Chapter Text
Tommy stood in front of the full length mirror scrutinizing every inch of his body. Lifting his shirt over his head he analyzed his bare torso, pinching the skin on his sides and around his belly button. He furrowed his brows pulling the skin away from his body. Rolling the thin fold in his fingers Tommy scoffed, clenching his other hand in his pajama pants. Wordlessly he moved to the door and out into the hallway, careful to not step on the creaky floorboard of the old house his family claimed for more than 15 years. The cold handle of the bathroom door fit perfectly into his palm, worn down by time and oils it knew him well. Tommy didn’t bother looking at himself in the mirror again, he hated what he saw. He would do anything to change what the reflection showed him. Kneeling quietly he put himself in front of the porcelain toilet, another thing in this house that was well acquainted with his impending actions.
First he took a deep breath before pushing the lid and ring up before shoving his fingers into his mouth before he had the chance to think about it. The gagging came quickly and brought his dinner back into view.
This had been his routine for 4 years. He had heard it was an effective way to lose the stubborn weight but not draw attention to himself or his issues. Tommy couldn’t tell you when he started hating his body. Sure he had always been a little self conscious but he wouldn’t say he outright hated his body from childhood. He had grown a lot recently and he had started running track, his body was changing which made him more aware of every inch of it.
He does remember the night his family pointed out how ginormous he truly was, what a glutton he had become.
---
“Tommy, that's like your 3rd plate. Are you sure you need that?” Phil spoke between bites of his own dinner, still on his first plate “You don’t want to gain too much.”
Tommy stopped scooping the rice and curry onto his plate. It was his favorite meal, why was he not allowed to have more? When did his father care about his weight? Had they been talking about this a lot?
“He always eats like he is starving. Don’t know where he puts it all.” Techno shrugged, pushing his food around his plate
“Leave him be, guys. He runs track, he probably needs the calories.” Wilbur defended Tommy as per usual at the time
“If he keeps eating like that he might get cut from the team. I heard the school has budget cuts-”
It was at that point that Tommy tuned out, not hearing the rest of Phil’s sentence. Getting cut from the team was Tommy’s worst nightmare. Track was everything he had going for him, it was his life, his pride. He felt like a brick was lodged in the back of his throat, dying to come out. Quickly he emptied his plate into the garbage, muttering a quick “I’ll be back” before rushing his way up the stairs.
That was the first time he threw up his dinner, the start of the spiral.
---
Techno raced down the interstate, not truly worried about anyone stopping him. At 2am it was rare for anyone to even be on this stretch of the road. Just him and the jet black sky racing towards the towering warm glow of skyscrapers. He had lost count of how many times he had made this trip into the city, late at night to see Dream. The two were widely regarded as being arch rivals in high school, competing against each other in every way possible. Student council, wrestling, even fist fights in the boys bathroom, they were always trying to one up each other. Although few would believe it, even if the two told them a million times, Techno and Dream were thick as thieves, confidants, the shoulders they lean against when the world was against them.
So here was Techno speeding his way down the highway all because of Wilbur. His twin had a knack of driving him insane in a way no one else could. Tonight’s daily dose of venom came in the form of insulting Techno’s lack of college education. He had decided to take a year off claiming he wanted to pursue other interests, that had been 4 years ago. The reality was, Techno was undecided on where he wanted to go in life and it had sent him on a spiral that nearly landed him in the state mental hospital. Phil didn’t tell anyone about finding Techno in the garage with his car running and a note on his bed inside.
“Tech, why didn’t you tell me?” They sat on the cold stone floor of the garage, metal door flung open exposing them to the cold winter air, Phil held him as if he would disappear into thin air without arms wrapped around him
“I didn’t know how. I just… I just wanted to not be here anymore. Not be me for once.” That was the first time Techno cried in the past 10 years
Techno was 9 when his paranoia first set in. Climbing into bed with Wilbur talking about a man under his bed telling him to hurt himself. Wilbur told Phil the next morning, who wrote it off as just a bad dream gone wrong. The voice in his head never went away, just the frequency in which he told Phil about it. The voice often told him of things others couldn’t see or hear. About the people who live underground, breaking into homes and moving things subtly. About how Techno couldn’t trust anyone, how his twin was just a creation of the government to watch Techno, how he would be better off completely dead, how he should kill his baby brother while he slept to spare him from the disturbing truth of the world. The voices preyed upon every insecurity and anxiety the boy could possibly have. His brain never felt like his own, he could barely decipher his own thoughts from the muddled jumble that constantly echoed through his mind. Every time he tried to speak on it he was dismissed, told that it was normal to hear a voice in your head.
