Chapter Text
Tommy hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted, hadn’t needed. But Tommy was a ward of the state and thus had practically no control over his life. Apparently people saw the word ‘minor’ on his papers and decided that his own thoughts and desires were minor inconveniences to be dismissed.
So here he was again, on run eight.
Eight times he’s been through this already.
Look, he knows what people think of the foster system. About half of it is true.
He hasn’t been raped, or touched. He was hit in two different houses and the minute someone said anything about the abuse faced, Tommy was immediately pulled out of the homes and the parents prosecuted.
That said, it isn't all sunshine and rainbows either.
He has been bullied and shoved around by older kids. He’s seen foster parents prioritize biological children over him. He’s had to share rooms with too many children, but never had to sleep on the floor. He’s been denied meals before, generally for misbehavior, but never starved.
But the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about being a foster kid in the system is that four out of his seven previous families cared about him. They had genuinely wanted another kid, and had been excited to invite Tommy into their homes.
Ultimately, it never worked out. House 1 decided he got into too many fights at school. House 3 told him that he didn’t mesh well into the “dynamic” of the family as well as being loud and disruptive. House 4 had tried to convert him to Christianity but after six months of saying God's name in vain, sent him back. House 6 said they were used to “difficult children” which in reality meant that they decided that they could stamp Tommy’s adhd out of him.
That was the second house he had been hit in.
That had ended spectacularly.
But the families had cared, had wanted him.
Or wanted him for a bit, wanted an ideal him, wanted a child but not a child like Tommy.
They wanted a doll, a bright eyed, bushy tailed teen ready to please. Someone to be their baby boy and do the chores on time and get good grades in school. They wanted a son with manners, who played games with friends, someone who participated in family movie night.
Tommy was half way through a growth spurt that had him tripping over his own feet more often than not. He gave up on school years ago and enjoyed drawing doodles in the corners of his notebook. He liked to go for runs, alone, with no one to bother him. He never really had the attention span to sit through an entire movie and always forgot to do the chores he was supposed to.
In short, no one wanted a kid like Tommy.
So house 8 it was.
"Phil has two other kids," his social worker tells him, "Both were a part of the foster system as well. Techno's 16, Wilbur is 17. They're nice people."
Tommy huffs, staring out the window at rolling hills.
"Tommy, I know this can't be easy. I know you've bounced around, but Tommy you are a good kid. Okay? I really think you're going to like it at Phil’s."
"I'm just going to get into trouble," Tommy says.
Amelia hesitates, and Tommy knows she's trying to figure out what to say, because he has a point. Tommy always does something to mess up and he gets in trouble and then he's sent back.
"Phil's different," she says, "he's dealt with these sorts of difficulties before."
Right. Difficult. A problem child. That's all Tommy's known to be. He scowls.
"That's not what I mean," Amelia tries, obviously realizing she's hit a sore spot. Tommy doesn't care, instead looking out as they turn into a nicely kept neighborhood.
He stays quiet, leg bouncing as they drive through streets and holds his breath when Amelia starts reading the numbers on the houses, looking for an exact one.
A minute later, she pulls to a stop at the curb.
“Ready?” his Amelia asks at his side.
Tommy gives her a scowl, before staring out the window at the looming building in front of him. It’s decent size, with a nice front yard and two stories tall. Nicer then house 7, not as nice as house 4.
“Tommy,” his social worker says, capturing his wandering attention. He fiddles with his fingers as he keeps his head down. “Tommy, you’re a good kid. Phil, Phil is really great, I’m not going to lie. I think this placement is going to be really good for you.”
“Until I fuck it up,” Tommy reminds. They've just had this conversation. They have it every time. Tommy's been here seven times before, he knows how it goes.
Amelia sighs next to him.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, “at the two month check in, if you still think that, I’ll get you a game you want for your DS.”
“Any game?” he asks, immediately looking over.
“Age-appropriate,” she clarifies, “but yes.”
Amelia’s definition of age-appropriate is bound to be vastly different from his own… but still.
“Really?” Tommy asks, eyes brightening as he looks back over at the house.
“Really,” she promises.
“Two months, huh?” he muses. He breathes out, and unbuckles his seatbelt. In the window he can see the reflection of his social worker, noting her smile.
