AN: The beginning of this story contains dialogue taken from the show (s4e9, Breakdown) so spoilers for that episode if you haven't seen it yet.
This oneshot deals with the one thing we know for sure that Tom did; slap Tim's head against the wall. This story was hard to write, and my heart breaks for kids who go through stuff like this irl.
Have fun reading 😊
Lucy looks up as Tim exits his father's room at the hospice. He shuffles his feet a little and takes a deep breath.
"You okay?" Lucy asks and steps up to Tim.
"No," he answers quietly, frustration evident in his voice. "He was protecting her… He never did anything to protect us. But his mistress; broke half a dozen laws for her!"
Lucy raises her brow.
"They picked her up, she's being processed right now. I don't think the DA is gonna prosecute your dad on his deathbed…"
"Doesn't matter," Tim says flatly, "he'll get judged soon enough!"
Lucy doesn't quite know what to say and just looks at Tim. The next thing he says is clearly important for him to get off his chest.
"The Tim-tests… those don't make me like him…"
Tim can feel his eyes well up and all those horrible memories of the abuse throughout his childhood come rushing back. Lucy feels her heart break.
"I know," she immediately says, "I… you're nothing like him! I-…"
She looks at Tim. Sees his eyes gleaming with tears and the little boy inside him who never had the childhood he deserved.
"Come here," Lucy says and opens her arms.
Tim accepts the hug, practically melting into the embrace.
"You're nothing like him," Lucy repeats and hugs a little bit harder.
Tim lets a deep breath go. He feels safe around Lucy and for the first time thinks about letting someone from the station see more of him than just his badass sergeant exterior.
"We're going for a cup of hot chocolate," Lucy declares then and Tim lets go of her.
"What?" he says, mildly amused.
"Hot chocolate. That's what my aunt always did with me when I was sad."
Tim smiles crookedly.
"Do I get a say?"
Lucy tilts her head a little.
"Hmm… No!"
Tim has to admit that the hot chocolate is actually really good. Very rich and with a generous amount of whipped cream on top.
Lucy can't help but giggle when she notices a little bit of cream on the tip of Tim's nose and he immediately wipes it off, his cheeks heating up.
"Do you think I'm a bad person for not wanting to see my dad in that hospice?" Tim asks after a short while and Lucy feels a little taken aback.
"What?" she asks and then shakes her head. "You did go see him…"
"Yea," Tim nods, "but only to talk to him about Monica. Not to actually see him…"
Lucy clears her throat and crinkles her brow slightly.
"I don't think I know enough about what he did to you to be the judge of that…"
Tim nods once and leans back in the chair. Lucy can see that he actually wants to talk about it but doesn't quite know where to start.
"You said the other day that he slapped your head against a wall once…" she says quietly and sends Tim an almost timid look.
Lucy thinks it feels a bit invasive to prod like that into a very sensitive matter, but Tim just nods and looks at his half empty cup.
"Yeah, he did… when I was 12."
Lucy sighs.
"Do you wanna tell me about it?"
She can hear him take in a deep breath and then he shifts his gaze, looking straight into her eyes.
"Sure…"
Tim felt his heart beating hard in his chest. He had to work fast to get this done before anyone got home. If anybody caught him red-handed he… well, he didn't really want to think about that.
His mom had taken Gennifer out for a haircut and his dad was still at work, so Tim was good for now. It had to be done, he reminded himself. This had to stop. Now!
He winced as he crouched in front of the liquor cabinet, his back, butt and the back of his legs still sore from the beating he had gotten the other day. His dad had been so drunk that he almost hadn't been able to form a coherent sentence. He had screamed and yelled at Tim for something he didn't do, and when Tim had had the audacity to question it his father had lost it and beat him black and blue with whatever implement had happened to be closest. Tim was certain that the coat hanger snapping in two was the only thing that had stopped the beating when it did. Otherwise, Tom would have continued until he couldn't lift his arm anymore!
The 12-year-old frowned when he looked at the bottles. Who even needed that much alcohol? He nodded to himself and grabbed some whiskey and vodka. He was doing this for the whole family!
Tim got up and carried the booze to the kitchen sink and then unscrewed the first lid. The contents quickly went down the drain and Tim continued his work. Once the three bottles were empty, he put them back in the cabinet, so that his dad wouldn't notice that his precious alcohol was all gone. Hopefully, when he grabbed one of the bottles he'd just think that he had emptied it and put it back by mistake.
"Come on, come on," Tim whispered to himself, the adrenaline pumping through his system.
He had just pulled out another four bottles when he heard the front door, and Tim froze for a second. What the hell was he going to do? There were still three empty bottles next to the sink in the kitchen as well as the four full ones here on the floor.
"And you're sure your wife won't mind?" a female voice asked, and Tim frowned.
At first, he couldn't tell who it belonged to, but then he recognized it. It was Mrs. Ochoa from down the road. Why was she here? Then he heard his father.
"Of course not, I'm just helping you with your taxes. And Susan is at the hairdresser's with Gennifer, and Tim is at a friend's house, so no one's here anyway."
"Fuck," the boy mouthed and looked left and right.
He could hear the adults walking down the hallway and in a panic he began putting the alcohol back into the cabinet. It was impossible for him to do anything about the bottles in the kitchen, but he had to try making these ones disappear.
He saw it the second it happened, and it was as if time slowed down around him. He hadn't pushed the bottle in far enough and when he pulled his hand back, the bottle followed. It toppled over, sailed through the air and shattered when it hit the floor. A thousand pieces of glass went everywhere and a puddle of golden liquid pooled next to Tim's feet.
He felt his heart trying to burst its way out if his body and he whipped around when he heard his father enter the living room.
