They Rely On Hope. What Do I Rely On? - Tommyinnit Adoption AU

Chapter 79

TW: mentions of vomiting, nausea, symptoms of eating disorders, panic attack

Tommy woke up suddenly to the sound of someone knocking on his door and instantly he was up, looking around in an attempt to find something he could pretend he had been doing. If they came in and found out he had been sleeping and wasting time he didn't know what would happen. In his frantic search for something, anything, his eyes locked on the clock. 5:27pm. Shit he'd been asleep for far too long. What was he supposed to pretend he was doing?

The knock came again, slightly louder this time, and accompanied by Wilbur's voice asking if he was in here.

"Yes, I'm here," Tommy said, moving to the door and opening it, giving up on trying to find something to pretend he'd been doing. He didn't have anything to do that didn't involve going through Wilbur's stuff and that wasn't worth it. He just had to make sure Wilbur didn't ask.

"Oh, hi," Wilbur grinned, stepping back as Tommy opened the door, "Dad wanted to know if you were ok with Mac and Cheese for dinner?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Tommy agreed, hoping that was the right thing to say. He vaguely recognised recognised the name and was pretty sure he'd had it in the past and not liked it, but that was a fairly common occurrence.

"Cool, well dinner should be ready in about 15 minutes."

"Thanks," Tommy said pulling up a smile, doing his best not to show his stress about it all. How was he supposed to eat that much in one day? Tommy leaned on the doorway, watching Wilbur's retreating back as he walked down stairs. As he watched, Tommy did everything he could to suppress the panic rising. He didn't think he could eat that much food, but if he didn't he'd be considered ungrateful and pathetic and worthless and a waste of space and time. He'd have to eat it, even if it made him feel sick to the core. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had three meals in a day. One or less was what he was used to, three was far too much. It wasn't like he had a choice though. He never did.

After a few seconds of nauseating worry, Tommy sat down on his bed, trying to pull his mind away from it. Today was only his first day. He'd survive today, then he'd survive tomorrow, and the next day, and when it got too awful, he'd move on. That was the cycle he knew. That was the cycle he trusted.

When 15 minutes had passed, Tommy headed downstairs, meeting Wilbur on the stairs, who was walking up and holding a bowl in his hands. Whatever it was it smelt amazing.

"Oh, hey, I was just coming to get you," Wilbur chuckled, "Techno's not feeling well, he's going to eat in his room, I'm delivering it."

Tommy nodded hesitantly, and Wilbur gave him a smile before continuing up the stairs. Tommy didn't know if he felt safer that Techno wasn't here, or if it was the other way around. Something about Techno comforted him, but at the same time, so much terrified Tommy. He knew of Techno ever hit him, it would be one of the worst hits to come. However, if he never did, Tommy knew that Techno had the potentially to maybe be someone he might finally be able to trust. One day in a distant and unlikely future.

Tommy took a slow breath, steadying his thoughts as best he could, before continuing down the stairs to greet Phil. He watched Phil set out the three bowls, and tried to work out what he was supposed to do to help. He should've offered to cook dinner. He should offer to do the dishes. Yeah, he'd do that, he'd offer to clean up after dinner. That might put him in Phil's good graces, or at least it might save him from any anger Phil might have.

"Hi Tommy, come sit down," Phil offered, sitting down himself. Hesitantly Tommy nodded, selecting the chair across from Phil, terrified that it was Wilbur's spot and he didn't know, but Phil didn't seem to mind, so he stayed, silent and unmoving.

When Wilbur returned Phil and Wilbur began to eat, and Tommy hesitantly followed them. The food tasted delicious, far better then he remembered Mac and Cheese, although everything was different about it. He remembered the pasta as hard and cold, and he didn't remember it being cheesy at all, but now it was delicious and warm and soft and cheesy. Tommy wanted to eat all of it instantly, but with every bite the nausea grew, filling him to an aching point but the time he had eaten the last bite. His plans of offering to clean up were forgotten when he rushed upstairs the instant he was given the opportunity to. He stumbled into the bathroom, nausea overwhelming him and he collapsed onto the toilet finally throwing up the food of the day. He hadn't wanted to. He had wanted to eat it, had wanted to keep it inside him, but he couldn't help it. It had been too much. Too much.

"Tommy? Holy shit, Tommy are you ok?" Wilbur asked, and Tommy saw him standing in the doorway out of the corner of his eye. Fuck. He should've closed the door.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I-" Tommy started before being cut off by his own gagging as the nausea welled up and overflowed.

"It's ok, it's ok Tommy, I'm here and I'm going to look after you."

"I didn't mean to be sick," Tommy sobbed, shaking heavily. He hadn't meant this. He hadn't meant to end up on the bathroom tiles clumped over the toilet in a sickeningly familiar way. He hadn't meant to. He didn't want to. He couldn't!

"I know, Tommy, it's ok, you're just sick, it's ok," Wilbur was now kneeling next to Tommy, watching him, his hands up but not moving, as though unsure what to do next, "Can I touch you Tommy?"

Tommy nodded, preparing himself for the punch. He was weak. Here he was, sobbing and being a sick waste of space. He deserved this punch. However, what came was just a soft circling motion on his back as Wilbur rubbed it gently.

"You're ok. It's not your fault, you did nothing wrong, you're ok," Wilbur said, repeating the words again and again until Tommy's sobs finally stopped. At some point Wilbur had pulled Tommy into a gentle hug, and Tommy had relaxed into it. He didn't know when it had happened, but he had relaxed, and maybe, just maybe, he felt a little better.

Eventually Wilbur helped him up and Tommy cleaned his face, once more apologising heavily only to be brushed off by Wilbur insisting it wasn't his fault.

Wilbur walked Tommy to his room, holding him up. Without him, Tommy was pretty sure he would've fallen 10 times on the short route between the bathroom and Wilbur's room. His legs were wobbly and weak, and his head still spun. He gripped tightly onto Wilbur, hating the reliance he felt. Relief came in a wave when Wilbur let him down on the bed and finally let go, disappearing from the room. That relief was cut short when Wilbur returned with a bucket which he left by the side of Tommy's bed.

"If you need to vomit, try to do it into there," Wilbur said softly, "Is there anything else you need or should I let you rest?"

"I'm ok," Tommy mumbled and Wilbur nodded, giving Tommy's hand a small squeeze before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Now left alone in the room, Tommy's gaze fell upon the roof as it so often did. This time however he wasn't met by cracks or peeling plaster, but instead there were softly glowing stars. They were the green ones he had seen during the day, but now, shrouded in darkness, they glowed. It was beautiful. Tommy had never seen anything like it before, and he adored it.

He watched them until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep. If only his dreams were as peaceful as those moments awake staring at Wilbur's roof.

Tommy was transported to a room he knew far too well, with a figure folded over the toilet in a fashion he recognised far better then anything else. He felt his body move toward it even as he screamed to run, to escape. Don't do it. You'll never be able to undo it. He did not want to see his brother's dead face again. This time however, when he turned the boy's head to see the staring yet unseeing eyes, they did not belong to Tubbo, but himself. He lept back with a scream, finally registering the differences. That was not Tubbo. That was not Tubbo! That was him. Dying in the way Tubbo had so desperately pleaded he wouldn't.

Words: 1500

A/N: I just want to clarify, Tommy doesn't have issues with body image, that is not why he can't eat properly, more will be explained in time. It's technically an eating disorder, but not the sort you are probably thinking of