Chapter Text
Tommy has been dozing off in the backseat for 20 minutes now. He isn't sure where they're going, or why. The last couple of hours blur in his mind, like some sort of mosaic. If he focuses, he can find bits and pieces, but he's tired, and he really doesn't care all that much.
The man driving him hums along to the radio, and Tommy opens his eyes, looking at him from where he's sat. He can't quite remember what the man looks like, only that he had dark hair and had pulled him along in his car with a forced type of smile.
Though, he's never been good with faces, so he could be wrong. A lot of people told him he assumed too fast, but he could hardly understand why. Being a little bit safe never hurt anybody, and assuming the worst only prepares him for the inevitable. He thinks one of the weird people in formal clothes told him that was anxiety, or some other word with too many complicated letters.
In the last 78 hours, he thinks he's been told more about himself than he has in his entire life. Or could it be 48 hours? How many days has it been? He tries counting back from today but suddenly blanks on what day it is, and what day it was when this all started, and remembers why he hasn't tried recalling what brought him here.
The car suddenly stops, and he looks out of the window to see a house, larger than the one he was living in before, and looking a lot less rundown. He doubts there are even any rats here.
The front yard, where the car is parked, is full of flowers, save for the driveway, which he can tell is gravel from the way the car rattled when they drove in. The sun is still high in the sky, which confuses him for a second, because he was sure it was at least 6, before he remembers he hasn't seen a clock since this morning when he woke up, and he isn't the best at telling the passage of time. A lot of people say he loses time, whatever that means.
The man steps out of the car, opening the door to the backseat where Tommy is sitting. Now that he's looking at him, Tommy understands why he had such a hard time remembering his face. There's really not much about him that stands out, and his blank stare does nothing to help. Tommy almost says that out loud before thinking it over.
“We're here.” And now, Tommy doesn't take that second to think it over and blurts out, ever the impulsive person,
“Oh really? I thought we were on Mars.” before promptly shutting his mouth, wide eyed, as if even he didn't expect himself to say that. The man in front of him drops the friendly smile and frowns, grabbing Tommy's bag and standing up straight, waiting for Tommy to step out of the car on his own.
Tommy gets out, closing the door behind him, before reaching for his bag, but the other man is already walking towards the front door, Tommy's bag still in hand. Tommy hurries up to follow, panting a bit as he stands behind the weird car driver. He turns towards Tommy and gives him a stern look before saying,
“We're at the Watson house. This is where you'll be staying. Remember to behave, they don't have to put up with you if they don't want to.” Before handing him his bag and knocking on the door.
There's a loud bang outside the door and what sounds like yelling, before a disheveled looking blonde man opens the door, rubbing his neck nervously.
“Oh jeez, I'm sorry mate! Techno almost dropped a bookshelf on Will trying to answer the door.” Looking behind him, Tommy can almost believe he's telling the truth. Two boys who look to be about 17 are crouched around a bookshelf, seemingly trying to shove all the books back in it as quickly as possible, one of them, presumably the one who almost got the bookshelf dropped on him, rubbing his head every once in a while and wincing.
The strange man's frown seems to deepen, before he puts on what he assumes is his equivalent of a customer service smile. He nods along to what the blonde man is saying.
“It's really no worries, mister Watson. Tommy, this is Phil Watson, he'll be your guardian from now on.” Tommy looks at the man in front of him, Phil. He's also pretty plain looking, but he has cool blonde hair that reaches his shoulders, which is how long Tommy would want his hair, if it wasn't so hard to maintain, and his smile actually reaches his eyes.
“It's nice to meet you, Tommy! Come on in, if you want, you can come meet my son's, Techno and Wilbur!” Tommy thinks those are shit names, but he keeps his mouth shut and slowly walks behind Phil, who enters his own house. The place is cozy, and it seems like the two boys are done shoveling books in the half empty bookshelf.
Phil motions towards one of the boys, who has long pink hair that reaches his lower back, atleast, and small square glasses that make him look old.
“That's Techno, he can show you around the house if you want.” Tommy looks him up and down before nodding hello. The other boy doesn't nod back, just stares at him, and Tommy shifts from feet to feet.
Phil motions to the other boy, who still looks out of it, his hair sticking up in all sorts of directions and his sweater half tucked into his pants. Tommy can see a small notebook peeking out of his pocket and wonders if he's a writer or just really weird.
“That one's Wilbur. He can also show you around, but he hasn't been here as long. Feel free to go introduce yourself!” Tommy also nods at him, and thankfully for him, Wilbur nods back. He walks towards them, bag in hand, as he watches Phil and his current personal driver walk towards the kitchen, to talk about him, he guesses.
