly, but it’s clear that his father doesn’t believe him.

He turns sharply, fingers curling around Tommy’s wrist.

Touching him. He’s being touched.

The door to the café swings open at the same time that the car pulls up. They all get out, but only Phil approaches.

‘Everything okay, Tommy?’ Sam asks, the one to reach them first. Phil lingers in the gap, eyes focused on where Tommy’s wrist is being held.

‘Where is it?’ his father repeats, ignoring them entirely.

Tommy shakes under the scrutiny, ‘I don’t… I don’t have it, I don’t know where it is,’ he lies, lies and his father can tell, because the grip tightens.

Sam takes a step closer. ‘Mr Walker, I’m going to have to ask—’

‘You were supposed to be a girl. All of this would have been better if you were a girl, Anna never wanted a boy.’

Tommy also knows this. It’s never really been a secret that his mother wanted a daughter to continue her legacy. A boy could only go so far.

‘Let go,’ Sam snaps, and the anger in his voice must startle Tommy’s father enough into releasing his grip.

For good measure, Tommy hides behind Sam. It must look strange, considering he’s taller than his social worker. ‘The boy has something that belongs to me,’ he hisses, and Sam shrugs.

‘Not my problem. This meeting is over, Mr Walker, unless I need to call the authorities?’

Tommy makes eye-contact with him. ‘You’re not lying to me, are you boy?’

Yes. ‘No, Sir,’ Tommy weakly promises, and the man huffs.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he stubs the cigarette out and shrugs. ‘Fine. This was useless anyway, the boy’s no good to me.’

Sam looks ready to punch him.

Tommy’s just happy to have an excuse to move over to Phil, and accept the hand on his shoulder that pushes him towards the car.

**

‘You lied, earlier,’ Techno comments, breaking the silence that had engulfed the four of them since they started watching the crime documentary.

Tommy bristles. ‘You’re a little bitch.’

‘What’s he looking for?’

He trusts them. He does, but it’s hard to believe that it won’t all go wrong if he tells the truth. ‘You know my mum used to collect secrets for a living?’

‘Yeah.’

The blanket that Tommy’s picking at nervously is fraying at the edges. ‘She found out enough about a growing business back in the 90s, run by two brothers. Jeremy Walker, my father, was one of them. She used it to manipulate him into giving him shares of the company.’

Techno blinks. Phil, however, shuffles closer to the edge of the sofa, peering over at him. ‘I’m guessing she did that a lot?’

‘Uh huh, it was kind of her thing.’

‘And he doesn’t want that information getting out,’ Wilbur concludes, as Tommy nods.

There’s a beat of quiet. ‘Tommy, please tell me you don’t have a collection of information on a bunch of powerful people.’

He can’t answer that. He chews on his lip, only just healed from the last time he split it. Phil inhales sharply, while his two brothers just watch. ‘Tommy.’

‘I know! I know, but I can’t get it, because it’s in the stupid deposit box that my mum left,’ Tommy frantically tries to explain, realising that he’s rocking back and forth slightly as his leg bounces on the floor.

Nervous. He doesn’t like it, and it’s difficult to focus, and... and Wilbur’s sitting next to him, pressing his leg up against Tommy’s.

He stops jittering as much. ‘Okay. That’s… that’s fine, we can sort this,’ Phil soothes, a reassuring smile on his face.

‘We?’

Phil nods. ‘We’re a family, so if one of us has a problem, we all do.’

There’re some words after that, as well. How he’ll see if he can get Tommy access to the box. Does Tommy know what information is one there? Did he listen in on these meetings?

Tommy’s still stuck on the word family.

They’re his foster-family, sure. But… but Phil’s not his dad. And Wilbur and Techno, they’re not his brothers. That’s a term he uses only for Dream and occasionally Purpled, because they’re fosters like him. It bonds them. If he used it for his foster-siblings, it would be…

Real. It would be real, and Tommy’s terrified of that.

