Chapter Text
The autumn weather clings to Tommy with pleasant refreshment, a gentle breeze wafting by. The only direction to his steps is the occasional brownish-red colored leaf that he makes sure to step on, the crunch under his shoes more than satisfying. He should have been home maybe ten or twenty minutes ago, but considering the conversation he’s sure that awaits him, he’d rather take a long walk and let it all blow over. Besides, it’s a nice day out, and it’s not like he wouldn’t do this before they moved.
His gaze rests evenly on the sidewalk path before him, and he makes mental notes of street names and neighborhoods he passes. He’ll glance to his side as well, seeing if he can spot buildings between the gaps in the trees. Ten minutes pass until the end of the woods is invisible, no sign of civilization for at least a mile. He makes a note of the street he’s by, and dips into the woods, each step resulting in that satisfactory crunch of footfalls on autumn leaves.
Sunlight shines through the canopies in slivered rays, dotting the ground he walks on. It’s gorgeous, really, and peaceful too. He gets thirty feet into the woods and he can’t even hear the cars from the nearby road anymore. It’s replaced with the rustling of leaves, the breeze that had been so faint causing an almost musical sensation in the treetops.
He gets a little bit further, and he thinks he can hear the sound of a creek. It’s a little ways away, but he finds himself following the sound, walking closer and closer. It’s well worth it, the creak is about five to ten feet across, with moss covered rocks poking up over the water’s surface. The little rays of sunlight leave the water golden. He brings himself to its bank, then begins his walk again, only this time he’s stepping from rock to rock.
It’s a pleasant feeling, this sort of exploration. Sure, he misses his old woods, but this isn’t half bad at all. The water bubbles just near his feet, never once soaking into his shoes. Some leaves float past as he walks, and there’s some parts where he has to hold his arms out wide to steady himself. He carefully watches each footfall until the sunlight becomes a bit harsher, and he stops in his path to look up.
He’s reached a rather pleasant clearing, seasonal flowers blooming around the edges. The grass is yellow tinted and soft looking, brushing by with the gentle breeze. It’s gorgeous, and, as Tommy takes it in, he finds himself squinting at one of the trees opposite of the river. His eyes widen with the realization, his mouth stretching into a grin as he quickly hops to the other side of the river, quickly crossing the small field.
It’s absolutely perfect.
Perched up in one of the trees is what looks to be an old abandoned tree house, with weathered wood and a partly broken ladder leading up to it. There’s a large culmination of dead leaves and pine needles on it, and it doesn’t exactly look the most well kept. It’s absolutely and so wonderfully perfect.
When asking one’s hobbies, it always felt so strange to say video games or anything electronic. People often ask in anticipation of something more quaint, like baking bread or making music or reading. So, if Tommy were to ignore his love of video games, he supposed that fixing things would be his hobby. Making things, creating little shacks and playhouses for himself. So, when he lays his eyes on the well abandoned tree house nearly falling apart in the tree, his heart soars with just how perfect it is.
He makes his way closer to the base of the tree, testing the strength of the ladder before climbing up them. There’s a small struggle four rungs up, when he has to pull himself with a little more gusto to accommodate for the missing step, but it’s well worth it once he makes it to the top.
Everything in the tree house is dirty- the walls, the floor, everything. And considering the amount of half decomposed leaves, he’s willing to bet it's probably got a few bugs in it too. It’s the foundations of something he’s excited to improve upon. He can’t wait to make this his home.
He doesn’t wait either.
He sets his backpack down by the ladder, starting to clear out some of the leaves. There’s a window on every wall, which makes it much easier to scoop up armfuls of leaves and twigs and toss them out. Some of them are moist, getting what’s essentially wet compost on his arm, but he pays it no mind. If anything, he enjoys the earthy sort of smell that comes from it. The cool breeze keeps him from growing hot during his work.
With each finished section of floor, he pauses, looking out the window with a wistful sort of glee. The sun shines over the golden grass, glittering on the river water beautifully. It’s a nice view, and one he definitely wouldn’t mind getting used to. He wonders what it would be like to sit up here and listen to one of his cassettes- maybe even bring Wilbur up here instead, and have him play his guitar. It’s a long shot, and he’d definitely have to clean things up a bit more, considering his brother likes things a little more indoors-y. But he’s sure the pay off would be more than worth it.
He’s almost done clearing out the leaves, reaching for one of the larger piles when he feels something strange and foreign. It’s questionable enough that he carefully drops the pile, kneeling down beside it so that he can rifle through it. His hand comes into contact with a slightly scratchy material, and he pulls on it, pulling out a horribly dirty and matted stuffed animal. He can’t even make out what it really is, it’s so dirty and weathered, but his heart tugs more than he’d like to admit.