So Techno suffered through it silently, trying his best to be normal. It was difficult especially when they overlapped and nearly made him black out, overwhelming all of his senses. The only person he truly expressed his torment to was Dream. Dream who never judged him, who taught him how to find his own voice through every other in his mind. Tonight was a night when he needed his best friend, he needed someone to remind him why living was worth it, why he should keep going.
The buzzer was freezing, Techno’s body reacting in a shiver as his knuckle pressed into it.
“It’s open- just come up.” Dream’s voice groggily came through the speaker
It wasn’t long until Techno was sat on the worn out couch beside Dream, fiddling with his emerald earring. A gift from Phil on his graduation day, Wilbur had gotten a ring to match while Phil wore one around his neck. Tommy was still too young to be trusted not to lose something that held so much value, but he would be getting one in a few months on his own graduation day.
“What did the prick say this time?” Dream handed Techno a bottle of water
“Just brought up college again… saying I was just being lazy and mooching off dad.” Techno shrugged “It didn’t help that today was a loud day. The voices are convinced Tommy is going to die, that he is dark or some shit.” His hands covered his eyes “I hate this.”
Dream placed a hand on Techno’s shoulder, attempting to be comforting
“Maybe spend a day with Tommy? Prove the voices wrong, that helps. Remember they only have the power you give them.”
“Tommy doesn’t want to spend time with anyone. He is always just running. Literally, kid runs every chance he gets.”
“He probably just wants to be ready for track scouts to come out. He is applying to colleges soon right?”
Techno nodded “Then I’ll be the only one not getting an education. Can’t wait for the attention that will bring my way.”
“I’m sure you’ll get something together soon Tech.”
“So comforting, truly Dream. You have such a way with words.” Techno shoved the other man's shoulder “Let’s just play something. I need a distraction.”
The two sat and played around on Dream’s consoles until the two were tired enough to sleep. Techno wasn’t worried if Phil found his bed empty, he was used to this by now. Techno randomly disappearing- as long as there was no note Phil didn’t worry. He knew Techno would always come home if there was no note. For a few hours Techno felt normal, he felt accepted, and he felt comfortable enough to sleep.
--
Tommy was in 10th grade when someone first brought up his eating disorder. Some counselor who only lasted 4 months at the school had pulled Tommy from Economics to have a 'chat' about his appearance. Apparently someone in the gym locker room had gotten 'concerned' while watching Tommy change for class. Citing cuts along his thighs and jutting bones that made him look 'like a walking corpse.'
Oh how Tommy loved his peers. He rarely ever spoke to anyone, finding conversing boring. At times he would talk with fellow members of the track team, but that was rare and short lived.
"Why don't we talk about eating?"
"What about it?"
"How many times a day do you eat?" The young woman looked Tommy up and down
"I don't know."
"Well let's start with what you had for breakfast? Cereal, toast?"
"I don't like crunchy foods." Tommy scrunched up his nose “I had an apple” He omitted the fact that he quickly threw it up before 1st period even started
“What kind of apple?”
“I don’t know, my dad buys them.”
“Do you like your dad?”
“He is my dad.” Tommy paused, seeing she wanted something more “I like him plenty. Can I please go back to class?”
She sighed, shaking her head, opening a draw in her metal desk. Tommy hated the way the metal screeched as it rubbed against itself. One light blue and one light green pamphlet appeared in her hand and were presented in front of him to be taken.
“Read up on the effects of not eating. Eating disorders are no joke, neither is self mutilation. I can’t make you talk, but come see me when you want help.”