Together they get out of the car- Tommy grabbing his garbage bag of belongings- and walk over to the front door.
Amelia knocks on the door and Tommy tenses, steeling himself for the inevitable painful introduction.
The door opens almost immediately, revealing a freakishly tall teenager.
“Oh shit,” he says, “you're Tommy.” He turns away almost immediately, racing further inside and up some stairs shouting the name “Phil!”
Tommy can only stare at the older teen’s retreating back. At least the first minute wasn’t as bad as house 5.
Something shuffles on the couch inside and suddenly another teen- one of reasonable height- rolls off the couch shaking out long pink hair that's pulled back in a loose ponytail.
“Hi,” he says gruffly, approaching them at the door, “I’m Techno, that maniac’s Wilbur, c’mon in.”
“Thank you,” Amelia says, giving Tommy a gentle shove forward. He takes his first stumbling steps into his new temporary placement.
“It’s nice to meet you Techno,” Amelia says when Tommy stays quiet, “Phil talked about you and Wilbur a lot.”
Techno snorts.
“Sounds like him,” he agrees, "he's all," Techno waves his hand as if to describe whatever Phil is as a weird gesture, "emotional," he finishes.
In the background, Wilbur returns back down the stairs, followed by a man who has to be Phil. When he sees Timmy, his face instantly brightens and Tommy looks down, staring at the floor.
“Hello,” he greets, “Amelia, it’s nice to meet you in person, and Tommy it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi,” he mutters.
“Nice to meet you as well,” Amelia says, “Now we have just a few things to go over and then I’ll be out of your hair until the first check up.”
Phil nods, before turning to the teenagers behind him.
“Techno, Wil, mind showing Tommy where his room is?”
“Sure, c’mon,” Wilbur says, “We’ll go to your room first, let you drop off your stuff.”
Tommy watches them, and grips his garbage bag closer. Wilbur turns to exit the room, Techno following. Tommy has no choice but to go with them.
They lead him up the stairs Tommy has already seen Wilbur race up and down.
Upstairs is a simple L-shaped hallway, two doors on the left, one straight ahead on the far wall, and a fourth all the way at the end of the L.
“That’s my room,” Wilbur says, gesturing to the first door on the left. “Next door is the bathroom, and you're the door straight ahead.
Wilbur steps aside, allowing Tommy to take the lead, and he hesitantly does so.
“Then down that hall is Phil,” Wilbur continues as Tommy twists the door open for his own room.
His own room.
He only had his own room in one other house. His stuff had gotten stolen the least in that house- one of the biggest perks of any foster home he’s been in.
The room is nice. There’s a bed, desk, dresser, and closet. It’s really nice. More than Tommy has gotten from a lot of houses. He drops his garbage bag at the foot of the bed. It looks out of place in the neat room.
“Do you want to take some space and unpack now, or do you want to see the rest of the house first?” Techno asks him.
Tommy blinks, surprised that he’s given the option. He shifts, wondering if his choice matters.
“Let’s go for the tour, Big Man,” he states boldly, putting on a façade of being comfortable.
It’s better to know where everything is first, he reasons. If he needs anything, it’ll be a lot easier to get it himself. He doesn’t know if Phil withholds things as a punishment, but if he does Tommy knows he’s screwed so he better figure out the layout first.
“Cool,” Wilbur says, leading them all back out. He opens the door next to Tommy’s, “Like I said, bathroom.”
Tommy peers in, taking note of the tile, shower/bath combo, and sink. There’s a toothbrush holder with one in it that Tommy assumes is Wilbur’s.
“Any toiletries you need are under the sink. Toothbrush, deodorant, shampoo, whatever. If you want something specific, tell Phil.”
Wilbur turns back out and continues forward, barely giving Tommy time to process any of the information before he’s pushing the next door open.
“This is my room,” Wilbur says, gesturing inside. It’s colored mostly in blue’s, brown’s, and beige’s. Tommy takes note of the guitar in one corner and the yellow jumper thrown over the back of Wilbur’s desk chair.
“Don’t go into rooms without permission,” Techno adds.
There’s the first catch. He files that away, noting that if needs anything, he’ll have to make sure no one sees him.
“Right,” Wilbur agrees, “If you’re going into someone’s room, you have to ask first. I don’t mind too much, nor does Phil. But Techno likes if you ask, and Phil will always ask before coming into your room. Always.”
