Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s interesting how memory works.

The medical textbooks tell Tommy that memories occur when a specific group of neurons are activated, and that any stimulus that results in a particular pattern creates a memory. Long-term memories are different from short term memories, but it all works the same way.

His therapist explains Tommy’s memories a bit differently.

In his therapist's words, memories are snapshots of Tommy’s life: the good, the bad, and the in between. For Tommy, there are parts missing, pieces blocked out or re-written due to a subconscious need to protect himself from the harsher details.

Tommy is fourteen when his therapist asks him what he remembers, and he is sixteen when he realizes just how few memories he has of his childhood and of growing up. Of course, the firsts are there: his first time skating, his first painting, his first medal, his first win. But the moments in between are missing, and he isn't sure why.

There are a lot of gaps in Tommy’s memory.

He doesn’t necessarily mind, because he has enough memories to go off of, but it’s still confusing.

The earliest memory Tommy has is of him skating.

He’s six, standing on the ice with his hands stretched out to his sides and a smile on his face. His mum is there, watching him closely; she wears skates and holds her hands out for Tommy to cross the small amount of space between them. His dad is just behind him, ready to catch him should he tip backwards.

Tommy can remember the excitement of the day, how happy he was to be allowed on the ice and exactly how cold it was. He remembers that he wasn’t wearing skates due to the fact that the rink didn’t have any in his size, and instead, he wore his favorite pair of sneakers, the kind that lights up all colors and were just a little bit too big for him.

He was laughing. He can remember laughing.

And he can remember falling, though he doesn’t remember how much it hurt.

The memory isn’t perfect, but it’s his first memory. It’s still him, it’s still there, and it’s still important.

It was the day that he decided he was going to be a skater.

He can also remember the day he decided he would be a painter.

Tommy’s first painting is also something that he remembers creating. He was ten, and it was a gift for his mum’s birthday: a painting of her skating. Looking back on it, the painting was not very good, but he was ten so it didn’t really matter.

He can remember sitting in the kitchen after practice one day, a pencil in his hand and a piece of paper on the table in front of him, sketching his dad as he changed out the blades on his skates. Tommy remembers looking up and saying, loudly, “I’m a painter now.”

His dad smiled, “Oh yeah? What about skating then?”

Tommy knows that he frowned at the question, his ten year old mind trying to figure out what he wanted to say without knowing the right words. “I’ll do both!”

And then his mom laughed, and his dad ruffled his hair, and that was that.

Tommy was a painter and a skater from that day on.

When Tommy was eleven, he placed third in a district ice skating competition. To celebrate, his mum and dad took him out for ice cream.

On Tommy’s thirteenth birthday, he placed first in a county skating competition, and his parents took him to Disneyland Paris.

He’s sixteen now, and so much of the past few years are a blur.

There are emotions that sit prominently in his mind: anxiety and worry, the fear of not being perfect enough, stress due to the pressure of trying to be the best at skating…

Tommy can’t remember exactly when ice skating changed from a passion to something that consistently brought him anxiety, but he can remember what it felt like to be scared of something he used to love so much.

At the age of fourteen, Tommy was on track to becoming the youngest skater to qualify for the Olympics, right alongside other big name skaters. He still had a year until the trials, and three years until the Olympics, but that didn’t change the amount of pressure that the news outlets and reporters placed on him to perform and be perfect.

His parents were encouraging, existing only to push him to do what he could and not past that point, and then being there for every stumble.

Out of all of the blur from when he was twelve to fourteen, Tommy can remember the first time he wanted to quit as clear as day.

He was in Berlin, standing outside of some European National skating competition, his mum next to him and his dad a few feet behind paying the taxi driver. He remembers having his skating suitcase with him, and how much he relied on holding onto it for comfort.

Tommy thought it was dumb, how much comfort the bag brought him, but he was in a new city, experiencing a new competition level, so he thought it was warranted.

And then someone shouted his name: “Tom! Tommy Innit! Tom!”

The response was immediate. Dozens of people swarmed Tommy, separating him from his mum and making him drop the handle to his suitcase. He can remember the panic that he felt as reporters shoved him away from his parents. They shoved cameras into his face, pushing him roughly enough that he almost fell. 

He doesn’t remember how he got out of the situation, but he can remember how much he begged and pleaded to quit.

Tommy can’t remember details about his childhood, but he can remember every negative comment that was said to him.

He hates that he can remember it, but he can.

Because people are not the kindest when you’re fourteen and capable and in front of the cameras.

His last memory of skating is from a few months before he turned fourteen.

A few months before everything in his life changed.

A few months before his parents died.

Tommy doesn’t remember much from those few months leading up to his fourteen birthday.

His therapist tells him it’s a trauma response, but Tommy’s pretty sure it's mostly due to the hit on the head he got.

If he tries, Tommy can remember small details.

His mum had made pancakes for breakfast that day. By noon, his dad had already downed two cups of coffee. Tommy had a smoothie, and he knows that it was his favorite kind of smoothie but he can’t quite remember what went into it.

He doesn’t really remember the foster families he stayed with for just over a year afterwards, bouncing from place to place without any actual reason to stay.Tommy can remember when he first moved into his permanent foster family's place – the foster family that unironically owned a skate rink. He remembers thinking how odd and kind they were, and how excited they were to meet him.

He can remember the day he first met his foster dad, Phil. Tommy met him at a pub with his caseworker, and there was this moment of connection instantly due to the pair of them both using a cane, though Tommy’s cane is more like an elbow crutch and Phil’s is a fancier looking cane with a silver top.

They were different, but it was a connection nonetheless. Tommy remembers feeling comforted by the thought of going to stay with a family that understood, at least in part, what it was to be disabled.

Because for Tommy, that was something that was important to him, the understanding of what it would be to be disabled.

Phil was a friendly man, full of easy smiles and fatherly intuition. He told many stories about his sons and how he’d ended up where he had, and asked questions about Tommy that didn’t make him uncomfortable.

Tommy can remember smiling and laughing and connecting with this foster parent that he had just met in a way that he never had before.

He heard about Technoblade and Wilbur and how excited the pair of them were to meet him, and some part of Tommy got excited too, because there was a family that actually wanted him and he wanted everything to do with them.

That is, until he heard about the ice rink that they owned, and some part of him wanted to ask for a different family.

But he waited and met the rest of the family.

And he loved them.

And he can remember loving them .

Because they were open and kind and so ready to accept him and he felt wanted .

Tommy felt at home, even though it took a while to feel comfortable enough to share everything with them. There are some things that he still can't talk about.

He can remember the day that his foster dad told him he was going to go through training to get a service dog. It was something Tommy hadn’t expected, but an idea that he loved immediately.

Her name is Henry – Tommy got to name her – and he can remember the first time he ever saw her. Tommy remembers everything about Henry: every day he spent in training and everyday that he got to know the dog that would help him through the worst of times.

Every day isn’t perfect.

And while Tommy doesn’t remember a lot of his childhood, he’s making new memories with Phil and Techno and Wilbur and his new best friend Tubbo, and he’s going to be okay.

Because Tommy smiles easier now.

He grins and laughs and lets himself live in the moment and he’s genuinely happy .

Now, finally, Tommy is happy.