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English
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Part 24 of Dadbur brainrot , Part 1 of Disabled Tommy fics
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Ma favourite dsmp fics (mostly crimeboys)
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Published:
2023-01-31
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2,054
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1/1
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Freedom Of Movement

Summary:

He grabs a few packets of gummy bears, due to their superior nature over everything else, and a few Zappos. Wilbur rejoins him, dropping the skittles pack of his choosing into the basket, slushie. Fucking weirdo.

Tommy doesn't even get to insult Wilbur before someone else is speaking.

"Excuse me? Just because he is in a wheelchair doesn't mean you get to use him as a personal shopping cart. This is ableist." A shrill voice complains, and they both turn to see a very steriotypical Karen in front of them. "You should know better." She says, crossing her arms and glaring at Wilbur with a very sour expression.

Wilbur pulls a face like he's just heard the stupidest thing ever. Karen evidently does not take this well, huffing loudly.

Or; Tommy, an ambulatory wheelchair user, enjoys the freedom his chair brings him, despite the Karen he and Wilbur run into.

Notes:

DISCLAIMER! I don't have a wheelchair (yet, at least), so this probably won't be entirely accurate. I've written it based on research, other people's experiences, and partly just projection, which is mainly the symptoms listed in the end notes. I also don't know how to do a wheelie, so the beginning scene is probably innacurate.

I've also never had an encounter with a Karen. I've encountered snobby kids at school who think I'm faking just because I don't fit their idea of disability, but that's a little different.

⁕*⁕*⁕ is a scene change,

--- is a time jump.

Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Tommy is trying to do a wheelie.

It isn't going too well.

Behind him are a few pillows so that if he falls he won't hurt himself or break his chair, but it's still daunting. Tommy takes a deep breath, putting his hands back on his push rims. He is definitely going to get the hang of this. He hopes.

Tommy brings his hands forward, leaning backwards. Evidently, this is not the correct way to pop a wheelie, as Tommy finds himself toppling back. His socked feet slip off the foot plate, causing an uncomfortable pressure against the back of his knees. For a moment Tommy just lays there, suprised, then he starts laughing. He pulls his legs to his chest, rolling off to the side and splaying out. That wasn't as scary as he thought it was going to be.

Wilbur never calls out to ask if he's alright, so Tommy assumes his laughter hasn't disturbed the man.

Tommy pulls himself together after a moment, sitting up. The pillows definitely helped, as when Tommy rights his chair and looks it over, everything is fine.

---

"Holy shit!" Tommy yelps, shocked that he finally got it. The wheelie is shaky and unstable, but still a wheelie.

"Toms? You alright, love?" Oh, so that catches Wilbur's attention.

"Yeah!" Tommy yells, dropping the wheelie and grinning. Wilbur opens his door, poking his head out, eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?" Wilbur asks, exiting his room and closing the door, stalking over. Instead of answering verbally, Tommy does another wheelie.

Wilbur's eyebrows lift and Tommy drops the wheelie again, grin widening. "Is that why you were laughing earlier?" Wilbur questions, walking behind him to lean down and wrap his arms around Tommy's shoulders. It's a bit of an awkward hug, since Wilbur is so tall and Tommy has lost height, but he still leans into it. "I was laughing because I fell, but yeah." Tommy shrugs, as much as he can, putting his breaks on and leaning back, resting his head on Wilbur's shoulder.

"You're so strange." Wilbur huffs, lifting his head to kiss Tommy on the cheek. "Yeah, but you love me." Tommy grins, eyes crinkling with the force.

"I do," Wilbur admits readily, kissing him on the cheek again. "You are my favourite person in the whole world." Tommy turns red. "I hate you." He grumbles, leaning forward again. Wilbur laughs, letting go and straightening. He stretches his back, groaning when it pops. Tommy takes his breaks off, spinning to face the man.

"Haha, you're old." Tommy taunts, pointing at his father and snickering. Wilbur stares at him, unimpressed. "And you are short." Wilbur returns, receiving the most dramatic gasp Tommy can manage.

It turns out to be a bad idea, as it scrapes against his throat and makes him cough.

Wilbur miserably fails at choking back his giggles, ruffling Tommy's hair. "You're not enough of a theatre kid for the gasps, baby." Wilbur faux pouts, as if the thought saddens him. Tommy flips him off, huffing. "You're a dick."

⁕*⁕*⁕

Tommy pushes himself down the sidewalk, suppressing a grin. Wilbur is walking beside him, muttering quietly as he goes over their shopping list.

He can't help it, he grins. Wilbur must see it out of his peripherals, as he stops muttering, looking over at him and raising an eyebrow. "What?" Wilbur asks, turning his phone off and pocketing it. Tommy doesn't give him a verbal answer, just pushing himself faster and spinning. Wilbur smiles. He gets it, then.