“What if I say no,” he counters, testing where the limit is. He’s had foster parents that said they respected his privacy before. They’d knock on his door before immediately opening it and walking right in like they owned the place. And, they did own the place. It was another reminder that this was their home, not Tommy’s. It would never be Tommy’s home.
Wilbur shrugs, “Then he won’t come in. The only exception is that if he thinks you’re in danger, or a danger to someone else.”
Who do these people think he is?
“I’m not going to fucking hurt anyone,” he protests.
“Okay, good,” Wilbur says before moving on. “That’s all that's upstairs besides Phil’s room. Techno’s and everything else is downstairs.”
Under Wilbur’s lead, they all file back downstairs. The movement catches the eye of Phil and Amelia who are sitting in the kitchen, looking over some papers.
“All good?” Phil calls.
“Yup,” Wilbur says as Techno nods. Phil smiles.
“How about you Tommy?”
Tommy startles, surprised to be called out.
“Uh, fine,” he offers.
Phil nods and turns back to the papers.
“Back door, storage closet, door to garage, living room, kitchen,” Wilbur points out in order before herding them down a hall, “Phil’ll go over all the house rules with you later.” Tommy urgently scans the rooms even as he’s herded further down the hall, trying to memorize everything he can.
“And here’s Techno’s room,” Wilbur says, gesturing at the newest door. Techno himself sneaks around, pushing open the door and stepping inside. Tommy studies the room, noting the contrast between Techno’s and Wilbur’s.
Techno’s room is mostly grey and green, spots of random colors in different places. His desk is a lot larger and papers are scattered all across it. Techno goes over to his bed stand table and picks something up. He puts the thing he’s holding around his neck, and Tommy realizes they’re headphones, before also picking up a colorful plastic noodle looking thing and returning to the others. He shuts the door behind him.
Tommy looks at the noodle thing, watching as Techno doesn’t seem to do anything with it but twist it in his hands. Weird.
“Another bathroom,” Wilbur acknowledges, letting Tommy peek through the door before moving swiftly on. “And here’s Phil’s office,” Wilbur says, pushing the door open and immediately entering. Techno enters as well, and Tommy hovers by the door, unsure if he’s allowed in.
“When Phil’s doing work from home, he’ll be in here usually,” Wilbur says, “he doesn't mind us in here, he actually says he likes it when we chill in here when he’s working. If you’re too distracting he might ask you to leave though.”
Too distracting. If Tommy hasn’t heard that about himself a billion times. Guess he won’t be going into the office then.
“And that’s pretty much it,” Wilbur confirms, slowly leading them back towards the living room. Phil and Amelia once again glance over from the kitchen, and this time they boh stand up.
“All done with the tour?” Phil asks.
“Yup,” Techno agrees.
“That’s great,” Amelia cuts in, “Well we’re done here, Tommy, mind walking me to the car?”
“Sure,” he says, following her towards the door.
This is standard, a couple final minutes alone with Tommy to make sure everything’s okay.
“What do you think?” she asks.
Tommy shrugs. So far, it’s fine. The question is much more how long it’ll stay that way. How long until they get sick of him, until they get annoyed from his fidgeting and his loud voice and his tendency to interrupt and inability to focus on anything. But yeah, fine for now.
“You have my number, right?” she asks. Tommy nods.
“Okay. Then I’ll see you in a week for the first check in, alight?”
Tommy nods once more, and with a last goodbye, she’s gone. Tommy takes a minute to watch her car leave before he turns back to the house behind him. This is it, huh?
Tommy reenters to all three of the habitants standing around the living room.
“Hey Tommy,” Phil says, “We have a few things for you, and I’d like to go over the house rules with you a bit, but we can do that later or tomorrow if you would prefer.
Tommy hesitates, wondering if the choice is a trap. He’s frankly overwhelmed. The fast tour and the complete turn around of being in a new house getting to him. Not to mention the brand new people he has to get to know and interact with.
But if he says later while Phil thinks he doesn’t care? That he won’t follow the rules?
“Now’s fine,” he tries.
“Okay, Wil, Techno, can you go grab Tommy’s things?”
Tommy’s immediately defensive, all too used to his things being taken and touched without his permission. He realizes that this has to be another loophole. Wilbur said Phil wouldn’t go into his room without his permission, but he said nothing about Phil having them do his bidding for him.
