#home to you

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you -chapter 42

-Endings-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: In the aftermath of Polly's visit, Alfie and Tommy make a decision.

Warnings: mental instability, hallucinations, suicidal ideation, past attempted suicide

Wordcount: 5,7 K

”Let him go, Tommy, let him cool off!”

Arthur grabs him from behind, tries to hold him back, keep him from going after Alfie. Tommy fights him, squirms and tugs at the arms. But Arthur is stronger, always been, even before Tommy became all skin and bone he’d struggle; now it’s like trying to push past a solid wall, nothing he does helps, and a desperate whine tear from his throat. 

“Tommy, Tommy, shh, calm down, he just needs to walk it off. Give him some space.” Arthur holds him by shoulders, wraps one of his long arms across his chest in a vice like grip and Tommy doesn’t like being touched like this, Arthur’s hurting him and he won’t- won’t listen

“Alfie!” he calls, but Alfie doesn’t come, because Alfie needs him this time, and he has to make Arthur understand. 

“I have to- let me go,” he begs and wriggles to get out of Arthur’s grip. 

“He’s not right in the head, at least not right now. He might- he could hurt you,” Arthur pleads, holding him tighter until he can barely breathe. Tommy hunches over and bites his arm. With a shout, Arthur releases him and he bolts, runs through the hallway and the corridor leading to the kitchen, but there, Arthur catches up and grabs his wrist. 

“No!” Tommy screams, a shrill and desperate cry that makes Arthur release his arm as if he’s burnt himself, and the sound shocks him into stillness for a moment. He stumbles backwards, catches himself against the table, Arthur blocks the way forward, stands there still with his hands outstretched. 

“Tommy, please listen to me-“

“No, no, Alfie- Alfie needs me,” he says, and it still feels strange, as if it’s not his own voice, not him talking. He looks over Arthur’s shoulder, towards the living room and the open glass doors. 

“Then I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you run off into the dark alone. Not again. Not to find someone who might potentially lose it.”

“Alfie would never hurt me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Tommy says and stares straight into Arthur’s eyes. Arthur grits his teeth. Stares back. But then he sighs

“Fine. If you say so.” He lowers his hands, lets them hang along his sides, and Tommy takes the chance and runs. This time, Arthur doesn’t try to grab him. He calls Alfie’s name again, feels tears burning in his eyes, without Alfie here it feels like the ground has dropped beneath his feet. Through the living room and the open doors, he runs into the darkness, doesn’t even realize until he’s halfway across the lawn that it scares him, makes it feel as though his feet are sinking into the shadows, but it doesn’t matter, he needs to find Alfie.

When he reaches the outer edges of the garden and the low stone wall he first sees a foot, an outstretched leg and then all of him. Alfie is sat leaned against the wall, chest heaving in slow, breaths, jaw clenched. His gaze flickers briefly to Tommy. 

“Just need- need a second, love,” he says, voice thick, closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands into them, gritting his teeth. For a second, Tommy hesitates. He does what Alfie tells him, always does, Alfie knows best, and perhaps he should leave him alone. But then Alfie’s shoulders quake with a strangled sob, and it’s all it takes for him to make up his mind. He sits down by his side and wraps his arm around his shoulders. Alfie leans into the touch, hugs him tightly and pulls him closer and up onto his lap, holds him so tightly that it squeezes the air from his lungs. But that doesn’t matter, because for once he knows he’s doing the right thing, that he’s helping. Alfie buries his face in the crook of his neck as he cries. 

It's frightening, hearing Alfie cry, he’s never cried before. And he holds onto Tommy like a man drowning. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between sobs, and what is he sorry for? Aunt Polly, maybe, but Tommy could never hold that against him. Alfie wanted to protect him. And when it truly mattered, he listened. Tommy runs his fingers through Alfie’s hair, relaxing into the embrace. Doesn’t have the right words to say, but it feels like it’s enough to just be there. Let Alfie hold onto him.  

Eventually the sobs ebb out. By then, his shirt front is wet with tears. Alfie pulls out of the hug slightly, and Tommy hesitates for a moment before wiping the tears away with his thumb and leaning into kiss his temple. Alfie rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes, breathing slowly now. But he still holds tightly onto Tommy, so he stays on his lap and lays his head on his shoulder. The night air is cold, but Alfie is warm, and the sky is full of stars. He hadn’t noticed before. 

Alfie wipes a hand over his face and looks towards the sky. 

“Remember- no, you probably don’t, but back home, we sat an entire night out on the steps because you couldn’t sleep. Liked to sit out there, didn’t you, watching the stars.” 

“I remember,” he whispers, teeth clattering together. Alfie looks at him, and smiles slightly. 

“Become right the chatterbox, haven’t you? Been quiet for so long now that I reckon you’ve got plenty of things to say.” 

At that, Tommy huffs, because at least with Alfie he understands when it’s one of his jokes. Alfie smiles wider. Alfie’s smile is like the sun. He rubs Tommy’s back. 

“Fuck, you’re freezing. Barefoot and all. And in just your nightshirt. Who gave you permission to walk around like that, hm?” 

Tommy looks pointedly at Alfie’s feet, which also are bare.

“Yeah, but I’ve got a layer of protection, see,” Alfie says and pats his belly. “Go on, let’s get inside. I’d carry you, but I think both my fucking legs are asleep by now.” 

Tommy gets up and offers a hand to Alfie, who takes it, but uses the wall for support to get up. He pulls Tommy against his side and they walk back towards the house together.  

“Fuck, something’s happened. I just know it. If he’s not back in one fucking minute, I’m going out looking.” 

Arthur is pacing the kitchen, where apparently half the household has gathered: a bleary-eyed Finn is sat by the table, Esther is making tea, looking as alert as if she’d been awake for hours and Lizzie is stood before Arthur with her arms crossed and a tense expression on her face. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Alfie says and Tommy huddles closer to him as several pairs of eyes focus on him. “Got him right here, safe and sound.” 

Arthur’s entire body seems to sag with relief. 

“You okay, Tommy?” Lizzie asks. “I heard what she- what happened. With Polly.” 

“Can’t fucking believe she’d do that,” Finn mutters. 

“Well, she’s clearly lost it,” Arthur says. “Raving about bloody voices and-“ he cuts himself off. Clears his throat. “Ada’s getting her home, at least.” 

“Do you want a cup of tea, mr. Solomons?” Esther asks and pours a cup for Finn at the table. “What about you, Tommy dear? Something to warm you up a little.” 

Feeling utterly lost for a moment, Tommy looks to Alfie for answers. Alfie gives him a look back, raises his brow in question. He squeezes his arm twice. 

“No, thank you, Esther, but I think we’ll just head off to bed,” Alfie says. “Been a bit of an ordeal, this.” 

“I heard that you’re talking again, Tommy?” Lizzie asks, and he nods. She smiles crookedly. “But not right now?” 

“He’s just tired,” Alfie says and rubs his back. “We’ll talk more in the morning, alright?” 

They get a chorus of goodnights in response, and Alfie takes him upstairs, to the bathroom where he helps him wash the grass off his feet with hot water. Helps get them warmer, too. Tommy sits on the stool next to the tub afterwards, eyes only half open as Alfie steps into the tub and does the same to his own feet. He rubs his eyes. They sting with weariness now when all the adrenaline is gone. Alfie smiles. 

“Let’s get to bed, hm, love?” 

Guided by Alfie, Tommy drops his damp shirt and underwear somewhere along the way to the bed and virtually collapses in a heap onto the mattress. Soon he’s tucked underneath all the blankets with Alfie wrapped around him in a protective hug, an arm around his back and a hand buried in his hair. 

“So, sweetheart, I’ve been thinking,” Alfie says, voice soft. “And, this is a mere suggestion, but I think it’s about time we went back home. Because between this fucking ordeal, your brother walking in on us this morning, and the all around chaos- Well, let’s just say, as much as I’ve come to fucking tolerate your family, I think I’ve just about had it with them for now. And I do think you’d benefit from some peace and quiet. So, what do you say?” 

Home. 

The word makes his heart flutter with something strange and foreign that he barely recognizes at first, but it elicits a strange sound between a laugh and a sob and he nods into Alfie’s chest. 

“Yeah? You want to go home?” 