"You like the chair?" Wilbur chuckles, ruffling Tommy's hair as he catches up. "Yea!" Tommy chirps, grinning widely up at his father. "I'm glad." Wilbur murmurs, ducking down to kiss him on the forehead. It's a little bit difficult, but definitely worth it.

---

"Can you grab a basket, hon?" Wilbur requests, scanning the list again before looking for the first isle with things they need.

Tommy goes to protest, because crutches, when he realises that he can actually carry the basket. He isn't using his crutches, he can carry the basket! Tommy picks up one, placing it in his lap. Wilbur glances over at him and Tommy grins, wriggling his fingers in a display of joy. The smile that crosses Wilbur's face is quite possibly the softest, most fond thing he's ever seen.

"Alright," Wilbur hums, pulling himself together. "I think we should get movie night snacks now." Tommy moves first, pushing himself to the isle o' sweets.

Wilbur chuckles, following. He catches up quickly, being all long, gangly limbs. Tommy sticks his tongue out at him. Wilbur ruffles the boy's hair again, his go to method of affection when outside if a hug isn't feasible. Tommy swats at him, scowling.

"Skittles?" Wilbur asks, leading him further down the isle. Tommy hums in the affirmative, reaching for a lower packet as Wilbur looks through the different packets on the higher shelves. The ones Tommy get are sour, and he knows Wilbur will pretend to sulk about it later.

While Wilbur inspects the packets and does his whole being indecisive thing, Tommy goes to check out the rest of the isle.

He grabs a few packets of gummy bears, due to their superior nature over everything else, and a few Zappos. Wilbur rejoins him, dropping the skittles pack of his choosing into the basket, slushie. Fucking weirdo.

Tommy doesn't even get to insult Wilbur before someone else is speaking.

"Excuse me? Just because he is in a wheelchair doesn't mean you get to use him as a personal shopping cart. This is ableist." A shrill voice complains, and they both turn to see a very steriotypical Karen in front of them. "You should know better." She says, crossing her arms and glaring at Wilbur with a very sour expression.

Wilbur pulls a face like he's just heard the stupidest thing ever. Karen evidently does not take this well, huffing loudly.

"You are such a rude man! This young boy and I will be filing a-" "He's my dad." Tommy cuts in, brain finally rebooting. She freezes, starting to sputter. "We are shopping together, I'm just the one holding the basket." He continues when Karen stays silent.

Karen sputters louder before storming off, looking embarrassed.

Tommy turns to face Wilbur, who turns to face him aswell. "What the fuck?" Wilbur whispers, looking just as bewildered as he feels. Tommy shrugs. "Can we get donuts?" Wilbur's expression quickly turns unamused and he purses his lips. Tommy just grins, and Wilbur caves so fast that it's laughable. "You, my love, are the worst." Wilbur sighs, pressing another quick kiss to Tommy's forehead before exiting the isle. Tommy's grin widens as he follows.

⁕*⁕*⁕

"Ewww, romance." Tommy complains, wrinkling his nose up and turning away from the TV. He's now facing the back of the couch, which is a much better sight. Wilbur, who he is laying on, chuckles. "You are such a child." Wilbur huffs, continuing to watch the episode of Reacher. "I am asexual, Wilbur, not a child." Tommy corrects, kicking the man in the ankle.

Wilbur gasps like he's been mortally wounded, looking down at Tommy, who is now looking up at him.

"You're so meeaann, baby." Wilbur pouts, scratching at his scalp. Tommy rolls his eyes, pressing his cheek into Wilbur's chest and closing his eyes. He kicks the elder's ankle again for good measure. Wilbur snorts, flicking his forehead. "So mean," He faux scolds, tapping along Tommy's cheekbone. "Such a mean darling, evil little teddybear."

"You're a weirdo, you know that, right?" Tommy squints up at Wilbur, finally telling the man what he's been meaning to tell him since he chose the slushie skittles a few hours prior. Wilbur hums, having been told many times over.

"As are you, angel."

⁕*⁕*⁕

Tommy sticks his tongue out of his mouth, mixing brownie batter with vigour.

"You can sit down, honey." Wilbur reminds, alerting Tommy to his presence where he's lurking at the entrance to the kitchen. "I'll be fine." Tommy dismisses, adjusting the grip he has on the spoon he's using to mix. His hand is starting to cramp.

Wilbur sighs, but dissapears to somewhere else in the house, so he assumes the battle has been won. By Tommy, obviously.

His assumption is wrong.

