Stretched out and ready to start his day, Tommy rolls onto the landing and to the stairlift. It's one of the fancy ones that fold up into the wall until the user needs it. Even then, the user doesn't even have to get out of their chair because it's a platform rather than a seat. You just click it out, click yourself in and click the big green button and whoosh, you're downstairs. Pretty nifty, if Tommy says so himself.
Within no time, Tommy is on the first floor and rocking up to the kitchen table. His siblings are already there, plates piled high with eggs and bacon.
Techno grunts a morning greeting. Wilbur only averts his eyes (as per usual).
"Hello, Tommy," Phil says cheerily, far too cheerily for seven-thirty in the morning.
"G'mornin'," Tommy sends back, it being decidedly too early to return Phil's enthusiasm.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." It's a lie, a blatant lie. Tommy couldn't get comfortable at all that night, therefore the measly few hours of sleep he managed to scrounge were not of the highest quality. If he tells his father this, it'll mean he has to go back to bed and he really wants to do shit today.
"That's good," Phil says warmly, bringing a plate of Tommy's own to the table. It's significantly less than that of his brother's, he notices. He says nothing. He's learned over the years that any mention of inequality between his sons makes Phil... touchy.
It's best not to press the matter, even if it means he leaves the table with a growling stomach, no fuller than when he arrived.
The family spend the rest of breakfast in silence, but Tommy isn't stupid. He knows that before he showed up, the kitchen was full of warmth, laughter, and meaningless chatter. He knows that when he's around the corner or in the next room, Wilbur and Techno get on like a house on fire.
When he tries to join them, the air between his brothers grows cold and stale. Although maybe that's just because it's usually where Tommy parks his chair, in the middle of his siblings for some semblance of comfort long since passed.
Genuinely, he can't remember when they last did something together. It's become such a rare occurrence that his brothers hang out with him willingly, Tommy wonders if they remember what it feels like.
He sure doesn't.
He's decided he doesn't care.
He swallows the last of his food and goes to the fridge for a bottle of water. By habit, Phil reaches into the top cabinet and pulls out the 'days of the week' morning box and hands it to Tommy. He pops open the Wednesday compartment and tips the pills into his palm.
He downs them.
"You should read for a bit today," his father muses, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I haven't seen you with a book in ages."
Tommy pretends not to hear Wilbur's murmured comment about how lazy he is.
"That's 'cause reading the same thing over and over is boring," Tommy whines. "If I have to read Harry Potter one more time, I will fuckin' lose it."
Phil chuckles. "Tell you what, I have some errands to run today. On the way home, I'll stop by the library and see if I can find you something a bit more engaging."
Tommy thanks him, satisfied, and pretends not to feel Wilbur's eyes boring into his back as he goes to unclick the lift.
*****
"You're not really gonna do this all day, are you?" asks a familiar (yet uncommon) voice from where it stands in the doorway of the living room.
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...