Even so, Tommy doesn’t dare protest. Getting protective of the few things he owns will only most certainly get him in trouble. Plus, it’s not like Tommy has much value anyways. The only thing he really cares about is his old crappy DS he’s been able to hang onto all this time.
But Techno and Wilbur don’t go back upstairs, instead sliding around to one of the doors Wilbur had pointed out earlier. Storage, Tommy thinks. As he watches them, Phil moves to sit at the kitchen table. When he realizes that, Tommy quickly follows, sitting as well, even though it puts Wilbur and Techno out of sight.
Wilbur and Techno soon return, dropping two bags and a small box on the table and taking seats themselves.
Techno takes the opportunity to shove his headphones over his ears from where they had been around his neck. He pulls out the noodle thing, and continues to twist it. Tommy wonders if it's a puzzle or something.
“Tommy?” Phil’s voice calls.
“Hmm?” Tommy asks, jerking back his attention to Phil. When he realizes he once again zoned out, he blushes.
Phil doesn’t seem to notice, instead passing over the small box.
Tommy picks it up, immediately knowing what it is. The picture of a phone on the box helps his prediction immensely.
But there’s, there’s no fucking way. A phone is a privilege. Tommy hasn't done anything to deserve one.
He opens the box, cautious. Maybe it's a mean prank.
Nope. There’s a smartphone. Tommy stares at it in shock.
“Our numbers and Amelia’s are all in it,” Phil explains, “We got you a case as well, but you can pick out your own if you prefer.”
“This is mine?” Tommy asks, barely getting the words out.
“Yup,” Phil agrees.
Tommy narrows his eyes, and pulls the phone out, clenching it a bit too tight. It’s all too good to be true. Not every family had the money to give each kid a phone, but the ones that did had always had intensely specific rules and rights that went along with having one.
“What’s the catch?” he asks.
“No catch,” Phil says, “Unless you’re unsafe with the phone, it’s yours.”
Unsafe. What they don’t want Tommy sticking it into a socket? All of this is way too good to be true. But for now, the other shoe had yet to drop.
“Thank you,” he says instead. He learned to be polite in house 3. Better safe than sorry.
“You’re welcome,” Phil says.
Techno pushes a bag forward next. Tommy blinks at it, and looks over at Wilbur and Phil for confirmation. They both seem to be waiting, so Tommy cautiously grabs it and starts pulling things out.
The first thing is socks. Five pairs of them. How did- how did Phil know?
He can feel his toes peeking out of the worn down holes in his current socks in his shoes.
“Those are from me,” Wilbur says, “It’s... I mean you never have a lot in the system but at least you get new clothes when you grow out of ‘em. But everyone forgets socks.”
Tommy takes them in wonder, putting them gently to the side.
“Thanks,” he mutters, still shocked.
He moves on, pulling out two notebooks, some pens, and pencils.
“School supplies, or for whatever,” Phil says, “We can get whatever else you need later.”
Tommy continues, pulling out a few more school related things before reaching a puzzle and coloring book.
He looks at them with a frown. Seriously, puzzles? A coloring book? He’s a teenager! How old do they think he is?
“Also from me,” Wilbur pipes up, “Sometimes everything gets a bit much, y'know? I find the repetition relaxing. If it’s not your thing, that’s fine.”
“It’s not,” he offers bluntly.
He reaches into the bag again, pulling out a few final things.
There’s a small box with a cube in it, a fidget spinner, and a noodle thing like Techno’s.
He doesn’t get any of it.
“From me,” Techno inputs, “didn’t know if you had any stim stuff.”
“Stim?” Tommy asks, poking at the fidget spinner.
“Yeah, I have adhd too. And I’m autistic, so I get it.”
Techno, Techno has adhd?
Shit is this going to be like house 6, isn’t? Tommy knew all of this was too good to be true. Phil was nice now, but he’d get mean when he inevitably realized that there is no fixing Tommy. Trust him, he’s tried. His brain is screwed up.
Tommy gulps, hands starting to tremble slightly. He still doesn’t get what the gifts are, but now that he knows it has something to do with getting rid of his adhd, he instantly hates them.
