BLIND | DreamSMP

XIII - Misdirected Anger

Phil's words carried a hint of something darker, a malevolent subtext Tommy couldn't quite unravel, the slippery tone slithering in one ear and sliding out the other too fast to analyze. By the time he gave up attempting to decipher it, the conversation had gone stale, and breakfast was finished in hostile silence.

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Ceramic dishes clattered noisily in the kitchenette space, cups and cutlery clinking jarringly as Tommy tried to recline peacefully on the couch that he frequently inhabited. All he wanted nowadays was to sleep, to slip into a liquid world in which he could still see color, recognize faces, read the time, and do everything else the solid veneer of perpetual darkness draped thickly over his eyes prevented. Waking up was a disappointment.

Another loud cling accompanied by splashing water shook him back into reality, forcing him to abandon his lucid daydreams and return to reality. Tommy swung his legs onto the floor with a sigh, sitting properly now as he considered his options. Phil had gone outside to tend the bees, something that seemed to be a morning chore for him, so Techno must be the one creating the din. After the fight at breakfast, Tommy was hesitant to approach Techno, but sleep wasn't going to arrive, not with the persisting noise, and he might as well investigate what his brother was doing. Tommy stood cautiously, carefully picking his way over to the source of the clatter.

"What're you doing?"

"Washing dishes." Techno replied gruffly.

"Can I help?"

The question must have been unexpected, because it took Techno a few seconds to answer.

"Sure, I guess. Here, take this."

A rag was shoved into Tommy's hands, who grasped it excitedly. It might be a menial task, but he was desperately bored of doing nothing at all. Phil hadn't even let him help all that much with the bees yesterday, and kept insisting Tommy stay put on the dreaded couch he had grown so used to.

"I'll wash, you dry?"

"Sounds good," Tommy affirmed. A wet cup was passed to him, signaling the beginning of his workload.

At first, the two worked in synchronized silence, damp dishes handed from one to the other, dried and stacked on the counter methodically. It was a surprise when Techno spoke-- Tommy had assumed he was still mad about breakfast, but Techno didn't seem any angrier than usual.

"You still haven't told me anything about exile."

Tommy's hands stilled on the plate he was cleaning, squeezing the rag tightly in his grasp.

"So?"

"Mhm. Y'know, you can't avoid this forever.

"Whatever."

Tommy resumed scrubbing his plate, trying to act unbothered. He set the dish, now dry, on the growing stack to his right, accepting another plate as a replacement from Techno.

"Something must have happened to make you run away."

"W-who said anything about running away?!" Tommy spluttered, almost dropping his plate.

"It's pretty obvious Tommy. Can you just talk about it with me?"

"I am talking about it!"

"No, you aren't! You're avoiding my questions, and I want to know why!"

"I'm not avoiding anything!"

"Then why won't you tell me what happened?!"

"Because it's none of your fucking business!"

"I can't protect you if I don't know--"

"I never asked for you to 'protect' me!"

"I'm just trying to help you!"

"SHUT UP!"

Tommy had been clenching a plate in his left hand, the dull ceramic clutched so tightly it cut into his palm, and as he shouted, forgetting he held it, he threw his hands down in anger, the plate flying out of his grip and smashing onto the wooden floor with a deafening crash. Knife-like shards sprinkled with dewy droplets of water Tommy hadn't yet dried were flung outwards from the point of impact, coating the ground in vengeful fragments.

For a moment neither moved, spoke, even breathed.

"I-- I'm sorry, I didn't--"

For the second time in two days, Tommy felt himself suddenly lifted into the air and swung sideways, the unexpected action causing him to scrabble for any sort of purchase, of which he found none, until his feet landed back on the ground, Techno's ridiculously strong hands continuing to grip Tommy as he regained his balance, only letting go once he found his footing.

"Hey! I didn't say you could pick me up!"

A cocktail of conflicting emotions boiled inside Tommy; guilt and shame over the broken plate rivaled by anger at Techno, for trying to get him to talk about his exile, for tossing him around like a rag doll, for things he couldn't even name.

"Stay over there, I'm trying to clean this up."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Tommy shot back, taking a brash step forwards in ornery defiance.

"You're going to cut up your foot if you come any closer." Techno warned.

"So what?!"

"Go sit back down on the couch. Now."

"Fuck you!" Tommy swore, unwanted heat pricking at his eyes. "You and Phil both treat me like a little kid, and I'm not! I'm fucking sick of it!"

"I'm trying to keep you safe! You smashed one of my goddamn plates on the floor a few seconds ago, and now you're acting like you don't need anyone's goddamn help!"

"I didn't mean to! It was an accident! And I wouldn't have smashed it anyways if you weren't being such a fucking ass!"

Tears dripped down Tommy's face, sliding over his cheeks and off his chin, splattering onto the floor amongst the ceramic shards.

"You expect me to waltz over to Dream and ask him for that antidote you want without knowing shit?!"

"Yes! You're supposed to be helping me!"

"I can't if I don't know what happened!"

Neither Tommy or Techno heard the door creak open, too caught up in their fight-- but both took notice when Phil spoke.

"What the hell is going on?"