BLIND | DreamSMP

VIII - Father and Son

"Tommy?!"

Phil's exclamation hung heavy in the air, the tension that had seeped slowly into the room mounting as Tommy remained silent, sitting stiffly on Techno's bed, a blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders. The only source of light came from the gently swinging oil lantern held by Techno, its warm glow illuminating Tommy's emaciated frame.

His face was unwashed, dirt mingling with bruises and cuts that peppered his face and arms, peeking through rips and tears in his threadbare clothing. Limp blonde locks hung loosely over his eyes, hiding his expression, though the exhausted slump of his shoulders and head offered an obvious clue as to his mood. Tommy's hair had grown since Phil had last seen him, curling down his neck and around his ears-- he evidently hadn't cut it since his exile.

Questions piled up in Phil's mind the more he took in the scene, but only one was at the forefront of his thoughts, prompting him to break the weighty and awkward silence.

"Are you ok?"

Tommy tensed noticeably, hugging the blanket closer to himself and knotting his fingers in the thick fabric, declining to respond. The reaction startled Phil; Tommy had always been outspoken and extroverted. Why wasn't he talking?

"What-" Phil began, taking a tentative step towards the silent boy.

"Why are you here?" Techno interrupted, his tone harsh and unsympathetic. The callous words caused Tommy to flinch, hiding his face in the blanket.

Phil gritted his teeth, expelling a frustrated breath through his nose. Techno had never been good with people, but surely he could understand that something was seriously wrong with Tommy right now and have some compassion in his speech. Shooting a warning glance at Techno, Phil tried again.

"Tommy, what happened? Are you hurt?"

Again, there was no response. The knot tangled in Phil's chest tightened, spurred by the apprehensive quiet, the silence oddly malevolent in its nature-- a sort of calm before the storm, though Phil wasn't sure what the 'storm' might be just yet.

"Tommy?"

Tommy fiddled anxiously with Techno's blanket, worrying the soft fabric with his hands in a repetitive manner. It had been months since he had last spoken to his adoptive father and they hadn't exactly parted on good terms. Accidentally stumbling into Techno's house was bad enough. Phil being here only added to the problem. After all, what was he supposed to say? 'Hey Dad, sorry I haven't talked to you for nearly six months, also I can't see anything because Dream made me drink a potion that blinded me. How have you been?'

Maybe it was better to remain silent. They'd stop asking questions eventually, right?

Light footsteps approached him, a hand coming to rest hesitantly on his shoulder as a large and feathery object loosely encircled him. The movement was unexpected, and though Tommy wasn't threatened by the gesture he flinched, unable to have seen Phil approach.

"Please talk to me."

Judging by the direction of his voice Phil was crouched by the bed, hand on his shoulder in a manner Tommy assumed was meant to be fatherly, though they hadn't really been a family in a long time.

He imagined how Phil looked right now-- he was probably wearing that old green robe he liked so much, a darker cloak covering it, one wing folded halfway behind him while the other gently embraced Tommy, his platinum-blonde hair shadowing his face and--

It was with a sharp and sudden pang of guilt that he realized he couldn't remember exactly what Phil looked like. Six months wasn't that long; he should be able to recall the facial features of his adoptive father. Shame bubbled from his chest, hot and bitter, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.