Chapter Text
The tension inside this car is so thick, not even the sharpest knife could make the slightest dent against it.
Wilbur is sitting beside him in the backseat, Marissa never allowed either of them to sit in the front seat. Maybe it was a safety thing? Or maybe Marissa just didn’t like them enough. Tommy wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter, they are kind of a handful. Or at least Wilbur is.
They’re being driven out on a side of town Tommy had never seen before. It was an alluring suburban neighborhood, you could tell the people who live around here are well off or well off enough. Typically Tommy and Wilbur are placed with families living in the city, but when they do get placed with a suburban family, they were all batshit insane. Obsessed with the perfect white picket fence family with a golden retriever. For those families, Tommy was more of a trophy than he was a human. With those families, Tommy was forced to deal with them alone as “Wilbur would only make us look bad.”
In all honesty he probably would’ve. Wilbur is a train wreck, all things considered. But he’s Tommy’s only brother, so he has to love him.
“I was meaning to talk to you boys before we hit the road, and I have a good feeling about this family,” Marissa says, cutting the ice finally. She smiles at them through the rearview mirror, and Tommy can see her plastic retainer slipping off her teeth. “It’s a small family, a father and son. Wilbur, you’re close to the son’s age, so maybe try and get on with him?”
Wilbur gives her a nasty glare through the mirror, before going back to staring blankly out the window.
Marissa ignores Wilbur and continues. “The father’s name is Phil, I was talking to him over the phone last night. He’s excited to meet you, and wanted to know about you both--”
“That’s fucking weird,” Wilbur interrupts, words cold as ice.
Marissa sighs. “It’s normal, seeing as you’re going to be living in his house. Please try and be good, Wilbur. Don’t…screw this up.”
“I’ll do whatever I want,” Wilbur states matter-of-factly.
Marissa gives Wilbur a tired look, then turns on the radio for music. The noise barely helps the even worse tension. This is going to be hell on Earth, Tommy can tell already.
“We’ve arrived! Are you boys ready?”
The cheeriness in Marissa’s voice is back and fake as ever, her pretending the conversation (if you could even call it that) never happened as she turns her body around to face the brother’s personally.
Tommy gives her an awkward smile, and Wilbur murmurs something under his breath as he opens the car door. He doesn’t unbuckle his seatbelt, as he didn’t have it on to begin with, and Tommy flinches as Wilbur slams the car door shut, and watches him walk to the trunk. Tommy catches Marissa’s eyes on him, and they make eye contact for a short second before Tommy unbuckles his seat belt and shuffles out the car, being much more gentle than Wilbur was. He meets Wilbur at the back of the car, and is immediately presented with a garbage bag being shoved a little too aggressively in his face.
“Sorry,” Wilbur says when Tommy stumbles back slightly. Tommy pokes his head above the garbage bag to see Wilbur grab his own bag, and slams the trunk shut. The poor car. “Don’t speak unless I say so, don’t touch anything, and stay by me,” Wilbur orders. Tommy nods the best he can with the garbage bag, and Wilbur carries his much smaller garbage bag with one hand. Then uses his free hand to push down on Tommy’s garbage bag, flattening it and making it much easier to see. Then sets that hand on Tommy’s shoulder as they approach the house.
It’s a pretty house, that’s for sure. It’s a white two story house, with a seemingly fresh paint job all over the outside of the house. The hedges are neatly trimmed and the front lawn also looks to have been mowed recently. There isn’t even a single crack in the pavement leading up to the front door. Everything is weirdly perfect on the outside, and Tommy is reminded of the other crazy suburban families. He hopes he’s wrong.
Tommy and Wilbur stand awkwardly on the last step of the front porch as Marissa knocks on the front porch. Wilbur’s hand on his shoulder tightens every so often, it hurts, but he doesn’t say anything.
The three of them probably stand in the cold for a minute straight, which is just as awkward as it sounds, if not more. It’s only when Wilbur is about to speak up does the front door finally open, revealing a very strong looking man.