“Ayup. I’m Tommy.” He stares awkwardly at the other boys, and just now notices that Techno has headphones on and probably can't hear him. He reaches up to tap his shoulder but Wilbur stops him.
“No need, he can hear you fine. Right, Tech?” The pink haired man nods, and tilts his head, looking at Tommy. He wonders how Wilbur knew that, though, if they've lived together for a while, it might just be because this happens a lot.
“So, want me to show you around? You can go put your bag in your room.” The deep voice startles him for a moment, and the American accent even more. So far, everyone he'd met had been shockingly British, and he had half a mind to make fun of him before he figured he should just go along with what he's being told.
“Sure, big man, no problem.” He glances at the stairs apprehensively. He's not a pussy or anything, but he doesn't like stairs. Not to complain, but going up them always made his legs hurt and his knees ache. His parents always told him to suck it up, since he was only 14, and was probably exaggerating for pity points. He swears, though, that he isn't.
Techno leads him around the house, showing him all the corridors, Phil's office, the downstairs bathroom, and stops in front of the kitchen before telling Tommy they'll go check it out once the adults are done talking. Tommy thinks it's hilarious to hear him say that, considering he already looks no younger than 20, with the glasses, but he doesn't comment on it.
Then, Techno stops in front of the stairs, and turns towards Wilbur, cocking his head towards Tommy and the stairs.
“Mind showing Tommy the second floor? I don't feel like going up the stairs right now.” Tommy looks at him, trying to figure out why he doesn't want to go up the stairs, and just barely spots a weird fabric contraption sitting on one of his knees, before Wilbur gets up from where he was sitting and walks over, with a tight smile.
“Yeah, sure, no problem. Come on, Tommy, your bedrooms up there.” Tommy can't help but scoff at some room in this house being referred to as “his room” for the second time now, and Wilbur looks at him questioningly.
He feels some weird urge to explain and starts talking, without thinking back on it. “Well, this is you guys’ house. It's not my room, it's just the room I'll be staying in until I turn 18 and stop bringing in checks.” Tommy remembers his mom telling him horror stories about the foster system, about horrible, abusive parents who only kept kids for the money. Phil didn't seem like a bad dad, sure, but he wasn't one of his kids, he was just a check to him, probably.
Wilbur widens his eyes, and glances down before saying, quietly, “Uh, Phil adopted me right before I turned 18, actually. It's not like that here.” Tommy doesn't understand why he looks so put off by his comment. Surely, if he was in foster care before getting adopted, he knew how this worked. I mean, sure he was adopted by one of his foster parents, but that's a one in a million. Surely he understood that.
Techno walks back over to them, now with a cane in hand, and Tommy can't help but think it completes his old man look. He briefly wonders why he needs a cane when he's probably barely 17, before he realises it's probably just a fashion statement. Techno turns to Wil and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry, I can show you upstairs, actually, Tommy. You can go sit down, Wil, it's fine.” His voice is deadpan, but Tommy can almost hear a whisper of care in his voice when he addresses Wil and doesn't understand why. Did he upset him? He was just explaining himself.
Techno leads him up the stairs without another word. Tommy is grateful for his cane because it makes him slower, and gives Tommy an excuse to climb the stairs as slowly as possible to avoid the pain that'll surely haunt him later.
He's sure it'll haunt him regardless, but maybe it'll be more dull this time.
As they reach the top of the stairs, Techno pauses for a second and Tommy takes that as an opportunity to question him.
“Hey, Techno? Back there, did I … did I upset Wil?” Techno looks at him for a second before nodding. Tommy stares at him, baffled. He was expecting reassurance, padded confirmation that he hadn't done anything.
“You implied Phil wasn't a good foster dad. He doesn't like when people do that.” And now Tommy is even more confused because he didn't imply he was a bad dad. Phil isn't his dad. He's his legal guardian until he turns 18. He doesn't think those two things are the same.
“Oh, uh, alright. I'll apologize later, then.” Techno nods again before he keeps walking down the hall. He points to a bathroom before turning and showing 4 rooms.
“This one,” he says while pointing a yellow painted door, “is Wilbur's room. Don't go into anyone's room without knocking, that's against the rules.”
Rules, right. Tommy will have to learn how to respect those. Like that weird man said, Phil doesn't have to deal with him. He can't mess up. He wouldn't want to end up in an actually bad family.
“That's my room,” the door is painted pink and Tommy is starting to see a pattern here, “and that's Phil's room. Most of us keep our doors closed even if we're out of our room. Don't go in anyone's room even if the door is open, though.”
