Pain - A TommyInnit Angst

Chapter 9

(A/N): I can't believe this book is actually getting some reads, that's like the coolest thing ever! Tysm for reading, and if you could leave a vote that would mean the world <3

It had been almost three hours, and Wilbur, Ranboo and Tubbo were still sat in the call. Still waiting. By this point, Tubbo had begun softly crying and Wilbur and Ranboo were both struggling not to join in.

'What if... w-what if they've killed him?' Tubbo sobbed and Wilbur flinched. He didn't know what to say; they all knew that it was possible. 'He's probably just... unconscious.' Wilbur said, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He couldn't stop himself from picturing Tommy's battered, blood-covered body lying on his bed unconscious last week. He felt his breathing quicken and before he knew it, he too was sobbing down the phone.

'He d-doesn't fucking deserve this.' He wept.

'Nobody deserves this.' Ranboo quietly concluded.

'Dream!' Tubbo suddenly exclaimed.

'What?' Ranboo and Wilbur said in unison.

'Dream, h-he has Tommy's address, he sent him that package. We need to call him, Wilbur, you have to go get Tommy.'

Wilbur suddenly felt alive, energy coursing through his veins. He hung up on Tubbo and Ranboo and called Dream's number. Dream didn't pick up. Wilbur began to panic, and spam called Dream, until a sleepy voice sounded from the other end of the phone.

'Wilbur, what do you want? I was asleep.'

'No time to explain Dream, I need you to give me Tommy's address. He's in a fuck ton of danger, please hurry.'

• • •

The first thing Tommy noticed when he woke up was the rancid stench that surrounded him. It appeared to be a mixture of blood and vomit. Shakily bringing his hands up to his face, he realised that he was covered in his own sick. He must have thrown up whilst he was unconscious. His breathing still felt restricted from his father's choking grip, and the entire of his body below his neck felt like he was on fire. But one thought prevailed over all this; Wilbur.

He had to call Wilbur.

Tommy's phone was still on his desk, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that his head was facing towards his desk so he wouldn't have to turn himself around. Tommy began using his battered arms to inch his way towards the table, whimpering as the agonising pain in his back became even more intense. He began to cough, his body seizing with every heave. To his horror, he felt a bitter iron taste in his mouth and realised that he had coughed up blood. His panic thickened. He needed to get to the phone. He needed to call Wilbur.

Tommy continued trying to inch himself forwards, but the pain was too much and he let out a strangled cry. He couldn't do it. Looking around the room, all he could see was red; blood was smeared on the walls, the curtains, even the door the other side of the room. Tommy began to panic seeing how much blood he had lost, and he could still feel it flowing freely out of the wound on his back. Resting his forehead against the blood-soaked carpet, he began to sob. His last thought before he blacked out was that Wilbur would never know what happened to him. He could picture him, sitting at his desk, waiting anxiously for a call that would never come. Tommy's eyes fluttered closed. Darkness.

• • •

Wilbur drove furiously, trying to keep his eyes on the road but all he could think about was Tommy. He desperately wanted to send the boy a text, perhaps he had just forgotten to call him, but he didn't for fear that his parents might have his phone and see. Wilbur checked his watch and exhaled anxiously as he realised that he had only been going for an hour, which meant he had just over an hour left to go. What if he didn't make it in time? What if... what if Tommy was already gone?

• • •

Tommy groaned as he felt himself regain consciousness. He squinted at his alarm clock. It was 10pm. He took a couple of deep breaths to try and steady himself, and tried to think as practically as possible. He looked at the bloodstained room and ascertained that it wasn't as bad as last week; it just looked worse because it was spread around over a larger area. He tried tensing his back muscles a bit and a surge of pain spread over him, causing him to whimper. Still, though, not as bad as last week. Tommy felt encouraged by this; he had done it once, so surely he could do it again. He tried to turn his head more to take full note of his injuries; he of course knew about the word carved into his back, and the bruises from the hammer, but his face fell when he saw his legs. His trackies had been pulled up to reveal the skin, which was bright red and blistered in a strange pattern almost reminiscent of tie-dye; they appeared to be... burned? He turned around slightly more and saw a kettle, still plugged into the wall. They must have poured boiling water over his legs. He felt a surprising wave of gratitude that he wasn't awake for this part of the torture; he hated being burned more than anything.

Tommy looked back towards his desk. Surely he could make it? He pictured Wilbur's face, imagined how worried and panicked he must be. With this in mind as motivation, he gritted his teeth and again began to inch towards the desk; it was harder this time than it was last week because of the bruising over his entire body, but he had to call Wilbur. He didn't have any other choice.

He finally made it to the foot of his desk, by which point he had tears of pain rolling down his cheeks. But he knew that this bit would be the most painful. Using one of his arms, he began to push himself upwards. He couldn't help but let out a yowl of pain. He threw his other arm onto the top of the table, feeling around. He grabbed his phone before collapsing in a heap on the carpet, whimpering. His breathing sped up and he opened his phone; his face was so swollen and covered in blood that his Face ID no longer worked. He pressed on Wilbur's contact and called him. Wilbur picked up almost immediately.

'Wil, I-'

He was cut off by Wilbur, who's words came out fractured in between frantic sobs.

'Toms, I thought you were d-dead, I really did, oh my f-fucking God Tommy, are you okay?'

'They hurt me bad, Wil.' Tommy's voice was raspy and painful, it was an effort to force out the words because his throat was so swollen and swore from his father's choke hold.

'Tommy, what injuries do you have? Tell me everything, and stay on the phone okay? I'm gonna stop by at a shop and grab some stuff. I'm about half an hour away, hang in there.'

'You're what?!'

'Shit.'

Tommy began to panic; surely Wilbur hadn't found his address. Where would he have got it from?

'Wil, you're not coming to my house are you?' He choked.

'I can't leave you there. Dream gave me your address and I'm coming whether you like it or not. Now please just tell me what injuries you have so I can get the right stuff to help you.'

'Wilbur... I- I don't want them to hurt you.'

'Don't worry about me Tommy. I'll be fine. Now describe your injuries, please.'

Tommy reeled off the list of injuries that he could see, starting with the more severe ones and eventually getting to the smaller and more minor ones. Surprisingly, he began to feel an overwhelming sense of relief at the idea of Wilbur picking him up; it absolutely terrified him, but perhaps it would work and perhaps he would be safe with Wilbur.

'Ok Toms, I'm about 15 minutes away, do you wanna pack a bag of stuff?'

'Wilbur, I can't move. It hurts too much. That's why I didn't call you straight away. I'm sorry.'

'Oh Toms, you don't have to apologise,' Wilbur murmured, 'And don't worry, you can borrow my stuff.'

They sat in silence apart from Tommy's occasional pained whimpers and a few muffled sobs from Wilbur's end of the phone. This continued until, finally, Wilbur arrived.

'I'm outside your house. Do you think the door will be locked?'

'I d-don't think so, but if it is there's n-normally a key under the doormat.' Tommy's heart was pounding and his voice was beginning to shake uncontrollably. His parents were sure to wake up. What if they hurt him again? What if they hurt Wilbur?