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Something is incredibly wrong.
This thought had been floating in the back of Tommy's head for a while now, but here, sitting on the cold marble of his bathroom suite, it solidified.
Tommy knows how his body is supposed to feel, and this is decidedly not it. He grips the edge of his porcelain toilet, shivering from the frigid cold that permeates every surface and continues to put off the rising nausea. The grip is grounding, but it also brings to light the intense shaking of Tommy’s hands.
He heaves breath, trying valiantly to ground himself. Of course, because life hates Tommy, his phone, located in his jacket he removed when still feeling infuriatingly hot, starts to ring incessantly. The jacket that he threw out of reach in his hurry. Motherfucker.
Tommy cannot ignore it, both because the ringing is causing him a headache and due to who the caller is. There has never been a moment that Tommy regretted changing Phil’s ringtone to Bohemian Rhapsody as much as right now. Not even when it played in front of the Las Nevadas crew, and Technoblade got mad.
Because Tommy cannot claim plausible deniability, he begins to crawl over to the bundle of cloth, his sweaty hands smacking against the floor as he does.
When finally at his destination, Tommy fumbles through the inside-out jacket, trying desperately to find the pocket holding his phone.
After an embarrassing few seconds, Tommy does. Then, moving his body so it is propped up by the wall, a towel hanging over his head due to the positioning, Tommy answers the call.
“Hey Phil, what's up?” His face is scrunched from discomfort, and his tone contains the personality of someone who is trying but failing to sound positive.
Luckily, the phone makes it so Phil misses the queue, “Mate, where are you?”
The question makes Tommy freeze, racking his head for what commitment he has apparently bailed out on.
His brain is slow today, but eventually finds the event.
“Fuck. I totally forgot our meeting was today. Shit, I am sorry, Phil, I can be there in,” Tommy pauses and looks at the time, “Uh, like forty minutes, big man.”
It will be hard, considering Tommy currently feels like the one time he got sepsis and had to actually go to the hospital. Apparently, we carry the stuff to treat bullet wounds and blood loss, but not any sicknesses. This was promptly addressed after the fact, the others not liking the lack of access to Tommy’s sick form.
Wait, shit, maybe Tommy has sepsis.
Nah. Probably not.
The point is, it will be hard to get there, much less presentably, but Tommy can do it. Most likely. Maybe. Possibly.
Just as Tommy began to doubt his abilities, Phil, truly the biggest man ever, stepped in, “It’s fine, mate, I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Take the day off.”
Tommy loves him so much right now.
“Aw mate, I love you too.” Fuck you, brain. Why would you say that out loud? This is absolutely mortifying.
Though the embarrassment quickly faded as another wave of nausea washed over him, stealing any frivolous thoughts.
“I gotta go, Phil, see ya.”
Tommy didn’t wait for a response, simply pressing the red button and lurching towards the toilet in a mad bid.
Dizzy from the sudden movement, Tommy empties his stomach.
“Ew.” Tommy smacks his lips, the taste of vomit clinging to his mouth.
Slowly, Tommy picks himself up from the floor, leaning on his sink for support and knocking over his toothpaste in the process.
Wilbur should be at the meeting, which means the man's room is Tommy’s own pharmacy. That is what the mad scientist’s room consists of after all. Drugs.
So, with the determination not to feel sick, Tommy begins the treacherous quest for drugs.
Despite being one of the best in the Syndicate, Tommy had to pause several times. He nearly knocked over one of the pretentious vases that sat on pedestals around the base, and he messed up one of the paintings. Tommy had tried to right the painting, but given that he was struggling to right himself, it didn’t go all that well.
He has been in a steady decline, health-wise. The other day, Tommy almost botched a mission because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Tommy has hit targets when on Technoblades motorcycle going 80 mph, and yet he almost missed a guy who was standing still. It was pathetic.
Grabbing a hairpin from the mess that is Tommy’s hair, he gets to work on the auburn door of his brother’s room.
It clicks after a few minutes, much longer than it would usually take, and Tommy bursts in with his goal in mind.
He is currently unsure what would help, but Wilbur's notebooks that contain his madman ramblings usually explain what each thing does and what it looks like.
The only problem is finding that notebook. Tommy glances around the pigsty of a room (no offense, Techno), clothes are strewn about, a single shoe on the top row of a bookshelf, papers everywhere, different drug vials hanging around, and a million other things that will haunt his dreams.
With a sigh, Tommy begins his search for his brother’s notebook collection, and after a good fifteen minutes, he manages to find it hidden under the dresser along with years-old chips and a soldier toy. Why Wilbur owns a soldier toy, Tommy does not know.
Opening the book up, Tommy’s heart drops into a bucket of ice-cold water. This is not the notebook Tommy was looking for.
“You are drugging me.”
Wilbur's body tenses, likely taken by surprise. Tommy was waiting for the man to get back from the meeting, sitting in the dark and stewing in emotions.
Tommy watches Wilbur carefully turn around, “Tommy.”
“You're drugging me.” He repeats, still full of disbelief.
“Darling, it isn’t nice to go through other people's rooms, you know this.”
Tommy is walking through the world in a daze. It has been four weeks since he confronted Wilbur. Wilbur stopped drugging his food due to the threat of Tommy telling Phil about the situation.
That didn’t really matter, though, because Blue is highly addictive. It’s why the damn thing sells so well after all. Tommy didn’t even last til dinner.
No, Tommy crawled back, and Wilbur happily obliged. The phantom hybrid loves when Tommy is high. He knows this because the man's eyes will dilate as he shoots Tommy up and he demands cuddles for the next hour.
