TW: mentions of abuse, blood, violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms
Tommy was crumpled on the floor, his fists coated with blood, both 17's and his own. He was pretty sure that at some point while hammering at the door he must've broken at least one finger, and still the door hadn't budged. The stupid thing hadn't even been dented.
Tommy hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped hitting. He had gone on and on screaming for 17 to get the hell back here because that fucker deserved death.
He couldn't remember when he had finally calmed enough to stop hitting it, and he was pretty sure that was because he had passed out still hammering. He certainly wouldn't consider himself calm now. He was shaking, head to toe, and he had no idea if that was anger, fear or his body trying to retch up tears he no longer had. He could feel the tracks of tear stains on his face, could feel the blood he had added when he tried to rub them away.
Tommy didn't care about that. He didn't care that he looked like a disgrace. Didn't care that his throat was so fucking hoarse from crying. Didn't care about any of that, because all he could think about was Tubbo. Tubbo who had loved him. Tubbo who had been with him. Tubbo who had cared for him. Tubbo who had fought for him. Tubbo who had died for him.
Tubbo deserved a thousand times the amount of tears his body could ever muster up and then some. Tubbo deserved the world, and 17 had taken it from him. 17 had taken it from both of them.
It wasn't just 17 though. That was the problem. It was all of them. Every single Masked One. All of them. This place wouldn't exist without them, and Tommy would make it his mission to get rid of them all. He would destroy this place from the ground up for what they did to Tubbo. To his Tubbo.
Eventually the door moved, dragging Tommy out of the furious thoughts entwined with sleep that had overtaken him for who knows how long. His throat was agony, and he desperately needed water to replenish all he had lost through the tears.
"Hello Theseus," A voice sneered and Tommy tried to shove himself to his feet, only his legs didn't hold him up and he crumpled back down all to fast, which only spiked cruel laughter from the Masked One, "Guess that's what a couple days with no food or water will get you."
A couple days? Holy fucking shit. A couple days. He had been in this cell for a couple days! No wonder his throat was fucking killing him.
A bowl slid across the floor slopping water over the sides as it was carelessly shoved by the foot of the Masked One.
"Drink up, your fight is only a few days away, can't have you dying before that now can we?" The Masked One snapped, before slipping out and slamming the door closed. Tommy wished he could've escaped then, but his legs wouldn't fucking MOVE!
The water, thankfully, was just near his head and so he crumbled forward, drenching his face as he gulped the water in, not carrying that he probably looked like some feral animal. Tommy knew that if he tried to hold it up to drink it he would just drop it and waste the precious water, so he simply made sure that he wouldn't die of thirst. Not yet at least.
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Quackity POV:
The wait was agony. Day after day they were stuck here unable to leave. Police officers were regularly patrolling the area, and there was one at each entrance into the house. Protecting them Puffy had said, and it made sense, Quackity wanted that for the others but for him? He wanted whoever took Tommy to get the hell back here and try to take him, because whoever did would get a fist to the face and end up with a worse broken nose then Quackity himself had. At least the guards held back the Press. Quackity didn't know if he could cope with talking about this.
Fal and Puffy were working the case, and Quackity respected them for that, because they were doing the best they could and he knew that, but knowing that Tommy was out there, all alone and probably in a tonne of pain, still fucking broke Quackity's heart again and again.
The school had started recording all of their classes so they could watch them while they were here, and they had their laptops now which somewhat kept them occupied, but Quackity hadn't learnt shit, and he knew none of the others had too, no matter how dedicated Ranboo was trying to be nor how much Niki was fighting to learn in the gaps between stress baking.
Karl had hardly stopped drawing, and no one blamed him for that, although at multiple points in the last few endless days one of them would have to stop him just long enough to protect his now bandaged hands from overuse.
Wilbur was a complete mess, and some days he spent completely isolated, without a sound coming from him, while others he spent playing music nonstop. Other days he tried to join them, and he would sit quietly in a corner, pretending he was there, even though they all knew he wasn't registering a word they said.
Honestly, they were all a mess. Quackity hadn't heard a word from Techno personally, but he knew Fal was talking to him a lot more then the others for some unknown reason so that was probably some mess in itself.
"Q?" Conner murmured, pulling Quackity out of his thoughts.
"Yeah kid?"
"I don't get this," He sighed, pointing to an equation on his laptop. It was something he was doing in maths, so Quackity worked out what it was and then explained it to Conner, making sure the kid didn't catch on about the lingering pain from his thoughts.
Words: 1000
A/N: longest gap of time covered in a single chapter so far and that is very intentional, Tommy is so exceedingly out of it, he faded in and out of consciousness, while the others r basically in quarantine but with the added stress of Tommy sooooooo... XD I hope u r enjoying this angst :]