“Yes,” he whispers and Alfie squeezes him tightly. Tommy lifts his head to look up at him through the darkness. “Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” Alfie says. Takes his chin in his hand and runs his thumb along his jaw. “Ishmael’s got the car in Birmingham. And knowing Esther, I think she’d like to have a few hours to get the house in order. But yeah, tomorrow. Though considering how many times I’ve failed to keep that fucking promise, I’m not saying anything until we’re in the bloody car.” 

Tommy lays his head back on Alfie’s chest and melts into his embrace as he begins stroking his back. 

“It’s not true, what she said, your aunt,” Alfie whispers suddenly. “Alright? I need you to know that.” 

“I’m tired,” Tommy says and closes his eyes to indicate he doesn’t want to broach that subject. If it were up to him, he’d wake up tomorrow and find that it’s all faded from his memory like a bad dream, the way Polly looked at him. Said things that so well mimicked what the voices always tell him, to the point she might as well have been one of them. He just wants to forget all of it. But it’s a naïve thought, of course. It’s carved into the deepest crevices of his mind. 

Alfie kisses the top of his head. 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. Want me to read you something?” he asks, yawning, and Tommy tries to manage a reply. But before he’s figured out how to make one, he’s fallen into an exhausted sleep. And for once, it’s one without dreams. 

…

When he wakes up, he’s dazed and utterly lost, feeling disconnected from his own body. Thankfully it’s Alfie’s footsteps coming across the floor that wakes him, so he’s not alone. Tommy blinks and sees that his mouth is moving, but it takes a while before he can make sense of the words. Talking about the travel arrangements, Alfie is. At least he thinks so. Esther’s already left; insisted she wanted at least a few hours with the house to herself, to get things in order, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and so had taken the first available train. He’s been asleep for a long time. Past lunchtime. Alfie tells him all of this as he sets down a tray with his breakfast on the nightstand and Tommy’s a bit too dazed to quite make sense of all the logistics, but clings to the important bit: Ishmael will have the car ready no later than four this afternoon and then they can go home. 

After helping him into a clean flannel shirt, Alfie sits with him on the bed as Tommy does his best to eat his porridge, Alfie’s arm around his shoulders, his hand coming up ever so often to pet his hair. Once he’s eaten all he can manage, Tommy lays his head on his shoulder and closes his eyes. It’s so heavy, his head. As if the memories of last night have added physical weight to it. Each of Polly’s words, a ton each…

He's on the verge of nodding off again when there’s a knock on the door, and he opens his eyes to find his older brother stood on the threshold. 

“Heard you were going home today,” Arthur says. “So I figured- I just- could I have a word with you, Tom? Alone.” He gives Alfie a look. Alfie glares back, but when Tommy gently squeezes his arm, he presses a quick kiss onto his forehead and climbs off the bed, taking the tray along with him on his way to the door. Arthur steps aside to let him pass, but the two exchange yet another frosty look before Alfie closes the door behind him. 

Shoulders tense, Arthur slowly approaches the bed, hesitates for a second, and then sits down on the edge, somewhere around the middle. Close, but not too close. Tommy finds himself with his knees drawn to his chest, back against the headboard. He waits for Arthur to say something. The silence in the room grows thicker with every second until Arthur finally sighs. 

“I should’ve gone after you,” he says and stares at the floor. “That night. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for not doing that.” 

Tommy digs his nails into his palms. Icy dread fills him as the memories begin flicking before his eyes, even as he tries to push them to the back of his mind where they belong. 

“And I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I want you to know that I’m sorry, for all of it,” Arthur goes on. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come and see you, when you were just- afterwards. At Arrow House. Don’t have any explanations, other than I was just a fucking coward. Couldn’t face that what I did- that I didn’t see, didn’t want to fucking see. That I didn’t do something. And I’m sorry that I’ve done such a shitty job at taking care of you since you came back. Can’t seem to fucking get it right. And sorry that I’ve never been there when you needed me That I’ve been such a shitty big brother.”

Arthur stops talking. He’s kept his gaze at the floor until then, hands alternating between gripping his knees and laying clenched on his lap, but now he glances up at Tommy. Who doesn’t know what to say. He should say that it’s okay, he doesn’t deserve Arthur’s apologies, anyone’s apologies. 

But it’s true. Arthur let him go, left him alone when he needed him, didn’t come to find him- No one came

seconds that melted into endless minutes hours and days all at once as he lay there in the mud, bits of his brain leaking out into the soil, blood seeping in hot trails down his face until it too was swallowed by the earth, the pain pulling him under for only brief, blissful moments of nothing. 

All night, he knows now, all night he lay there and no one came

“Why should they have gone looking for you?” Grace whispers. “You know they were happy to be rid of you.” 

“It’s okay,” he says finally and Arthur slams his palm against the mattress with a deft sound that causes him to flinch. 

“It’s not, Tommy!” he says. “Fucks sake, you’ve got to have some self-respect left!” 

Arthur’s raised voice makes his heart race. Brings up memories of cowering against the wall as Arthur shouts at him, Tommy, snap out of it, of Arthur hitting him. Is always too rough whenever he grabs him, as if there’s hidden anger behind every touch and Tommy pushes himself against the headboard of the bed as if he could put himself out of reach as Arthur’s voice rises to a shout, “You could’ve died! Because I let you go in the first place, and because it’s a wonder you survived laying in that cold fucking field all night with a bloody hole in your head. Don’t ever fucking say that any of that was okay!”  

“Don’t shout at me,” Tommy pleads, barely managing more than a whisper, but Arthur snaps his mouth shut around his last word. 

“Sorry, fuck, you see?” he says, then. “I’m- I don’t mean to do that. Just keeps happening and I don’t know how to… bearound you.” He reaches for him and Tommy can’t stop himself from flinching, despite the desperate glow in Arthur’s eyes as he drops the hand to his lap. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, again. “And I get that you might not know- You don’t have to say anything about it, is what I mean. But none of it was fucking okay. And I should’ve said I was sorry a long time ago.”  

Arthur clears his throat and gets off the bed. 

“Well, I’ll let you… Yeah. I just needed you to know that,” he says without looking at him, and quickly makes his way to the door, closing it softly as he leaves the room. 

…

Tommy needs to say goodbye to Ruby and Charlie before they leave. He owes them as much, he knows, no one needs to tell him, but when Lizzie brings the matter to him, as he sits with Alfie in the kitchen waiting for the hours to pass and their car to arrive, the feeling is nothing short of sheer panic. 

“I’ve already talked to them, several times, they won’t ask too many questions,” Lizzie promises him, evidently seeing right through him. “They just want to say a quick goodbye. Finn promised to take them to the stables afterwards, so they’re already preoccupied by that idea.” 

Tommy nods, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this without completely falling apart. Alfie rubs his back. 

“You’re not letting them down, treacle,” he says as Lizzie disappears to fetch the kids. “It’s for the best, alright? We’ve been over this. For now, you’ve got to focus on just fucking recovering from all this.” 

Grace cocks her head ever so slightly, stood by the kitchen counter. “You know you’d only hurt them by staying. You’ve got nothing to offer anyone. You can’t take care of them. You can’t even take care of yourself.” 

“Stop,” Tommy whispers, it just slips out, even though he’s not supposed to talk to them. Alfie furrows his brow but as he opens his mouth, Charlie trots into the kitchen with Cyril next to him and Ruby in tow, hanging onto Cyril by one of the many folds around his neck. Lizzie stays in the doorway, supervising with her arms crossed over her chest, leaned against the doorframe. 

“Uncle Finn is taking us to the stables!” Charlie announces happily as he comes over to where Tommy’s sitting, virtually bouncing up and down before the chair. 

“That’s good,” Tommy manages.

“Yes, because there’s always lots to do in the stables, so it’s good that we can help,” Charlie says and Tommy nods in agreement. Both kids look expectantly at him but he doesn’t know what to say. How to say it. His insides are already in knots and now his throat closes up as it so often does when he can’t find the right words. Any words at all. He doesn’t even have to look to Alfie for help before he speaks up. 

“Your mum’s told you that your dad’s going away to rest, hasn’t she?” he says, and Charlie nods slowly, furrowing his brow. Ruby mirrors her brother’s expression. Tommy carefully slides off the chair onto his knees to get on Charlie’s eyelevel, and pets Cyril’s big head. The dog leans into the touch. 

