Chapter Text
Friday’s were meant to be fun. The best day of the week, meaning the next day was Saturday. Transitioning into the weekend. No work, no responsibilities, a day for one last hurrah before a morning without rushing, and a break from it all
That is what everyone loves about Fridays. And, to be fair, even TommyInnit, in the sense that he enjoyed it more than anything when life didn’t come to bite him in the ass.
Alright, sue him— It was summer for Christ’s sake. No classes, no court-mandated therapy, nothing meant to do besides lying in the cool air conditioning and sleeping all morning long. A nice, comfortable bed, a peaceful neighbor without the yelling of neighbors, and the bleating of little orphan children without a home. No broken down homes, no fists through walls.
But that was the price he paid when he finally found a good foster home, a great one, really, and that was coming from Tommyinnit himself.
Five whole long months were spent fostered in the care of Phil Watson, who, before him, fostered two twin brothers and adopted them years before Tommy arrived.
Tommy had never had a great experience in the foster system. There was always something wrong. Maybe beer bottles and cigarettes played a role, along with shouting that shook the walls and words that hit harder than fists. But Phil’s house? That was never the case. Not even close.
So really, what was Tommy to expect when he first came to the Watsons’ household? Certainly not warmth. But what he got was nothing but patience and kindness, which had never happened before.
Tommy suspects that is why he is so…what’s the word–? Fond of the little family he has been placed in. He truly didn’t predict himself to be so enamored with everything about it for the past five months; that wasn’t him, he has never been that way before.
So what was so special about this family? Phil was already a full mark in Tommy’s eyes. Caring, patient, understanding, and certainly any positive words were his go-to way of showing his dedication to Phil Watson, as they shine a brightness on the man’s aura. Truly, figuratively or not. And his foster brothers— while they annoyed the ever living shit out of him, Techno and Wilbur were accepting of him.
They weren’t the kind that took deep pleasure in pinning the blame on him every time something went wrong to get Tommy to leave. They actually seemed to care, in a sense of being annoying while doing it.
So, deep in sleep, Tommy dreamed happily over free days of less worrying over being back in the horrid foster homes, where he is now skipping in fields of daisies, maybe even on a beach somewhere, sipping Coca-Cola with his feet in the sand and without a care in the world. Hell, even a pinky up as he sips. Classic and proper, as he indeed was.
But of course, this stupid beeping sound ruins it every time. It always bled into his dreams… he remembered it from another night too!
As he was on the beach, in his swim trunks, with a Coca-Cola in hand and sunglasses pulled down, the beeping became more aggressive, louder, and definitely more obnoxious…
Where the hell was that coming from?!
“Tommy!” That was Wilbur, had to be– always loud in the morning. His eyes blinked, opening to the blurry vision of his pillow as the first thing he had to look at. “Turn your damn alarm off!”
No longer was he on the beach in dreamland, and the alarm he had forgotten to unset beeped loudly to prove it. With a grumble and a twist of his body, his comforter following him, he tried to find the bedside table with his eyes shut.
Fingers hitting the cool surface, as it finally braised the digital feeling, enough for him to lean over just enough to tap the off button– he presumed… and falling right out of the bed with a thud.
At least the beeping was gone. But his groaning was enough to ruin his day, “damn it…” Tommy huffed, rubbing at his back as he grumbled with sleepiness still in the air.
But it was okay. Everything was fine. Today, this Friday, was going to be a good day. No worries, no problems, peace and quiet.
That was until the beeping began again. “Tommy!” Wilbur yelled once more– and that was when Tommy’s head hit against the hardwood floor without a second thought.
The beeping wasn’t bound to stop; that was bound to be true. The ceiling never looked so peaceful as Tommy noticed the sunlight began to fully stream against the window pane, shining brightly through the sheer curtains Phil had put up three months ago when he noticed the room itself was apparently “too bright”.
The fabric didn’t do much good, to Phil’s great recommendation, now that he looked at it. Laid out on the hardwood flooring, the comforter sprawled to hell as it lazily wrapped around his body from the fall.
Again, Fridays were the best. They were supposed to be. Genuinely, Tommy wanted to believe that, but with the beeping overhead not sounding as if it was going to stop anytime soon, he slumped on his bedroom floor. Already, he had doubts about what this day meant for him.
