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Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Toby's Angsty Fics
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Published:
2021-09-02
Words:
2,436
Chapters:
1/1
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40
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228
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The language of flowers

Summary:

The language of flowers says more than words ever could.

Maybe, petals and thorns could fix the broken boy.

Maybe stems could sew up his wounds and pollen could renew his smile.

It's truly a question of if his roots were sturdy enough to let him stay.

Notes:

TW: overdose, suicide, self harm, hospitals, panic attacks, running away, major character death, maladaptive daydreaming (kind of), blood, vomit, grief. (please let me know if I forgot to tag anything)

 

I’m sorry there is so much pain in this story. I’m sorry it’s in fragments, like a body caught in the crossfires or pulled apart by force.

I’m sorry.

I’ve tried to put in some good things as well. Like flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them?

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Thomas Watson; the boy with flowers in his hair and stardust in his soul. 

 

He is wild like a dream is wild and bright like the sun is bright, raspberry-tender and mint leaf-sweet.

 

Always laughter hidden under his tongue, always love pumping through his veins, always ready to run through a field at sunset or dance bare-foot in the rain or paint delicate white carnations.

 

When we think starstruck, we mean him . When we think him, we mean everything.

 

He was all the more beautiful because he was doomed. 

 

He will never be lovelier than he was then, and he will never be lovely again.

 

The boy who used to hold the world with tender hands now loosely holds an empty bottle of pills.

 

The musician who used to hold a guitar with care now cradles his little brother's unconscious body.

 

The warrior who used to be ever stoic and quiet now weeps as he screams and pleads.

 

The father who used to look at his youngest with love now stares wide-eyed in horror.

 

The family gathered atop blood and vomit covered floors, waiting in grim anticipation for the ambulance to arrive and fix their broken boy.

 

Sirens echoed down the silent streets, racing against time to save a life. 

 

Men and women in moss green uniforms swarmed into the house, taking away the boy on a stretcher. They were gone as soon as they arrived, a distraught family in tow.

 

The carefully written notes remained untouched next to the vase of wilting butterfly weeds and yarrows. 

 

The ambulance ride to the hospital was nothing short of torture, the journey may be not have been long, although it felt like the hospital were half the world away.

 

They arrived and immediately the boy was whisked off, away from his family, to the doctors who were going to give their all to help him survive.

 

The hospital waiting room was bleak and suffocating, the air always remained thick with grief. 

 

The Watson family huddled close, holding each other tightly as though they would disappear the second they let go. It felt cold without the youngest. 

 

Waiting is always the hard part. The prolepsis of life or death weigh heavy in the air, making it impossible to breathe. 

 

A short eternity later, they were told he was stable - all choosing to ignore the ‘ for now’ - the family were led into a room with white walls and a white floor and a white bed where the boy lay, unmoving. 

 

They tried in vain to pretend he was just sleeping, as opposed to fighting for his life.

 

He was hooked up to machines that would beep and buzz every time his heartbeat were to fall or leap, there was a bag of saline solution that made a miserable dripping sound as the fluid ran through the IV.

 

Technoblade approached his brother - his sweet baby brother - softly reaching for his hand as he lowered himself onto a creaky plastic chair next to the bed. 

 

Wilbur dragged another chair to the bedside, pathetically sobbing as he took in the state of the little boy - the dying boy - who he loved so dearly.

 

Phil stood just inside the doorway, frozen. There he was, his baby was just laying there, skin a sickly grey and his jaw slightly slack. He was too still , he was too silent .

 

Tommy had always hated being weak. 

 

In Phil’s mind, Tommy was strong, he was indestructible . Seeing his little boy like this had shattered his illusion of strength into a million tiny pieces that no amount of glue could put back together. 

 

He didn’t know what else to do, so he cried. He fell to his knees and sobbed and screamed and begged to the sky to save his little Tommy, please, god don’t let him die like this

 

After nearly half an hour of wailing helplessly on the ground, he stood up with shaking legs and moved to his son’s bedside, grabbing desperately at Wilbur’s arm.

 

“He’s going to be okay Dad,” Wilbur croaks, his voice hoarse. “He has to be.”

 

And it was true. Tommy had to be okay, because the family wouldn’t know what to do if he wasn’t.

 

The three Watsons fell asleep that night with tear-stained faces and shattered hearts. As one of the doctors had told them, all they could do now was wait.

