The clock at his bedside reads 23:37
It hasn't fully settled in his mind that Phil forgot his night box. It's his fucking job to remember that shit, and in his haze of strangely possessive anger, he forgot.
Tommy feels ill, and not in the way that he should right now.
When would the withdrawal set in? Could a single missed night kill him?
The fear of the unknown is almost enough to override the initial panic of the day's discoveries.
For a few seconds, Tommy considers keeping tabs on what he knows by writing it all down. That way, he can piece things together more easily, can spend less time fearing the unknown and more time figuring out what the fuck is happening with his family.
Phil hadn't lied yesterday (void of the obvious). Techno had been at a job interview, but he still wouldn't say what sort.
Wilbur came out of that room looking traumatized as fuck. How askew his glasses had been knocked, how little he cared to speak afterwards. Phil had really frightened him.
So many questions, and so little time for answers. Tommy has begun to feel dizzy with how many times he's gone between rooms today. It seems every area of the house presents him with a new problem he has to solve. He's exhausted, but when at dinner Phil asked if he was alright, he told him he was fine.
His father lied. Why can't he do the same?
The fact that Tommy knows about the lie doesn't explain why Phil so carelessly threw him for a loop.
The plan should have been foolproof. Get downstairs, get to the computer, type ten letters, get his answers and get back to bed without waking his family.
Of course, nothing's ever simple.
The door creaked as Tommy pushed it open, the floor creaked when Tommy rolled over it, God, even his fucking chair creaked when he leant forward to lock his wheels.
That's not even to mention the volume of the lift moving down its bearings. Had it always whirred this loudy?
Nevertheless, Tommy manages to get downstairs with minimal movement throughout the rest of the house. Even though he's sure he's home free, he stops to listen for any sound - heavy footsteps, the rustle of bedsheets, the sinks turning on - before going back about his business. He set himself a task, so he's going to complete it.
The family computer is in Phil's study, and in all honesty, Tommy's a little nervous about going in there alone. There are so many things for him to mess up, so many things that could break or fall apart at the slightest brush of contact. Tommy's never been told exactly what his father does for work, but Phil has a lot of papers and at least three full filing cabinets in the office, so it must be important.
The computer itself in an ancient thing from 2004, still chugging along despite the fact that the hard drive once caught on fire after Phil tried to re-download Microsoft Word after the original application file corrupted. How the bloody thing is still alive is beyond Tommy, but it is and that's all that matters currently. He reaches across the keyboard to the clunky, rectangular box of mismatched computer parts and clicks the 'on' button.
He blinks against the harsh light of the monitor as it coughs into life, making its signature grinding noise as it heats up. The screen goes black again, plunging the room back into darkness for a second before the machine splutters and turns back on.
If Tommy'd remembered how much noise it made, he'd have at least waited till morning.
"BAM BA DA DUM, DA DUM," the computer screeches. The sound of Windows XP starting up nearly makes Tommy jump out of his skin.
YOU ARE READING
Run ~ SBI
FanfictionTommy's lived his whole life in a wheelchair with his father taking care of him. When things start to fall through the cracks and memories of a different life become apparent, what can Philza do to keep control? Is Wilbur going to keep up? Will Tech...
