Why Didn't You Leave Me?

<35 - Golden Duckling>

TW// surgery? Removal of the tracker, blood

If needed, skip to "I look back to my laptop..." It's right after they take the tracker out.

<George's POV>

There's a what!?

Why in the name of church prime would they put a tracker into a child as if he's a dog!?

"Why the fuck would they do that?!" I look to Karl.

"They- He didn't trust my mom with some d-deal," Tommy answers.

"That- okay... Tommy, do you know where it is?" Wilbur asks.

"It's between my right shoulder and neck," He mumbles. "I'm really sorry! I- I ruined your guys home and- I'm really really sorry-" Tommy breaks down in apologies and more sobs.

"Tommy, no, no, no. It's okay. You didn't know," Wilbur comforts. "It's not your fault, okay? It's not your fault."

Wilbur pulls the blanket off of his shoulder slightly. Right where Tommy said, there is a small bump just underneath a layer or two of his skin.

"We have to take it out. If we don't, Tommy could be in even more danger," I state. Wilbur sighs and nods.

I see Quackity running up to us in the corner of my eye. "You guys got Tommy?!" He smiles but it drops once he sees the boy. "Holy shit..."

"There's a tracker in Tommy's skin. We have to remove it," Wilbur states as he grabs a dry rag from Quackity's bag of bomb supplies. "Okay, Tommy, when we go to take it out, you'll have to bite down on this, okay?" Tommy nods.

Quackity sits down and sorts through his bag, looking at the different achohol bottles' labels until he takes one completely out of the bag. "Here. We can use this to clean it once we're done," he states as he grabs another dry rag.

"Okay, we just-" Wilbur starts.

"Here," Karl says holding out a scalpel.

"Where'd you get that?" I ask.

"I stopped time to run in and grab one," he answers.

"Okay, thanks," Wilbur takes the sharp surgical tool. "Quackity, you ready?" Quackity holds up the now alchohol-soaked rag. "Tommy, are you ready?" Tommy nods and Karl helps put the dry rag into his mouth so he wouldn't have to move as much. Wilbur takes a breath before saying, "Okay, here's goes."

Wilbur cuts around the tracker, making sure not to cut too deep. Tommy tenses up completely, but tries not to move or make too much noise. Wilbur eventually pulls the tracker out. "I got it," he states. "Quack-"

"On it," Quackity says as he places the rag on the new wound. Tommy winces at the touch. "Lo siento, pequeño patito dorado," Quackity apologises.

"Hey, you're doing so good, buddy," Wilbur tries to comfort. "You're being so brave and so strong, Tommy."

I look back to my laptop. I've been trying to get into Tommy's file. It's under a shit-ton of security. I give it a couple more tries before it actually opens.