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Tommy sat on the bed.
His bed?
He’d never had a bed before. At least not one he could call his - when he could afford to spend a night in a shelter the bed he was given had been slept in by a hundred different people before him and would be slept in by hundreds after him too.
This was a much nicer bed than those ones had been. The mattress was firm, but not hard, the blankets - blankets plural - were thick and soft and he had pillows.
It was much nicer than anything he’d had before. He would do anything to keep this - just this, a warm bed with smooth sheets he could sink into.
But the Crafts had already given him more than that.
The first time he met Wilbur, quite literally running into the older boy in the park he used to sleep in, they treated him with far more kindness than he’d ever received before. Wilbur picked him up, dusted him off, apologised for what was very clearly Tommy’s mistake and hung out with him.
Kept hanging out with him.
At first, Tommy thought Wilbur was the strangest person he’d ever met. That there wasn’t anyone else like him in the world, all bright eyes and fond smiles and bubbling laughter. Someone so wonderful, so good, choosing to spend time with Tommy was some sort of mistake the universe had made. An anomaly.
And then Tommy met Wilbur’s brother. And then his dad.
And he realised where Wilbur’s kindness came from.
Phil wasamazing. He was everything Tommy had always imagined dads were - understanding and loving and strong in a way that made Tommy feel safe with him. Even though Phil wasn’t his dad.
Techno was different. He wasn’t as openly affectionate as Wilbur or Phil and at first Tommy worried that the older boy didn’t like him. That was until he started noticing the small quirk of his lips as he smiled at a joke he’d made, or held out a hand to stop him when a car shot past too quickly. He showed it differently but he still had a capacity for caring that shocked Tommy every time he saw it uncovered.
And then he made a mistake.
It was cold and wet and raining, but he hadn’t made anywhere near enough to spend the night indoors, spending most of the day with Wilbur and his family. He knew enough to be sure that spending the night in the park could mean hypothermia, so he picked a back alley, hiding behind the bins, opening lids and pulling them around until they formed a sort of shelter. It was better than nothing, and, as long as he moved before the owners of the house spotted him hiding in their trash like vermin, it was safe.
Which was why, when he heard the rumbling of someone pulling a bin away his heart leapt into his throat.
He scrambled backwards, pushing into the brick wall behind him, eyes wide as he prepared for the insults - the blows. He prepared to be grabbed by the collar and thrown into the open street, knees sore and bleeding.
Instead he heard a voice say his name.
He glanced up to find Techno staring at him.
Within minutes he found himself sitting on a sofa, wrapped in towels and drinking from a cup of something warm and sweet as Phil fretted over him and Wilbur googled ‘symptoms of frostbite’. He tried to tell them he was fine - he really did - but they wouldn’t hear it, not after he admitted he’d slept there because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and hadn’t in six years.
It was all over after that.
He should have turned down their offer. He knew that, even as he accepted it. Even as Phil helped him upstairs and into a bed, he knew he was going to pay the price for this choice. For using the first people to ever be kind to him. For being so f*cking desperate, so needy that they felt obliged to help him when he’d done nothing to deserve it.
But he was so cold and so tired after a night of shivering rather than sleeping he didn’t have the will to refuse.
He was supposed to be sleeping right now. He had slept - it was impossible not to, not when he was exhausted and the bed cradled him in a warm embrace. But now he was wide awake, in a room with a bed and furniture and a door, more luxury than he’d ever had in his life. Even his aunt, before she got sick of wasting her money on him, had just given him a corner in the kitchen and a blanket, most of the time, when he was good enough to deserve one.
She threw him out.
He had to stop the Crafts from doing the same.
He had gotten himself into this f*cking mess, now he had to make the best of it. The Crafts were the first people to be nice to him in so long and now he was in the perfect position to mess it all up, the way he always did. People could never put up with him for long, he was loved less than most pets. If Tommy was anything he was a pest - an annoyance, nothing more than a drain on resources and a waste of space.
He had to stop the Crafts from realising how awful he was.
If he lost them…
Knock knock.
Tommy stared at the door. “Uh - c-come in?” he tried
The doorknob turned and Wilbur’s head entered the room. “Oh, you’re awake. We were wondering… do you want something to eat? Dad just made pasta, but if you don’t want that…”
As if on cue the scent of something cooking reached his nose. It smelt amazing, but Tommy knew better than to say yes. That would just show Wilbur how greedy he was -
He opened his mouth to say ‘no thank you’, but his stomach cut him off, growling loudly.