Tommy took the pamphlets quickly before exiting. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t immediately gone to the boys bathroom, devouring the information. Images of stick thin people, their ribs and hip bones evident through transparent skin. Tommy would be lying if he said he hadn’t cut those pictures out and kept them in his journal at home, viewing them in comparison to what he saw in the mirror. He directly ignored the information about a burned throat, complex organ deterioration due to consistent malnutrition, the risk of infection and other severe side effects of his nasty bad habits.
He was fine.
He would always be fine.
He was in control.
---
Once again Tommy found himself at odds with his mirror. His reflection seemed to be ballooning out in the middle. The sight brought tears to his eyes, clamping his jaw shut as he sobbed through the clenched teeth, begging to not be heard. His hands dug into his hair, pulling at the roots slightly. He felt them give as he brought his hands down in front of him. They were filled with clumps of dirty blonde hair. His body had grown this, months of work and natural effort lost in a simple pull. The tears slipped down his cheek, descending from his chin down into the opened hands, dampening the hair. He let the sobs rattle through his chest until his breathing settled back into a wispy shake. Tommy’s eyes found themselves back in the mirror, only this time his reflection was different. Standing to his full height he observed the canyons that formed between his collarbones and shoulder blades. Wrapping a hand around his bicep he could nearly connect his thumb and middle finger, a gag built in his throat. Working his way down his body Tommy, for once, saw the reality of his figure. White scarring along his hips and thighs from his short stint with self harm before turning completely to throwing up as a punishment. Between his thighs was a large gap, something he had strived for now looked repulsive, unnatural and grotesque. His hand rested along his stomach, just over his belly button. When did his fingers turn blue? He was not ballooning out, he was barely there.
How long had he looked this sick? Taking a step closer to the mirror, he examined his face. Cheeks were hollowed out, eyes a dull grey- wait, hadn’t they been blue? He always said his eyes were blue, a bright blue like his dads, he was the only Watson to have inherited them. He watched his tears track their way down to his chapped, cracking lips. He couldn’t stand this. Why did he look so sick?
A reminder of the pamphlet flashed across his mind-
Physical effects of Eating Disorders:
Bluish discoloration of the fingers
Hair that thins, breaks or falls out
Thin appearance
Fatigue
Insomnia
And at the very bottom:
“ studies suggest that risk of mortality for males with ED is higher than it is for females”
Pulling a large sweater and sweatpants on he paused with his hand on the handle. How would he do this? Could he do this? What would he say? He had to do this now. He knew that much. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want that.
---
Knuckles tapped on the old wooden door that stood in front of Tommy. His breath hadn’t slowed down and he could barely form a sentence in his mind. Why wasn’t his father answering the door? Maybe because it was 3am on a Tuesday but still, Tommy didn’t even understand why his father ever closed his bedroom door. When did his father find himself closing the door as opposed to when they were young and nightmares frequent- needed the comfort of their father at all hours of the night? Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he needed his father, but right now he was the only person Tommy wanted.
After a few moments and more repeated knocks Phil opened the door, green robe hastily thrown on, hair wild in all directions.
“Tom?” His father's voice was hoarse and raw, covered in sleep mixed with fear “What? What is it?”
Tears rushed to his eyes and he fell into his father's chest, clutching him for dear life.
“Tommy?” Phil took the boy’s face in his hands “What happened mate? Talk to me?”
---
Techno and Dream sat nervously in the all white waiting room of the hospital. Techno couldn’t help but feel as though he was slipping out of his mind. His knee bounced madly, thumb nail chewed clear away in his panic.
“Hey,” Dream must have known where his mind was going “Tommy is going to be okay.”
“The voices were right, Dream. They knew he was going to die.”
“He isn’t dead. The doctors won't let him die. Stop being dramatic Tech- He will be okay.”
Techno leaned back in the hard plastic chair, counting the dots in the drop ceiling above. The voices whispered, begging to be heard, about the reality of the situation. All Techno knew so far from Phil’s panicked phone call was that Tommy was on the way to the hospital to be looked at. In Phil’s own words:
“Tom’s not well. He’s- Techno, he is barely here.”