This tree house definitely had to belong to somebody, even if they were gone now- either moved away or too old to play here anymore. And, well, he can’t just leave the stuffed animal here, now can he? He doesn’t think he could throw it away either- his heart tugs at the mere idea of doing that. So, he gets up, and tries wiping it down again.
The plush material is moist, and each swipe of his hand dirties his palm even more than it already had been. His brows furrow, but he refuses to give up, and instead sets it almost tenderly next to his backpack. It’s another project, he thinks. He’ll clean it up real nice.
When he finishes up that last section of the wall, it’s gotten significantly darker. Not close to sunset yet, which is kind of sad, considering Tommy’s sure it would be absolutely beautiful to watch here. But he’s a little more concerned with the realization that Phil’s probably worried for him, and he still has homework to do. He takes one last breath of the air around him, then grabs his backpack and the stuffed animal, climbing down the ladder and walking away from the clearing.
He follows the mental map he’d made before, and soon enough finds himself on a street he recognizes. He walks home from there, preemptively planning on how to get to his room without suffering from a long talk with Phil about his whereabouts and trouble at school. When he reaches the front door, he fidgets with his new house key, pushing it open.
Whatever plans he’d had are immediately thwarted, the sound of Phil’s voice echoing from the kitchen as he shouts, “Tommy?”
“Yeah.” He says in confirmation, and he quickly walks towards the stairs, hoping to avoid the conversation. “Sorry I’m home so late, I decided to take a walk. I’m going to go to my room now.” He says quickly, his steps thumping up the stairs as he goes. He ignores Phil’s protesting stammers, and instead continues, almost speed walking until he reaches his room. He sighs softly, shrugging the backpack off his shoulders and resting it by his door.
He still isn’t quite used to this being his room, but it isn’t too bad. The cleanliness of it does have him hesitating to put the stuffed animal down, though, and instead he opts to bring it into the bathroom with him. He needs to wash his hands anyways, and maybe some hand soap could get some of the bigger bits of dirt and leaf off of it.
When he walks in, the first thing he does is set the stuffed animal down in the base of the sink. He gathers a bit of soap in his hands, then turns the water on and begins working his hands through the material. The water soaks in a good bit, making the plush material heavy with it, but the water that does trickle off the side is brown in color. Suds build up against the matted fabric, the cloth squishing almost uncomfortably against his hands.
When most of the heavy bits are off, Tommy holds the stuffed animal up and squeezes it, more water pouring out of it. He thinks he can start to see some embroidered eyes on the front of it, as well as a yellow sort of color, but it’s still so hard to tell. He’s filled with a heavy determination now that he’s made some headway, and he sets the stuffed animal aside so that he can rinse the sink.
When the sink is clear, he sets the plush back in and closes the drain, letting more clean water fill the sink and soak into the plushy. He’ll probably have to let it sit there for a bit, and maybe wash it again and again, but he’s not going to give up on it just yet.
It must have been a decent bit since he’d come back, because soon enough, he hears Phil calling up the stairs for his boys to come downstairs for dinner. “I’ll be down in a second!” He yells, working his hands through the material one last time before wiping off his hands, leaving the bathroom. He is almost immediately met by Techno, who quirks a brow at him once he leaves the bathroom.
“Do I even want to know what you were doing in the bathroom for twenty minutes?”
Tommy rolls his eyes, offering his brother a shrug. “No idea, but lucky for you, it isn’t any of your business.” He replies, and Techno’s expression evens with disinterest, the two of them making their way down the stairs, with Tommy skipping the last two steps in favor of jumping the rest of the way.
Plates are set up on the kitchen counter, a pot of leftover pasta on the oven. Phil’s just finishing getting the silverware for each plate when Tommy walks in, opening the fridge and grabbing himself a cold Diet Coke. He can feel Phil’s gaze on him, and when he turns he sees the bit of concern on his face. “Tommy, how’d your shirt get all dirty? Did something happen at school today?”
“What?” He asks, and when he looks down, the white chest part of his tee shirt is stained orange-y brown. His brain quickly processes the implications of Phil’s question, and he’s quick to answer with, “Oh, no, nothing like that, Phil. I took a walk through the woods and found an old tree house I’m gonna clean up. I was clearing out some leaves.”