And the opening of the door and the sight of his foster brother, Wilbur, didn’t help, “damn it, Tommy,” he seemed to grumble, stepping deeper into the room as he scanned around him— the bed cleared, and the beeping still in the air, “...Tommy?”
“Down here,” Tommy sighed, reaping of any last expectation to laze around any longer; he slowly, very reluctantly, sat up. It was almost against his will with how long it took him, and the raise of Wilbur’s singular eyebrow proved it, “What, big man?”
“Turn the damn alarm off,” Grumbled Wilbur, his hair still evident of sleep himself, as his yellow sweater was enough in itself to blind anyone awake, “and what are you doing on the floor? Get up–”
And with the turn of the heel, out of the room he was. No further complaint was made, except for the bloody damn screeching of the overdue clock. His head hit the floor, this time without a worry of the repercussions of pain afterwards.
It was barely even nine in the morning when the noise resounded, and he became fully awake, “damn you, Wilbur Soot. You will rein the day.” Tommy grumbled with reluctance. Pulling himself up, barely making it to his knees with blurry eyes, as the alarm was finally turned off.
Silence, to Tommy, had never felt so good in his life. And that alone was saying something.
He was up before he could fall back asleep on the hardwood floor. The bright outside from beyond his curtains was, to put it in words, summer.
Everything reaped of light and emitted the sort of drought that a certain season brought. Tommy knew it was going to be humid outside; he even dreaded the thought.
Getting ready felt like a chore until it was all done. Atoned in his white and red shirt, khaki shorts, combed hair, and teeth brushed– Tommy ventured to the outside world beyond his room. The kitchen.
Just done the flight of exactly fourteen steps, past the living room of a messy coffee table and lopsided coach, he arrived at the tile, polished floor, and where the rest of his “family” resided.
The word Family was pushing it, but Tommy wasn’t going to break their pure hearts, even in his mind.
Phil was at the stove, a pan in his right hand, while his left held a spatula, presumably making the scrambled eggs he made every morning.
It wasn’t until Techno’s grunt of acknowledgement of Tommy arriving that Phil turned, and his smile was the first thing Tommy ever noticed, “Good Morning, mate,” he greeted, the same way he always does. “Finally awake?”
“If he hadn’t turned off that alarm any faster,” Techno spoke, pausing to take a quick sip of coffee with a familiar-looking pig design upon the mug he fancies, “he might not have woken up for a while.”
Playful, Technoblade was being playful. Which Tommy can admit: while he was at first scared of the man when he first arrived under Phil’s care, he couldn’t help but admit his foster brother wasn’t so much scary as a nerd.
A mocked gasp that sounded familiarly like Wilbur wasn’t too far off, “Techno,” he scolded, “you can’t kill our little foster brother–” and with the quick motion before Tommy could process, Wilbur’s hand grabbed him by his face, shaking him as he hummed along, “he’s too precious!”
“Get off, dickhead!” Tommy grumbled, though it lacked the maliciousness it needed. Phil softly laughed from his perch on the stove, and Tommy could see the soft smile Techno tried to hide behind the coffee cup, “You’re ruining my morning as is—”
It was like Tommy said before. It was Friday. The best day of the week. And while his foster family loved to take the piss rather than letting him rest, he still found that today was the day he had been needing all along. While he wasn’t jumping in a dandelion field, or even his dream of sitting on the beach somewhere, Coca-Cola in hand and at peace, he still found even the morning a good enough—
“Tommy!” That was quickly short-lived by the slamming of the back door, and inside, trampling Tubbo without taking his shoes off. Tommy could see Phil softly flinch back from the sudden rupture– Hell, even Techno looked disturbed from his morning coffee.
Coming in with a head full of brown hair, flushed cheeks, and a mess of barely even making himself proper was Tubbo Smith. Very ahead of his time in his normal barely buttoned right shirt. He looked like he had run a marathon before making way to the Watsons’.
It wasn’t until Tubbo was clutching his knees to catch his breath that Phil spoke, “Hello to you too, Tubbo.” he paused as he reached to turn the stove off, moving the pan to the other side to let them cool. “Are you alright, mate?”
“Good Morning, Phil!” Tubbo exclaimed, as if bouncing back to himself before the whole rushing into the house part, “and Techno– Wilbur! Uh, Tommy–” the awkward smile that Tommy knew well appeared upon his friend’s lips, and it was the reality that something truly bad must have happened, “how are you, boss man?”