His father always had a way of creating the most hard to understand phrases. What Techno had deciphered was that they had missed something and Tommy may or may not be hanging onto life by a thread. With that in his mind the voices ran wild. They were sitting in the waiting room of a hospital at the ass crack of dawn, his little brother swept away into the depths of the children’s wing to be poked and prodded by strangers, his father was the only one allowed to be with Tommy. Wilbur was unheard from- not uncommon. The only thing keeping Techno grounded was his lifetime friend beside him.
“Remember when Tommy was born? You wouldn't stop complaining about him."
"He was loud and annoying." Techno's voice was flat as he spoke, but Dream knew he wasn't being malicious. "He never really stopped being loud and annoying." His hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, pausing for a moment- gathering the courage to speak "I can't remember the last time I had a conversation with him."
Dream nodded, he knew better than to put pressure on an already fragile Techno.
"He is my baby brother and I know virtually nothing about him except for the fact he likes to run."
Dream swore he spotted tears in Techno's eyes as he spoke through growing sobs
"I knew something was wrong. That something was happening and I ignored it. I ignored it because I know I'm crazy. Why didn't I listen?" Techno put his head into his hands and cursed as the tears spilled out
Dream pressed a hand to Techno's back in comfort. Dream believed feelings were meant to be felt, deeply and fully. He would not brush away one of the few times Techno was emotionally vulnerable. So he sat, and heard his best friend cry himself hoarse in the all white room. He'd never be able to forget the sobs.
----
Tommy had been in the psych ward for 3 days before he finally agreed to eat an apple. His stomach had been begging him to eat but he physically couldn’t. They had admitted him that night, and refused to let him see his family (Reportedly Wilbur showed up, but Tommy knew how to tell when Phil was lying.) He was given a load of tests, he had been through so many loud machines at this point he was sure his hearing was permanently damaged. They also gave him some medicine for his anxiety- telling him it would help- all it did was knock him out and leave him barely able to lift a finger. He agreed to eat the apple because the doctors started talking about a feeding tube. Now he sat in the beige activity area of the adolescent psych ward along with a bunch of other teens and the head psychologist, Sam.
“Good afternoon team! I hope we have all been having productive days. Today we have someone new joining us, let’s offer space for him to introduce himself.” Sam gave Tommy a smile he is sure was meant to be reassuring but didn’t fully land.
The words felt like they were stuck in his throat, he was unable to open his mouth. His eyes darted from person to person, they all looked at him like he was insane, like he was the worst of the bunch. He felt himself shift in his chair, and then nothing. All black. He saw nothing.
-
“What do you mean his heart is damaged?” Phil was near shouting at the young doctor in front of him
“Mr. Watson, Thomas’-”
“His name is Tommy.”
“His heart has been damaged due to the several years of his condition. He suffers from Bradycardia, or a heart rate less than 60 beats per minute. The muscles within his heart have thinned out and weakened. This is not a game to play. His body is essentially shutting itself down, without urgent intervention he will not improve.” The doctor cast a look into the room, gazing at the barely there form of Tommy as he rested. “I won’t lie to you Mr. Watson, his case is one of the more severe that I’ve seen. The fact that he has been able to keep up a regularly active lifestyle is an anomaly. At this point I am deeply concerned. If he does not improve his weight he will die.”
Phil locked his jaw shut, moving to wipe tears away from his face. He gave the doctor quick goodbyes before sitting beside Tommy. Phil wondered if this was all his fault, if he had chosen to ignore Tommy’s issues for other things. Wilbur was always so loud about his problems and Techno had taught himself to self manage. But Tommy? Tommy had been starving himself, running himself half dead. Where were the signs? How had he been so blind to the point Tommy had to beg at his door at 3am for help he should have never needed to have. Phil rested his head against Tommy’s bed, gripping his hand rightly. He tried to trace the realities in front of him. Trying to create a timeline of what his youngest would do in a day.
Tommy always went for a run before school, leaving him no time to eat. Rarely he would grab an apple before racing out the door. That wasn’t odd though, Wil and Techno barely ate before school growing up. It was normal for teens to not eat breakfast.
Phil was unaware if Tommy was eating during school hours- he figured he would just pick something up. Each week Phil left out lunch money which was promptly shoved into the front pocket of Tommy’s backpack. If Tommy was hungry at school surely he would pick something up.
