Chapter Text
Clouds were so strange if you thought about it; They swirled and danced in the sky in a sleepy kind of lullaby. When clouds were dark in color, parents told their children that they were angry or sad. Clouds can’t feel emotions though. It's practically impossible. Clouds don’t even have a source of energy, let alone any scientific way to classify them as “alive”. Alive things feel things, at least that’s what every fake adult spokesperson would say.
Tommy liked looking at the clouds. He didn’t personally enjoy them when they were grey and bloated with water, but he still found himself staring at them to pass the time nonetheless. Honestly, Tommy wishes he was a cloud. That means he wouldn’t have to feel. Sounds nice.
He also wouldn’t have to listen to his supervisor's useless lecture of being respectful. He honestly hadn’t done anything wrong. His science teacher Mrs. Taylor had assigned him to be partners with a notorious brat of a girl for a photosynthesis presentation. The brat’s name was Heather, and she had immediately complained and been embarrassed when Tommy moved over to her desk, a hesitant smile on his face that faded quickly as she ignored him and continued to talk to his friends.
If there’s one thing that Thomas Andrew Watson hated more than his dad’s constant absence, his eldest brother’s hypocrisy, and his other brother’s overwhelming apathetic nature, it was being ignored.
So, naturally, Tommy had rather loudly pointed out a messy stain in Heather’s skirt, making a big fat deal out of nothing. After the stain announcement, he went to her shoes, and then her voice, and then rolled down the big red carpet of assholes with a final "even your fucking face is a mess". Tommy knew that he should “be the bigger person”, and that his insults weren’t even good, but Tommy hated being ignored. He pushed down the thought that whispered, ‘Are you sure it's not your abandonment issues speaking? You haven’t expressed your emotions in a healthy way since you were eight, idiot.’
Tommy may have anger issues, but at least his subconscious is aware of it. He counts it as a win in a strange way.
Mrs. Taylor had handed him a detention slip, and Tommy dreaded it. Not because he thought that his dad would be pissed or that his brother’s would make fun of him, god no. If any of them even read his message about his detention, then Tommy would think the world was ending. No, Tommy dreaded it because Tubbo wouldn’t be there. When Tommy and Tubbo were still friends, they always got in trouble together. Detentions were like fun games to the two of them, and Tommy wasn’t driven to irritation by boredom.
However, Tommy was more than aware that Tubbo wouldn’t be there; He hadn’t even talked to Tubbo in three months. The wound was still fresh, and being alone in this bitchass stuffy room with a pinched faced vice principal only made it worse, made the regretful laceration bleed like a waterfall.
“... honestly, Mr. Watson, you must learn to keep your mouth shut! If you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say it,” The vice principal, Ms. Randall, spit out with venom. Tommy was well aware that she would rather be anywhere else than with a loud mouth, obnoxious thirteen year old. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her.
“I expect to hear from Ms. Summers (The brat’s last name, Tommy supposes, still looking out the window from the corner of his eyes) that you sincerely apologized,” Ms. Randall held her wrist up to her face to look at her watch, “Now, for your punishment, open up your math textbook and complete pages 317 to 340. No complaints, and no guessing. I want to see full work, too.”
“Yes ma’am,” Tommy grumbled under his breath, muttering a few curse words her way after she walked out of the classroom to grab her work from the office. Looking at the clock, which read ‘3:21’, Tommy sighed but still reached into his backpack. At least he could pass the time with this; Even though it is total bullshit.
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Me:
Dad [4:33]
The school said u dindnt answer their call, so just letting you know i got detention for being mean to a classmate [4:33]
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Me:
Tech [4:42]
Can you pick me up from school pls? [4:43]
[Technoblade read your message at 4:45 p.m.]
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Tommy stared at his phone screen, thumb ghosting over the send message. He hated how they ignored him, like he didn’t exist. (He didn't bother texting Wilbur, he was away at college). He was especially pissed at how Techno read his message, but still didn’t reply, or even attempt to come get him. Like he didn’t matter.
Whatever. It’s not like he cared anyways. He can just walk to the bus station and take that home. No biggie.
Tommy played on his phone as he walked on the paled sidewalk, kicking a rock between his beat up sneakers. He passed a few people on the street, pointedly ignoring their greetings or stares. He grimaced and looked up from his screen when a rumble sounded in the distance, clouds beginning to drizzle all over the town (it was really a city). Tommy began to run, sprinting when he saw the bus station bench with the crappy cover over it. He practically slid onto the plastic seat, sneakers sloshing a bit on a forming puddle.
He said a few grumpy cusses to the empty air, before looking back down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling on Pinterest (it's a great app, okay?! Looking at all those pie recipes is a great pastime!). Tommy could vaguely tell that someone was walking up to him, but he was waiting for a bus, and a bus is public transportation. It wasn’t that weird for some person to come and stand there, too, to wait for it.
“What is a mortal baby like you doing out in this precipitation?”
Okay, scratch that, what the fuck?