Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy wakes up with the sun streaming onto his face, reminding him that he forgot to close the curtain yesterday night. He groans and rolls over, knowing he definitely didn’t get enough sleep, before getting up to face the new shitty day.

Looking out into the backyard from his window, he notices the family—ah, right he almost forgot he was in a new foster home—has some sort of a garden going on with some produce plants and some flowers. Tommy smiles at the sight and has to suppress the sudden urge to go out there and cultivate the plants.

Contrary to popular belief, Tommy doesn’t always use his power to grow plants. Sure, he enjoys spontaneously sprouting flowers a fuck ton, but he also always loved growing plants naturally, which probably contributed to the power he got now that he thought about it.

As homeless children, he, Tubbo, and Ranboo would go around looking for any sort of plant growing in the streets of L’manberg. There weren't many, living in the middle of a huge city, but the ones they did find were uprooted and brought back to a little planter Tommy stole off an abandoned apartment building.

The old thing still had a bit of dirt in it and the three kids would try and make whatever they found grow, only Tommy ever having luck. Tubbo and Ranboo always ended up killing whatever weed or grass they planted while Tommy often made his grow and multiply.

He remembers how Ranboo would question how he did it and Tubbo would get all huffy about his’ dying, rambling about how he was at an unfair disadvantage, despite Tommy not using his powers. Tommy smiles fondly at the memory before shaking off the bittersweet feeling that always came with it and going to get ready for the day.

He grimaces as he peels off his disgusting grimy clothes from the day prior and changes into a clean red-and-white baseball tee paired with some khaki shorts. While changing, however, he notices a fucking flower bud creeping up the back of his shoulder.

Tommy quickly rips the flower off and discovers it to be a begonia, a flower that could mean future misfortunes and a warning to be cautious. He decides the flower was probably a result of yesterday’s excursion paired with the stress of a sudden new foster home, easily discarding it in the corner trash can.

(He ignores the reminder of the last time he grew a begonia. How in that same alleyway he inspected the flower he was assaulted and kidnapped, a bag over his head muffling his screams. He doesn’t think his magic knew the warning would be in effect so soon, tearing him away from those he loved without even a goodbye.)

Deeming the rest of his body plant-free, Tommy cracks open his bedroom door slightly. He winces at the creaking noise it makes but relaxes when he realizes no one is around.

Doing his best to not to hit any creaky floorboards, Tommy makes his way to the bathroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Looking in the mirror, Tommy see the extent of his facial injuries, and boy is it fucking bad.

His back eye lives up to its name because the thing is almost completely shrouding his eye in a deep purple color, bordering being the color of charcoal. The edges of it are an unnatural blue that contrasts Tommy’s pale face.

Some of the other minor injuries on his face include a split lip, a few light yellow bruises on his jaw, and a shallow scratch on his cheek where his face collided with the ground during his great escape from the shitty fosters. His wounds aren't particularly painful unless he prods them, but they infinitely look much worse than yesterday.

He’s sure Phil and Wilbur didn’t notice his injuries due to the shitty lighting yesterday—or maybe they just didn’t care, but Tommy doubts they would be like that in front of Puffy. Families usually become cruel after the social worker leaves and they get to know the kid, or more likely, just how fucked up they are.

Tommy frowns as he takes out some shitty concealer he stole and applies it the best he can. It was something he took from a cheap convenience store when he ran out of a foster home with some nasty face injuries. He didn’t want Puffy to worry about him so much and as long as he kept his head down she usually couldn’t tell.

Tommy sighs and opens the cabinet under the sink. He sees the basket left there for him and uses some of its contents to get ready, stuffing some of the more useful items into his bag in case he needs to fucking book it. He still doesn’t know where he stands in the household, after all.

From his room, Tommy creeps down the stairs, he isn’t even sure he’s allowed to be out of his room without permission, but it’s only the first day so he hopes Phil will let it slide if he’s wrong. Tommy surveys the house and realizes his first intuition was right: this house looks so fucking homely.

Looking at the clock, Tommy sees it’s 6 am, to which he wrinkles his nose at. This is way too early for any human being to be awake but it also means he can raid the kitchen without disturbance.

Or so he thought.

A loud bang followed by a string of curses snaps Tommy out of his crime-planning and he quietly sneaks towards the noise. He’s like a raccoon; doing sneaky crimes to get himself fed. Almost like that sly vermin he nearly didn’t notice digging through the trash, but please, Tommy’s not desperate enough to dig through trash anymore, he has standards.

Peaking into the next room over, Tommy sees Phil on all fours trying to pick up the scattered papers of a fucking thick manila folder.

Now, this gives Tommy options.

He could be a dickwad and slowly back away from the room, making a mad dash back upstairs. Or he could go in there and help Phil pick up his shit.

Tommy’s instincts are telling him to go back, but now he realizes Phil is in the kitchen and might feed him if Tommy helps. Plus, Tommy isn’t a fucking coward, he’s a big man and big men aren’t scared of anything.

Steeling his nerves, Tommy slips into the kitchen and begins picking up some of the papers behind Phil. He finishes neatly orienting them as Phil gets up and turns around, jumping when he sees Tommy there.

“Jesus Christ, mate! You scared me.” Tommy immediately flinches back at Phil’s words. Oh god, he’s already fucked up, it’s been a day and he’s fucked up-

“Next time say something so I know you're here. I swear you're like a mouse!” Phil continues, seemingly unaware of Tommy’s inter turmoil.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to give you a heart attack in your old age, would we?” Tommy manages to stammer out, hoping the man wouldn’t take offense at his joke.

“Alright, you little shit I’m not that old. Jeez, you sound like my sons, always telling me it’s time to retire.”

“Well, maybe your sons are right.”

“Shut up. What are you even doing up at this hour anyway?” Phil inquires.

“What are you doing up at this hour? I thought old men sleep a lot.” Tommy deflects.

“I’ve got work to do,” Phil answers, “papers to sign, and breakfast to make. My boys eat a shit ton, so I usually get started on breakfast early. I can whip you up something quick right now if you're hungry, or can you wait to eat with my sons when they get up around 10?”

“I can wait,” Tommy replies despite being fucking famished, “I’m not that hungry this early in the day anyway.”

Phil hums in response and sits down at the dining table, beginning to spread out and read his papers, pen in hand.

“You can go watch television or read one of the books from the bookshelf.” Phil says to Tommy after he stands there for a few moments, awkwardly rocking on his heels.

Tommy nods and walks back into what he assumes is the living room. There’s a television opposite of a well-used couch in the room and a bookcase filled with various novels in the corner. The entire room is filled with shelves and tables of trinkets and family photos, some of which include other people as well, friends, Tommy assumes.

He strides over to the bookcase, not willing to risk waking up the other boys with the television, and pulls out the first book he sees: a book on Greek mythology. He randomly opens the book to one of the many dog-eared pages and sees a chapter depicting the tale of Theseus.

(Tommy was Theseus. Until he wasn’t. He can’t be. Not if he wants to stay.)

Sighing, Tommy sinks down onto the couch and begins to read the origins of Theseus.

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