Techno comes to sit at his other side. ‘You told me you needed to get into that deposit box to prove…’ he trails off, clearly wanting to give Tommy the option not to tell the others.

‘It wasn’t a suicide,’ he mutters angrily, gripping the blanket and refusing to look up.

Techno hums. ‘The motive is the information? How… how are you sure?’

He twitches. Wilbur reaches for his hair, fingers curling into it gently in reassurance, while Techno just stays by his side.

Maybe this is what it’s like to have a family.

‘It was him. He… he was the one that made her overdose.’

He’s never told anyone that. Nobody knows, except him and his father and a dead woman. But now Techno does, and Wilbur does, and so does Phil.

Phil comes and crouches down on the floor in front of him. Concerned blue eyes study him, before placing both his hands over Tommy’s shaking ones. ‘Your father? Are you sure?’

He could still backtrack. There’s a way out of this conversation, even if he’s blocked in by the three of them. Not that he wants to, because the soft touches and comfort is something he craves more than anything. ‘I saw it,’ he whispers, so quietly that he fears nobody heard, ‘I saw him push the needle in.’

There’s nothing that could stop the sob that breaks from his lungs, or the way he rocks into Wilbur’s arms moments later. Not that the teen cares, because he bundles Tommy up and tugs him closer, whispering words into his ear and promising that he’s going to be fine, that they’re going to take care of him. Not alone anymore.

‘Dad—’ Techno begins, barely audible over Tommy’s sobs.

‘I know. I… we’ll sort this out later.’

Phil joins them on the couch. Tommy doesn’t protest, but he does stay with his head tucked under Wilbur’s chin. For now, there’s nothing he needs more than the embrace of his brother.

**

It happens a lot in the next week. The unexplainable bursts of energy that prevent him from sitting still, and the way his words often fail him. It’s okay, because Techno speaks to him in sign language when it happens, or Wilbur allows him to sit close enough so that the vibrations from his guitar soothe him.

Today, they’re in the kitchen. Phil’s explaining that his lawyer – honestly, Tommy didn’t even realise that the Craft family had a lawyer – thinks they can get access to the security box, if Tommy wants to see it. Phil would have to sign as his legal guardian, and that would give him ownership over whatever was in there until Tommy was eighteen, including the information.

Honestly, Tommy couldn’t care less about Phil controlling that. His main worry was the violin.

‘—if you don’t mind that, then we can proceed. Obviously, they’re your items. If you decide you want to do something with the information, then we can do that too. I have an old friend in the force that would be willing to assist.’

Tommy studies the table in front of him. It’s a lot of words, and even with a full night’s sleep, Tommy’s struggling to comprehend everything. He expected Phil to send him back once he found out how much hassle it would be to keep him.

Instead, Phil’s doing everything in his power to help.

‘What do you think?’ Techno asks, hands moving smoothly as he conveys the question.

Tommy thinks that he hasn’t fed Gertrude yet today, and that he wants to go and see Tubbo and Ranboo. Niki and Sally are taking him to the mall this weekend apparently, which should be fun. Puffy was nice to him yesterday, and he told her about what he told Phil. When he reached the part about the overdose, Puffy told him he didn’t have to push himself.

‘I can keep the violin? I don’t want dad—’ he freezes on the sign, watching Techno’s eyes widen, ‘—Phil, I meant Phil.’

He spells the name out twice, and Techno watches him try to escape the tongue-tied situation he found himself in.

‘It’s okay, kid. You don’t have to panic.’

‘Don’t tell him I said that,’ Tommy signs so quickly that he doubts it’s understandable, but apparently it is, because Techno agrees easily.

‘You can keep the violin.’

That’s a good thing he decides. Hesitantly, he agrees to the rest of the idea. Techno conveys this to Phil, who ruffles Tommy’s hair as he walks out of the room.

‘Not a word,’ Tommy threatens, and Techno just rolls his eyes.