He blushed and Wilbur laughed. “I assume that’s a yes.”
Tommy shrugged. He couldn’t lie. Lying was bad and being punished for something that wasn’t true hurt even more than being punished for something that was.
Wilbur opened the door wider. “Come on.”
Tommy obediently shuffled off the bed and made his way over to Wilbur, following him into the kitchen where Phil was putting a steaming pot onto the table. “Hey Tommy, glad to see you awake mate.”
Was I not supposed to be asleep?
Does he think I’m lazy for being asleep that long?
“Come sit down.”
Tommy sat down, Wilbur to his right. Phil sat in front of him and Techno walked into the room seconds later, settling down beside Phil.
“Help yourself,” Phil said, looking right at him.
Tommy hesitantly reached out, giving Phil time to stop him. He didn’t.
He spooned a small helping onto his plate, hoping Phil would see the gesture as a sign Tommy knew his place and not that he was ungrateful. He knew Phil didn’t have to share the food he’d made for his family and he was thankful he had, but he knew better than to take too much. He needed to show he wouldn’t make too big a dent in their resources, he knew how to survive on little food.
Phil smiled approvingly and Tommy breathed a silent sigh of relief.
The rest of the family served themselves and then dug in. Tommy joined them and his eyes widened.
Damn. He’s a good cook.
He hadn’t had hot food in a long time either.
He finished his plate first and was prepared to watch everyone else carry on eating while he waited, but Phil offered him more and… well, he could eat more, he had to answer honestly…
Once they were finished Techno took his plate and Tommy watched awkwardly as the brothers loaded the dishwasher, glad to find they were willing to give him some leeway when it came to doing chores, allowing him time to learn how to do them right.
Phil turned to him. “We usually watch something after dinner if you want to join us?"
“I - s-sure?” Tommy said cautiously, ready to backtrack if someone hinted at him being unwelcome. But surely Phil wouldn’t offer unless -
Phil smiled. “Come on.”
The family piled into the living room, Wilbur dragging a blanket from the armchair and throwing it over Tommy’s shoulders as everyone else settled in front of the TV. Tommy sat on the floor next to Wilbur, a bowl of popcorn between them.
After a few minutes of debate, they turned on a nature documentary about South America.
He watched it with wide eyes - the colours and music were like nothing he’d ever seen before. And sitting so close to Wilbur, Techno and Phil on the sofa behind them, head falling onto Wilbur’s shoulder - until an anteater came onscreen and Wilbur began a ten-minute rant - Tommy could almost forget he wasn’t a part of their family, that he was here on borrowed time.
He remembered in time to sneak some of the snacks upstairs with him, hiding them away in the back of a drawer.
Just in case.
|8|8|8|8|
“Hey Tommy, could you give me a hand?”
Tommy followed the sound of Phil’s voice, winding up in the office, where he was -
Tommy‘s stomach dropped.
Phil was standing in front of an open cabinet.
Tommy stood frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight. He wanted to run, but where would he go? The Craft’s house was infinitely better than the streets. He would much rather face a life with them, even if it hurt a little more than he expected, than one out in the cold without them, having exposed himself as just the useless, annoying, f*cking disobedient pest he knew he was.
“Can you give me a hand clearing this out?”
Tommy nodded numbly. The cabinet was pretty full, mostly of stacks of files and a few random objects like a box of paperweights.
It would be hard to fit him inside with all of that.
He dropped to his knees, reaching inside and handing the things he grabbed off to Phil, who seemingly began sorting everything into two piles. He didn’t really understand the distinction between the two, but he didn’t have to. That wasn’t his role in this.
As he worked he silently wondered what he’d done wrong in the past two weeks. Maybe he’d laughed a little too loudly, made a joke that went too far, annoyed Phil - or the others - by hanging around them too much. Maybe he should have stayed in the room they’d given him more, stayed out of their way, let them forget the sort of person they’d invited into their home. He couldn’t afford to burn through their patience so quickly - if he lost them he’d have nothing left at all.