Tommy assumes this dude is the son, considering he looks to be around the same age as Wilbur. He has glasses like Wilbur, though they are rectangular instead of circular and taped quite liberally at the bridge. He also had long bright pink hair pulled into a high messy bun, and it’s probably the first time Tommy has ever seen a guy with long hair. Let alone dyed hair.
These features would make Tommy laugh if the guy wasn’t so huge. He was about the same height as Wilbur (Wilbur probably being just ever so slightly taller), but the stranger made up for it in his muscle mass. His arms have to be larger than Tommy’s whole thigh, which is terrifying. He could probably snap Tommy and Wilbur in half if he so wanted to. Not like they could put up much of a fight, considering how weak they were. (It’s sad to say, but it’s true.)
“Uh, hi,” the guy greeted stiffly, before stepping out of the way for them to walk through the door. “DAD! They’re here!” He calls upstairs, which startles Tommy. Wilbur notices this and pulls Tommy closer to him.
Inside the house is just as well kept as the outside, though from what Tommy could see, the coffee table in the living room had seen better days with how littered it is with chip bags and soda cans.
His attention is pulled when somebody is suddenly hurrying down the stairs. A much older man, presumably Phil, maybe somewhere in his forties? His hair is long, not as long as his son’s, but it reaches his shoulders. Phil’s hair is blond like Tommy’s, and his eyes are blue like Tommy’s. Did this man foster them because he wanted a kid that looked like him? Or is it just coincidence?
“Sorry, I lost track of time finishing up some work upstairs,” Phil(?) explains. “It’s nice to meet you boys. My name is Phil,” he reaches his hand out for the brother’s to shake. Wilbur doesn’t budge, so Tommy doesn’t either (not that he could with the bag). Phil awkwardly retracts his hand. “Uh, this is my son, Techno!” He motions to the scary dude. Weird fucking name, but it’s fine. Techno gives a wave, Tommy would wave back if his hands weren’t full.
“Don’t mind them, they’re awfully shy,” Marissa explains, waving them off with a smile. Wilbur frowns.
“No, I just don’t trust or like you,” Wilbur flat out says as his nose scrunches. “It smells like a fucking perfume shop in here.”
The look Marissa shoots toward Wilbur could kill, but Wilbur barely acknowledges her. Phil on the other hand doesn’t look bothered.
“That’s fair,” Phil says. “I’m hoping to earn that trust during your stay here, both of you.”
“Sure,” Wilbur says in response. Though Tommy knows by the look on his face that he really wants to say something along the lines of “kiss my ass.”
God, why can’t his brother just be normal?
“Alright, well if they give you any trouble be sure to call,” Marissa begins, folding her hands. “Thomas, I’m counting on you to keep your brother in line,” it’s a clear joke, but nobody laughs.
“Okay,” Tommy murmurs, shrugging. Wilbur glares at her. This is awkward.
“I’ll be off then! You boys also have my number. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Craft!” Marissa is already heading toward the front door when Phil opens his mouth to respond.
“Goodbye!” He calls as she shuts the door, letting out a sigh before turning back to Tommy and Wilbur. Tommy tenses, and Wilbur rubs circles into his shoulder with his thumb. “Okay, she’s something, isn’t she?”
“She’s a bitch,” Wilbur responds.
Phil laughs, but leaves it at that. In the corner of Tommy’s eye, he can see Techno start to head back to the living room, and the sound of video games fill the quietness of the house. Do they have a game console? Tommy wishes he could play.
“Your rooms are upstairs, but before I show you them, do you think there’s anything I should know about you? Boundaries, preferred names?” Phil asks. That’s a sentence few foster parents utter. Most don’t give a shit.
“I like Tommy, not Thomas,” Tommy says, hoping it wasn’t a trick question.
“Okay, noted, thank you, Tommy. How about you, Wilbur?” Phil smiles.
“...No,” Wilbur says.
Phil nods. “I’ll show you to your rooms then.”
They follow Phil upstairs, and Tommy notes the pictures of the same boy throughout the years hung throughout the walls of the staircase. That’s Techno, Tommy assumes. It looks like him at least, when he was a kid. The upstairs hallway breaks into two, each side holding three doors and even more picture frames along the walls.