“Mum says dad’s going to live with you,” Ruby says and squints up at Alfie. 

“Yeah, well, he needs someone to look after him, you see. Sometimes people need a bit of help if they’re going to get better, right, when they’re not doing well.” 

Charlie nods slowly, biting the nail on his right thumb.  

“Do you live in a pirate ship?” Ruby asks. 

Alfie chuckles. “Now that’d be something, wouldn’t it? No, just a regular old house. But it’s by the sea.” 

“Mummy says you have to go, or you could get really, really sick again and just lie in bed. Like before,” Charlie says and looks at Tommy with big eyes, still with the tip of his thumb in his mouth. “Do you promise you’ll get better, if you go?” 

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. Clenches his hands into fists until his nails cut into his skin. Keep it fucking together. Just another minute. He can’t fall apart like this, doesn’t want to scare them. And he tries to drown out the voices telling him he’s already done enough damage. 

“I promise,” he says, and hopes his voice sounds steadier than it feels, he can’t tell, but Charlie’s brow smooths out so it couldn’t have been that bad. Alfie hunches over on his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he looks at Charlie. 

“And I tell you what, seeing as it’s not a pirate ship, there’s a phone in the house. And you can call, whenever you want.” Charlie’s entire face lights up. 

“Can we visit too?” he asks, and Tommy’s just about to say yes when Lizzie beats him to it. 

“When daddy’s feeling better,” she says. There’s a slight crease between her eyebrows that Tommy doesn’t understand, but he nods in agreement when Charlie looks to him for confirmation. 

“And you’ll come see our new house?” he asks, and Tommy nods again. Attempts to smile but isn’t sure if he succeeds. 

“Of course,” he says.  

Ruby’s brow is still furrowed. She releases Cyril’s fur and tugs at Alfie’s pant leg. 

“Will you make sure the bad people don’t hurt daddy ever again?” 

“I will,” Alfie answers solemnly, giving Ruby his full attention. She puts on an even more serious look, that Alfie mimics. 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Satisfied, Ruby nods and goes back to holding onto Cyril who patiently stays in place, panting ever so slightly. Charlie is looking thoughtfully at Tommy and he forces himself to meet his gaze, where in that moment, something old and almost ancient seems to glint under the surface. Tommy desperately wishes he could wipe that look away. Wishes he could’ve done a single thing right where his kids are concerned. Given Charlie and Ruby all those things he never had, growing up. It’s all he’s ever wanted. Instead, he’s only tried and failed to do right by them. At least now, he won’t be able to do more damage. Perhaps that’s the best thing he can offer. 

“Think you’re ready to go to the stables now?” Lizzie asks from the doorway. “Bet Snowball is really looking forward to seeing you.” 

Ruby squeals with joy as if she’d completely forgotten and this was a great surprise. She throws her arms around Tommy in a tight hug, chirps a quick ‘bye daddy’ and runs off towards the hallway and the front door.

Charlie hugs him next, for a long time.

“Are you sure there’s a phone?” he asks into Tommy’s chest. Tommy rubs his back. 

“I’m absolutely sure,” he says and smiles when Charlie pulls away to look at him. And thinks he manages this time, because Charlie also smiles, and whatever was in his eyes has gone again. Tommy ruffles his hair. “Go say hi to the horses from me.” 

After another hug, and a wave in Alfie’s direction, Charlie sets off with Cyril in tow, and Tommy barely has time to get up on unsteady feet before Finn comes into the kitchen and pulls him into a tight hug without a word. 

Tommy’s still amazed at how tall he’s gotten, surprised each time his nose ends up somewhere around his chest.  

“Keep in touch, will you?” Finn says, voice thick. “Don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to just… let me know you’re okay. Have Alfie call.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and he still has to remind himself to continue talking, if he stops it’ll be hard to start again. He’ll forget how to. Finn squeezes him one last time and pulls out of the hug. Alfie comes up to him and holds out a hand. 

“Take care of yourself, alright,” he says as they shake hands. “Right? Got to even out the ratio of Shelbys in full control of their faculties. Ada and Lizzie are gonna need you to help keep that brother of yours in line.” 

Finn nods curtly. It’s strange, seeing him stone faced and serious. All grown up. “Look after my brother,” he says, and it’s Alfie’s turn to nod. Thankfully without any of his usual quips. 

“Uncle Finn!” Ruby’s voice comes from the hallway. “Charlie won’t let me sit in the front seat but it’s my turn, tell him!” 

“Better go keep the peace,” Finn says and smiles, the ice melting from his eyes as he clears his throat. “See you for dinner, Liz?”

Lizzie nods, and Finn leaves. Tommy feels Alfie’s hand on his arm and he allows himself to be led to a chair by the table where he sinks down, head spinning. 

When he looks down at his trembling hands, he finds them full of bloody crescent moons from his nails. 

…

He spends the rest of the day sat by the kitchen window waiting, eyes on the driveway. Alfie lets him. Just coaxes him into eating a little something and drinking a few cups of tea. At half past three, two cars finally pull up on the driveway. He doesn’t recognize which one is Alfie’s, but he recognizes Ishmael, who climbs out of the driver’s seat on the Mercedes. When Alfie goes to meet him, Tommy follows close behind, holding onto the back of his sleeve. They meet Ishmael in the hallway and him and Alfie exchange a few phrases in Hebrew. Ishmael hands over a set of keys to Alfie.  

“You haven’t changed your mind, Sir?” he asks. “About driving down by yourself?”  

“No, no, honestly getting to sit in peace and fucking quiet and drive for a few hours sounds like a dream right about now. Just get the luggage sorted,” Alfie says and nods towards the single suitcase on the floor.  

Lizzie appears in the hallway just as Ishmael’s climbed into the second car and the driver’s turned it around to disappear down the road.  

“I know Ada would like to see you before you go,” she says. “She said she’d be home in the afternoon. Think you could give her another hour?” 

Tommy finds himself looking to Alfie, who sighs and puts his coat back on the hanger. 

“Fine, fine, what’s another hour, hm?” he says. “We’ll put on another bloody kettle.” 

Half an hour later, Ada’s car comes driving down the gravel road towards the house, and Alfie herds Tommy out the front door the moment it stops on the driveway, hanging his coat over his shoulders as they go, despite the warm summer air. Appearing silently behind them, Lizzie follows them out onto the driveway. 

“You’re leaving?” Ada asks as she closes the car door and comes to meet them. 

“Yeah. Think it’s about time,” Alfie says. “Just figured we’d stay and say goodbye first.” 

“I’m glad you did,” she says, and adds, “I had to make sure Polly got home okay. We’ve left enough family members to fend for themselves lately. I’m not making that mistake again.” 

Alfie’s face darkens. Tommy steps closer to him, until their arms touch. For his own sake just as much as Alfie’s. 

“She’s grieving Michael,” Ada says. And he can tell she’s trying to catch his gaze but he can’t bear to look up from the gravel “It’s not- she’s not thinking straight. She didn’t mean any of that.” 

“Oh, sounded like she fucking meant it alright,” Alfie says. “And there are no, fucking no excuses for speaking to Tommy that way. Especially after all the damage her fucking son caused, right, which she in no way tried to stop, might I remind you. Don’t stand there defending her.”

“I’m not-“ 

“Well it sure as fuck seems like it.” Tommy hugs Alfie’s arm and he snaps his mouth shut around the words. He sighs. “Fine, fine, let’s just get the goodbyes over with. Before something else happens that delays this whole thing.” 

Closing the distance between them, Ada comes to give Tommy a hug, hesitantly as if she thinks he might bolt. But when he doesn’t pull away she holds him tighter. Tommy only then manages to return the hug. 

“Take care of yourself, Tom,” Ada whispers. Squeezes him one more time before breaking the hug and taking a step back, allowing Lizzie to take her place. 

Lizzie isn’t as hesitant. There’s a new ease to her movements as she embraces him, enveloping him in a cloud of her perfume. And she smiles at him. “Me and Charlie will give you a ring Saturday,” she says “And if you’re not up for talking I bet Alfie can do most of that.” 

“Of course. Happens to be one of my areas of expertise, that,” Alfie says. Him and Lizzie shake hands. 