Off to the side, there's one door left, the only one still painted white. “And that's the room you'll be staying in.” He notices the way Techno exaggerates the words and wonders if he's making fun of him, and suddenly he doesn't like his deadpan voice and the way he always looks him up and down.
“Are you fucking making fun of me!?” He doesn't realize he yells until Techno startles violently enough to practically throw his headphones to the ground and now he's crouching on the ground looking at his broken headphones and Tommy's still stood there saying nothing and Phil is climbing the stairs really fast and fuck how had he already gotten himself in trouble??
Phil looks at him. He can't tell if it's anger in his eyes and pity, but he doesn't like either option. Phil crouches down besides Techno and holds out both his hands, one facing up and one facing down and Tommy just stares, confused, waiting for Phil to yell at him, to tell him to go to his room.
Techno doesn't look up, but he points to Phil's hand that faces the floor and Phil stands up again. Tommy curls in on himself, preparing to be yelled at and scolded. Phil grabs his shoulder and turns him towards the white door again.
“How about you go put your stuff away, mate? Don't worry about the headphones, we can talk about what happened later.” And now Tommy is really confused, because he messed up. Where's the yelling? Surely he deserves it, he broke Techno's headphones. Sure, it was an accident, but it was still his fault, wasn't it?
Phil opens the door.
“I'll call you for dinner, alright?” And Tommy can hear Techno sniffling behind him and he feels bad, dammit, because he should be getting punished right now. He hurt Techno. He doesn't know the guy but he hurt him. That's not ok.
Tommy walks into the room and puts his bag down. He sits down on the bed. The walls are blank, the sheets are white and the blinds are brown. There's nothing interesting to look at. All he can focus on is Techno crying outside his door.
Phil had said not to worry about it. Clearly Phil didn't know anything about him because if Tommy was good at something, it was worrying.
They'd talk about it later, is what he said. Would that be when the punishment would come? Maybe Phil didn't want to yell in front of his son. He seemed to care about them a lot.
He opens up his bag. He doesn't have much on him right now. He thinks he remembers an officer telling him they'd come get the rest of his belongings soon. He doesn't remember when they told him that, but he didn't have his belongings yet.
In his bag, he has a half dead phone with a screen so cracked you could barely see what was going on, one red hoodie that was 3 sizes too big for him, a pair of wireless earbuds he'd snuck from a convenience store and right at the bottom, his pride and joy.
A sketchbook labeled “Tommy's, do not touch.” He wasn't a great artist, he'd be the first to admit, but this sketchbook had about half his life, hopes and dreams in it. He flipped to the first page. On it was an absolutely awful depiction of what might've been a dog sitting under a tree. He liked looking back at these old drawings. Most of them don't have dates, so he can only guess when he drew them.
It was nice, to see his progress and everything he's ever liked drawing over the years. For a while, all he ever drew were dogs, then he branched out and started drawing people, though that didn't last long, and finally, his latest obsession, landscapes.
They aren't particularly pretty, most of them look weird and the perspective is definitely all wrong, but he loved them. They were like pieces of his soul.
He rummages through his bag, trying to find a loose pencil. He finds one hidden in his hoodie's pockets, paired with a chewed up eraser, and gets to work. He'd put on music but he doesn't want to ask for the wifi password, he doesn't even know if they'll be ok with him having a phone yet, so he goes without. He focuses on the sound of pencil scratching against paper.
He tries to draw a beach with a sunset. It's not great and the beach looks very empty, but it's not bad, and it's definitely better than the first beach he drew, so he counts it as a win. As he's about to add finishing touches and sign his drawing, someone knocks on his door.
“Tommy? Dinner is ready.” Phil says, not quite yelling but not talking either. He hurries to put his sketchbook back in his bag and opens the door. Phil smiles at him and turns back towards the stairs, probably to go to the dining table.
He follows quickly behind, his knees protesting as he rushes down the stairs. He reaches the table and looks at where the other two are sitting. There's a chair besides Wilbur and one besides Techno. He stares at the table. He doesn't know where to sit. He upset both of them in the 30 minutes he interacted with them.
Phil walks to the table and moves a chair to be beside his own before he goes to the kitchen. Tommy sits down and he swears he will be forever grateful for this.
After what feels like forever, Phil comes back with everyone's plate. Tommy stares at the food as if it had personally offended his entire bloodline. Soup. Tommy didn't like soup. He picks up a spoon. Just the smell is enough to make him nauseous but he can't refuse food someone else cooked for him.