**

‘Oo, this colour would suit you!’ Niki says, gesturing to the palette. Tommy spares it a glance, mostly worried about the growing pile of things that the girls have found for him to buy. There’s a set of new clothes, and a leather jacket that Sally insisted would make him match the two of them.

‘Uh, sure,’ Tommy agrees, figuring it couldn’t exactly hurt.

It’s nice to spend some time with them. He’s never had this many friends before; people that will reply to his messages and ask if they should hang out soon. He wonders if it should be odd to spend time with Wilbur’s girlfriend and best friend, but the two seem happy with having him around. Happy enough that they spend money on him, despite his protests.

They head back to Niki’s house, so that Ranboo can join the makeover.

Tommy is a Big Man, and therefore he lets Ranboo go first. Niki attacks him with a liquid eyeliner, while Sally deals with his hair.

‘Oh! This would look cute,’ Sally tells Ranboo, handing Niki some sparkly shit that makes Tommy sympathetically smile towards his friend.

‘Help me,’ Ranboo mouths, as Tommy smirks.

‘No can do, Boob boy.’

Tommy goes after. They show him to the bathroom to change and wash his face, before they start on the makeup. At some point, Ranboo disappears to let Tubbo into the house, and he joins the group. It’s nice that nobody mentions the fact that he’s a guy, that his nails are painted and his eyes are covered in a smoky grey and blue shade.

‘You want to tell us what happened with your dad?’ Sally asks, as she reaches for blush.

Tommy hesitates. They’ve all been accepting of everything else, so why shouldn’t he be honest? Not to the same extent as he is with Puffy and his foster family, but enough to return the favour. ‘He wanted something from my inheritance. My social worker, Sam, got in the middle of it before it turned into a fight.’

Niki sympathetically squeezes his hand, careful of the wet gel on his nails. ‘I’m sorry, hun.’

‘It’s fine, it’s not like I need him anymore.’

Sally and Niki exchange a secretive look, like there’s something they aren’t telling him. ‘No, you’ve got all of us, and a new family,’ Sally agrees, with a glint in her eyes.

Tommy just lets his eyes shut as she finishes her work.

He gets a lift home from Sally, who comes into the Craft household with him to see Wilbur. He’s in the main room, and looks delighted when he sees her. His eyes then flick to Tommy, a smile growing on his face. ‘It suits you,’ Wilbur says, gesturing to what Tommy presumes is the full face of makeup.

He shrugs.

Leaving the couple be, he heads to find Techno. The man is reading in the music room, but doesn’t look at all bothered by Tommy barging in.

‘Chess?’

‘Sure, kid,’ he replies, then nods to his nails, ‘Nice colour.’

Tommy knew he’d like the deep green.

Chapter Text

Choking on milk is not the way Tommy Simons thought he’d die. Even with Wilbur slapping him on the back, Tommy continues to gasp in air like a hungry fish, ignoring his bowl of cereal as he stares at Phil like he’s grown a third head. In his defence, he’s said something that’s so ridiculous that he might as well have another head.

‘Holiday?’ he croaks, shoving Wilbur off of him as the teen continues to hover.

Phil doesn’t seem to care that Tommy’s just spilt cheerios over the table. ‘It’s a family tradition. We go to the ski cabin after Christmas for a week or two.’

He dislikes everything about that sentence. Well, the thought of going on holiday is actually pretty cool, but he doesn’t want to intrude on anything.

‘It’ll be so cool! I’ll show you all the slopes, and there’s this really nice place to get hot chocolates—’ Wilbur rambles, bouncing around like he’s had too much sugar.

‘Wil, give Tommy a minute to process everything mate,’ Phil says with a laugh, reaching to nudge at Tommy’s hand that sits on the table. ‘What do you think?’

What does he think? That it’s a stupid idea?

‘You… you don’t want me to stay here? I could look after Gertrude—’

‘Gertrude?’ Techno mouths to Wilbur, who shrugs in confusion.

