Tommyinnit Oneshots

Gifted (Part 1)

"Are you listening?" A voice asked. The voice was said quietly, and the person speaking the voice looked sweet, but Tommy was agitated with her all the same. It wasn't the person he disliked, it was the position. She was his new social worker, taking up the mantle since his last one was several towns to the east from the station he was sitting in.

The honest answer would be kind of. Tommy heard all of what the woman said, but only comprehended half of the words spoken. His brain didn't want to put a definition to what the woman said. His brain didn't want to listen to her so it refused to work. Since Tommy didn't want to explain, he nodded reluctantly.

The woman seemed odd. She pursed her lips before settling down to get comfortable in her seat. "I know this is hard. A lot of things must have happened tonight. However, I really need you to focus. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get you into a home."

Tommy scowled. Home. What a stupid word. Tommy didn't hate whoever made the word, he hated whoever decided that word meant something special. The first guy who said it probably wanted a synonym for living space. Some hippie decided to give the word sentimental value. A home didn't exist. Not for Tommy, or the thousands of other people stuck in the foster system.

"Tommy?" The woman was wincing. He had no clue why. Was her mask of happiness falling or did she realize that acting good to Tommy wasn't getting her anywhere in life. The woman frowned now. "I want to help, Tommy. I'll stay here all night with you, okay? Everything is going to be fine."

Nothing would be fine. But she was acting civil. Tommy decided that he didn't want to piss her off. A few more hours of being around a caring adult could give him the mental capacity to deal with whoever came next. "I'm sorry for stealing the snacks. I'll work it off or whatever they want me to do."

The woman laughed, but she seemed upset at something. "The shop owner said that he's fine as long as you aren't stealing again. He forgives you. You were just hungry. While stealing isn't okay, an exception was made by the police since the shop owner isn't pressing charges." She smiled at that. "But, you are in custody right now as a runaway. Since your last foster home was deemed unfit, I was called to work with you."

Tommy wasn't sure what she meant. As if on queue, the woman explained. "I used to be a social worker, but I transferred into therapy when I moved to a town named L'Manberg. The police called me to handle your... unique case."

If that wasn't a word Tommy heard a million times. It was the nicest way to put his situation and mindset. He was a teenager, looked to be 14 but actually 16, who had ran away from several foster homes and orphanages. Some he went to were violent, neglectful, or unfit for children in some way. Not all were horrible, however, but it was actually worse when they weren't. When the people cared about him, it stung a whole lot worse when they returned him with half hearted excuses and pitying eyes. Tommy would rather get beaten half to death than experience another loving family that would reject him of their own violation.

The woman frowned deeper, "Tommy, I haven't dealt with a case quite like yours, but I know someone who has experience in this field. He's a lovely man with two sons that I'm sure will take you in."

Two sons? Wasn't that worse for him, then. That was two bullies that had the physical strength of males. Hopefully, neither were as conniving as their female counterparts. Tommy hated daughters, mainly because they were more emotional in their attacking. Boys usually just punched it out with basic insults. Girls gave smirks while building you up to tear you down brick by brick.

"He's sons are amazing! They're very welcoming and friendly. They're twins, too. The eldest is good at farm-work, fencing, and an avid reader. The younger twin is artistic and an aspiring musician," She explained quickly like she was defending the two strangers even though Tommy hadn't said a bad thing about them.