He could change! He could show Phil he knew he’d been bad by accepting his punishment - helping to create his punishment - and Phil would know Tommy could be obedient, could at least be moulded into something tolerable. He could be good.
“That’ll do,” Phil said after a few minutes.
Tommy looked at the space in front of him, trying to hide his apprehension. There was barely enough space for him - he’d have to curl into a ball, and even then Phil would probably have to force the door closed, crushing him even further -
He tried to force his panic down, swallowing the urge to back away. It was going to hurt - he wouldn’t be able to breathe, it was going to be dark and he’d be alone and -
“Hey Tommy, are you okay?”
Phil’s voice was filled with concern but it was false - it had to be. No one was that nice while doling out a punishment.
Thought maybe Phil was. Maybe he just wanted him to be better -
Tommy nodded. “I - I - I’m f-fine. I - how long?”
“Pardon?”
Tommy cringed. I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t need to know - it’s not up to me, it’s up to him, for as long as he wants me to be punished for, until he thinks I’ve learned my lesson - “N-nothing! S-sorry, I - I can get in? Now?”
Phil was silent and Tommy swallowed. He had to stop being so f*cking annoying - this stammering and delaying his punishment would only make Phil angrier.
He shuffled forwards, breath quickening as he got closer, realising just how small the space was, how difficult it would be to move - to breathe -
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Tommy gasped, preparing to be shoved into the cabinet, Phil finally sick of his nonsense.
Instead Phil gently moved him away from the open door, turning him to face him.
Tommy looked up preparing to see disappointment, maybe even anger on Phil’s face. He hoped it wouldn’t be enough to justify getting rid of him -
He was met with Phil’s eyes, wide and so sad.
Why is he sad? Because he has to punish me? Because I’m so bad that I’m forcing his hand -
“Tommy - did you think I was going to lock you in there?”
Tommy nodded, confused. Was he not going to be locked in the dark, out of the way, where he couldn’t bother anyone? Wasn’t that what Phil wanted?
“Tommy -” Phil’s voice sounded choked. “Tommy I will never ever lock you up.”
Tommy stared at him. “Then - then why?”
“I needed to clear space for the stuff we used to store in your new room. That’s all. I promise, I will never lock you up, no one here will.”
“Y- really?” Tommy whispered.
Phil pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “Really. I’m so sorry someone did.”
It was dark, pressed against Phil’s chest and Tommy felt so small in his arms, held as though he would slip away at any moment.
He never wanted it to end.
|8|8|8|8|
A month had passed since Tommy had moved into the Craft household.
He stared at himself in the mirror, shirt off. It was strange seeing his body without bruises. He raised an arm above his head, marvelling at the sensation of moving without his ribs screaming in protest. Even the scars left by broken bottles and angry strangers ached less, as though the Craft’s gentleness had washed away the pain left by harsher hands with crueller smiles
Just at that moment the door opened.
“Tommy, why are you trying to punch the ceiling?”
Tommy blushed and turned around, folding his arms to glare at Techno. “Most people knock y’know.”
“Most people lock the bathroom door.”
Techno’s eyes bored into him as he struggled to think of a response. Tommy shifted uncomfortably as he took in every scar, the marks of his childhood spent with his aunt and on the streets. The thin, raised scars on his arms where his aunt’s aim with a bottle of wine had held true. The long, jagged scar across his chest where a thief’s knife had almost left him with his guts spilling out onto the street. The awful-looking lump on his side that never had a chance to heal properly.
He looked terrible, a shattered mess of an excuse for a person. All too often on the streets Tommy had wished he was a stray cat - even pity would be welcome at that point. Anything that didn’t hurt would have been welcome at that point. But no, Tommy was essentially the equivalent of vermin, unwanted at best and hated at worst. He accepted that. It made it sting less when the insult was hurled his way once more.
He was ready to hear it from Techno too. Here was all the proof Techno could ever need to see what he was - how many times he’d messed up and been punished for it. He was a waste of space taking up a whole room in their house and they both knew he was yet to pay that debt.
“Would you like to learn how to throw a punch?”
Tommy blinked. “What?”
“Would you like to learn how to throw a punch?”
“Why would you - what?”
Why would he want me to know how to fight back?
Techno raised an eyebrow. “No offense but I think the reason is a tad obvious.”
Tommy blinked again. “And you want to teach me to fight?”