“Well, I’d like to thank you for your hospitality and for putting up with us for so long,” he says and takes Ada’s hand. “Goes for both of you, of course.” 

“We’ll come and visit. When, if, you’re feeling up for it, Tommy,” Ada says. “And maybe one at a time. I’ve got it on good authority we can be a bit much.” 

Alfie steps back to wrap his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. He’s grateful to have the secure weight back there. 

“Speaking of being a bit much,” Alfie says and looks around. “Where’s big brother, then? Thought he’d want to show his face too.” 

They all look to Lizzie for answers, but she simply shrugs. Alfie grunts. “Right, but he’s made his choice, then. Let’s get going before we’re stuck here for another week.” 

Tommy allows Alfie to lead him to the passenger seat of the car and tries to not let it bother him that Arthur’s not here. It’s fine. Arthur struggles with goodbyes. It’s stupid to expect anything from him… 

Alfie opens the door for him and he climbs into the front seat. 

“Got a blanket here, love, if you get cold,” Alfie says and reaches over him to the back seat, putting the blanket on his lap. Runs his hand over his cheek in passing, before going around the car to the driver’s seat. Though he only has time to climb in and start adjusting the rearview mirror before the front door opens and Arthur appears between Lizzie and Ada on the steps.  

“Hold up!” Arthur calls. Alfie sighs audibly. Glances at him, and melts when Tommy gives him a pleading look. 

“Fine, go say goodbye to your brother.” 

Tommy climbs back out as Arthur strides across the gravel towards the car, only to stop a few paces away from him. Whatever he’d planned to say, he seems to have forgotten. And Tommy doesn’t know what to say either. They end up in a long stretch of silence. 

“Have a safe trip,” Arthur says, finally.

“Okay,” Tommy says. And feels stupid. 

Then they’re back to standing quietly across from each other. Arthur rubs the back of his neck. Allows his arms to hang by his sides. And after a deep breath, Tommy takes the few steps that separate them, wraps his arms around his older brother’s chest and hugs him. Arthur lets out a surprised noise. Freezes up briefly, before returning the hug, tucking Tommy’s head against his chest. 

When Tommy pulls out of the hug, Arthur audibly sniffles. Just once. 

“Go on, better go back to the car before Solomons glares a fucking hole through my forehead,” he says and ruffles his hair. With Arthur following behind, Tommy climbs back into the car. Arthur holds onto the door and hunches over to set his eyes on Alfie. 

“You take care of my brother, Solomons, you hear that? Or we’re gonna have an issue. Doesn’t matter if you’re all the way down in fucking Margate.” 

“Sure, sure, Arthur,” Alfie says. “Have no doubt that you’ll come barging when we least expect it.” 

“I’m serious. If I find out- if you as much as fucking think about hurting him I’ll-“

“Arthur, please,” Tommy says before his older brother can get any redder in the face. To his credit, Arthur does shut up. Clears his throat. 

“Right. Sorry. Just- check in every once in a while, hm? Give me some peace of mind.” 

“Of course,” Alfie says, with a completely solemn expression that makes Arthur wrinkle his brow in suspicion. But then, he nods and closes the door. Goes to stand on the front steps with Ada and Lizzie. 

Alfie turns to him, face soft again. He brushes away a lock of hair that’s fallen over his eyes. It’s gotten so long, the hair on top of his head. “What do you say, love? You ready to go home?” 

“Yeah.” 

Alfie starts the car. Tommy looks back only once as they drive down the gravel road. At Ada who waves. Lizzie who’s smiling ever so slightly. And Arthur who’s blinking frantically. Then he relaxes into his seat, turned to the side so that he can set his eyes on Alfie, and the way the sunlight catches in the silvery strands of his beard. 

Alfie shifts gears as he pulls out onto the road, and then reaches to lay a hand on his thigh. Tommy puts his own hand on top of. 

They’re finally on their way back to Margate. Home.  

[lanndscape]

[twinliches]

(grabs you by the shoulders) you have to make room for new experiences in your life. you have to go through the unpleasant work of leaving your comfort zone, even if just for a few minutes at a time. because if you don't, your brain will trick you into stagnation. you will start to believe that the world can barely fit you in it. but that's not true. it's the opposite way around. you can fit the whole word inside of you. your task is only this: to welcome it with open arms

[inbabylontheywept]

so once me and my wife were watching a documentary where a snake ate like a million eggs. that snake just went to fucking town on eggs. and the snake made the eggs look so good that i kept thinking about it, and thinking about it, and thinking about it, and eventually it was 11pm and i ran out of willpower and decided to eat one (1) singular raw egg just to prove to myself that the snake was surely a liar.

the snake was not a liar. texture is like, super important to me and raw eggs are very Texture so i had another one, and then another one, and then another one, and eventually i ran out of eggs.

i had like, fifteen raw eggs.

i didnt really know how to explain this momentary madness to my wife, so my Plan was to put all the eggshells into a grocey bag, and then throw that grocery bag in the dumpster, and if she never noticed that would be Excellent and if she noticed immediately i could lie and say that the eggs went bad.

except i cant lie very good, and of course with murphys law being such, i got salmonella.

so i threw up a lot and my wife asked me what poisoned me so and i tried very hard to dodge the question but i was oozing shame like oil from a room temperature cheese and eventaully i gave in and told her everything and to her enormous credit she was more flabbergasted than actually upset. she did make me promise to not eat any more raw eggs, which i have stuck to, and she gives me weird looks during nature documentaries now as if desire was the only thing keeping me from eating thousands of pounds of krill anyway i made a joke earlier about being able to eat my age in eggs and my sister in law in law made a drawing to comemorate the moment and also because it was my birthday. she's excellent. thank you 10000000% @cintailed. you should all visit her page and admire her work.

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Since you guys liked Marcille as Kermit that much, it seems fitting to thank you for my 12k milestone with MORE Kercille. And this time, Miss Falin is also here.

Thank you so much again everybody! MWAH 💗

[bookwyrminspiration]

I can behave normally around books

[tawnysoup]

Finally now that the comic is fully public on comicfury, I get to share it with all of you here, too <3

If you enjoyed, please consider supporting by buying a PDF of the comic on itch.io: https://tawnysoup.itch.io/home-in-the-woods

[theriverbeyond]

i must not get takeout. takeout is the wallet-killer. takeout is the little-death that brings total obliteration. i will face the kitchen, fridge, and pantry. i will make choices about what to cook and then execute them. when hunger is gone there will be nothing. only i will remain.

[bethfuller]

limited perception.

find me on instagram!

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you -chapter 41

-Hitting the ground-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Alfie is increasingly fed up with the Shelby family. The night brings more than Tommy's usual nightmares.

Warnings: disordered eating, suicidal ideation, mental instability, hallucinations, victim blaming, harmful attitudes towards mental illness and suicide, violence, brief discussions of rape/non-con

Content note: sexual content

Wordcount: 6,7 K

There isn’t a spot on Tommy’s body that Alfie doesn’t love to put his mouth on. And not just the obvious bits, right, that’s a given, no, Alfie fancies himself a man who can see beyond that, to the inside of his knee, right below his thigh where there’s a white, razor thin scar, to the sharp dip of his hipbones that bruise so easily, to his wrist, right where the pulse taps away and the veins lie so close to the skin… There isn’t a pale stretch of skin or freckle or scar that Alfie doesn’t shower with attention. But the one where the valley above his collarbone meets his neck is one of his favorites because not only is the skin soft and freckled and beautifully paper thin, Tommy always squirms delightfully when he kisses him there. Does now too, squirms and arches his neck so that morning sun catches in the dark strands of his hair. 

“You a bit ticklish there, eh, treacle?” Alfie chuckles and trails kisses up his neck, savouring the little gasps he lets out. Tommy grasps at the pillow underneath his head, wraps his legs tighter around his waist, digging his heels into the backs of his thighs. Alfie understands what he wants, doesn’t he? And fuck if he doesn’t want it too, but it still feels like things might be moving too quickly. Tommy might think he’s ready, but Alfie doesn’t think he realises just how big this step would actually be, and might be unprepared for the raw vulnerability of it all. Even if part of him scoffs at the objection: he’ll be fucking careful, he’ll be so gentle and considerate and attentive that Tommy will melt underneath his hands and open beautifully until he’s fully ready to let Alfie take him. But the thing is, he very much suspects that part is influenced by another, one which feels that if he doesn’t get to fuck Tommy soon, he’s going to fully lose it. 