Phil looks a little relieved at that, giving Tommy a nod and then redirecting his attention to Techno and Wilbur, who have now joined them in the kitchen. Tommy scoots past them all, grabbing himself a plate and walking to his spot at the kitchen table, listening to Techno and Wilbur talk about their days. It’s mostly uneventful, and Wil sounds a little bitter about having to leave his old friends behind, but Tommy’s sure he’ll get over it by the end of the month. Techno and him were kind of in similar boats, not being particularly close to anyone and instead preferring to do their own thing.
For now though, Wilbur slumps into the seat across from Tommy, giving him a strange look as he does. The three brothers have always had this teasing back and forth sort of relationship, and Tommy’s fully prepared for some witty sarcastic remark or an annoyed lash of his tongue when he flashes Wilbur a playful grin. He’s met with the latter, a crease forming between his brows as he snaps, “What? What are you grinning about?”
“You look like shit, mate.” He answers, an attempt at lightening Wil’s mood. He can’t help but laugh a little as Wilbur’s expression shifts, and well, he definitely doesn’t look as sad or grumpy, but he’s definitely annoyed.
“At least I don’t look like I tripped in it.” He retorts, and Tommy answers with a noncommittal noise that quickly devolves into heaving laughter. Wilbur looks just about ready to lunge over the table and punch him in the arm, but at the same time, the tension bleeds away and he ends up smiling. Techno comes over and takes his seat between them, an almost impish mockery of a mediator. The smirk on his face as he seats himself only adds to the banter of the table.
“Well I think you both look terrible.” He decides, and Tommy nods in agreement- he’s right, after all, and Tommy isn’t afraid to admit that. “At least some people in this family have style.” He muses, and Tommy turns his head when he sees Philza sit opposite of Techno, a warm fondness to his expression.
The rest of the dinner goes by without much incident; Wilbur makes sure to ask Phil how his new job is going, and Phil says he’s pleased with it- shorter hours for a higher wage means he gets more time to relax at home while making more money than he was before. Phil asks Tommy just where the tree house is, just in case he’ll ever need to pick him up from there, and Tommy explains his mental map, listing street names and even the pathway through the woods.
The conversation tapers off so that way they can finish their meals without letting them grow too cold. Techno has dishes tonight, which should mean an easy escape for Tommy, but just before he can leave the kitchen, Phil’s hand settles on his shoulder. “Tommy, can we talk for a minute?”
Techno snickers from the sink, and Tommy’s brows furrow as he looks at him. “Oh, fuck off, Technoblade.” He huffs, and Techno laughs just a little louder before reducing it back to an easy grin. It’s annoying, especially considering how Tommy’s chest turns with anxiety- has been turning with anxiety since his teacher regretfully informed him that there would be a phone call home. He turns his head back to Phil, and feels a little ashamed at the concerned expression he’s met with. “But uh, yeah, of course, Phil.”
Phil gives him a small smile, and Tommy looks down, letting the man guide him out from the kitchen and towards the living room for a little more privacy. He pulls his hand back from Tommy’s shoulder, giving him a little more space, and asks him, “So, what happened at school today?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Tommy says, his voice more of a grumble. “Some kids were being real dickheads to me, right, but it was the middle of class and I didn’t want to interrupt the teacher just to tell her what was happening.” He explains, and Phil gives a thoughtful hum of consideration. The nervous energy bubbles up into laughter, a kind that sounds almost painful, even on his own ears. “So I just- I just started swearing at them, and when the teacher asked me what was wrong, I told her. She said I was overreacting and that she was gonna call you.”
“Oh, what the fuck?” Phil murmurs, and Tommy looks up at him, a bit relieved to see the confusion and annoyance on his face. It eases a great deal of tension, and Tommy nods enthusiastically.
“Right? How the fuck am I supposed to concentrate when I have kids blowing on me and kicking me and shit?” He chimes, growing a bit pleased when Phil gives a nod of agreement.
“Maybe next time if that happens, ask to work outside, or maybe tell a dean, alright?” Phil requests, and Tommy’s expression falls for only half a second before Phil continues, “I don’t blame you for what happened. It was a completely reasonable response. But I don’t want to get any phone calls home about how you apparently caused a disruption in class, alright? Ask the teacher if you can move seats before class tomorrow.”
Tommy nods, and Phil gives him a nice smile that eases away any remaining tension. There’s a small moment, then, Tommy leans forward and gives him a hug. It’s warm and nice and safe, especially as Phil’s arms wrap around him, squeezing him tight. They part, and he gives the man a smile, walking towards the stairs again. “Thanks, Dad. Love you,” He calls, and he doesn’t miss the way Phil beams at him, proud and soft and adoring.
“I love you too, son.”