When Tommy wakes, there's moonlight on the bed.
Immediately, he knows something isn't right. His memories of what happened before he fell to sleep are blurred behind a curtain, obscured in a way that he can only pick out tiny segments of conversation.
"-Niki"
"... temperature..."
"Forgot... bed..."
A flash of skin, hands on his body; at first comforting, then confronting.
He can guess what it was.
He had spoken a little too outwardly, too confidently about something he knew to be true, so suddenly he was sick. Running warm, goosebumps 'all over you, you should get some rest, Tommy' .
It's fucking horse shit. Whenever they tell him he's unwell, he never feels it. Stupid fuckers, he thinks he'd know if he was ill, especially after all these years. It's just their sad excuse to shut him up.
He doesn't even remember how he got into bed.
Tommy pushes himself up, noticing the plastic cup and the half-empty glass of water with dismal acceptance. Of course. As he sits, some of the fog inside his head lifts and the memories flood back in. The argument, the double, Phil's caring touch.
And, most stirring of all, the real reason he was awake that night.
He never even had a chance to figure things out for himself, and if things really are falling apart the way they seem to be, he can't just rock up and ask . Usually, he doesn't even feel the strange swirl of drugs in his system, but he does now. There was something different in that cup, something new. Something he's never felt before. It's making him woozy, and his functioning limbs feel like they weigh far more than they do.
It would be so easy to just lay back and float, even if he just dipped between dozes. He just wants to collapse back into the soft confines of his sheets, forget about the day previous and just sleep , listen to his body's internal screaming for once.
He can't.
His body's internal screaming is now telling him to stay alert, keep aware. The red flags are waving right in front of his face and just as he's beginning to let them past his peripheral vision, to the forefront of his mind, they're snatched away again. He needs to hold on, needs to grab one and not let go.
It's fucking crazy. He's trying to justify this feeling against his father, the person who single-handedly raised him, paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep him alive, not leaving his side once throughout the whole ordeal. It doesn't feel real anymore. How does he even feel ?
Safe, sure. Loved, yes. Afraid...
The thoughts of safety very nearly cancel out the sudden realization that he has almost no recollection of any amount of time spent in a hospital, despite how sick they claim he is. He could blame that on the drugs, too, but now he's giving them too much credence.
The conclusion he comes to before he plummets back into the dangerless void of sleep is that there is something violently wrong with his family, and he's just now opening his eyes.
*****
Phil is pacing the kitchen when Wilbur and Techno stumble through the front door, leaning heavily on each other.
"Where the fuck have you been ?" Phil asks, anger born of worry tensing in his stomach. "You said day drinking!"
"And day drinking turned into regular drinking," Techno sends back, his monotone lifting a little in inebriation. "What're you gonna do about it?"
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...