Tommy squirms underneath him, drawing a moan from him as Alfie’s cock rubs against his hip, his own erection weeping where it’s trapped between their bodies. Alfie kisses him, rocks his hips and grabs onto Tommy’s backside to get some leverage. Tommy moves with him, his breathing growing deeper, and Alfie is very close to listening to the less rational part of his brain when the doorhandle twists. Thank fuck, the door is locked, but the twisting is followed by a hard knock. 

“Oi, Solomons!” 

Alfie rolls his eyes and is entirely set on ignoring this interruption, but Tommy has frozen up under him and is staring wide eyed at the door, pale beneath the blush on his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, love, door’s locked,” Alfie mutters and kisses him again, in hopes of making him forget all about his older brother now trying to break down the door. Tommy’s legs have fallen down from around his waist and he hikes them up again. 

“Hello?” Arthur calls and knocks again. “Solomons?” 

Tommy pulls out of the kiss, puts his hands on Alfie’s chest and tries to push him away without much success. But Alfie has to give up, doesn’t he? 

“A bit busy here, Arthur!” he calls back. “Come back in half an hour or so.” 

“What is going on in there? Why’s the door fucking locked?” 

“Take a wild fucking guess,” Alfie barks, and immediately regrets it because Tommy lets out a panicked whine and stares at him with impossibly wide eyes. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, sweetheart.” 

There’s a brief pause, and Alfie, foolishly, thinks Arthur’s regained his senses and fucking left, but then the banging is back with a vengeance. 

“Solomons, if you don’t open up right now I swear I’ll break it!” Arthur roars. “And then I’m cutting off what’s left of your cock. You hear me?” 

“Jesus, calm the fuck down, I’m on my way,” Alfie says and rolls off Tommy who immediately pulls the blankets up to cover himself. Shaking his right leg to get it to cooperate, he snags his trousers from the floor and pulls them on as he limps towards the door, struggling a bit to fold his quite stubborn erection against his leg. Fucking hell what a way to start the day. When he opens the door, he’s just doing up the last button necessary to keep the trousers up, leaving the top one undone. 

Arthur’s face is an impressive shade of red. Almost resembles a beetroot. Though accompanied by the moustache, Alfie finds himself thinking of an angry walrus. An angry walrus who is currently staring at him with murderous intent. 

“Good morning, Arthur,” he says amicably. “And what might you want on such a beautiful day, eh?” 

Arthur lets out a huffing breath and looks from him, over his shoulder at Tommy, who is now sat on the bed, blanket clutched to his chest. And of course it’s fairly obvious even to someone as thick as Arthur what’s been happening, because Tommy looks positively debauched, hair mussed, lips swollen and with an impressive collection of marks around his neck and collarbones. Arthur’s eyes might fall out of his skull at any moment and his breathing grows sharp and rapid as they turn to Alfie again. If Tommy didn’t look so mortified, the poor delicate little flower, Alfie would’ve found it comical. Tommy pulls the blankets up even further and draws his knees to his chest to shield himself. Alfie crosses his arms over his chest and moves to fully block Arthur’s view. 

“Can I have… a word… with you,” Arthur asks him through gritted teeth, nostrils flaring. Alfie turns to Tommy. 

“Tommy, petal, I’m just going to talk with big brother here for a moment. No need to worry, alright? I’ll be perfectly nice. You just stay right there.” 

Tommy nods, and though he looks in no way convinced, he makes no move to get out of bed and follow, frozen like a deer in headlights he is. Alfie closes the door behind him and sighs as Arthur drags him further down the hallway. Thankfully he catches a glimpse of Esther at the foot of the stairs. 

“Esther, dear, keep an eye on Tommy, will you?” he calls as they pass and gets a briefly quizzical look, but hears steps coming up the stairs as Arthur shoves him into the study.

At least this has resolved the compromising situation in his trousers. Difficult to keep a hard-on when there’s an angry walrus staring at you. 

“That better not have been what I fucking think it was,” Arthur hisses and slams the door shut behind them. 

“Well, that depends, doesn’t it? What exactly did you think it was? Because if, for example, you thought we were reupholstering a chair or something, then no, that’s not what was happening.” 

A vein has begun throbbing in Arthur’s temple.

“You’re not fucking him, are you?” 

“If it’s taken you this long to figure it out, I’m sort of concerned for the state of your head, mate, because I’ve made no attempts to hide that from you.”

 “I know that you- you clearly had that kind of… relationship, before. I fucking knew that.” Arthur says. “And no, of course I didn’t approve, but at least, well, he was doing better, you said. And I could I see that you- that you care for him, right. Took some time, but I figured as much.” His voice has grown softer for a short moment, but then it’s as if he remembers himself and raises it again. “But how can you do something like that to him, now? Fuck, he’s- he doesn’t even talk. Seems to not even be here, half the time.” 

“There are ways to show that you want, or don’t want something, other than speaking,” Alfie says, patience already running thin. “And if you don’t realise that, then I feel bad for every woman who’s had to spend even a fucking second with you in bed.” 

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” Arthur says. “That’s the issue. And, on top of that, how can you- here? Fuck, anyone could’ve walked in! Lizzie may have given you her blessing but she shouldn’t have to see you fucking her husband. Ishouldn’t have to see it!”  

“Well, you wouldn’t have had to see it, and no one would’ve walked in, because the door was fucking locked! Which you would know, since you tried to break it down not a minute ago.” 

“I don’t have to see it to- to fucking picture it! I’ll have to live with you doing unspeakable things to my brother, fine, but not when I’m under the same roof. And not-“ Arthur digs a finger into Alfie’s chest. “Not when he’s so fucking gone in the head that he’s unable to even properly want it. It’s wrong, is what it is. Fuck’s sake it’s practically-“  

Arthur snaps his mouth shut around the last word, but it’s too late. The room fills with a silence so cold it makes ice creep across the windowpanes bathed in morning sun. 

“Practically what, Arthur?” Alfie says, voice low as he takes a step closer to him. “What, exactly, are you accusing me of?” 

Arthur’s jaw is clenched shut, and they’re stood so close that Alfie can see the exact patterns of red in his bloodshot eyes. 

“No, go ahead and say it, practically fucking what? Rape, is that it?” he spits and Arthur flinches. “You’re accusing me of raping your little brother? And if you fucking are, then how come you haven’t blown my fucking head to bits yet? How can you stand there, eh, saying that as long as it doesn’t happen when you’re under the same roof, it’s fucking fine? If you thought, for even a fucking second, that I was hurting Tommy, and haven’t done shit about it other than glare and huff, then you’re a worse fucking brother than I could’ve ever imagined.”  

Arthur finally lowers his gaze, his gangly frame seeming to shrink by an inch or so, but Alfie has zero fucking sympathy for his self-pity right now. 

“And you listen to me now, Arthur Shelby,” he says. “I don’t owe you shit, but I’ll say this for Tommy’s sake and his sake only: I know more about what he wants and needs than you could ever dream of. And when the fuck would you deem him sound enough to want things, eh? What if he never recovers enough to talk, enough to function to what you deem an acceptable level? He’s still a man of flesh and blood. Needs to be shown that, that he’s still a whole fucking person. That he’s not so broken that no one can touch him without cutting their fingers on the pieces. Otherwise, what the hell did he fight so hard for? He’s so bloody scared, all the time, he’s scared, and hurt and doesn’t… understand the world around him, and you’re not fucking allowed to trample all over the few little good things I can give him!” 

Alfie stops and catches his breath, Arthur glares, jaw set tightly, and after a moment where they stare each other down, Arthur visibly deflates. His shoulders sag and his long limbs fold into the closest chair. Alfie leans against a desk, trying to regain his composure and the air lacking from his lungs. 

They’re silent for a long moment, until Arthur finally rubs the back of his neck. 

“I suppose I- I know that he feels safe with you,” he begins. “That he wants to be with you. On some level, I get that. And that’s what keeps me from listening to this whole other part of me, which, yeah, wants to rip your fucking balls off for sleeping with my little brother. Sort of took over, right, when I saw him like that. Suppose it wouldn’t matter, really, the circumstances, because I don’t think I could’ve accepted it before all of this, either.” 

“How very reassuring,” Alfie snorts but reluctantly swallows his objections when Arthur holds up a hand.

“But I want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy.”

“And…”

“And if you can make him happy, or… content. Less scared and fucking sad. Whatever. Then… fine.”

That’s the closest they’re going to get to approval, isn’t it? Alfie is frankly too exhausted to be fighting with Tommy’s siblings. Got enough on his plate to deal with. So he decides to be gracious and let this go. Or at the very least not punch Arthur in the face. And it’s true, what he told him. From a certain perspective he might even see where he’s coming from, right -and since when is he that fucking gracious? This ordeal has done a number on him. Point is, he knows a thing or two about being what some might deem “overly” and “obsessively” protective. Especially where certain blue eyed little someone is concerned.

“Well, Arthur, there was a day when I’d have to put a fucking bullet right between your eyes for behaviour like this,” he says. “But, since you didn’t hesitate to shoot your cousin, yeah, for what he’d done to Tommy, and consequently also kept me from possibly entering an early grave, well, that shows me there’s at least something in there worth preserving.” 

He taps his index finger on the spot between Arthur’s eyes. Arthur grunts and bats it away. 

“And if I hadn’t seen you throw yourself between Tommy and that fucking knife I might not be so trusting of your seemingly… mostly honourable intentions with my brother.” 

“So, the next time you find a locked bedroom door, you’ll leave it alone?” 

Arthur’s jaws are working and he’s glaring at Alfie. “I suppose.” He gets out of his chair, suddenly, jutting a finger out at Alfie. “But if I find out, if there’s even an inclination to show, the slightest hint, that you’re hurting him… If I see a bruise, or find him fucking limping, then I’m taking out your good eye. To start with.”  

Alfie refrains from explaining to Arthur that a bit of limping, right, that’s something to be expected no matter how careful you are. Especially the first time, Tommy’s going to feel it the next day. But again, he doesn’t say that, because those details may put Arthur into an early grave. He also doesn’t say the first thing that comes to mind: that Arthur won’t have to worry about seeing any of that, because now when everything’s resolved in Birmingham, they’ll be going home to Margate where there are no big brothers who can walk in on them. The mere thought of that puts him in a better mood. 

He pats Arthur’s shoulder. 

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he says. “Now, did you actually want something when you came barging in, or do you just have some special big brother sense that goes off when your baby brother’s about to be defiled by another man?” 

He grins and Arthur scowls and things are just as they should be. 

“Just wanted to see if you were coming down for breakfast,” he mutters, and Alfie can’t keep himself from barking out a laugh as the oldest Shelby sibling stalks off, muttering obscenities under his breath. 

When he returns to their bedroom, Tommy is not there, and Alfie has to accept the fact that any possibility at resuming the amorous activities is gone, so he gets dressed and goes downstairs instead. He finds Tommy in the kitchen, seated opposite Esther at the table, meticulously peeling an apple. It’s a slow process, but one that seems to keep him adequately distracted. Alfie bends down to kiss the top of his head and Tommy lights up, tilting his head so that Alfie can plant another kiss on his forehead, and then one on his nose, making him let out a content little sound. Compared to that, what’s some interrupted sex? 

“Got everything straightened out, Sir?” Esther asks, glancing up from the cutting board where she’s got an impressive pile of chopped apple. 

“Sure, sure,” Alfie says. Stands behind Tommy and pets his hair absentmindedly as he watches him peel a second apple, after putting the first one onto Esther’s cutting board

“Mister Shelby walked by in sort of a huff. But I do think he muttered some kind of apology.” 

“Well, he’s learning, isn’t he? 

Tommy looks up at him. Blinks in the sunlight. Alfie runs a thumb over his cheekbone. 

“It’s all fine, sweetheart. Me and your brother are great friends, aren’t we? Nothing to worry about.” 

“I should hope so. We don’t want any petty bickering,” Esther says with one of her best admonishing looks. She gets up and puts the knife down, carefully pushing the cutting board across the table. “Me and Tommy are making pie. Why don’t you make yourself useful and do some chopping, and I can make the dough?” 

“God forbid I just stand here for a moment enjoying the view,” Alfie mutters and tugs lightly at Tommy’s hair, tilting his head to get a better look at said view. “No, of course I have to be immediately put to work.” 

Esther shuffles around the contents in the cabinets to grab a jar. “You know what they say about idle hands, Sir.” 

And of course Alfie has already sat down, because he’s long ago learned the futility of arguing with his housekeeper. 

They sit in silence for a bit. Tommy is fully focused on his task but still flinches whenever there’s an unexpected sound: a door slamming somewhere, Lizzie or Ada calling something from another room, one of the kids running down the stairs or Cyril barking. And whenever anyone passes by the kitchen, he visibly shrinks into himself, as if he could make himself disappear. 

Alfie needs to take him home. Really, in hindsight, they should’ve left the second Tommy came out of that near catatonic state after the fire. But time has passed quickly, and he’s been fighting so hard to keep Tommy afloat, taking things hour by hour and sometimes minute by minute, and it’s only now he can momentarily stop and see that there’s nothing keeping them here. His men have successfully tracked down every loyal man Michael Shelby still had by his side and eliminated that threat. And while Tommy’s family do care, bless them, they’re not much help, are they? Because they can’t be trusted to look after him and Tommy still only clings to Alfie (a fact that darker part of his mind is quite pleased with). 

The thing is, Alfie is terrified that a change will somehow hurt him. They’re walking a tightrope, right, and a single tiny step in the wrong direction might sent them hurtling into the ravine again. And it’s easier to deal with a known, if at times, less than ideal situation, than something uncertain.

Then again, how long are they supposed to wait?

Perhaps he should call doctor Adelman? 

Alfie mulls it over that whole day, and come evening, he still hasn’t brought it up, but decided that yeah, he’ll call and talk it over with the good doctor first thing in the morning. Mostly to get his own hope confirmed: a change in itself might be difficult for Tommy, but it’ll get easier the second they’re alone in the safe haven Margate seems like compared to this, surrounded by family members who certainly know how to create a less than ideal environment for recovery, some more than others. 

But as of right now, they’re still there, still surrounded by the Shelby clan, in Ada’s living room. He can always tell that Tommy can’t quite keep up with the conversations around him, when he’s surrounded by so many people, but if he wants to be here, then that’s fine. It can hardly do him any harm. And right now, things are unusually calm. Ada is sat in her armchair with a book in one hand and a drink in the other, Lizzie is opposite her with today’s paper, and Arthur’s once again trying his hand at a crossword, but has abandoned it for now to pick out a new bottle of whiskey from Ada’s liquor cabinet to refill his glass.  

Tommy meanwhile is leaning against Alfie’s side, tucked under his arm, lashes fluttering as he fights to stay awake. Adelman says it’s fine, that it’s natural he needs so much rest, but it still worries Alfie. Then again, most things do where Tommy is concerned.

“You looking at listings?” Arthur asks and glances over Lizzie’s shoulder as he passes with the bottle. “Thought you were going to rebuild?” 

“I don’t know,” Lizzie answers quickly and glances up from the paper. “Don’t know if it’s worth the hassle.” 

“You’ll never find something’s big as Arrow House around these parts,” Arthur says and sits down on the sofa, pours himself a drink and picks up the crossword again. Tommy pushes himself even closer to Alfie, turning himself into a tiny ball of limbs and blankets as if he’s trying to burrow into his body. 

“We don’t need something that big,” Lizzie says. 

“Suppose not. Just you and the kids, now. Though it’s not like Tommy took up all of the other rooms. Could fit him in a drawer.” Arthur chuckles to himself and doesn’t notice that Alfie is trying to glare a hole through his head. “Especially now. But I think-“ 

“It’s nice having you and the kids here, Lizzie,” Ada says very loudly to cut her brother off. “You don’t have to stress about finding something.” 

“And you might be onto something, about not rebuilding. Too many bad memories in that house, I suppose,” Arthur mutters and keeps looking down at the crossword. 

Alfie rubs Tommy’s back. Covers his head with his palm and gently caresses the scarred side. 