‘—and keep the house safe? Or go to Dream’s place, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—’

All of them have learned how to stop him rambling, which is mildly annoying. Phil’s hand settles over his, lacing between his fingers and pressing two against his pulse point, encouraging Tommy to copy. It gives him something to focus on for long enough to relax. ‘You’re coming with us, mate. Part of the family, remember?’

Part of the family.

‘Okay,’ he says, slightly hesitantly, before grinning, ‘I’m going to get all the women, they’ll love my accent.’

Wilbur bursts out laughing. ‘Tommy, if anyone is a womanizer in this family, it’s me.’

Tommy wrinkles his nose up in distaste. ‘Absolutely not, you’ve got Sally. No being greedy, otherwise I’ll punt you off the plane.’

‘That—’ Phil begins, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘—is almost impossible.’

‘Almost,’ Tommy agrees, grinning mischievously.

‘You little shits.’

‘I can tell I’m getting absolutely no rest on the trip, don’t you dare leave me on babysitting duty,’ Wilbur says, aiming the last part at Phil.

Tommy screeches, ‘I am not a child, Bitchbur. If anyone is a child, it’s the man that has an irrational hatred of anteaters.’

‘They’re evil,’ Wilbur protests, throwing both hands up in the air in dismay.

Techno stops chewing on his toast for a moment. ‘Who’s Gertrude?’

**

Tommy recruits both Dream and Sally, who coincidentally have only met a couple of times, to help him with his very important mission of finding Christmas presents for people.

‘Is that because you don’t love us enough to get us presents?’ Dream teases, walking on his left through the mall while Sally stays on his right.

Tommy huffs, ‘Actually, it’s cause I’ve already sorted you two out. And Tubbo and Ranboo, but they were busy so I got you to come with me.’

‘Glad to see we’re your first choice, Tom,’ Sally jokes, but her arm nudges against his own to let him know she’s teasing.

He tells them the ideas he has for both of his foster-siblings, then the idea he has for Phil. Obviously, he has spent a lot of time and energy and thought into these gifts, so there’s a little hesitation with telling them. When Sally’s eyes water, and Dream just chuckles, Tommy pauses. ‘You think it’s a good idea?’

‘Tommy, I think it’s the best.’

The first one is simple enough. Wilbur’s gift requires a simple walk to Kristin’s store, and then to collect some ink. Techno’s is probably the hardest, but Tommy’s got enough cash saved up to commission that specifically.

Phil’s gift is the one he’s unsure about. His brothers – foster – won’t say anything if they didn’t like his gift. But Tommy doesn’t want to disappoint the man that’s looking after him, and even with Sally and Dream’s encouragement, it doesn’t quell the nerves.

He ends up wrapping all the gifts two weeks before Christmas, right as school ends. He sees Purpled for the last time a week before Christmas Day, handing him his gift and saying goodbye until school stats again. Niki and Ranboo get theirs four days before, and Dream, Sapnap and George on the third day. Tubbo finds himself at their house on Christmas Eve, with Sally and Kristen, so Tommy hands out presents at the end.

He adds his own to the tree that they decorated together.

He’s not had presents under a Christmas tree before. It’s kind of exciting to see, watching the small objects gather. There’s one from Tubbo, one from Dream and his friends, and one from the Niki-Ranboo household. Sally gave him one as well, as did Kristen. Puffy also got him a gift, which was sweet, even if he only gave her some homemade cookies that he decorated with Phil.

When everyone leaves on Christmas Eve, Tommy’s unable to stop his excitement. He bounces around, singing loudly and off-tune to all the Christmas songs he can remember. Phil indulges his desire to try the sherry, before laughing when Tommy gagged. Wilbur plays his guitar for a bit, then Techno tells Tommy that if he wakes him up before nine in the morning he’ll be doing the chores for a month.

When the morning comes, Tommy goes to Wilbur’s room at 8:52, not hesitating to leap onto the bed and squash the man under him. ‘Wilbur! It’s Christmas!’