“Down there,” Phil points to the right of the hallway. “Is mine and Techno’s rooms, plus a bathroom. Knock if we’re in our rooms if you want anything, don’t just barge in.” Tommy nods in understanding, Wilbur doesn’t say anything but Tommy knows he gets it. Phil heads left of the hallway, the brothers follow.
“These two rooms are your bedrooms, there’s a bathroom that connects them, I hope you don’t mind,” Phil explains, pointing to the two doors on one side of the hallway. “I’ll let you choose who gets what room, though they’re pretty much the same.”
“We’re sharing a bedroom,” Wilbur announces.
Phil nods. “That’s fine, I totally get it. I’ll leave you to it then?”
“What’s that room?” Tommy finds himself asking, motioning with his chin toward the door on the other side.
“That’s my office, there’s no reason for you boys to go inside if I’m not in there,” Phil explains. “I’ll let you boys get settled if you have no other questions, I’m going to start dinner. Make yourselves at home, what mine is yours.”
Phil excuses himself downstairs, and Wilbur lets go of Tommy to enter the bedroom closest to the stairs with Tommy behind him. The bedroom isn’t much; a queen sized bed, a dresser, and a bookshelf. Typical bedroom furniture. There were a few picture frames hung on the walls, though there wasn’t anything about them that was special. The bedroom felt cold.
Wilbur didn’t seem to care, as he dropped his bag in the middle of the room before moving toward the bed. He checked under the blankets, then inside the pillow cases, then under the mattress.
“What are you doing?” Tommy asks as he sets his bag down at the foot of the bed, where it will probably stay until he leaves this place.
“Seeing if they left anything,” Wilbur responds simply, before walking toward the dressers to open them.
“Who is they?” Tommy furrows his eyebrows at Wilbur, then opens his bag to double check everything he needs is inside.
Clothes, check. Toothbrush, check. Brush, check. Clementine, check. It’s all here, his small collection of valuables.
“Mind your business,” Wilbur responds, his signature line for whenever somebody asks him something he doesn’t want to talk about. Tommy takes Clementine out of the bag and brushes over her still soft fur with his hand, before plopping her on the bed alongside himself after taking off his shoes.
“What do you think so far?” Tommy asks as he watches Wilbur go through the bookshelf, checking through all the books and behind the shelf.
“Phil’s condescending and Techno is weirdly quiet,” Wilbur responds, looking slightly irritated he’s not found anything. Though Tommy doesn’t know what he was expecting to find in the first place.
“I think we kinda fucked our first impressions up,” Tommy explains even though Wilbur didn’t ask. “But I also think Phil is quite nice.”
“Well don’t think that,” Wilbur frowns, glancing at Tommy. “You shouldn’t like him.”
“Why not?” Tommy sets Clementine on top of his chest and wraps his arms around her.
“He’s not a good person,” Wilbur replies vaguely.
“You literally only met him five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well maybe I just know these things,” Wilbur says flatly.
Tommy frowns and fidgets with Clementine’s floppy ears. “You don’t like anyone nice,” he murmurs.
Wilbur clicks his tongue. “I’ve gotta’ piss,” he announces, then enters the bathroom.
Tommy doesn’t understand his brother, and he probably never will. “Do you understand him?” Tommy whispers to Clementine. He doesn’t get an answer, because Clementine is made of stuffing, but if she could talk she probably wouldn’t understand Wilbur either. Maybe if Tommy did drugs like him, he’d finally understand. But alas.
Tommy also doesn’t understand that whole aspect of how Wilbur gets drugs. How do you even find people like that, willing to supply? He’s not sure if he wants to know.
“That was pretty quick for a piss,” Tommy blurts out when Wilbur comes back. “Not even gonna flush either? Or wash your hands?”
“Fuck off,” Wilbur sighs, before crawling into bed with Tommy, crashing beside him. Tommy gives him the middle finger even though Wilbur’s eyes are closed.