“There are good ones too,” Lizzie says softly, but Tommy can’t see the look she’s giving him because he’s hiding his face in Alfie’s shirt, breathing quick and uneven.  

Thankfully, right then, Finn comes through the door, and it breaks the tension in the room that everyone except Arthur seems to notice. 

“Never seen you focus on something for this long, Arthur,” he grins and nods towards the crossword. 

“Well, I’m trying to branch out,” Arthur mutters and furrows his brow. “You know, broaden my horizons.”

“He’s already learned five new words, it’s all very impressive,” Ada says, and Arthur is too engrossed in his new hobby to notice. 

Finn pours himself a drink and sits down on the sofa, eyeing Tommy, but he at least picks up on the look Alfie gives him and leaves him be. Ada and Lizzie are both gracious enough to do the same. Instead, they all get involved in Arthur’s crossword, which therefore soon turns into everyone’s crossword. Alfie sits back and strokes Tommy’s hair, and he eventually re-emerges from his shirt and lays his head in his lap instead, watching his siblings bicker about the capital of Algeria while Lizzie tries to tell them they’re all wrong. When the whiskey bottle is half empty, they’ve turned to a card game instead, and the brief peace is long gone. It’s all a bit too loud and rowdy. Both Finn and Arthur have drunk too much, Ada isn’t far behind, but Tommy still declines Alfie’s suggestion of going to bed with a faint headshake. Alfie gets the feeling that he just wants to feel included, and there’s something heart breaking about the thought because they don’t really know how to include him, do they? Though Arthur makes a valiant effort with the crossword and Ada asks every time a new round of cards starts if he wants to play, even if Tommy only blinks every time he’s spoken to, never caught up enough with the conversation to respond further. And eventually she stops asking. They tread around him the way you do an injured baby animal, afraid to touch it should the mother show up, but just as quickly forget about his presence in between the awkward attempts at interaction, reverting to talking entirely too loud and interrupting each other sentences. 

And they may be doing their best to make up for past mistakes, right, and Alfie might have buried most of the old anger for Tommy’s sake, but he’s suddenly reminded that these people left him alone to slowly fade away in that bedroom at Arrow House, because they were too cowardly to face the tragedy head on. And though he quickly pushes that thought to the back of his mind, it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He eventually picks Ada up on the offer of joining in on the card game, if only so that he can show Tommy the cards and claim that it’s a team effort when he wins. When he’s lost count of the rounds and the shadows around the room have grown tall, Tommy is asleep, despite all the noise around him. Or perhaps because of it. 

“Shh, shh, Tommy’s… Tommy’s asleep,” Ada hisses and waves her hand at Finn and Arthur who’re currently arguing about whether Finn has just cheated or not. 

“He’s been asleep for nearly half an hour,” Lizzie says and refills her glass. “If your shouting didn’t wake him up before, I don’t think it will now.” 

Ada and Arthur look at their sleeping brother, both suspiciously misty eyed all of a sudden, which might come down to the empty whiskey bottle. Alfie feels like it’s strangely intrusive. 

“Right, think it’s time for bed anyway,” he says and scoops Tommy up into his arms with well-practiced ease, without causing him to as much as stir. Arthur is already halfway out of his seat. 

“You sure-“

“Arthur I fucking swear if you keep insinuating that I’m so old and decrepit that I can’t carry someone who weighs about as much as a fucking kitten, I’ll kill you,” Alfie says. 

Arthur slumps back down. 

“Just don’t want you dropping him,” he mutters, which Alfie ignores as he leaves the increasingly drunk gathering behind. He’s pretty sure Finn waves. 

…

A sharp banging wakes him. Tommy is still asleep, curled up against him, one of his hands tucked to his chin. Alfie lies perfectly still in the dark and tries to identify the sound, but his mind is moving slowly. Somewhere, he hears a door open, quick steps, another door, voices. The banging doesn’t stop, and he finally realises it’s someone quite literally trying to kick the front door down, and he sits up. Tommy shifts uneasily in his sleep as Alfie climbs out of bed, reaching for the gun in the bedside table. He pulls on his trousers, shoves the gun into the waistband, snags his shirt from a chair, and is out the door within seconds. Halfway down the stairs he realises it might’ve been safer if he’d locked it, but he keeps moving, hearing faint voices as he reaches the main floor, moves through the dark corridor, past the living room and through the kitchen towards the front door. 

“I want to see him,” a woman’s voice he recognises but can’t quite place says. But the list of women it could be is pretty short and the sinking feeling in his chest proves right when Arthur’s response comes in a hiss.

“Pol, it’s the middle of the fucking night, and you’re drunk or high or fucking both. Go home.” 

“Go wake him up. Bring him here. I want to talk to him.” 

“You don’t get to come here and make any bloody demands, and you’re not talking to him in this state,” Arthur says. “You’ll upset him.” 

“You’re not talking to him period,” Ada says. “Unless you’re here to fucking apologize.” 

Alfie reaches the hallway and finds Ada and Arthur standing opposite their aunt, blocking her way. She makes for quite the nightmarish sight, Polly Gray, looks as if she hasn’t slept in days, eyes bloodshot and too wide, glazed over with a crazed shine that eerily mirrors the one in her son’s eyes. A light sheen of sweat covers her forehead, and she’s dressed in her nightgown still, underneath her long coat. If he weren’t furious, he’d understand the concern in Ada’s eyes as she looks at her aunt. Though her brother seems to share his sentiment, because Arthur’s eyes are hard as steel. 

Everyone’s attention turns to Alfie as he enters the hallway, blinking in the light. 

“Get the fuck out,” he says.  

“I want to speak to Tommy,” Polly demands, words slurred. “He owes me as much.” 

“Fuck off, he doesn’t owe you shit. And I’ll make sure that you never fucking see him again.” 

Polly laughs. It’s a hoarse, awful sound.

“Why do you want to see him, Pol?” Ada asks, sounding weary.

“I want him to know, I need him to know… They’ve told me-“

“Jesus, who told you what exactly?” Arthur interrupts her. “You started talking to the ghosts as well?” 

“I want to hear him admit it, that he- that he fucking brought this onto himself. I want him to take some fucking responsibility for once.” 

The gun burns where it digs into Alfie’s back but he knows that if he pulls it now, he’s going to shoot her and it’s going to break yet another piece of Tommy’s heart, he fucking knows it will, and still…

“Right, I’ll drive you home, come on,” Ada says and walks up to her, but Polly shoves her away. 

“After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve fucking lost because of him, he owes it to me to at least listen to what I have to say.” 

“You can’t do this to him,” Ada says. “He can’t- you just want to hurt him.” 

Polly’s eyes shift to something behind Alfie’s back, Alfie looks over his shoulder, and finds Tommy standing in the doorway, having snuck up on them on quiet, bare feet. He’s taken his blanket along, wrapped it around himself on top of the flannel shirt he likes to sleep in, and now he’s clutching it in a white knuckled grip as he looks at his aunt with sad eyes. Polly looks back and her gaze is as black as the night. 

“I tried to forgive you, Tommy, I did,” she says. “When I came to Arrow house that day to see you, I did try. I thought if I only got to see you, I’d- But there’s nothing human left in you, just this fucking… darkness. And it spreads to everyone and everything you touch, I’ve seen, I know, even if everyone else seems to have forgotten-“ she looks at Ada and Arthur. “And I could see it in Michael’s eyes, that day when he came to me. How just being near you had corrupted him. I thought I had to try to save you, how laughable is that? As if I fucking owed you anything at all.” 

Alfie has stood frozen, listening to the words as they pour like black tar from her mouth but at that, he finally breaks free of the paralysis and pulls his gun, aiming it at Polly’s head. His knuckles are white around the handle. 

“You knew,” he says. “You realised he was about to do something, and you did nothing to stop him.” 

Polly stares at him, mouth twisting into a smile.  

“Solomons, put the fucking gun down,” Ada says, but stays where she is.

“Fucking hell, Pol, you let him set fire to a house with all of us in it?” Arthur asks, incredulous. “Charlie and Ruby were-“ 

“I didn’t know!” Polly interrupts him and her voice grows loud and shrill. “How could I have known? I thought- He only talked about Tommy. That house wouldn’t have burned if Tommy hadn’t been there-“

“Polly…” Ada begins, a pleading not to her voice.  

Alfie steadies the hand holding the gun. 

He can’t do this. He fucking knows he can’t. 

“Michael wouldn’t be dead,” Polly says. “Aberama wouldn’t be dead. John wouldn’t be fucking dead-“

“Polly!” 

But he has to. 

“And all I’m asking for, is that he fucking acknowledges it!” 

Alfie cocks the gun. The click finally makes the room go quiet.

He feels Arthur’s presence behind him, but he doesn’t dare coming too close. Ada is just a blurry figure to his side, she too frozen in place. His finger is tight around the trigger, and the rage pulses white hot behind his temples, spreads like wildfire through his nerves. 

“Do it. I bet it makes you furious,” Polly hisses. “Oh, how fucking dare she say that about my precious little Tommy. Who’s done nothing wrong, who’s just an innocent victim in all of this. Poor, helpless little Tommy with his broken fucking head, who destroys everything he touches.”

Alfie’s finger squeezes tighter around the trigger just as Tommy appears before him, and thank God the adrenaline has sharpened his reflexes because he eases off right at the last second, before a bullet ends up in Tommy’s head. Tommy stands between him and Polly, at the end of the barrel of his gun. Alfie breathes sharply through his nose. Blinks to remove the images, ones of Tommy reeling backwards from the force of the bullet, skull breaking into pieces, blood spraying over the pale wallpaper, his still body lying sprawled at Alfie’s feet...

“Get out of the way, Tommy,” he grits out. His hand, unbelievably, is shaking. He was in the fucking war. He had all of London in the palm of his hand for years. He’s shot men at point blank range without batting an eye, and now, he’s shaking. “She knew, and she didn’t do shit. She made her fucking choice.” 

But Tommy doesn’t move out of the way. He takes a step closer. Gently lays a hand on his outstretched arm. Alfie flinches at the touch and everything blurs around him except Polly Gray and the insane glint in her eyes. She knew. She chose not to say anything and how, how can she look at Tommy and not feel crushing guilt, look at what she’s caused, what she’s destroyed, all the broken fucking pieces no one will ever be able to put back together- 

“Alfie,” a quiet voice says, and for a moment he’s certain it’s just his imagination, but it’s not, it’s Tommy’s, weak and hoarse from disuse but undeniably real. His world come back into focus, Tommy’s eyes locking onto his. Tommy shakes his head. “Don’t- don’t do this.” 

“I have to,” Alfie says. “I have to do right by you. Someone- someone is fucking paying for this.” 

“It’s okay,” Tommy says. Reaches out and cradles his face in the palm of his hand as he looks at him with soft eyes. “I’m- it’ll be okay.” 

Alfie’s wanted to hear his voice for so long, hear him say those words himself, that it feels surreal when it happens. But he can’t let this go, not this too… 

Tommy steps even closer until he’s all Alfie can see, his eyes that are as blue as the sky and the sea and forget-me-nots looking only at him, as if Alfie is the only thing that exists in the world, the very centre of it. Tommy runs his thumb gently over the scarred side of his face. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

The gun slips from his hand. Alfie barely hears it hit the floor, he grabs onto Tommy, his too thin shoulder, the back of his neck, and pulls him close, holding onto him like a man drowning. Tommy wraps his arms around his waist. Rests his forehead against his shoulder for a moment’s reprieve, before he turns in his embrace and faces his aunt. Polly is silent, finally, as they stare at each other. No one dares to move. Tommy keeps his eyes steadily fixed on Polly. Her chest heaves as she draws shaky breaths. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy finally whispers. He wavers on the spot as if the words have taken a physical toll. His hands bury themselves in Alfie’s shirt, holding on tighter. Something passes across Polly’s face, behind the eyes. 

“Tommy,” she says. “I’m- I didn’t-“

“I want you to leave,” Tommy says quietly, but Polly stays right where she is and his voice breaks as he pleads, “Just go.” 

That finally breaks everyone out of their frozen positions. Ada hurries over to usher Polly towards the door, arm around her shoulders, muttering things about driving her home, and Arthur trails behind them, hands on the back of his neck as he watches them step out into the night.

Alfie looks at the gun on the floor. It replays in his mind, Tommy stepping in front of the barrel… Moments, a fraction of a fucking second later and he would’ve- 

He never should’ve raised that gun.

He should’ve dropped it the second Tommy appeared before him.

He should’ve put a bullet in Polly Gray’s fucking head. Couldn’t even get that right. Couldn’t protect Tommy, even from this. 

His heart hammers so hard behind his temples that it’s all he can hear, all he can feel. His arms drop around Tommy, numb, something sharp and painful builds in his chest and he can’t be here, can’t let Tommy deal with this too, so he pushes him away. Flees the room, ignores Tommy’s cries as Arthur holds him back, Arthur’s voice, let him go, Tommy, let him cool off, because he can’t let Tommy see the fucking tears that well his eyes and he needs to get out of this house and away from it all. 

The cool night air nearly knocks him off his feet as he tears open the glass doors in the living room to the darkness outside. He walks right into that darkness, stumbles until he reaches the stone wall surrounding the outer edges of the garden, and there his legs give in and he sinks to the ground, back against the cold stone. He buries his face in his hands and breathes through clenched teeth, trying to reel it back in, pull himself together. 

But he’s so fucking tired. 

“Alfie?” Tommy’s voice comes from the house, cracking at the edges. He’s afraid, of course he is with the way Alfie stormed off. “Alfie?”

His voice is closer now and Alfie breathes and breathes but can’t gather himself enough to answer, enough to be what Tommy needs. 

When Tommy appears before him, he sees him through a blurry veil of tears. He’s barefoot, in the wet grass. Alfie pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes until white lights dance under his eyelids. 

“Just need… a second, love, okay? Just a second,” he says and tries to put on a reassuring façade, just to get Tommy away from here. Swallows and swallows without success and the tears begin dripping down his cheeks as a choked sob rips from his chest. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. 

Without a word, Tommy sits down next to him in the grass and hugs him, huddling close to his side and Alfie should pull away, tell him to go inside, that he’ll be fine, he just needs a second to breathe. Instead he leans into the embrace, buries his face in his shoulder. Wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer until Tommy is nestled on his lap and he can bury his face in the crook of his neck. He’s holding him too tightly, he’s going to hurt him, his fragile little bird, but Tommy doesn’t break, he just wraps his arms around his neck and gently runs his fingers through his hair. And his Tommy is all sharp angles and bones but right then he feels like a warm and soft little animal burrowing into him, a safe weight resting over his heart. Alfie finally stops trying to swallow down the sobs and lets himself cry against his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry-“ that I couldn’t keep you safe, that you had to hear those things, that I put you in fucking danger, that I can never give you the retribution you deserve. I’m sorry.

 Tommy doesn’t say anything, he simply holds him. And Alfie lets himself be held. 

[soulswordlesbian]

that david shrigley lino print made me feeel things

[bakedbeanchan]

random fire nation diplomat #492 will never understand the complex and fucked up relationship between the water siblings like I do 🙄

[rozecrest]

there are 79 days left to fulfill the last 12% of the municipality of gaza's life-saving campaign!

we have been gifted additional time to see this through!

water is life. infrastructure must be rebuilt. approximately $123,977 are left to reach this goal.

donate here! every dollar gets us closer!

if you have a clean and consistent water source that is a privilege. it always has been in this world. here is a chance to give that back to a place in dire need. take it! this goal can and must be filled!

[varpusvaras]

Jason and Damian meet in the LoA AU where Damian vehemently insists that Jason is his only real brother since they have the same mother and father. The others try to tell him that Jason is also adopted, but Damian will just stare at them like they are stupid and go "is Father not his Father in the eyes of the law?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Does Mother not call him as her son?"

"I mean she does-"

"Are they not my Mother and Father as well?"

"Yes?"

"The matter has been concluded, then, Richard."

"What about me? Bruce is also my dad on paper?"

"You get half of the acknownledgement, of course, as you have been getting so far."

"What about Tim, then?"

"I don't see how he is relevant to this conversation."

"I'm just curious where he lands on the brother percentage scale."

"Nowhere. Timothy is a neighbour. Though I shall offer him hospitality while he is under our roof."

"You tripped him on the patrol last night."

"Does the alleyway look like our house to you?"

[natureell]