The area around him is getting full, so he doesn’t feel bad putting them back in the bag, and then slowly putting the rest of the things he’s collected in it as well. He’s bound to lose it all soon enough.
When he’s done, the next bag gets pushed towards him. He zones out a bit as he empties it, but there’s not a ton to see. It’s a set of towels, hand towel, and washcloth including for him. They’re red. Tommy doesn’t mind the color terribly.
“Okay, now let’s discuss house rules,” Phil says, “Mind leaving me and Tommy for a bit, boys?”
Techno and Wilbur both nod and leave for somewhere else in the house.
Now that Tommy’s started to figure out what type of house this is, he knows that the rules part is finally going to be where the other foot drops.
“We don’t have a lot of rules,” Phil says. “Basics are, you have free access to anything in the kitchen at any time. If I’m home, I’m more than willing to make you a meal or help you get something. If something runs out, or if there’s something you want in particular, let me or one of the boys know. Make sense?”
Tommy carefully nods. At least they weren’t going to put him on one of those weird pseudo-science brain diets to make him focus better or some shit.
“Awesome. Oh and I don’t keep alcohol in the house, but if it was, that’s off limits.
“Second rule is that your space will be respected. No one will enter your room without permission unless there is threat of harm to you or others. In turn, I expect the same from you. Got it?”
Tommy nods.
“Third, basic respect. I don’t expect you to immediately get along with everyone here or love us all instantly. But we all deserve respect, and you do as well. Don’t intentionally hurt someone else, and respect boundaries. Your boundaries will also be respected and if you ever feel hurt, scared, or disrespected please let me or the boys know so we can take care of it and discuss it.”
Boundaries huh? What did that mean? Tommy looked off to the side, considering the question before his gaze quickly caught on a framed photo. It had two people in it, what looked to be a younger Techno and Phil. Techno appeared to be even younger than Tommy. How long had Techno been living here?
“Tommy?”
At the sound of his name, Tommy snaps his attention back and away from the photo. Fuck, he needs to stop zoning out and focus. This is important. He needs to know the house rules so he doesn’t fuck up right away.
“Would it help if I wrote down the rules or if we took a break?” Phil asks, “It seems like you’re having trouble focusing.”
“No,” Tommy says quickly, “No it’s fine. I’ll pay attention.”
He’s not about to fuck up in his first hour here. Tommy doesn’t even think Phil’s allowed to return him that quickly.
“Tommy, it’s okay if you can’t-”
“What’s rule four?” he interjects. Phil sighs, but continues.
“Fourth, avoid triggers. Everyone in the house has them. Techno often doesn’t like loud noises, flashing lights, people sneaking up on him, and people talking to him when he can't see them. Wilbur can’t handle jump scares or intentional guilt tripping. I struggle with being yelled at.
“Five, you can come and go from the house as you please, but I need to know where you are. If you’re going too far or are out at night, I might have you take someone with you. But besides those, that’s pretty much it. Does that sound fair?”
“Yeah,” Tommy mutters in agreement, only really paying attention to half of Phil’s words.
“Okay. Good. If for some reason you’re struggling with any of the rules, we can discuss them. And feel free to add your own boundaries and trigger to the list, alright?”
“Okay,” Tommy agrees, not really knowing what Phil’s saying, but deciding it’s better to just agree. It’s almost always better to agree.
“‘That’s pretty much it,” Phil says, “but I did want to talk about… Tommy I knew the foster system is not the kindest. I want to offer the support of therapy or counselling if you would be interested.
Tommy scoffs. He may be messed up, but he knows how to handle it. He doesn’t need some random person telling him bullshit. Plus, therapy is a lot of money and Tommy’s not about to be that indebted to Phil, even if he was interested.
“No thanks,” he says tersely.
“Alright then,” Phil says, standing, “Well feel free to settle in. Dinner will be at 6:30, I’ll have one of the boys grab you.”
Tommy nods, and with the dismissal, scurries away as unobtrusively as possible. He makes it out of the room, and then up the stairs. He gets past Wilbur’s room (who’s door is cracked open, music faintly wafting out). He finally reaches his own door, and opens it with shaking fingers before slipping inside. He swiftly closes the door behind him, leaning against it heavily.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Slowly, Tommy begins to unpack the few things he has from his trash bag, as well as the gifts he has been given.
House 8. He’s got this.