Techno nodded, face set. “Come on, we’ll go into the garden. Put your shirt back on.”
Tommy slipped his shirt on and followed Techno outside.
Hours later, tired but uhurt - it wasn’t just an excuse, he really did teach me - he collapsed beside Wilbur on the sofa, laughing as the older boy tried to shove him off.
“Eww, you’re all sweaty! What the f*ck Tommy?”
Tommy pressed into his side, wriggling under his arm and Wilbur gave up with a half-hearted sigh. “What happened to you?”
“Techno was teaching me to fight!” Tommy beamed.
Wilbur’s eyebrows shot up. “Did something happen?”
Tommy frowned, shaking his head. “No? Why?”
Wilbur shrugged and pulled him a little closer. “Nothing. Just - Techno taught me how to fight after he saw me come home from school with a black eye. You sure you’re okay?”
Tommy nodded, heart warming. “He did it for you too? Because he saw you were hurt?”
Wilbur paused. “Yeah. Because he saw I was hurt and he wanted me to be safe.”
“Oh.”
Tommy thought about that for a moment. He did feel a little better knowing he could defend himself, even a little, in a fight. Before, out on the streets, he’d been terrified of getting on the wrong side of anyone , knowing only too well that making an enemy of the wrong person could get him killed.
And with his aunt…
He’d never known how to fight back.
But what made him feel safest - what warmed his heart the most - was that Techno cared whether he was hurt. It mattered to him.
Tommy mattered to him.
Wilbur batted at him again. “Go take a shower, you smell awful.”
“So do you.”
“Because you rolled on me.”
Tommy grinned. “I think that’s just your natural scent.”
He raced out the room as the cushion Wilbur hurled his way hit the doorframe.
|8|8|8|8|
It was late and Wilbur was playing the guitar again.
Tommy liked music. He’d always liked it, even as a kid. When he lived with his aunt he used to open the window and lean outside to hear buskers on the streets. Once he’d been thrown out he would creep closer to listen to them - but not too close. He learned early on not to take someone else’s spot, the attention and spare change that belonged to them.
He didn’t have to worry about that here, right? Wilbur wasn’t struggling for money, so Tommy nearby wouldn’t be a threat to his livlihood. He was just playing for fun.
Tommy drifted towards Wilbur’s bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. The music kept flowing and Tommy paused with his hand raised to knock.
I could still be taking up his space.
He lowered his hand to his side. Maybe he wants to be left alone. He probably - he definitely - doesn’t want me around him, getting in his way and being distracting and irritating and pestering him and -
“Tommy? Do you want to come in?”
Tommy jolted at the sound of his name. “How - how did you know -”
“I can see your shadow.”
“Oh.”
“So do you want to come in?”
“Do you want me to come in?” Tommy said carefully.
“Of course."
Tommy felt his mouth open in shock. “O-oh. O-okay then.”
He pushed the door open, stepping into Wilbur’s room and closing it behind him. Wilbur sat on his bed, an open notebook next to him, a pencil behind his ear and a guitar in his lap.
“I heard you playing,” Tommy said awkwardly. “It sounded really good.”
Wilbur smiled. “Thanks Toms.” He shuffled over and patted the bed beside him. “Come sit.”
Tommy padded over, settling beside Wilbur as the older boy began strumming gently once more. “Do you think it sounds better like this - or like this?”
“The second one,” Tommy replied. Wilbur’s bed had this massive fluffy blanket and he was sinking into it despite his best efforts not to. It was dark outside and he was sleepy, even if he didn’t have a right to fall asleep in Wilbur’s space -
Well, Wilbur had invited him inside. Maybe it would be okay if he relaxed. Just a little.
If he had to pay the price for all this kindness eventually, he might as well enjoy it in the meantime, right?
“You sure?” Wilbur chuckled.
Tommy nodded. “Do it again.”
Wilbur repeated the progression, adding more notes as he went and Tommy slowly slid down the wall until he was on his side, curled into the blanket as Wilbur played. Wilbur paused, looking down at him. “Are you falling asleep?”
