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Don’t get Tommy wrong; he knew his family was weird. Wilbur sometimes got a little too into the torture parts of scary movies, Techno got so hyperfixated on practicing martial arts he wouldn’t leave his room for days and would disappear randomly for weeks at a time, and Philza seemed to demand respect whenever he walked into a room- regardless of whether it was full of friends or strangers. But everyone had quirks. And they gave him a home- they cared about him, so the least he could do was cut them some slack. Plus, it wasn’t like Tommy was normal, his multiple office referrals and previous households could tell you that.


However, never in a million years did he think his family was weird enough to be a part of the mafia of all things. Let alone a well-known, elite-fucking-team specialized in murdering people. How’d he come by this knowledge? Well, it started on an average Wednesday morning; it ended with two dead bodies on the kitchen floor.


Tommy awoke to the hum of a pleasant song and calming guitar strokes, meaning Wilbur was in a good mood (he much preferred this than to having his blankets being ripped off and dragged out of bed). He groggily looked at the alarm clock, bolded numbers proclaiming it was 7:00am . It suddenly occurred to him he was in his older brother’s room. He thought back to the previous night, wondering why, and then Oh, it was because they’d watched a horror film last night and Tommy usually got nightmares from them, and he usually crawled into Wilbur’s bed after everyone else goes to sleep to avoid embarrassment. Of course everyone knew anyway, but they played along with him so far. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  


“Finally up, brat?” Wilbur paused his humming to ask.


“Oh shove it, Wilbur,” Tommy mumbled, still too tired to put any effort into a better response. He got up, dodging Wilbur’s attempt to pat his hair as he made his way down the hall to his room. Tommy was nearly sixteen and still went crying to his brothers when something scared him. Pathetic, he thought to himself. He ignored the part of his brain that sounded suspiciously like Philza saying it was the first time he’d felt safe enough to actually process all his past trauma and be comforted in a long time, so of course he was allowed to seek solace from his family. 


After quickly getting dressed, Tommy grabbed his phone and rushed downstairs to the dining table, skipping two steps. The sight of pancakes and fruit greeted him, and his mouth watered at the sight. He rushed to take a seat and grab his first portions. 


“Tommy,” Phil said sternly. The boy immediately placed the serving fork back down, looking up at his father.


“Yes…?” He asked with a lilt in his voice.


“What did I tell you yesterday about the stairs?” The man raised his eyebrow, causing Tommy to hunch his shoulders in guilt. How on earth did Phil always manage to make him feel so small? 


“To not run down them, sorry Dad,” he mumbled.

Tommy heard snickers as Wilbur and Techno took their seats at the table and he stuck his tongue out at them. Phil sighed before choosing his seat as well. The family traded some jokes as they began to eat- each congratulating Philza on how good everything tasted. It was mornings like these that Tommy cherished, and it made him appreciate being on Christmas break even more, as it meant he didn’t have to rush or worry about school. An added bonus was that Technoblade was home as well (it was no secret how much he admired his eldest brother). 


When Tommy first moved in with them as a foster kid, he’d tried his best to not get attached. To remember they’d send him away eventually, to not be fooled by the nice father and friendly banter. Of course he failed, but luckily adoption papers were soon signed. His, ah, abandonment issues showed themselves very soon after that when Techno was gone out of the blue one morning. He kept Wilbur and Phil in his sight at all times as best he could, blaming himself until they caught on and vaguely explained that it was just something Techno did. 


“Tommy, we’ll all be going to work today,” Phil tentatively informed him. Tommy’s insides froze over, but he tried to not show it outwardly. Another weird thing about his family was that they all worked at the same place. Usually at least one of them was home with him, though, except on 

days like this when they all had to go in and never tell him why.


“Do you have to?” he groaned in faux annoyance. He was more nervous than anything. It wasn’t the first time this happened, but each time he felt close to crying because What if they didn’t come back and were going to leave him please don’t leave him alone again-  


“Yes, I’m sorry son,” His father gave a sympathetic glance as Techno began cleaning off the table. Tommy simply nodded, moving to the living room. He pretended to be irritated by the hug Phil pulled him into before the three of them left, but the way he melted into it probably gave it away. 


Tommy began the habitual task of checking twitter, scrolling through and liking the posts he found funny. Growing bored, he went to go play minecraft on his computer upstairs. He might ring Tubbo to go play some hypixel a bit later. For now, he simply wanted to listen to Wilbur’s new songs while going on to his 1-month-old hardcore world, something Phil conviced him to make. A few hours passed like this when a loud crash caught his attention. He rushed to shut down his PC and stand. 


Everyone in the family had their own key. His heart began to beat impossible fast, panic and fear quickly rising in his chest. His mind was brought back to the film about a serial killer they’d watched last night, the gorey parts and horrifying screams he’d tried to block out by hiding his head in Techno’s chest (Wilbur especially loved those parts). For all Tommy liked to claim being a “Big Man”, he didn’t deal well with scary things. 


His hands shook as he hid in the closet. He dialed Phil. Then Techno. Then Wilbur.  None of them picked up. He would’ve called the police but he’d been explicitly told not to, which was really weird thinking about it in hindsight. Police had never helped him before anyway. He desperately re-dialed, tears springing to his eyes as no one picked up. He could hear heavy footsteps from downstairs, the intruders seemingly ransacking the house looking for something. He scrolled through his contact list, suddenly remembering the number Phil instructed him to call only when absolutely necessary.  He dialed. Three rings, and then Tommy heard Phil’s voice- it was yelling things and Tommy could make out what sounded like fireworks (or gunshots) from the other end. Phil seemed to have moved away from the main ruckus. The young boy sniffled, trying to hold back his sobs of fear, relief, and panic.


“Tommy- fuck- Tommy, are you alright mate?” His Dad sounded so worried.


“D-dad, someone’s in the house,” he whispered. The line was silent for a few seconds, and Tommy worried the line dropped.


“Shit, Tommy. Are you hidden somewhere? It’ll be okay, we’re on our way back right now.”


“I’m in my closet. I’m scared, Dad,” Tears are running down his face now. “Please come home,” he sniffled again.


“I-I know son, I’m trying as hard as I can to get there quickly. Did you call the police?” He questioned.


“No.” Tommy suddenly heard his door creak open. His breath hitched in terror.


“Tommy? Tommy, are you okay--” His closet was slammed open, and Tommy yelped as he was grabbed roughly by a man dressed in dark grey clothes. Tommy dropped his phone, pleas mixed with profanities spilling from his lips as the man silently dragged him downstairs. 


When downstairs, he saw another man, this one dressed casually. The new man was looking down at him spitefully.


“Ah, so Phil’s got a third brat.” The grey man pushed Tommy into a kneeling position, head down.


“Fuck you,” he spat, terrified yet angry. He regretted the words as the casual man quickly and efficiently sliced his fore-arm open. Tommy cried out in pain.


“Where’s Philza, runt?” He stated coldy.


“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Tommy shouted as the man came closer with the dagger in his hand.


“Bullshit! Where is he!?”


“I’m right here. Now get your hands the fuck off my son.”