"What the hell is going on here?!" the man roared and Tim opened and closed his mouth a few times.
Mrs. Ochoa looked from one to the other and then cleared her throat.
"I think I'll let you two get some privacy," she said then and turned on her heel.
As soon as the woman had left the house, Tom was hovering over his son. He grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him a few steps backwards so he could look at the broken bottle on the floor.
"That was my most expensive brandy, boy!" he growled into Tim's ear, making the boy flinch.
Tim scurried off to get a dustpan, all the while thinking about how he could explain what was going on.
"TIM!" his father snarled angrily, and Tim assumed that his dad had spotted the other bottles still on the floor next to the cabinet.
"TIM!" he yelled again and this time stepped into the kitchen where Tim was just appearing with the brush and dustpan.
"I swear, if you have been sampling my goods, boy-"
Tim frantically shook his head.
"I haven't. I swear!"
Tom squinted.
"Well you better start talking. Right now!"
Tim swallowed against a lump in his throat. Maybe it would actually have been better to say that he had taste-tested a few things than the truth. But he didn't get to do either.
The next second, Tom pointed at the sink and Tim felt his stomach do a flip. Holy shit!
"What. The hell. Is that?!"
Tom quickly walked to the sink and grabbed one of the empty bottles. His back was turned, but Tim could see how erratic his breathing was getting. This was not good!
"Dad, I-"
Tim felt tongue tied and had no idea what to say. The blood left his head when his father slowly turned around, and Tim swayed a little, feeling queasy. The look on Tom's face was livid and Tim couldn't remember the last time he had seen the man this angry.
"I see," Tom slithered and nodded to himself. "Think I drink too much and wanted to "help" me. Does that ring a bell, Tim?"
The boy didn't say anything and bit his bottom lip instead. Tom had a bottle in each hand and suddenly, he hurled one right past Tim. It smashed against the fridge, breaking into a million small pieces, and Tim visibly flinched.
"POURING MY WHISKEY, MY TEQUILA AND MY VODKA DOWN THE DRAIN HAS GOT TO BE THE DUMBEST SHIT YOU'VE EVER DONE, BOY!"
Tom placed the remaining bottle on the table and then stalked over to his son. The slap was well announced and came as no surprise, but Tim still jumped and couldn't help but huff a little. The red mark stung, and the boy quickly rubbed it with the back of his hand.
The next second Tim found himself thrown over the back of a dining chair on the receiving end of a rolled-up newspaper that had been lying on the table from earlier that morning. The impromptu weapon slapped down several times, hitting a sore bruise every time and Tim couldn't keep quiet.
"Arh, dad!" he squealed and squirmed in an attempt to get away.
To Tim's surprise, his father quickly threw the newspaper on the floor, letting Tim straighten up. No way in hell this was already over, Tim thought to himself and tried preparing for the worst. His fears came true when he saw his dad walking to the cabinet in the living room. The man quickly inspected the shelves and took out a few bottles.
"TIM!" he bellowed in a deep, guttural voice and snapped his fingers at a spot in front of him. "YOU GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"
Tim's feet wouldn't move, and he just stood there feeling helpless.
"HOW MANY BOTTLES DID YOU EMPTY?" Tom yelled.
His entire body was shaking with rage, and he growled when his son didn't answer.
"Have you gone deaf all of a sudden, boy?" the man continued and then walked over to Tim in long strides.
His hand shot out, catching Tim's ear, and then he pulled him close.
"I said. How many did you empty, Tim?"
"Ow," Tim croaked and tried prying free, "I…I think it was nine-aarhow… or ten…"
His father nodded to himself.
"Nine or ten!"
He twisted Tim's ear, making the kid squint his eyes in pain.
"OW! Let go, dad, please!"
Of course he didn't. Instead, he started yelling again as he dragged Tim with him back to the liquor cabinet. Tim had placed a hand on top of his father's to try and ease the strain on his ear, but his dad seemed intent on ripping it clean off.
"GAH!" Tim huffed when he heard – and felt - the cartilage in the ear crunch a little, "DAD!"
Tom kept yelling and Tim didn't register half of it, the pain in his ear taking up all his focus, but he got the main message; that he was a brat who deserved everything he got and more.
Then Tom quickly pulled Tim a little towards himself before changing the direction and Tim felt his other ear ramming against the wall. An explosion of pain shot through his head and stars danced before his eyes, and Tom finally let go of his ear, letting the boy crumble to the floor.
Tim felt almost detached from reality, shock and adrenaline coursing through him and the next thing he registered was his mom's arms around him, her hand cupping his red ear and then being helped to stand and led to his bed.
"I must have sat on the floor a while," Tim says and casts a glance at Lucy, "'cause the sun was going down when I got to my bed…"
Lucy's voice trembles a little when she speaks, and Tim notices that her eyes are teary.
"Tim," she says softly, "this is insane. I'm so sorry that this happened to you!"
He nods but doesn't really know what to say.
"And I'm so sorry for trying to force you to the house, and for mentioning the Tim-Tests. I completely overstepped!"
"It's okay, Lucy," Tim assures her.
Their cups are empty and as they leave the coffee shop Tim puts a hand around Lucy, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.
"I'm kinda glad you made me go to the house," he admits, "maybe it can help me… accept what happened."
"I'll never forgive him, though," Tim adds quickly and Lucy stops him in his tracks.
She grabs his arm and they look at each other.
"Hey," she says, her voice almost a little stern this time, "not everything should be forgiven, Tim."
He lets her words sink in and then hugs her.
"See you tomorrow, Lucy."
"See you, Tim. And remember; you're nothing like him. At all!"