There was always dinner on the table by the time Tommy came home from track practice. Tommy would sit at the table and eat with them. There was no skipping dinner, it was the only time the three were all home and able to converse freely.
The Watson household certainly had plenty of snacks with Phil’s sweet tooth, Wilbur’s love of chocolate, and Techno’s need for constant sugar. Why didn’t he know Tommy’s favorite snack? Surely a 17 year old boy would have one- some disgustingly sugary, sweet or spicy, calorie filled treat. He was a growing boy. So why for the life of him could Phil not remember what Tommy’s favorite snack was.
“Dad?” Tommy’s voice came out fuzzy and heavy with sleep “What happened?”
“Hey Toms” Phil once again wiped the tears from his face and gave Tommy a broad smile “You fainted. Had a panic attack. You gave us all a fright.”
Tommy nodded slowly- looking around the room, seeing the IV’s laced up and down his arms. “They had to hook me up to all of this cause of a panic attack?”
“Well… you’re sick Tommy. Very sick.”
Tommy nodded. He knew. He had already accepted the fact his body was turning on him. It was in all the pamphlets, organ disease, breaking bones, passing out, heart failure. It was no surprise.
“Why did you do this?” Phil sounded so defeated as he shook his head.
Tommy leaned his head back, deep into the thin pillow. He expected this question at some point and felt ready to give it to some random doctor or therapist- not his father. Tommy didn't have a terrible relationship with Phil, he was just… well average? He wasn't overly affectionate or smothering. He gave structure, expectations, and punishments when appropriate. It wasn’t like Phil had been absent as a father, but raising three sons alone was difficult. Tommy never held it against him when Phil had to skip his big moments to show up for Wilbur or Techno, there was only one of him, it was impossible to be everywhere at once. Tommy was understanding and accepting of his casual relationship with his father. So upon seeing that Phil had been crying, most likely about him, it was awkward.
"I'm not sure Dad." Tommy shrugged
"Was it-" Phil couldn't hide the sob that escaped his lips "Was it my fault?"
Tommy's eyes met his father's. He had aged, the crows feet pulling at his slender blue eyes. Phil hadn't shown Tommy such immediate attention in years.
"No Dad. It's mine. Don't worry." Tommy offered a small smile, not expecting it to cause more of a breakdown from Phil
"Don't worry?" A new voice, much more harsh, came from the doorway "You're going to die Tommy."
"Techno! Don't say such things." Phil whipped his head around and scolded before turning back to Tommy, kissing the top of his hand "You won't die Toms. We are going to fix you up and then we will go home. We are going to get you better."
Tommy nodded numbly to his father, eyes trained on Techno. His brother had also aged, but more subtly than Phil. His jaw was more defined now by the slight stubble that indicated he hadn’t shaved in a handful of days. There were bags under the dark brown eyes that were visibly heavy. It must have been a few months since Techno last dyed his hair because his brown roots had grown in a substantial amount and the pink had faded to a more pastel. It seemed Tommy wasn’t the only Watson letting himself dissolve.
Techno walked over to the bed and sat on the opposite side of Tommy. The voices in his head hadn't stopped screaming for days- begging him to see his brother. Now looking upon him he felt bile inching up his throat. He deserved the burn.
"How long?"
"About 4 years or something." Tommy shrugged "I'm fine. Really"
Techno scoffed, shaking his head, toying with the gold ring on his finger "Yea. Fine. When were you going to stop?"
Tommy opened his mouth to respond but he didn’t have an answer. He had never thought about stopping. He never questioned his motions. Slowly he closed his mouth, fixating on playing with the tape on his hand, refusing to meet the harsh gaze of his brother. Unaware of the tears that bordered Techno’s own eyes.
"I'm sorry." He forced out quietly, begging tears not to fall
Phil quickly took his hands back in his and rubbed the tape back down.
"Don't be sorry mate. Like I said, we are going to fix you up and you'll come home. I'll get you back home Toms and we can fix this whole issue." Phil gave a pointed look to Techno, "We will fix this as a family."