“Can you at least take off your shoes--” Tommy starts, grimacing at the dirt on Wilbur’s shoes, not like Tommy’s shoes are any better, but at least he had the decency to take them off.
“Tommy I’m trying to sleep, shut the fuck up or join me,” Wilbur interupted. But he did kick off his shoes, thankfully.
“Whatever,” Tommy mumbles, and wiggles himself underneath the blankets. He probably won't be able to sleep like Wilbur, but letting his eyes close for a bit is nice. Until somebody comes to fetch the two for dinner as promised.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
“Dinner is ready, if you want to come down to eat. Or don’t.” Tommy’s eyes blink open, staring at the hallway door with Techno on the other end.
Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but pauses as he glances over to Wilbur, still asleep. It wouldn’t be smart to wake him up that way, so Tommy stays silent as he hears Techno’s footsteps walk away.
“Wil,” Tommy whispers, shifting on his side as he pokes Wilbur’s arm. “Wake up, food’s ready.”
All he gets in response is Wilbur rolling over so his back is facing Tommy. It’s enough for Tommy to give up and get out of bed on his own. To hell with Wilbur, he’ll be fine.
The dining room is right across from the living room, an archway separating the rooms. Techno and Phil are already making their plates when Tommy walks inside. There’s about eight chairs, though only four spots on the table have plates set on them. In the middle of the table there’s a large array of food presented on large plates and baking pans. There’s even a pitcher of iced water. It reminds Tommy of a fancy restaurant, and if that were the case everyone is severely underdressed.
“Tommy, I’m glad you made it. We were just getting started,” Phil smiles, motioning for Tommy to sit down. “You’re welcome to help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Tommy gives a nervous smile, then pulls himself a chair already chosen for him. (He picks the chair furthest from Techno, because he scares Tommy.)
The smell coming from the array of food was enough to make Tommy’s mouth water. The main dish is steak, which is a treat in of itself considering how expensive it is, yet there’s about six cuts all presented in a neat line. Mashed potatoes (with gravy) sit next to the plate of steak, then a sheet of roasted broccoli and brussel sprouts. He looked to Phil for confirmation of permission to dine in, and practically lit up when Phil motioned one more time for Tommy to eat.
With that, Tommy stands from his seat with the plate and fills his plate to the brim, but making sure to leave plenty more food. He digs into the meal, mixing his steak, potatoes, and broccoli all together and shoveling it into his mouth. It was mind-blowingly delicious, though Tommy didn’t have much to base it off of since home-cooked meals were rare. He didn’t care, this was up there in the list of foods Tommy has ever eaten. God, he hopes Phil cooks everyday, but that’s too selfish to ask.
“Wilbur wasn’t hungry, I suppose?” Phil questioned, snapping Tommy out of his food trance.
Tommy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking, “he was sleeping, I didn’t want to wake him.”
“I see, I’ll make him a plate then after we’re done if he’s not down by then,” Phil offers as he took a sip of water, “I wanted to go over some household rules, but I’ll wait until both of you are together.”
Oh right. The household “rules” Tommy knew this dance all too well:
“No sitting on the good furniture.”
“Don’t put your grubby hands on anything of value.”
“Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
“You’re doing these chores in this amount of time or else.”
“We go to church every Sunday.” (Wilbur did not like that rule.)
Tommy knows it all. They’re less “rules,” at a certain point and more threats. Though only with some, with others they were genuine rules with not as bad consequences. The latter didn’t come as commonly as the former.
“It’s nothing too crazy, so don’t worry, it’s just basic things,” Phil explains, probably noticing Tommy’s dread. Tommy nods his head and goes back to eating. Not long after they begin dinner, Wilbur trudges himself down the stairs and into the dining room, his eyes are tinted a bloodshot pink and swaying slightly. He reeks of weed. He isn’t…
He is. Tommy can see it in Wilbur’s eyes.