He gets swatted in the face, then kicked off the bed by a grumbling teen, but it’s worth it to drag him to Techno’s room. It’s 9:01 when they burst in, only to find Techno awake and dressed in a robe. Phil’s room is the last one that they break into, but he’s still in bed, pulling the covers up over his face as Tommy loudly declares it morning.

‘Too sleepy,’ Phil protests, grabbing Wilbur when he gets close enough and tugging him down onto the bed. The brunet yelps, then settles down for a hug, which looks nice.

Tommy doesn’t care that he’s not included. Well, he does a little, but he makes up for it by telling them both to get up and go downstairs.

Nobody seems in a hurry to open the presents, which is stupid, because that means they also make Tommy wait. It’s frustrating, and he scowls when Wilbur insists on fixing his hair before they start. Phil goes to make coffee, and Tommy just sits with his legs crossed, pouting.

‘God, you’re such a child,’ Techno mutters, taking his usual seat.

‘Am not!’

‘Boys, it’s too fucking early for you to start bickering. Tommy, we’ll get to the presents soon.’

He huffs, but waits patiently. Prodding at Techno’s feet helps pass the time, and then using the little pine needles to stab at his skin.

‘If this is what you’re like every Christmas, it’s a miracle that the holiday is still allowed,’ Wilbur mutters, accepting a mug of coffee from Phil.

Tommy thinks the insult is rather rude, so he flips his brother off. ‘Well, Wibbles, if I’d had Christmas before I can assure you I would harass the world just as much.’

He turns anxiously to the presents, wondering if they’re going to like his. It means he misses the look of surprise on Phil’s face, the horror on Wilbur’s, or the quiet contemplation on Techno’s. ‘You’ve not done Christmas before?’

‘Not the whole dinner and presents and a tree and decorations and shit. This is… do we go in turns? I want to see you open yours,’ Tommy happily says, waiting for Phil’s approval.

It comes in the form of a soft smile. ‘Go ahead, mate. Hand out one each, yeah?’

They open Sally’s presents first. Tommy’s surprised when he receives a soft sweater, in a beautiful shade of red that he decides he’s going to wear for the rest of his life. Kristen’s gift is next, and she gets Tommy some of the fancy resin he’d been staring at for his bow. Tubbo bought him a bigger version of Henry, new and still fluffy and squishy. Tommy silently praises his own purchase of getting Tubbo a large bee.

Ranboo and Niki have bought him some new gel polishes, which he flicks through and admires the colours.

From George, Sapnap and Dream, he gets some music discs.

Puffy’s gift is a journal, with a black leather cover. Purpled gets him a wooden figurine of a cow, which Tommy appreciates.

‘Mine next, mine next!’ Wilbur cries, shoving a package at Tommy.

He opens it carefully. Tommy’s aware that his family are watching, so he tries to keep a neutral expression when unwrapping it.

Only, he fails the moment he sees what it is.

It’s his own controller for the Xbox. Only, it’s personalised. The red and white stripes, along with the music notes on the edges and his name in fancy writing on the back. It’s his.

‘You like it?’ Wilbur asks, as Tommy turns the gift over in his hand.

‘Yeah, it’s really cool! Thank you!’ he exclaims, refusing to release the hold on it even when Techno shoves a long, thin box at him. Regretfully, he has to put his gift down, but he keeps it close.

Techno watches as he tears the paper on the second box.

A wooden case, and as he opens up the lid, Tommy gasps. ‘Oh,’ he murmurs, tracing the edge of the fencing sword, ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Figured you should have your own,’ Techno says nonchalantly, before Tommy shyly smiles up at him and thanks him. He grins when Techno blushes, rolling his eyes and insisting that it wasn’t an issue.

Phil goes last. ‘I’ve got you two gifts. Here’s the first,’ he hands over a box, and Tommy pokes at it experimentally.