 

~~~

 

Tommy woke up in the middle of the night, his family lying asleep in a heap next to his bed.

 

Wait , wasn’t he supposed to be dead? Why had he woken up at all?

 

The boy observed his surroundings, before coming to the terrifying conclusion that he was in hospital, hooked up to monitors and drips, with wires and ducts in his arms.

 

In a flurry of panic, he ripped out every last tube and ran.

 

He ignored the pitchy, drawn out beeping and sudden screams of terror from behind him in favour of just getting away .

 

He ran down the hall, ignoring the swarms of doctors rushing past him, through the waiting room, out the car park but he kept running and for some reason, he didn’t feel tired at all .

 

Tommy only stopped when he realized he had no idea where he was anymore; he was lost.

 

Fuck !” He yelled, punching the brick wall of the house next to him, tears building in his eyes. “I’m so fucking stupid !”

 

The boy punched the wall again, his knuckles splitting, allowing small dribbles of blood to escape. “Goddammit!”

 

He turned around and leant against the wall, slowly sliding towards the ground as he buried his head in his hands.

 

“Hey,” A gentle voice called out, causing Tommy’s head to snap upwards. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. What are you doing here, kid?”

 

Tommy looked towards the man, he was wearing a lime green hoodie with a poorly drawn smiley face on and baggy black jeans, he didn’t look like a creep though, so that was a plus.

 

“I-” Tommy’s words died in his throat, instead a sob tore through his mouth. The man rushed towards him, kneeling down beside him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, I’m right here. Can you tell me your name?” The stranger asks, his voice oddly soothing.

 

“T-tommy.” The boy murmured through his sobs.

 

“That’s a nice name, I’m Dream.”

 

“That’s- that’s a cool name.” 

 

Dream chuckled, sitting down next to Tommy. “Thank you,” 

 

There was a comfortable quiet for a few minutes, Tommy crying softly into Dream’s shoulder and the latter rubbing comforting circles on his back.

 

“Do you know where you are?” 

 

Tommy shook his head.

 

“That’s okay, do you want to stay with me and my friends for a while? We can get you home soon, don’t worry, none of us are pedos or creeps or kidnappers or… whatever.”

 

They both giggled lightly, Dream standing up and offering Tommy a hand up.

 

“That would be... nice , thank you.”

 

Dream led the small boy into the house, softly closing the door behind them. The entryway was nice, there was a small shoe rack and a wooden table with a vase of fresh-looking red chrysanthemums. 

 

“Dream,” A man with a blue t-shirt and white framed glasses was leaning against a doorframe at the end of the hall, his arms crossed. “Who is this? 

 

“This is Tommy, he’s going to be staying with us for a little while.” Dream announced. “Tommy, this is Gogy, one of my housemates.” 

 

‘Gogy’ raised an eyebrow, although he had overall relaxed. “My name is George , it’s nice to meet you Tommy.” The man smiled warmly at Tommy, ushering him further into the house.

 

The living room was cozy, there was a black sofa and two red armchairs, all situated around a dark oak coffee table. There were half-empty mugs laying atop the surface, a cracked vase in the middle, holding a few white poppies.

 

“Sap!” Dream yelled, and moments later yet another man showed up, this one wearing a white bandana and a t-shirt with a flame on it. “Sapnap, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is Sapnap”

 

The man, Sapnap, smiled slightly as he moved to flop down onto the couch.

 

“Ah, you’re the kid that was beating the shit out of our house! Nice to meet you!” 

 

Dream stifled a laugh and George huffed lightheartedly as Tommy grew bright red with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah that was me, sorry about that.”

 

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Are your hands alright?” Sapnap asked, beckoning Tommy over to sit beside him, which he did so, albeit reluctantly. 

 

“Yeah, they’re okay, don’t worry.” Tommy affirmed, relaxing slightly.

 

It was odd to feel so safe with strangers, but these men had something about them that made Tommy feel okay. Made him feel happy, for the first time in a while.

 

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Dream smiled, sitting himself down on the armchair to Tommy’s left. “Do you want anything? Like some food, we were about to order some takeout anyway.” 

 

“Are we getting Chinese food?” George asked hopefully, perching on the arm of the sofa. 

 

Dream hummed in consideration for a moment, then turned to Tommy. “Do ya like Chinese food? We could get something else if you prefer,”

 

“No, Chinese is good, but you guys really don’t need to spend any money on me, it’s okay!”

 

George waved his hand dismissively, throwing an arm around the blonde’s shoulders gently. “Toms, please, we have more money than we know what to do with, this is nothing kid.”

 

The nickname made Tommy smile. He rolled his eyes playfully, lightly nudging the goggle wearing man “Okay, if that would make you happy, Gogy ,”

 

Dream and Sapnap burst into laughter and George gently shoved Tommy. “G-gogy, oh my fucking god, I love this kid already,” The green hoodie wearing man wheezed, slapping his thigh.

 