"These are your options, you can either use your chair, or I can carry you the entire time." This startles Tommy enough to stop mixing the mostly done batter, looking over at Wilbur. Sure enough, his wheelchair is beside the brunette, fully assembled. It wasn't last time Tommy saw it, so Wilbur has clearly done this himself. "I'll be fine." Tommy repeats, scraping dry mixture off the side of the bowl and into the rest of the batter.

"See, you say that, but I assure you that if you don't sit down now, you will regret it later." Wilbur states, knowing full well just how much Tommy complains about the pain in his legs from having to stand so much when baking. It doesn't mean he isn't still stubborn.

Tommy stares at Wilbur, but eventually puts the bowl down. "The counters are too tall." Tommy complains, headbutting Wilbur in the chest before he settles into his chair.

He pretends he doesn't, but he definitely relaxes when the dull ache that had started in his legs lessens. "You don't have to sit the entire time, darling." Wilbur sighs, exasperated but just as fond, as he follows Tommy back to where he had been.

"You would make me." Tommy points out, dragging the bowl into his lap. "Yeah, I would." Wilbur shrugs, unashamed.

---

Tommy places a plate next to Wilbur, dragging his attention away from his laptop. Wilbur grins, taking one of the brownies, reaching up and ruffling Tommy's hair with his other hand. "Do your legs hurt?" Wilbur asks knowingly, earning a frustrated huff. "No." Tommy reluctantly admits, grumbling. Wilbur chuckles, shaking his head fondly.

"Love you, honeybun." Wilbur grins, standing so that he can pull Tommy into a hug, kissing him on the cheek.

"I love you too," Tommy mumbles, hugging Wilbur back. "Now let me go, I have Murdoch to watch." Sighing loudly, Wilbur obliges, taking a bite of the brownie still in his hand.

Tommy walks into the living room, flopping down onto the couch and lifting his arm to flip Wilbur off. The dining room, living room and kitchen are all essentially just a rectangle that was separated into three rooms, meaning you can see into the other two rooms from one. Where the couch Tommy is laying on is positioned and where Wilbur is sitting at the dining table mean that it's easy to see one another.

Wilbur flips him off in return without even looking, taking another bite of his brownie and getting back to work.

⁕*⁕*⁕

Tommy spins in circles, yelping when he almost falls. He drops out of the wheelie, taking a moment to just breathe. "Tommy?" Wilbur calls, leaning out of the dining room. He blinks at the misplaced coffee table, then looks over at his son, who is on the other side of the couch. "Hi, baby. What are you doing?" Wilbur asks, raising an eyebrow at the wide eyes of the younger.

Since the couch is, you know, couch sized, Wilbur can only really see Tommy's head. "Spin." Tommy whispers ominously, nodding.

Wilbur raises his eyebrow higher, stepping into the living room and walking past the couch. Tommy does another wheelie, spinning a few times before his arms start to feel weak, forcing him to stop. When he turns back to his father he finds the man is wearing an apprehensive expression.

"Yeah, maybe don't do that." Wilbur hums, holding his arms out. Tommy rolls his eyes and puts his breaks on, standing. He has to pause, grabbing onto the back of the couch, when the dizziness hits full-force.

Wilbur steps closer, pulling Tommy into his arms and stabilising him.

"Overprotective prick." Tommy grumbles, leaning his entire body weight against the man. "Irresponsible child." Wilbur shoots back, resting his chin on Tommy's head. "No." Wilbur raises an eyebrow again. "No?" He asks, amused. "No." Tommy nods, trying to pull away. Wilbur sighs incredibly loudly as he unlocks his arms from around the teen, already moping.

Tommy flips him off and tries not to fall right over.

Notes:

We need more disabiliy rep fics, so I wrote one!

And there will be more.

You can imagine Tommy's chair to look however you want, my personal vision of it is a manual rigid frame Küschall series K with a purple frame and black, carbolife QUADRO push rims. He also has holographic, reflective spoke covers on his wheels. They (Tommy and Wilbur) live in an accessible one story house.

The reason Tommy actually uses his chair isn't really stated in the actual body of the fic, so I'll add it here.

He has FND (Functional Neurological Disorder) that causes a myriad of issues, some of which are leg weakness, weak responses like his legs not moving as much as they need to which can make him trip, pain when being on his feet unassisted for more than a few minutes at a time, probable h-EDS (Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome) which likes to put his hip out of place if he walks fast, and POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachychardia Syndrome) symptoms.

I only have an FND diagnosis so far, so I can't say for certain that my other issues are POTS and EDS, but from what I can tell I meet the criteria.

This might be my last fic for a while, depending on if I manage to post before I go to school tomorrow and how much my writing slows down when school starts.

Constructive criticism is welcome, and feel free to point out any errors!

Stay hydrated, eat something if you can, stay safe. I love you guys. <3 /p

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