Tommy blinked blearily, trying to wake himself - shoudln’t have rested, shouldn’t have been so lazy, f*cking stupid - “Y-yeah. I - I’m sorry, I can go -”
Wilbur rested a hand on his head and Tommy tensed, waiting for the painful burn as he was yanked up and tossed to the ground. It would hurt but he would deserve it for taking up Wilbur’s time and space and -
The hand kept moving, running through Tommy’s curls and his eyes slid shut as Wilbur’s hand eased the tension from his body. He wasn’t being hurt. Wilbur didn’t hate him for being there. He was safe.
He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up with Wilbur’s hand still on his head and sunlight streaming in through the curtains.
|8|8|8|8|
“Hey Tommy,” Phil said as Tommy pushed his door open.
“What the f*ck Phil, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Tommy wheezed.
Phil smiled from where he sat on Tommy’s desk chair. “Sorry about that.”
“Why are you in - I mean - why are you -”
Phil smiled softly. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
Tommy’s heartrate picked up. “Talk to me?”
Phil nodded. “I was putting some laundry away and…”
He opened the drawer.
Tommy was confronted with the tins and packets he’d taken from the Craft kitchen.
He knows.
He knows I stole from him. I shouldn’t have, I should have known better, should have been more grateful for what he gave me and accepted it if he stopped feeding me. I should have - I should have been more thankful. For the food, the shelter, the kindness - all of it.
Because now I’m going to lose it all.
“I - I - I - I’m sorry!” Tommy burst out, backing away.
Phil frowned. “Tommy -”
“I’m sorry! I was just - I was scared - but that’s not an excuse - I’m sorry, please - I know it was wrong - I’m sorry, I’m sorry - “
Phil stood up and took a step towards him.
Tommy turned and ran.
He bolted down the stairs, thanking Prime that there was no one else in the house as he flung open the back door and sprinted down the alleyway, Phil’s voice following him but getting further and further away the more he ran.
He kept running. He ran and ran until his legs were burning and he was gasping for air and he kept going because Phil couldn’t hurt him.
He couldn’t - he couldn’t take Phil hurting him. Even though he deserved it - Phil deserved it for putting up with him - he couldn’t. Seeing anger in Phil’s eyes, maybe even hatred, watching a hand that used to be gentle come towards him in fury, crumpling under blows delivered by someone he - he loved…
Tommy was a pest. He was vermin, unwanted and unloved, uncared for and ignored.
But he loved.
He loved Phil. He loved the Crafts.
He would rather never see them again than have the illusion they could love him back shattered.
|8|8|8|8|
Tommy leaned his head against the wall, hugging his knees tight to his chest.
He’d forgotten what it was like out here. He thought he remembered how it felt to be cold and afraid and never quite clean enough, no matter how hard he tried. He thought he remembered the way loneliness crushed you.
He was wrong.
It was so much worse than he thought. The Crafts had spoiled him, showering him with affection and gentle treatment, surpassing his every expectation. He’d gotten used to having his needs met - not just met but cared for. They cared when he was hungry or tired or needed a soft word, a gentle touch.
He wouldn’t get that again. He’d lost the best thing in his life.
Tommy buried his head in his elbows, choking on sobs.
He’d never hear Wilbur’s music again. Never bump his shoulder against Techno’s. Never eat Phil’s cooking. Never feel Wilbur’s hand in his hair or Techno’s steadying his back. Never feel Phil’s arm around his shoulders.
He’d lost it all. By being stupid enough to hide food from Phil. By trying to outsmart him.
He’d never meant to actually eat it. If Phil ever withheld food as a punishment Tommy would have accepted it, he would have deserved it. But having the food there made him feel inexplicably safer.
Until Phil saw it.
Tommy should have accepted the beating. He’d been hurt before - not by Phil, but still, he’d been punched and kicked until he struggled to breathe, he could take a beating from Phil. He deserved it.
Maybe if he’d taken it they’d have let him stay.
Now they’d never want him back. He could go crawling back to them and beg on his knees for them to let him back into their warmth and they’d slam the door in his face. Maybe send him sprawling off the porch with a well-aimed kick first.
A piece of f*cking sh*t that can’t even take a punishment. Who would ever want to keep you?
He’d lost the only people that made his life bearable. The streets without them were so much colder than he expected.
He closed his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks. Like this he could almost pretend he was sitting on the porch in the night air, Phil reading a book on the rocking chair and Wilbur inside making hot chocolates for them all. Any minute now Techno would sit down beside him and -
“Tommy!”
