A reminder that this story holds sensitive topics, such as abuse, family problems, and alcohol abuse. Be cautious <3

~~~~~

The door slammed open, making Tommy's blood run cold as he scrambled to end the call. "Get off your butt and do your work, you snob," His father's voice boomed. Tommy hoped Wilbur hadn't heard anything. His father took an uncoordinated heavy step towards Tommy and spun the chair around to face him. Tommy tried to respond as calmly as he could, though he could barely breathe.

"What was I supposed to do again? I think I forgot." Tommy attempted to even his tone, though he actually had no clue what he was supposed to do; he just assumed his father was being affected by the alcohol.

"You forgetful, useless, kid," his father's face was right in his as the reek of alcohol in his breath stung his eyes. Tommy's eyes watered as he desperately tried not to scrunch his nose. His father spat in his face, then smacked him hard against his temple with an empty bottle of alcohol (which thankfully didn't break). His father then left, slamming the door behind him.

Tommy clutched the side of his head, stunned. He took a few faltering steps before collapsing on his bed. He lay on his side, contemplating the words his father spat (literally) at him.

Forgetful

Useless.

-

He woke up with a throbbing headache and a visible bruise on the side of his head. It was four in the morning, but Tommy knew he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep. He got out of bed nauseated, and quietly stepped downstairs. He realized how hungry he was after not eating for a day- or was it longer than that? It was still dark out, so the house was dark. It took a moment for him to realize his dad was passed out, slumping on a barstool at the kitchen island with a bottle of some kind of beer in his hand. Tommy froze, unsure of what he should do. His father stirred, and Tommy booked it to the stairs and back to his room.

He closed the door, preparing to lock it before he realized that his father had broken the lock when he burst into his room the other night. Tommy thought of the events that occurred that night, the harsh counsel he was given, and the hit from the alcohol bottle. His head ached as he reached his hand up to touch the bruise, wincing at the contact. You fell down the stairs. Yeah, that's right. He had fallen down the stairs; his father hadn't hit him. He needed to stream with Wilbur tonight to finish the bit, and if his friends or the chat asked, he had fallen down the stairs.

He painfully did his schoolwork, shouts from his parents still tormenting him through the day. He didn't bother to go downstairs for food in case he would be caught in between the argument. He opened a mini-fridge that sat in the corner of his room that revealed a pack of coke (NOT DRUGS, NOT DRUGS). He set the can on his desk, making it visible in the camera for advertising purposes. He exhaled, having second thoughts on streaming. His phone buzzed with a message from Wilbur, telling him to start streaming. Though he felt awful, he started the stream, putting on a plastic smile.

-

The chat noticed the bruise, and, of course, they had to bring it up on the call with all his friends.

"Tommy, my chat is saying you have a bruise on the side of your face?" Wil asked, half unbelieving, half worried.

"What's that about?" Schlatt asked with the same tone as Wil.

"You okay, Tommy?" Tubbo asked, his friendly tone sounding inviting.

Tommy grinned and let out a short chuckle, though, on the inside, he wanted to scream. "Yeah, I just tripped down the stairs."

"Clumsy gremlin-child," Wil snorted before continuing on with the bit, the others on the call laughing their approval at Wil's comment.

-

The stream ended, and Tommy's mind felt blurred and broken. He was still in a VC with Wilbur, Schlatt, Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap. George and Tubbo had been there, but they had left to do other things. Not that it mattered he was on a call with them; everyone's words were muffled by loud silence that reverberated through Tommy's head. The blonde leaned back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut. Pain shot through him, and he covered his mouth in case he felt like yelping.

"Tommy!" Schlatt's voice called out loudly.

"Huh- What?" Tommy sat up, readjusting himself.

"We've been talking to you this whole time, and you haven't answered us," Quackity informed him, a chuckle breaking in with the comment.

"You did this last night, too, Tommy. Are you sure you're doing fine?" Wilbur asked. Tommy was silent.

"Do... you need to tell us something? You can trust us," Dream spoke softly and reassuringly, and Tommy knew he had to respond with something.

"I know I can trust you all," he began quietly. He was about to say something else, but his door slammed open, his dad barging into the room. Tommy's words caught in his throat. He had no time to end his call; his dad had ripped the headphones off his head and threw them to the side, unplugging them. Tommy swiveled the chair around to face his father, who spluttered venomous words in his face.

"You good-for-nothing, selfish, piece of trash."

Everyone was silent, sitting in complete shock and rage on the other ends of the call until they heard Tommy's squeak.

"What did I do?" There was a shuffling noise as Tommy's panicked voice held in the air, at a slight distance. "Wait, no! What did I do wrong? What did I do?" A slap followed by a thud reached the microphone.

"Tommy?" Wilbur tried, now incredibly concerned. "Is everything okay?"

There was a loud grunt from Tommy's father.

"This thing is still fricking on?! Wait until I beat the crap out of you, you stupid-" there was a loud sob from Tommy before the call ended, leaving a horrified group frozen in their seats.