“Okay, okay, shut up!” George drew out the last word, swinging his head back to rest on the cushion. “I’m too tired to deal with you all, just give me your food orders and I’ll call the place.” 

 

When the laughter died down and the food had been ordered, the four sat and just talked, getting to know one another. It was nice. 

 

It felt like home.

 

“Oh, shit! I forgot to water the flowers,” Dream cursed, standing up. “Do you like flowers, Tomathy?”

 

Tommy scrunched his nose up, looking at Dream like he had grown a second head. “I love flowers and that’s not my name, dickhead.” 

 

The older just snorted, pulling Tommy to a standing position by his arm before dragging him out the back door. “Well, it is your name now. And you’re gonna help me take care of the flowers while you stay here, okay?”

 

Tommy hummed in agreement, he really did love flowers, so he had no issue with helping out.

 

The garden was beautiful, there were beds of flowers, each patch more beautiful and colourful than the last. Tommy stood, awestruck as Dream approached with two watering cans. “Beautiful, aren’t they? I originally hated the idea of planting flowers, but George had insisted. Now, I love them.”

 

“It’s- they’re- god, Dream, it’s amazing.” 

 

The older chuckled, fondly ruffling Tommy’s hair as he passed him a watering can. “You know which flower is which right?” 

 

Tommy nodded, accepting the watering can with both hands. “Yeah,”

 

“Okay, that’s perfect, you go water the red chrysanthemums, red carnations, purple hyacinths, white heathers and daffodils, they’re just in those patches, there,” Dream pointed towards a large patch next to Tommy. “And there.” He pointed slightly further down the garden to a slightly smaller patch. 

 

“Okay!” The boy smiled before kneeling in front of the flowers, carefully lowering himself, cautious to not damage any of the plants.

 

Dream watched with a smile from the patch he was watering at how gentle Tommy was with the flowers, he noticed how he hummed the tune of ‘hallelujah’ as he caressed the petals softly.

 

Tommy was cautious to not get water on the leaves of any flowers, sorting through the stems to water the roots. He’d always found peace within flowers, he didn’t truly know why, but something about caring for another living thing, a thing that oozed such beauty and grace, made him feel complete.

 

The two had watered all of the flowers, honestly a lot faster than Tommy would have liked if he’s being honest.

 

They retreated back inside, bantering away as they entered the living room. “Hello, fellas!” Tommy shrilled, making Sapnap and George jump slightly.

 

“Welcome back, boys. Food just got here, I’ll go grab some drinks.” George said, starting towards the kitchen before doubling back. “What do you like to drink Tommy? We have fanta, sprite, water, coke, juice-”

 

“Oh, coke please! As long as it’s not one of the shitty flavoured ones like, I don’t know, cherry. Who the fuck decided cherry coke was something the universe needed?”

 

George chuckled lightly as he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a coke for Tommy, a sprite for Sapnap, a berry fanta for Dream and a dr pepper for himself.

 

He went back to the living room and saw the other three sitting on the floor around the coffee table, chatting idly.

 

George joined them, grabbing his box of noodles and his chopsticks. They all dag into the food, bickering and laughing like they had known each other forever.

 

The night continued, the atmosphere of safety and joy remained and Tommy found himself growing tired, the others noticed this and decided to go upstairs to bed.

 

“Tommy, you can take the guest bedroom, it’s heavenly in there, trust me.” Sapnap chirped, ushering the sleepy boy into the room.

 

Tommy half smiled at Sapnap, nodding in appreciation as he stepped into the room, calling out a ‘goodnight’.

 

He collapsed onto the bed, and god Sapnap was right, this bed was heavenly

 

Tommy felt his eyelids grow heavier, allowing them to close. He saw a blinding light and then there was nothing. He could rest now.

 

~~~

 

Maybe that could’ve been Tommy’s story, if he hadn’t died in that hospital bed. 

 

It could’ve been his story if he hadn’t left this earth before his family had screamed in horror and terror as Tommy flatlined. 

 

In another world maybe, Tommy Watson would live past sixteen. 

 

In another life he could plant his roots and grow , just like the flowers he loved so dearly.

 

But not in this life. 

 

Thomas died of severe liver failure due to his overdose, surrounded by those who loved him so dearly. 

 

When he left, he took the sun with him.





Notes:

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :D

I've been in the process of writing this for a little while now, and I'm quite proud of the outcome. This is a very meaningful fic to me, because parts are heavily based on my life, like Tommy's suicide attempt, for example.
The rest of it; running away, starting a better life, finding a family, making a home and recovery are all things I want so badly.

I'm re-reading this and I am cackling over the fact that the quality of writing just gets worse and worse as you go along pfttt

By the way, if you couldn't tell by the title, flower language is quite a big part of this story and I adore flower language, if you're confused with the flower meanings feel free to ask about them!

I know the way I've written this might be confusing, so feel free to ask any questions you might have! :D

Series this work belongs to: