Little! Tommy Cg! Phil

"Hi Tommy~" Tommy looked around in a panic. "D-Dream! Fuck off!" He couldn't find the source of the voice. His breathing picked up as he looked around. "Tommy~"

"What do you want? D-Do you want my things? I'll give you my things, just leave me alone." He dropped everything he had. Tommy felt like he was being squeezed, he couldn't breathe. "Please." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Just leave me alone." He curled in on himself, trying and failing to calm himself down. He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched away. "Don't touch me! Just take my things and go!"

Tommy felt his age drop as his flashback stopped. His vision was foggy as he hugged his knees, muffling his crying. "Tommy?" He looked up quickly, thinking he would see Dream, but saw Phil instead. Tommy scooted away until he bumped into the wall. Phil reached a hand out to him, but stopped when Tommy flinched and put his hands up in defense. "Tommy?" Phil crouched down, a good distance away from him. "Tommy, It's me. I won't hurt you."

Tommy shook his head violently, then put his head on his knees. Phil watched Tommy worriedly. He placed a hand on the floor between them and tapped one of his fingers slowly. "Can you try breathing with me?" Tommy nodded, not lifting his head but peeking over his knees.

Phil tapped one, two, three, four fingers on the ground, left the four for four counts, then went back down four, three, two, one. He repeated that, not taking his eyes off Tommy.

Once Tommy calmed down, he crawled over to Phil and sat in his lap, hugging him. Phil kissed his hair, then ran his hand through it. "Are you small?" Tommy nodded silently and pushed his face into Phil's shoulder. "My buddy." He hummed. "Are you okay?"

Tommy shook his head, so Phil kept running his hand through his hair and humming. Tommy relaxed greatly against his caregiver. "Wan' C'em'ine (Want Clementine)." Phil chuckled and grabbed the moth stuffie, giving it to the little.

Tommy tensed up and started crying again. He held Phil's shirt tightly. "Hey, hey it's okay bub. You're safe." Phil repeated a few times, holding him close. "You're safe. I've got you."

"Don' 'ike it. Ma'e it 'top Da." (don't like it. Make it stop Da) Phil hushed him gently. "I know bub. I know." Tommy sniffled and held his moth stuffie close. Phil rocked slowly, trying to soothe him. He held on to his little until the sniffles subsided.

"You okay bub?" Tommy nodded slowly. "Tan get d'ink pease?" Phil's eyes softened and he nodded. "Of course!" He stood up, holding Tommy on his hip as he made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a red sippy cup, but Tommy shook his head and pointed at a bottle. "You want the bottle?" Phil put the cup back and grabbed the bottle. "Angle milk bub?" The little nodded, so Phil grabbed the ingredients.

"How old are you feeling?" Tommy held up two fingers, then lowered one half way. "Awe, so small." Phil tickled him lightly, making Tommy giggle and squirm. He gave him the bottle and went to the living room.

"Do you want to watch cartoons?" Phil set Tommy on the couch and turned on the tv. "B'uey?" (Bluey?) He turn on the show and fed the little his bottle.