Inside sits a Polaroid camera. ‘Figured you might want to capture some photos over the holidays,’ Phil says, as Tommy picks it up carefully.

‘The best gift ever, Philza Minecraft,’ he tells his foster-father, ignoring his brothers’ protests.

‘And finally, this.’

A tiny box. Absolutely minuscule, so Tommy opens it doubtfully. Inside sits a key. ‘A key? To what?’

Phil’s smile is gentle. ‘To a security deposit box.’

Oh.

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he nearly drops the box out of shock. Instead, he forces his fingers to gently pick it out of the case, before staring at it.

‘We’ll go after we get back from the Alps, if you’d like.’

It’s tiny. All of his life’s savings, barred from access from a tiny key that sits in Tommy’s palm. ‘Yeah, sounds… sounds good. Thanks.’

He’s not entirely sure how to feel, but he still smiles up at his foster-father anyway.

Tommy’s gifts end up going last, which is frustrating. He gives Wilbur his first, watching as the man tears it open. The bound sheet-music, complete with a cover and art, stares back at him.

Wilbur chokes. ‘Is this…’

‘Your songs, yeah. Printed and bound, sheet music and lyrics.’

Sally and Kristen were all too happy to help him with this.

‘Sunshine,’ Wilbur whispers, flicking through the pages like he’s never seen something so beautiful. Tommy shrugs, finding it actually quite uncomfortable to watch someone open a gift. Is he supposed to say something?

‘Uh, here’s yours,’ Tommy says, leaving Wilbur to have his crisis as he hands a box to Techno, and then the package to Phil.

He waits nervously for a response.

Techno looks shocked at the carved wooden chess pieces, into the shapes of the Greek and Roman gods that he loved to read about.

Phil’s got tears in his eyes as he stairs at the apron and matching chef hat, with the words “Sadly, I am the Sous Chef,” embroided on them.

He yelps when Wilbur barrels into him, hugging him so tightly that he gets a mouthful of brown curls. ‘Wil! You’re squishing me!’

‘Never letting you go, gremlin,’ Wilbur mumbles, and the rest of his family laugh.

‘Let him up, I need a turn,’ Phil protests, and Tommy is swapped from one of them to the other.

Even Techno hugs him, and Tommy scowls at all of them and calls them pussies, just because his cheeks are burning and he’s never felt this happy before.

It’s stupid, but when he looks around the table at dinner, Tommy realises he wants to stay.

**

It becomes apparent on the fifth day of their skiing holiday that Tommy is far too energetic for his own good. After taking out at least eight children on the first day, entirely by accident mind you, he was stuck with someone babysitting him at all points. When he went up the ski lift, or came racing down the slopes, or went in search of hot chocolate.

In the evenings, when Tommy’s muscles ached and he was tired and wanted to curl up in front of the fire, he would often find himself sitting beside one of his family. Just out of the lack of space, obviously, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he could lean against them now without anyone complaining.

The last day of their holiday is the most memorable. Mostly because at lunch, a girl in the line to get food starts talking to Tommy, and he stammers over every word that tries to come out of his mouth. It’s not his fault, it isn’t, it’s got everything to do with how tired he was because he’s been sharing a room with Wilbur and his brother snores. Nothing to do with how pretty the girl was, or the way she laughed as he told her about the incident with him wiping out a ski school.

‘Where abouts in England do you live? I’m from Nottingham, so if you ever want to meet up…’ she suggests, and Tommy almost drops his phone in a hurry to hand out his number.

When she leaves, Tommy turns to find both his brothers watching, smirking. ‘What?’

‘Best with women, Tommy? It seemed to me that you couldn’t get two sentences out—’

He kicks Wilbur in the leg, and later snipes him out of existence on the slopes of the mountain.

At the end of the day, he’s sitting on the couch with Techno and Wilbur on either side of him when Phil tells them that there’s something important they need to talk about. Neither brother seems surprised, so Tommy sits up and looks over to him. ‘Is this about the ski school incident? Cause I swear those little gremlins came out of nowhere—’

‘No, Tommy, it’s not about your massacre of a ski school,’ Phil cuts in, laughing slightly as he sits on the couch opposite. ‘We were hoping to talk to you about something we’ve been discussing for a while now, and would like to know what you think.’

Tommy frowns, looking between the siblings. When they give nothing away, he shrugs. ‘Sure.’

‘You know you’re considered a part of this family,’ Phil says gently, and Tommy hates the way he tenses up on instinct. It becomes a fight to stop his leg from bouncing, or his hands from tugging at things. Seeing this, Wilbur offers out his hand.

Tommy accepts it. ‘Uh, yeah. Yep. The loud, sassy one. S’my job.’

Phil’s smile only grows. ‘How would you feel about making it official?’

Tommy’s slightly confused. He was pretty sure Phil didn’t kidnap him, so had every legal right over him?

Techno nudges his shoulder, ‘He means that we want to adopt you, kid.’

It’s a word he’s heard hundreds of times, spoken about by the ones in the centre that are lucky enough, or the times when he denied that it would ever happen to him. A word that makes him fall silent, his body for once copying. The hand in his own squeezes, a reminder that he’s okay to say whatever he wants.

It’s hard to meet Phil’s eye. ‘You… you’re sure you want me?’ he cautiously asks, hoping nobody comments on the way his voice breaks or the tears that are making it difficult to see.

His foster-father is already crying, soft tears that spill down over his cheeks. ‘You’re my son, Tommy. Wilbur and Techno’s little brother.’

Tommy ends up crying in front of them again, repeating the word yes over and over until he can’t say it anymore, until Phil’s stroking through his hair and promising that it’s okay to cry, that he’s never going to be alone again. That he has a family, and a home, and a future.

When Tommy pulls away from Phil, he gets tugged into Wilbur’s arms instead. That night, he falls asleep sharing a bed with both him and Techno, sprawled out with them as they assure him that they want him here.

In the morning, Tommy boards a plane with his brothers and his adoptive-father.

**

The Stradivari is, of course, the thing he picks up first. Phil seems to be physically in shock about the gold that is stacked in the security deposit box, or more accurately the vault. Techno’s prodding at one of the bars, quietly confirming to Wilbur that it is, in fact, real.

His violin is just as he remembered.

‘Will you be taking this with you, Sir?’ the man at the door asks, staring at Tommy. In fact, apart from the signature that they needed from Phil, they’ve mostly ignored the other three. Tommy wonders if they remember his mum.

‘Yeah, she’s coming home with me,’ Tommy whispers, tracing the violin before shutting the case.

Phil’s still staring at the gold. ‘Tommy, I thought you meant you had cash, not piles of literal gold.’

‘Mum didn’t like banks,’ Tommy blankly says, then looks at the limited possessions that are in here apart from the violin.

‘Is it here?’

He takes the compass from the jewellery she left behind, turning it over in his palm and warming it. ‘It’s like yours,’ Wilbur comments, peering at the object in Tommy’s hand.

‘They’re identical.’

Identical, so it doesn’t hurt too much when he throws it to the ground.

His family jump, but the worker does not. He simply stares at the mess, then at the USB stick that was released from inside. Tommy picks it up, glares at it, then silently offers it out to Phil. ‘That’s everything.’

His adoptive-father takes the offering. It’ll go to his friend, and they’ll see if there’s enough on there to build a case. If there is, then Tommy might have to testify, but that’s a problem for another day.

For now, Tommy is just happy to get out of the vault, and back out into the fresh air with his violin by his side. ‘You playing for us tonight?’ Techno asks, a question that would once have caused him to freak out.

Now, he just grins. ‘Wanna play with?’

Wilbur agrees first, and Techno is quick to join.

Phil just watches as they fight for shotgun, before Tommy steals it regardless.

The USB is slipped into his jacket, and he follows his boys to the car.