Techno and Phil realize this too, Tommy can tell in their stares and pinch of their noses. Thankfully, for everyone’s sake, neither of them mention Wilbur’s state and keep to themselves with only a welcoming hello from Phil. Wilbur sits himself next to Tommy silently, and only grabs a cut of steak for himself. Tommy watches as Wilbur doesn’t eat his steak, rather just staring at it before poking it with his fork.
“Okay!” Phil starts suddenly, snapping Wilbur from whatever daydream he was in, as he jolts at Phil’s attention. Tommy follows that gaze back to Phil. “Since you both are now here, I’m going over a couple rules real quick. I ask for you both to follow these rules while you stay with us.” Wilbur stares unamused, but shrugs as he leans his chin into his palm, elbows on the table. Tommy bites his lip.
“First, I’m fine with weed,” Phil looks at Wilbur. “Techno smokes too, it helps with his anxiety. I only ask you to do it outside.”
Wilbur snorts, turning his head as if it’d hide his grin, and shrugs. Tommy, on the other hand, feels worried knowing Wilbur’s habits.
“Second, I don’t have a set curfew, but please call me if you’re going to be out past midnight.” That substantially worries Tommy, because again, knowing Wilbur’s habits . He does not express this though, especially in front of Wilbur.
“Third, don’t be a bigot. No homophobia, or racism, or anything like that will be tolerated here.” That wouldn’t be a problem. Wilbur is an asshole, but he isn’t that big of an asshole.
“Fourth, no stealing or going into people’s bedrooms without permission.” That wouldn’t be a problem with Tommy. But Wilbur? He isn’t sure.
“And with grades and stuff, it doesn’t bother me as long as you’re trying your best. I’m also fine with swearing, but be respectful,” Phil explains. “Punishments. I only know you haven’t had much luck finding good foster parents in the past, but here the way we deal with things is by talking it out like human beings. Nobody in this house will ever lay a hand on you for anything. The most I’ll do is ground you, take away a phone or something, but not forever. What’s yours is yours.” Tommy really wants to let himself believe Phil is being serious. He looks serious, completely serious. As does Techno. But there’s still that doubt that lurks in the back of Tommy’s mind.
“That’s about it, I think. If you have any concerns, please tell me,” Phil smiles. Wilbur doesn’t say anything in response, and neither does Tommy.
The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, the four finish up their food and Tommy is able to clean his plate, though he slightly regrets it from the stomach ache he now has. He ignores it, in favor of wanting to prove himself useful to Phil. “Let me help,” Tommy says as Phil was picking up dirty plates off the dining table, Techno and Wilbur were long gone at this point (Wilbur was probably trying to schmooze Techno, the bastard.)
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Tommy.” Phil says, his voice light.
“I want to,” Tommy collects some of the dirty cups and silverware, not waiting for Phil to say another word.
Phil chuckles, letting Tommy lead the way through the door between the wall dividing the kitchen and the dining room. “Well thank you, Tommy.”
“You’re welcome.” He takes in the kitchen for a moment, before making his way to the sink to dump off the dirty dishes. While Phil goes back into the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the dishes, Tommy rolls up his sleeves and turns on the hot water. Thankfully, Phil had a working dishwasher, so the process wouldn’t take as long as Tommy thought.
Phil comes back in the kitchen later, and places his load of dishes into the sink and stands next to Tommy, wanting to help. Tommy lets him, and they make a motion down of Tommy washing the dishes while Phil puts them in the dishwasher until the sink is finally emptied.
“Thank you for helping,” Phil smiles as he searches for soap underneath the sink.
“It’s the least I can do,” Tommy responds, standing awkwardly behind him. He doesn’t want to leave yet, because he doesn't know where he’d go. Plus this conversation isn’t over yet.
“Can I do anything to help further to make sure you’re comfortable?” Phil asks, pouring a bit of soap into the dishwashers compartment, then closing it and starting it. “Do you have enough clothes? Or any comfort foods you like?”
“I like cookies, Wilbur isn’t picky about food,” Tommy responds. “But you don’t have to buy us anything.”
“But I want to,” Phil winks, leaning against the counter. “Again, thank you for helping for dinner.”
“No problem, Phil.”