Tommy threw himself backwards, banging against the shop door as Techno’s voice reached his ears.
He found me.
No - no no no no, he’s going to be so mad - he’s going to hit me and he knows how to make it hurt - he’s going to teach me a lesson - he’s going to punish me - for stealing - for running -
He was trembling with fear as Techno ran towards him, hands grabbing his arms. “Thank Prime - we were…”
His words were drowned out by the roaring filling Tommy’s ears. He didn’t want to hear the insults. Thief. Pest. Vermin. Even though he deserved them.
Techno said something Tommy couldn’t hear. He was looking at him expectantly so, after a moment’s pause, he nodded. Whatever the question was - ‘did you steal from us?’ ‘do you deserve to be punished?’ ‘Do you deserve to be hurt?’ - the answer was yes. It always was.
So when Techno started walking Tommy walked with him, Techno’s hand heavy on his shoulder.
He hadn’t paid attention to his route when he fled the Craft house, tearing down the avenues blindly. So by the time he realised where Techno was leading him it was far too late for him to run again.
Phil probably wanted to punish Tommy himself. That was it. Of course. Phil was the head of the household and he did most of the cooking and he had confronted him in the first place.
Techno pushed open the door and Tommy walked inside obediently. He was here after all. Might as well show he was willing to take whatever they wanted to do to him. He’d made his own punishment worse, he deserved to be hurt, starved, locked away - whatever they wanted.
Maybe if he was very good while they did it they’d let him stay with them again.
He pushed that thought away as soon as it came. He didn’t deserve to stay with them, he’d made that very clear. He’d taken their kindness and thrown it back in their faces, they wouldn’t want him now. And wishing otherwise was useless.
No. He was here to pay the debt he’d built with them. They’d break him and toss him back out onto the streets to nurse his bruises alone. That was what he deserved. He knew and accepted that, he had since the very start.
So why did the thought of them punishing him hurt so much?
Phil appeared in the hallway.
“Tommy.”
He tried not to flinch as Phil hurried towards him, lowering his head and preparing for the blow to fall, for many more to follow until he begged for it to stop, please stop -
He was pulled into a warm chest.
“Holy sh*t, you scared me kid.”
Tommy’s brain was still racing to catch up with his circumstances. He was being hugged? Why? Was he still going to be punished? Why would Phil hug him before a punishment? So he knew what he was missing? Phil wasn’t that cruel - was he?
“I - I’m s-sorry?” Tommy whispered tentatively. “I - I -”
“Shh, you’re okay,” Phil said softly. Tommy had never actually heard Phil’s voice angry, which was scary. What if he was soft even while punishing him? “I - I’m not mad, I was just so worried…”
Worried?
About me?
“We all were,” Wilbur added.
Gently Phil unpeeled himself from Tommy and guided him into the living room, sitting him down on a sofa. “Are you okay?”
Tommy nodded. I am - I shouldn’t be but I am - “You were worried?”
Phil nodded. “So worried - you just took off and I was afraid we’d never see you again -”
Tommy blinked.
Would that be a bad thing?
“I’m not mad, I promise, I never meant to scare you - I’m so sorry Tommy.”
Tommy exhaled shakily. This conversation wasn’t going how he’d expected at all. He’d been anticipating insults and pain and instead Phil was… apologising?
“S-s-so you’re n-not going to hit me?” Tommy forced out. He hated to remind them of what they should be doing but he had to. This was too good to be true. To be for him.
Silence fell. Tommy peeked at Phil’s face to see the man wearing an expression of pure shock and grief, like someone had just delivered the worst news he’d ever heard. Wilbur didn’t look much better, mouth parted as though he’d been put on pause.
Surprisingly it was Techno who spoke first, kneeling and taking one of Tommy’s hands in his. “Tommy. No one here is ever going to hit you. We would never hurt you, no matter what.”
Tommy swallowed. “B-but… I was b-bad. I - I ran.”
“Why did you run?”
Tommy bowed his head. “Because Phil - he - he saw -”
“He saw your supply and you got scared, right?”
Tommy nodded.
“Tommy no one is mad at you. And we would never blame you for feeling scared.”
“But - I ran -”
“Because you were afraid. And I’m so sorry we let you think we would hurt you.”