He takes exactly 2 bites before the texture and the smell really get to him and he hurries to the sink before puking out what he'd just ate. Phil isn't far behind him and gently puts a hand on his back as he drinks water.
“I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean to-” Phil cuts him off.
“It's alright, Tom. Do you want something else? I can make you a sandwich, or whatever you find in the fridge.” It's one of the sweetest things someone has ever done for him but his stomach is already fighting him and he just shakes his head no.
“I just, I still feel sick, I'm so sorry.” Phil doesn't budge, just smiles at him.
“It's no worries, mate. Feel ok enough to sit with us for the rest of dinner? I still want to talk about what happened earlier.” Shit. Tommy had almost forgotten about that. He quickly nods and walks back to the table. Techno is still eating in silence, but Wilbur is staring at him. His bowl of soup is a couple inches away from him and his spoon is set down on the table.
He hopes he didn't ruin his appetite by being sick. He's already upset people enough for today. Tommy sits back down and Phil joins him.
“Hey, Phil? Sorry, I'm not really hungry anymore, is it ok if I eat this later?” Phil looks up at his son from across the table, and something weird washes over his face when he sees Wilburs face. Techno is looking at him too, and Tommy wonders what's going on.
“Sure, mate, just make sure you actually finish it later.” Wilbur wastes no time nodding and gets up, to put away his leftovers, Tommy guesses. As he leaves, Phil turns towards him.
“So, Tommy. I heard you yell earlier. Mind telling me what happened?” Tommy was sure Techno would've told him what happened already. He doesn't know what to say.
“Oh, uh. I just, got angry?” He doesn't know how to explain it. He has fits of anger, sometimes. His parents told him it made him unbearable. They mostly left him alone, when he'd lash out, and punish him for whatever damage he caused once he was calm. The damage mostly stayed limited to a broken glass or a knocked over chair.
“Do you know why you got angry?” He does. Of course he does, but it feels so stupid now. Obviously Techno wasn't making fun of him. He was probably just trying to avoid Tommy's rants about the foster system. And instead, Tommy broke his headphones.
He's about to answer when Techno starts talking. “I accidentally said something that sounded like I was making fun of him.” Phil nods along and turns to Tommy for confirmation. Tommy nods.
“Alright. So you got upset because you thought Techno was making fun of you, that makes sense. I understand that, but I would really prefer it if you didn't yell. For now, I'll let it go,” Tommy lets out a sigh of relief because he thinks that's the first time he's ever heard that. “And don't worry about the headphones, me and Techno will go buy a new pair tomorrow. I talked to him and he isn't upset.”
He doesn't understand how Techno isn't, but he'll take that small victory. Wilbur finally walks back into the room and everyone turns to him.
“Oh, uh, sorry, I went to the bathroom while you all were talking.” And with that, the rest of the group goes back to eating. Wilbur and Techno talk a bit, with Wilbur butting in with quips and snarky comments. Tommy doesn't say anything. He thinks he's already said way too much.
Just listening to the conversation is enough. Tommy even lets himself laugh, sometimes, at Wilbur's jokes. He doesn't remember the last time he ate dinner as a family.
This isn't as a family, he reminds himself. He's not part of their family. Really, he barely knows why he's here. Someone had said something about his parents being unfit and negligent and he really didn't get to ask any questions. He doesn't miss home as much as he thought he would.
Soon enough, Phil is standing up to clean the 2 plates still on the table, and Wilbur goes to the living room to put on a movie. Techno pulls out a book from God knows where and starts reading right at the dinner table, and Tommy doesn't know where to go.
Phil walks back into the kitchen and sees Tommy sitting alone. Maybe he takes pity on him, because he leans down and says, “You can go back to your room if you want.” And Tommy wastes no time. It's not that he wasn't enjoying the silence, it's that he felt like he didn't belong in it.
He closes the door and sits back down on his bed, picking up his sketchbook. He tries adding the last finishing touches but it's late and he frankly doesn't remember the exact image he had in his mind when he started the drawing. Instead, he picks up his phone and lays down.
There's not much to do on it. He still doesn't have any wifi, and it's not like he has many mobile games. The broken screen makes playing them a hazard for getting glass in your fingers. He would know, he's tried.
He opens his camera roll and scrolls. There isn't much that's interesting. It's mostly screenshots from funny images he saw and conversations he's had in comment sections. There's maybe one or two pictures of him, sprinkled in there, but he was never a big fan of taking selfies.
He closes his phone again and puts it away. He closes his eyes for a second. It's definitely not late enough to really sleep, at least not normally, but he's had a weird day. He thinks he deserves the rest. He wraps a blanket around himself, and for a second, he almost feels at home in this place.