It really pisses Technoblade off, Tommy smells so much like Wilbur that it apparently ‘undermines Technoblade as Tommy’s protector’ or whatever.
Tommy sits on Wilbur's bed and waits with shaking hands for the man to get the measurements right. He would never let Tommy make his own dose, saying it was dangerous to have too much. They both knew Wilbur just got a thrill out of controlling Tommy, but the last time Tommy commented on something, he ended up having to beg for the smallest dose. It was miserable, Tommy's whole body shook, and he needed something to satiate the gnawing emptiness that came from too long without taking Blue.
So Tommy sits with his legs bouncing and his eyes rotating between staring expectantly at Wilbur's back and the rest of the room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wilbur had finished long before he just wanted to tease Tommy, the man arrived at Tommy’s side.
Immediately, Tommy held out an arm, and Wilbur grasped it, his hand cold to the touch. It is always odd to watch the stuff go into Tommy’s body. The drug got its name due to the peculiar fact that the liquid appeared a royal blue color similar to that of blue-blooded animals.
Around halfway through, Wilbur injects him the door bursts open, jolting Wil enough that he ends up shooting the rest of the substance into Tommy at once.
This is not ideal. The drug can cause immense pain when used all at once. Specifically due to its consistency. The drug is much thicker than blood or water, and the body needs time to blend it with the bloodstream.
Immediately, Tommy rips his arm away and curls it. A bad idea, seeing as he still has a needle embedded in his arm.
At the same time, Technoblade observes the scene in front of him. He had known something was up with his brothers and pinpointed the hour they spent together each day as a likely suspect for why. However, Wilbur's injection of Tommy with blue was not what he expected.
A white hot rage engulfed him, and his instincts took over. A snarl escaped his lips, one of the most volatile sounds he makes. In less than two strides, he was in front of the duo. Without a second thought, he grabbed them both by the back of their necks (Mostly their shirts; the duo doesn’t have scruffs like piglins do, no matter what his instincts expect) and yanked them up.
Dragging them through hallways and corridors, Technoblade is unsure of the destination until they arrive. It is then that he realises his instincts brought him to their caretaker.
Agreeing with the logic, Technoblade slams open the door, to upset for frivolous things like pleasantries.
No, instead, Technoblade throws the two idiots to the ground in front of Phil.
“Mate?” The caretaker questions, obviously wary of the reason Technoblade was treating his sounder so crassly. It took multiple attempts to speak before Technoblade was able to use English.
“They were using Blue.”
The sentence was a damning one, the product being the Syndicate's best-selling since Wilbur made it, but also one of the most irresponsible to use.
Phil’s eyes turned to steel, and his gaze locked on the two targets lying at his feet.
Tommy rushes to keep in step with Technoblade, unwilling to be dragged along. Since the truth came out, Techno has been in charge of Tommy’s recovery, and Phil is too busy dealing with Wilbur.
Unlike Wilbur, Tommy isn’t being forced into a cold quit. Apparently, because Tommy was only aware of the fact that he was doing drugs after his body and mind were already addicted, he gets some leeway. Not too much leeway, though, as both men are of the strong opinion Tommy should have come to them immediately. Wilbur is in extra trouble because of what he did to Tommy. Fucking deserved.
Because Technoblade has full control over Tommy’s recovery period and punishment, Tommy has been stuck handcuffed to Technoblade.
He was no longer trusted with the freedom of movement after he snuck a hit in. Technoblade found out quickly when Tommy finally chilled out after so long being high strung.
His brother had not taken the whole thing all that well, and Tommy had ended up chained up in one of the prison cells for the next three days with no socialization or small doses to keep him grounded. The punishment ended not because Technoblade thought he had learned his lesson, but because he missed the smell of Tommy in his den.
Technoblade has had a scenting session with Tommy literally every day. The slight of Wilbur’s smell having drowned Tommy’s own has greatly intensified now that his brother knows more about how exactly that came to be.
Tommy has had to sit still for thirty minutes a day, just letting his brother rub his wrists on his neck and arms.
Technoblade abruptly comes to a halt, making Tommy stumble, yanked back by the handcuff. Luckily, it is padded, so no pain permeates from his wrist.
Tommy anticipates and dreads this part of the day in equal measure.
Click.
Technoblade twisted the key, unchaining their hands and gifting Tommy the freedom to be further than three feet away from the man.
In front of them is the training room where Tommy has been for hours on end every day since falling into Techno’s stern care.
The whole thing makes sense; not only does exercise show that it helps when addressing an addiction, but Tommy is severely out of shape. The drugs took a toll on his body, and that needs to be addressed. In their line of work, being unhealthy can mean death after all.
Under Technoblades' expectant glare, Tommy begins his warmups.
Halfway through the five-hour workout, Tommy is lying on the floor panting and unable to lift his arms. All Technoblade does is stare at him with his brows raised, clearly unimpressed by how ‘out of fit’ Tommy was.
Tommy would just like to state that he is still in better shape than their average worker. Seeing as they are a mafia, that says a lot.
After a few minutes of dying under Technoblades' judgmental stare, Tommy forces himself up again. Ignoring how much he wants a hit right now.
When he finishes this, Technoblade will give him a microdose, more than Tommy would get if he throws a fit. Tommy knows; he has done it before.
No, Tommy reminds himself of what Technoblade told him after his three days of isolation.
“If you work against me again, Tommy, the next dose you are getting will be from your friend Ranboo’s blood. The blood that I will inject with Blue and then force down your throat. Understand me?”
Yeah, Tommy will behave because he knows without a doubt that Technoblade will follow through with that threat.
Frankly, Tommy thinks Ranboob’s blood would taste terrible.