Phil nodded in agreement from where he sat on Tommy’s right. “Our love is not conditional kid.”
Tommy blinked, letting that settle in.
Our love is not conditional.
Our love .
“It doesn’t depend on you. It isn’t finite, we will never run out of love to give to you, we will never want to take it back. It is permanent and it is for you.”
Oh.
“Y-y-you mean it?” Tommy whispered, voice breaking. It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear and that was why it couldn’t be true. He never got what he wanted. He never got something like this - something as simple as love - for free. For forever.
Wilbur slid beside him, wrapping his arms around him, sandwiching him between Wilbur and Phil. “Tommy of course.”
Techno joined them a moment later.
Tommy didn’t know if he could believe them. It was a lot - too much for someone like him.
But with their arms around him - held and accepted as a part of them…
He felt maybe he could begin to.
|8|8|8|8|
Wilbur checked his phone. “He says to meet them in the park.”
Tommy grinned. “Race you!”
“That’s not fair, you know the shortcuts - hey wait -!”
Tommy took off running, the smile never leaving his face as he rounded the corner and plunged into the hedges, slipping through a gap in the park fence and stifling a laugh as Wilbur sprinted by him in a blur of confusion.
He pushed his way through the leaves and out into the -
The park.
As he emerged his eyes landed on a space, hidden between two bushes and shadowed by a tree. Just big enough for a child to curl up, sheltered from the wind and prying eyes. Secluded and lonely.
He could almost see himself there, pressed against the bark.
Three months ago he would have been delighted with this discovery. A new place to sleep, safer than a shop doorway, warmer than a bench. Another place to add to his list.
He didn’t need a list anymore.
He had a place to sleep. The same place every night (or almost every night, except whenever he fell asleep wrapped in Wilbur’s blanket, or curled into Techno side in the living room, or slid into Phil’s bed after a nightmare).
He had a bed. It was warm and soft and his and his alone. He would never have to give it up. He would never have to give the Crafts up.
They wanted him. When he broke a mug in the kitchen, nothing happened. When he snapped at Phil after a hard day, nothing. When he locked himself in the bathroom and refused to come out, nothing. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t locked away. He wasn’t - he wasn’t thrown out, like he meant nothing, like his apologies were worthless and he even more so.
They listened. They understood. They forgave.
They wanted him. All of him, even his flaws.
He loved them no matter what and they felt the same way. He’d never had that before. The thought of losing it used to scare him. Now he knew he never could.
He smiled and kept running, slamming into Techno from behind.
“What the - Tommy , you scared the sh*t out of me!”
Tommy grinned, ducking behind Phil as Techno swiped at him. “You need to be more vigilant Tech. What if I’d been a wrongun?”
“You’re too small to be a wrongun.”
“Oi, what the f*ck man?!”
Phil ruffled his hair. “Sorry Tommy, he’s right, you have to be at least six foot to be a wrongun.”
Tommy glared at him. “You’re not six foot.”
“Guess I’m not a wrongun.”
“And Wilbur is?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not at all,” Tommy said seriously. “I always said there was something up with him.”
“Everyone looks ‘up’ to you, that’s a byproduct of being short,” Techno chimed in.
“Don’t patrionise me b*tch." Tommy paused. “Actually, everyone does look up to me, thank you, you’re totally right.”
“That’s not what I -”
“How?”
“Took your time,” Tommy quipped from beneath Phil’s arm.
Wilbur just shook his head. “I’m beginning to think you can walk through walls.”
Tommy waggled his eyebrows. “You don’t know what I can do.”
Techno rolled his eyes. “Have you heard you’re a wrongun Wilbur?”
“I’m a what?”
“A wrongun,” Techno smirked. “A tall, lanky wrongun.”
Tommy nodded “Like a noodle.”
“I - what?”
Phil chuckled and shook his head. “C’mon Crafts, the ducks are waiting.”
Tommy frowned in mock-offense. “Not all of us are Crafts y’know!”
Techno and Wilbur laughed and walked towards the riverbank, Techno making fun of Wilbur’s height the whole way. Phil followed, keeping his arm around Tommy’s shoulders.
And so Tommy could have sworn he heard Phil whisper ‘ not yet.’
|8|8|8|8|
And one year later he found out he’d been right.