You'll See! || SBI

𝐓𝐰𝐨

Song: Keep Yourself Alive by Queen

TW// underage drinking, drug use, physical and verbal abuse, blood, dissociation?

He had a problem.

Okay, he had multiple problems– drinking, drugs, his fear of loud noises– but this was a real problem. Tommy forgot to take off his eyeliner that night. Thankfully, he took out his septum but forgot about his fucking eyes. He didn't blame Ranboo for doing it– no, he loved it– but he definitely blamed himself for being too tipsy and high on weed to remember.

He walked in the door after managing to sober himself up at Ranboo's– it was a quick stop so Tommy could regain his composure and clothes– and his father was waiting for him. He thought he was in the clear. His father had asked him how his rehearsal was and he replied with an acceptable answer he had practised on his way home. Now he was here. Father screaming, mother behind him putting in her own opinions every now and again.

"I pay good money for you to go to that bloody school! You're throwing your life away, Thomas!" He screams at the top of his lounges. "Everything I do is for you! You're an ungrateful little brat who could give two shits. You're selfish!"

He takes it.

Tommy has never had the guts to stand up for himself. If his parent's ever insulted Tubbo or Ranboo, he would yell and scream, defending their honour. He couldn't do the same for himself.

"Those two devil worshippers are horrible people! Look at what they're doing to you, Thomas! Junkies! That's what they are! They thrive off of a sinful beverage and powder! They're gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere and they're only going to bring you down with them–"

"You leave Ranboo and Tubbo the fuck alone! They're good people! You only see them differently because of how they look–"

"They are cultists–!"

"They are no such thing!"

"Arm out. NOW!"

Tommy winced under his father's volume, his own mother lingering on the staircase behind the greying man. The older man stood straight looking down at his son expectantly as he waited for his arm to be extended. His eyes fell to his shoes as he slowly pulled up his sleeve and raised his arm out in front of him. The tapping of his mother's heels on the polished wood on the stairs echoed before they hit the polished tiles.

There was silence but only for a moment.

Tommy screamed out in pain as a wooden ruler was brought down onto his wrist at full force. The ends dug into the already fragile skin and pulled out beads of blood. The sounds of wood against skin echoed throughout the entire foyer, neither parent batting an eye at the screams their only child let out. Tears streamed down the boy's face, sobs escaping between each scream. He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to escape his pained body.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the bathroom. Towel wrapped around his lower half, hair soaked, eyeliner down his red face and a red right forearm with bruises and red scratches. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked at himself. He was a mess. He wiped his eyes and nose before he could start crying again– if his father heard him, it would get him another lash. Instead, the blonde crouched down and fished out the bandages Sam restocked for the boy and got to work.

–

Tommy felt out of place.

He was with three musically talented individuals who– might he add– were older than him and were part of an actual band. While he was some sad rich kid who could play the drums and violin. The second one wasn't his choice; he was forced to learn it as a kid as it was his father's instrument of choice and the older man wanted his only child to follow in his footsteps. As fucking if.