Chapter Text
Being a foster kid, in Tommy’s wise and highly respected opinion, is absolute bullshit.
“Amanda.” He sighs, his head pressed firmly into the passenger side window of her beat-up sedan. “Do we really have to go over this every time?” He complains, attempting to ignore the twinges of pain that still course through his body from his last placement.
House number 14 was not a fun one - his medical record could prove it, and so could the slowly fading array of bruises that covered his arms in a way that forced him to constantly wear long sleeved t-shirts which he fucking despised. (But it was either that, or have bandages on display. Tommy hated that idea more, purely because of the pitied looks he would be sure to receive from every adult within a 20 mile radius.)
“Yes, because every time you seem to ignore it.” She scolds, her hands gripping the steering wheel in a way that seems incredibly painful. “Listen, this is-“
“Probably the best shot I can give you. I know, I know. You’ve been saying that for the past week.” He mocks, shutting his eyes in boredom. “You’re like a broken record player, at this point.”
“And you’re still not listening!” She reminds him, swerving as they’re cut off by a car that costs more than Tommy’s whole existence (which isn’t a-lot, but still.). He watches in amusement as she swears colourfully at the driver, giving him the middle finger after pressing her horn. “Phil is a good man - he’s fostered before, and has a completely clean record. It would be such a shame for you to waste an opportunity like that.” She pauses, pulling up to a red light. Her fingers tap on the wheel, and the tell of nervousness causes Tommy to brace for an inevitable comment that will sour the remaining journey. “This one might even be the one, Tommy.” She stresses, fidgeting with the stereo when he refuses to respond.
As much as Tommy loves his social worker (she’s done a fuck-ton for him in the past that he could never forget), she sometimes (most times) says things that stick in him like a jagged knife.
“Let’s not get too optimistic, Mandy.” He laughs bitterly. “I’m going to this house, whether I want to or not, and I’m staying with them until they get fed up with me. That’s it. I don’t expect anything more.” He scoffs, choosing to stare out his window at the grey motorway that seemingly stretches on eternally in-front of them.
Because, of course, this fucker had to live in Newcastle - meaning he has to sit in Amanda’s shitty car for 3 hours, listening to her not-very-motivational speaking and her radio which is more static than sound.
“Tommy, I’m being serious. Phil’s house will be a good place for you, I promise.” She placates softly, her eyes watching his slumped form through the mirror.
“Sure.” He scoffs, refusing to meet her disappointed gaze. The car lapses into a tense silence that neither of them attempt to break for the remainder of the journey.
The view outside of the window barely changes as the hours pass. Tommy’s so bored that he resorts to counting the cars that drive past them, wishing that he had a phone to mess with to use up the time. (he had one, once. It wasn’t the most modern or fancy thing, but it worked , and it meant that he could stay in touch with his friends as he moved constantly around the county. When he reached his last home, his foster father took it away as a form of punishment, forcing him to watch as it was snapped in half - as if it meant nothing . To Tommy, it was his last connection to his home, to all the people he loved, and so he mourned it - knowing that he’d lost one of the only good things he had left anymore.)
Finally, his attention is piqued when they move towards a more urban area. The motorway has transformed slightly, and if Tommy squints, he can see the river Tyne and the multiple bridges that cross it - each with completely different styles of architecture. From his first view of his new city, he’s not very impressed. Sure, there’s a couple cool buildings that look old as shit; but the majority of the buildings are just the standard shit you’d see anywhere. Somehow, he doesn’t feel like it’s going to be hard to adapt to.
It’s just another city, and another house.
He literally does this shit all the time, just not on such a big scale. Usually, his social worker makes sure that the homes he’s sent to are close to Nottingham - but this time, he’s hours away from his real home (but what is a real home, anyways? Does Tommy even have one anymore?) and everything he’s ever known.
At least he gets a change of scenery, despite there being barely any differences, he supposes.
“Phil lives just outside the city centre. It’s a really nice area, there’s lots of green spaces nearby - if that’s something you’re interested in.” She describes, clearly trying to raise Tommy’s spirits. “I think you’ll love it here, Tommy.” She sounds so sure and it takes all of Tommy’s willpower to not laugh in her face. “Promise you’ll try to get along with them. Phil’s boys are lovely, and you actually share quite a few interests with them. You’ll fit in just fine.”
She turns away from the main town, and Tommy watches as the houses get more and more spaced out, skyscrapers being replaced by imposing deciduous trees and flowers. They pass multiple parks in an incredibly short time period (honestly, there must be more fields than people at this point), and Tommy can’t help but notice how wealthy the area seems. It’s not gaudy - there’s no marble pillars in sight - but the people who live there are obviously middle class. The homes are Edwardian terraces, built with red bricks but finished with white in some form of piping. The cars that line the street are expensive, and Tommy manages to count 7 Audi’s in all of 30 seconds.
Well, at least he’ll (hopefully) be comfortable here. Maybe he should try and stick this place out until he’s old enough to age out of the system, and then he can go wherever the fuck he wants. The idea seems like a good one to Tommy, and so he latches onto it like a moth to a flame.
“Phil will probably be the only one home, so you’ll have lots of time to settle in.” She continues, purposefully ignoring Tommy’s lack of interest. “When we get there, which won’t be long now, I’ll go over the arrangement with you both, and then I’ll leave you to get used to your new home.” Tommy hums in response, understanding that she won’t take silence as an answer.
The car pulls into one of many identical townhouses’ driveways. Amanda clears her throat and Tommy finally spins to face her. “Well, this is it. You ready?” She asks, her tone sweet and understanding.
Tommy manages a feeble smile. “Sure, Mandy. Let’s get this show on the road, yeah?” He responds. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he places a hand on the handle and pushes it open. Once out, he turns his back to the house, reaching into the boot to grab his little belongings - all compiled into a single pitiful backpack (he doesn’t own much anymore, but he doesn’t have the luxury of being able to change that, so it’s something he attempts to ignore as much as possible.). He secures it tightly to his back, grasping the straps in an attempt to ground himself.
Amanda meets him as he shuts the boot, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder - which doesn’t remain comforting at all when she uses it as leverage to drag him towards the front door. They climb a small flight of steep stairs (seriously, why not just build a couple more stairs so it’s nicer to climb?) to reach the entrance, which is decorated by an abundance of plants - both in pots and clinging within the cracks in the bricks. The door itself is a light turquoise, adorned by two glass windows with a door knocker situated between, just slightly below, and a pale gold letterbox.
All in all, it’s a beautiful house.
(He hopes he manages to stay here long enough to admire it fully.)
His social worker knocks shortly on the door. Nervously, Tommy realises that he can’t hear any noise from inside the house. They wait on the doorstep for around 5 minutes in tense silence, until the door is swung open by a slightly below average height man who wears a sheepish smile.
“Phil, this is Tommy. Tommy, Phil.” Amanda introduces jovially, an enthusiastic grin covering her face.
“Hi mate!” The man, Phil, calls. Tommy watches his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. They’re enchanting, really; it’s like they each contain a universe filled with millions of stars. Phil’s hair is blonde like his and incredibly dishevelled - seemingly put into a small ponytail in a fruitless attempt to tame it. He’s wearing plain clothing - a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt. All in all, he just looks like an ordinary middle-aged man. When Tommy doesn’t respond, Phil continues - as if desperate to keep the atmosphere light. “Why don’t both of you come inside, so we can go through all the boring admin stuff.” He jokes, stepping back to allow Tommy and his social worker into the house. Tommy focuses on the decor on the inside, pleasantly surprised by the lack of pretentious shit. It just looks like any normal house, just bigger (and clearly more expensive). “The living room’s this way.” He calls, leading them to the right. Amanda pulls Tommy along, reminding him under her breath to be respectful. Tommy simply rolls his eyes and follows them, his shoulders tense and face carefully blank.
The living room is, once again, nothing extraordinary. Sure, the couch is expensive-looking and the tv is far bigger than necessary, but it’s still just a living room. There’s no million pound artwork, no busts of dead white men - just cheesy family photos that Tommy skims over, not really currently giving a shit about their family trips. Phil gestures for them to sit with him on the couch, a long grey thing with far too many seats, multiple of which having footrests. Tommy sits himself as far aways as possible while still remaining polite, and he doesn’t miss the sadness that crosses his new foster-father’s eyes with the action. He shakes off the slithers of guilt that creep up his spine, reminding himself that he doesn’t care about this random man’s feelings, despite Amanda’s adamant beliefs that he’s the nicest man on Earth or some shit.
