'i don't have anywhere else to go.' - a sleepy boys inc story

vingt-deux

"Yeah, I think we should call the police, this doesn't look good." Yeah, no shit Phil.

Anxiety is on the faces of all the men seated at the dining table. Phil and Techno had gotten home to see a broken window and the door forced open. They called Dream and Wilbur, who managed to get there in less than twenty minutes - how they didn't get speeding tickets, none of them know nor care.

Wilbur is doubled over on one of the wooden dining chairs, elbows on his knees, the kind of scary, silent anger where you don't want to go near them because they're seething with rage and could very well snap in seconds.

He stands and Dream looks up at him, asking, "Do you think he might have gone for a walk? Maybe we should wait a bit, see if he comes back?"

Suddenly, a hand shoots out and punches the clock on the wall, shards of glass embedding themselves in Wilbur's skin. They're probably going to scar. He doesn't seem to care. "He's basically my brother! How the fuck are you going to sit there on your arse and say we should wait? We need to find him- we need to call the police. Now."

Wide eyed, Dream starts, "Wilbur-"

"No. Shut the fuck up, Clay."

Techno's heart is in his throat. Curse Wilbur's temper. It's always been bad, but one of these days it's going to be the death of him. "Wilbur, please calm down-"

"What, Techno? You're on this American fuck's side? We should all just wait? We should sit on our arses and do fuck-all while Tommy is god knows where, doing god knows what? No. you're a fucking coward."

Dream stands to meet Wilbur's eyeline. Even standing, the brit still has a couple inches on him. "Wilbur, he's 17. He's not a kid, stop babying him. Maybe he just needed space."

"Oh maybe he just needed space-" Wilbur mocks, "HIS PARENTS ABUSED HIM! HIS PARENTS ABUSED HIM, FOR YEARS - ALMOST HIS WHOLE LIFE!"

Temper beginning to rise, the blond starts, "I'm aware of that, but-"

"But what? But fucking what? You're too much of a fucking pussy to go out there and-" The end of Wilbur's sentence is lost as a fist - Dream's fist - smacks into his eye. He staggers back, holding his face, silent in shock for a second, before he stumbles forward to retaliate.

---

It's dark again. It's cold again. Tommy really hopes he's not where he thinks he is. His eyes slowly focus and he feels cold concrete below his palms. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no."

He runs to the stairs and yells. He yells and screams until his throat runs raw and his vision goes fuzzy and his head feels faint but it doesn't work. No one hears him. No one ever hears him.

He really had hope. He had hope that he was able to get out of this fucking hell on earth. He's stuck. He's never going to get out.

He closes his eyes and hopes for change.

---

It's quiet, other than the sweeping of the broom Techno's using to clean up the glass and the occasional wince from Wilbur or Dream. They're both holding ice packs to their hands and the brunet has one pressed to his eye socket, the red beginnings of a bruise forming. A (now bright red) tissue blocks the blood flow coming from Dream's nose.

Glass tinkles into the rubbish bin under the sink and Techno groans, stretching his back, pops and cracks emitting from the inner spine. "My back, oh my god."

Phil walks back into the kitchen, phone held to his ear. "So. I've just got off the phone with the police. I don't know how long they're gonna take, but they say they're on their way."

"You really think he's with his parents? That they... took him?"

Wilbur shrugs. "Where else would he have gone, Dream? The kitchen window was broken, he's nowhere to be found, and he's not answering his phone - he would call us back if he had his phone, we've called him so much. He's not with Tubbo or Ranboo, and I've asked Jack. He says they haven't met up in a while."

They talk for a little while more, worry lacing their words, until their room is filled with red and blue flashing lights from outside and the sound of cars' wheels on the road come from outside the door.

753 words