“Let’s go over the important details. You’ve already seen his file, but there are a couple of things that we always like to address in further detail, for example-” Tommy zones out of Amanda’s boring spiel that he’s practically memorised, purely because of the numerous times he’s sat through it.
(A couple of houses ago, he would’ve been more alert, listening to every word of the conversation in an attempt to scope out his new family. Now though, he’s just tired of it - just seeing this house as a means to an end. He feels bad for planning to extort this guy’s hospitality, but he also doesn’t at all - because he’s doing it to keep himself safe, and he’ll always prioritise that over anything.)
“He doesn’t have the best track record with foster homes, especially ones with other children. But, I think this place is just what he needs.” Amanda continues, nudging Tommy to bring him back into the conversation. When Tommy looks over at Phil, he finds the man listening attentively, a soft smile on his face. The sight makes Tommy focus on the room once more.
Beside the tv stand lies two bookshelves, both messily filled to the brim by books. When he looks closer at the spines, he notices that the majority of them are classics or Greek mythology retellings, although there are some geography and non-fiction books scattered around every now and again. Each of them looks as if they have been read countless times, their spines cracked and fraying at the base.
Well, at least this family has a good taste in literature. Maybe they do have some shit in common, afterall.
“I’ll be visiting again in 2 weeks for the customary checkup - just to make sure he’s settling in well. By then, I’d prefer if he was enrolled in the local school already - but I understand if that’s not possible, the school year has already started, after all.” His social worker drones on, completing her imaginary checklist of information to give.
“Alright.” He turns his attention to Tommy, eyes turning fond as he catches his interest in the books. “Anything else I need to know before you go?”
Amanda clears her throat, regaining Tommy’s attention. “No, that’s everything.” she says kindly, beginning to stand up from the couch. “I’ll see myself out. Don’t be afraid to call me if you need anything before my visit.” Phil also moves away from his seat, shaking her hand with a firm grasp. Tommy watches their exchange awkwardly, feeling like an outsider. (but when doesn’t he? When has he ever belonged somewhere?)
The handshake ends, and Amanda turns her focus back to him. Tommy stands up, giving her a weak smile. “Behave yourself, Tommy. This place’ll be good for you, I promise.” She mutters so only he can hear, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I wouldn’t bring you all this way if I didn’t trust him.” She reminds, holding him carefully.
“I know, Amanda. And,” He stops himself with a small sigh, that makes her chuckle “I promise I’ll try to get along with them.” He responds in a tone that makes it seem like it physically hurts him to speak it outloud.
“That’s all I can ask. You’ll love it here if - and it’s a big if - you try with them.” She ends their embrace, giving Phil a short nod before walking out of the room - leaving the two blondes alone.
The sound of the door closing echoes through the room, and instantly Tommy’s guard goes up.
“So,” Phil starts hesitantly, seemingly unsure of how to interact with Tommy. He struggles with what to say next, his mouth opening and closing several times. “How about a tour?” He finally asks. “You’ll need to know where everything is, afterall” He laughs, tension clear in his body.
Tommy pities him. “Sure. Lead the way.” Phil’s eyes twinkle at the sound of his voice, seemingly pleased that he actually responded this time.
“Perfect.” Phil strides out of the living room, returning to the hallway. “Do you want a full tour, or just a little one for now? I know you’ve had a long day.” He questions, fidgeting with his hands.
“Eh, I’m alright. Let’s do a full tour.” Tommy brushes off the man’s concern easily.
“Alright then!” The man’s enthusiasm is electric, managing to make the room seemingly brighter. He leads Tommy through an arch to the right of the stairs, bringing him into a kitchen and dining room space. A rectangular oak table lies directly in front of the opening, surrounded by 4 chairs on two sides. A large vase of flowers sits in the centre, an arrangement of soft yellows and oranges that looks brand new. On the wall to the right is a large collection of photographs of places all around the world, most of them including two boys who Tommy can only assume are Phil’s sons.
The kitchen itself is incredibly modern, filled with countless appliances that Tommy’s only ever seen in tv adverts. It’s separated from the table by an island, which is littered with papers and pens, strewn across haphazardly.
“Wilbur uses the island to do his work most days.” Phil comments, noticing where Tommy’s looking. “He says he likes the lighting better than his room’s.” he mentions, drawing Tommy’s attention to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that fill the far wall, which are complemented by french doors. The view of the garden is impressive, the grass is neatly cut and there’s flower beds lining every wall of fencing alongside some birch trees.
Whoever Wilbur is, Tommy can’t help but agree with them.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Techno loves to garden, so he always makes sure it’s in perfect shape.” Tommy goes to hum his approval when his brain focuses on the name.
“Wait- Techno?” He splutters.
Phil laughs brightly. Tommy can’t deny that the sound makes him feel warm inside. “People say that a lot when they first hear it.” He cackles, trying to regain his composure.
“Who names their kid Techno? Isn’t that a music genre?” Tommy cries, utterly bewildered. He can’t help but imagine that this guy has a constant backing track of shitty club music that follows him around. Phil doesn’t respond, too busy laughing hysterically - to the point where his breaths are ragged between each chuckle.
Phil manages to calm down, leading Tommy back to the hall and up the stairs. “Your room’s the one farthest down, mine’s this one.” He points at the nearest door. “Don’t be afraid to come and see me if you need anything, mate - I just ask that you knock before coming in. We like our privacy in this house.” Tommy nods, taking the information in and revelling in the fact that it most likely means they’ll leave him the fuck alone most of the time.
The next door leads to the bathroom, and when Phil opens the door all Tommy can see is the basic bathroom shit that every house has. That is, until Phil opens the sink cabinet. “This is where Wil keeps all of his stuff. If you have anything, I’m sure he’ll make some space for you.” It’s a fucking bombsite, in Tommy’s honest opinion. There are so many hair products, a couple moisturisers and shampoos all littered carelessly throughout. The sight makes Tommy wince.
Yeah, he’s not talking to this guy about his cupboard. He’d actually rather never think about it again, thank you very much.
“Sure.” He manages, albeit weakly. Phil just chuckles at his horror.
“Wilbur’s quite a messy guy - but if it bothers you, I can get him to sort it out.” He explains, sighing fondly.
They leave the bathroom after that, Tommy’s face still pale from the experience. Phil just points to the next door. “That’s Wil’s room. I will warn you, he stays up late most nights - so if you’re a light sleeper, you might want to use headphones.” He advises, moving towards the final door on the floor. “And, this is your room. It’s a bit empty for now, but when you’re settled in I’ll take you out shopping for stuff. If there’s anything you need straight away though, I’m happy to make a quick trip.” Phil offers, opening the door.
“I- I think I’m okay for now.” Tommy mumbles, staring at the room before him. It’s fucking massive, compared to anything he’s ever had before. The far wall has a bay window, with cushions on the seat to make it a comfortable spot to relax in. His bed is simple, white sheets on a twin bed - but just by looking at it, Tommy can tell it’s soft. Next to it is a simple nightstand with drawers, which he assumes to be empty. The drawers are on the other side of the room - holy shit , he has so much space - next to a desk which has a simple lamp and assortment of pens and highlighters in a clear pen pot. The walls are a simple white, but somehow Tommy knows that if he wanted them any other colour Phil would let him paint them without a second thought.
All in all, it’s an amazing room.
“Thank you.” He breathes out, his voice oozing sincerity.
“It’s no problem mate.” Phil responds, watching him fondly as he appraises the room. “The third floor is where Techno’s room is - it’s the first door as soon as you’re off the stairs - and my office. I work from home most days, so if you need me during the day, it’s probably where I am.” He informs Tommy, who nods in acknowledgement. “Wil and Techno will be home in time for dinner. You can come eat with us, if you’d like, or I could bring you your serving upstairs. I know this must be a lot for you, and I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”
Tommy’s jaw is metaphorically on the fucking carpet. He gets a choice?
“I think I’d rather eat up here, if you don’t mind.” He answers, looking anywhere but the man.
“No worries, mate. I wouldn’t have asked if I minded.” Phil responds, nonchalant. “We’re having spaghetti bolognese, is that alright?”
What the actual fuck. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.” Tommy says quickly, utterly confused at how much Phil seems to care about his opinion.
“Great. Well, I’ll leave you be then. If you do want to come downstairs, you’re free to - but stay up here if that’s what you want. We can do all of the introductions and things tomorrow, so don’t worry if you want to just have some time alone.”
“Thanks, Phil.” He turns to face the man, offering a small smile.
“No problem mate.” The man responds, his smile blinding. He goes to leave the room, but stops at the entrance. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He exclaims. The excitement in his voice is almost worrying. “Welcome home, Tommy.” He says simply. He leaves swiftly afterwards - making sure to shut the door softly.
What the actual fuck is this house? Tommy wonders, standing stock-still in the centre of his new room. He can’t help but be confused at all the kindness; he’s been given an extremely nice room, and then they’re going to buy him shit to put in it?
It feels like too much.
It feels surreal.
It feels..unmaintainable.
Phil is kind, almost too kind. It’s unnerving. He’s letting Tommy make choices already, and it only makes him wonder when it’ll all change - when the ball will drop, and Phil will grow tired of him and take it all away.
He hopes it’s not any time soon, the car ride from here back to Nottingham is so fucking long and he doesn’t want to spend that much time in Amanda’s car again for a long time. His neck twinges in discomfort just at the thought of her ugly ass Sedan.
Tommy spends the rest of the night in his room. He mostly sits in the bay window, using it as a vantage point to look at the sky. (He’s always loved the sky. No matter where he was taken, the sky always stayed with him, like no one else ever could. Every night, he’d fall asleep; knowing that he was under the same moon as everyone he loved, and it made the loneliness easier.)
When the sky darkens, there’s a knock on his door. Opening it, he’s met with the sight of Phil - who now looks slightly more put together, but barely. In his hands he carries a plate of pasta and a glass of water. “Hi mate.” He calls, holding out the meal. “Bon appetit.” He calls jokingly as Tommy takes it. The man doesn’t stay for long, merely offering Tommy another gentle smile and leaving to go back downstairs - probably to his sons. Tommy hates the jealousy that rises at the thought.
He eats in silence, revelling in his privacy. He knows that, come tomorrow, he’ll have to interact with them - and he’ll have to try and get along with them, in an attempt to appease Amanda. But hey, that’s a problem for tomorrow Tommy, and all today Tommy has to worry about is trying to not get pasta sauce absolutely everywhere.
The dish is divine. Phil should go on masterchef if he made this, because Tommy’s never had anything like it - it’s smooth and rich and just so fucking delicious that he finishes it quickly. He hasn’t had a home cooked meal in years. Most of his foster homes didn’t cook for him or at all, meaning he ate either some shitty fast food he could get for cheap, or nothing.
For the first time in a while, Tommy thinks that he won’t be hungry anytime soon.
He just hopes that this house doesn’t turn out like his last one - where it started promisingly, but ended up in a frightened call to Amanada and an emergency trip to the hospital. He winces at the memory, his slightly faded bruises aching.
He doesn’t know if he can survive another house like that.
Hopefully he won't have to. He doesn’t think that Phil has a single bad bone in his body. He might have only known the man for a couple of hours, but he just knows that the man couldn’t even hurt a fly.
His sons, however, are completely unpredictable. Phil speaks about them fondly, but doesn’t every parent? They could be spawns of satan for all Tommy knows.
They could even-
Nope, Tommy isn’t dealing with that shit today.
He doesn’t know what time it is, but he does know that he’s exhausted. He quickly changes into the pyjamas he brought - grey sweatpants and an old band t-shirt that Tommy has no recollection of buying himself. It’s not like he cares, anyways. A shirt is a shirt, afterall. (As a foster kid, he will always take what he’s given - despite his own opinions. He can’t be picky when he’s relying on the kindness of strangers every day of his life, that’s a lesson he’d learned years ago.)
When he climbs into the bed, he instantly sinks into the memory foam mattress, sighing out at the softness. Tiredness clings to his eyes, but before he can shut them, a melody begins to play from the far wall - instantly piquing his interest.
It’s from a guitar, and it’s seemingly an original song with the way the player constantly stops and starts, replaying certain parts over and over again in an attempt to refine it. A few minutes pass, and Tommy begins to hear a soft voice sing along to the now-perfected tune.
The sound lulls him to sleep, and for the first night in a while, Tommy’s rest remains unbroken by nightmares and memories alike.