Work Text:
Tommy was immortal.
He did not choose it. He did not choose the wings that arched from his back like those of a demon. He did not choose his eternal life of burning up and returning again and again and again.
He did not choose this life of being forever seventeen. He did not choose to die in the first place, receiving the blessing disguised as a curse.
Tommy chose none of this, but that changed nothing. Just as Tommy could not choose when the snow fell or when the sun burned against his face, no more could he chose to undo his past.
And with immortality came unbearable loneliness.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. Tommy returned from falling off a cliff alive and well, with two wings sprouting from his back. His parents were overjoyed, his friends were beyond relieved, and Tommy spent a good many years living his best life. Everyone stared in awe of his wings, and anyone who was wary of it received a good scolding from his parents.
It was when Tommy was thirty years old that people began to notice.
Eryn and Freddie were showing signs of aging. Their skin was less smooth, and Freddie’s hair was beginning to gray.
But Tommy was still young. He looked as youthful as he did when he died at seventeen. His hair was still the color of gold, and his cheeks still had hints of roundness to them.
He wasn’t aging.
And people began to get suspicious.
“How do we know he’s the real Tommy?” they began to whisper loudly as Tommy passed. “How do we know he wasn’t replaced by a changeling?”
Tommy scoffed. Fae were old wives tales, a preventative measure to keep children from getting lost and killed in the forest. Tommy was no more a fae than he was immortal.
He just had his youth, that was all. Soon enough, Tommy’s hair would gray like everyone else. His joints would get stiffer. He’d age and grow old with his friends and family.
Ten more years passed, and it was not proven the case.
Tommy still looked young. Hell, Tommy still felt young.
It didn’t help that everyone either treated him like a child or a demon in disguise. As more and more years passed, more and more people were becoming certain of that fact. Tommy wasn’t Tommy. Tommy died when he was seventeen, a product of an unfortunate accident. The demon that took his place had come to bring misfortune upon the village.
After Tommy’s parents died, the rumors only swelled.
But Freddie and Eryn were loyal to the last, and Tommy thought that he could maybe stand it all if those two stayed by his side. Maybe he’d endure the harsh words, the frequent attempts on his life, as long as he had his friends.
But Freddie and Eryn continued to age, and they each had their turn to die peacefully in their beds.
Tommy was still seventeen, young and healthy.
And Tommy was so terribly alone.
A few days after both of their deaths, Tommy was killed by an angry mob.
Tommy rose again with flames just hours later.
Tommy was a phoenix, cursed to walk this earth for eternity. There was nobody like him, nobody with red arching wings that burned like the flames of the sun. Nobody who could live as long as Tommy.
The few friends Tommy made eventually died. Most had learned to hate and fear Tommy, and Tommy began to hide in the shadows, watching with an aching heart as society continued to progress. Tommy learned to hide his wings to walk among them. He learned not to get too close to anyone.
Tommy was immortal, and Tommy was alone, but Tommy couldn’t bear to grieve over the death of yet another loved one.
So alone Tommy would forever be.
Tommy sat at a seat in a coffee shop, resting his head against the window as he watched various people walk by.
“Hello there!” someone greeted Tommy cheerily.
Tommy lifted his head in exhaustion, peering at the individual who decided to interrupt Tommy’s brooding.
He was faced by a tall, lanky fellow with curly brown hair. The stranger was wearing a stupid grin.
“Could I sit down?” The stranger pointed to the empty seat across from Tommy’s, and Tommy peered at him.
“Why?” Tommy asked bluntly.
“There are no empty seats.” The stranger gestured around him, and Tommy saw that the coffee shop was indeed filled to the brim. “It’s okay if you don’t want anyone entering your personal bubble, but I just thought I’d ask.”
Tommy sighed. He didn’t want company. He should just dismiss this guy and continue with his depressed people watching.
“Fine,” Tommy said instead.
The stranger grinned, sitting down across from Tommy and pulling out his phone, sipping at his coffee. Tommy wished that he had bought a coffee, but it had been decades since he had bothered with a job, and stealing a coffee was a lot more trouble than it was worth.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Tommy decided that he might as well attempt to make conversation.
Besides, it had been ages since Tommy had a proper conversation with anyone. He might as well try to have an enjoyable interaction for once in his sorry life.
“What’s your name?”
The stranger looked up from his phone, swallowing a sip of coffee he was halfway through. “I’m Wilbur,” he said. “You?”
“Tommy.”
“Tommy,” Wilbur echoed. “That’s a cute name.”
Tommy felt his face grow hot. “It’s not cute. It’s a very manly name.”
Wilbur snorted. “Right. Sorry.” He paused. “How old are you again?”
Tommy sputtered before giving Wilbur a half-hearted glare. “I’ll have you know I’m five-hundred thirty-six years old.”
Wilbur laughed in the same way everyone did when Tommy was honest with his age. “And I’m one thousand,” Wilbur said, mirth filling his tone.
Tommy stuck his tongue out at Wilbur, admittedly immaturely. “You can lie all you want, I’m still older than you.”
“Says the person lying about his own age,” Wilbur replied breezily. He took another sip of his coffee. “Besides, anyone can see that I’m the older person between the two of us.”
“Anyone can see that I’m much more mature than your bald face,” Tommy snapped back.
Wilbur choked on his coffee, and Tommy watched with amusement as he coughed a few times. “Bald face?” Wilbur’s voice was filled with incredulity. “Everyone’s face is bald! Everyone who shaves, at least.”
Tommy smirked. “Your head is bald too.” A distinct lie, but Tommy wanted to have some fun with the first human converstion he had in years. “Your old and stupid.”
“Ah yes, real mature,” Wilbur said sarcastically. “I can see now that you are definitely the wisest among us.”
“That’s right.” Tommy crossed his arms. “Now you have to do everything I say.”
“Do I?”
Tommy nodded. “Buy me a coffee.”
Wilbur blinked. “Pardon?”
Tommy’s cheeks were growing hot again, but he didn’t’ waver. If Wilbur decided to listen and buy Tommy a coffee, Tommy could have a drink without the effort of stealing or making it himself. If Tommy ticked Wilbur off and caused him to leave, all the better.
“I want a coffee,” Tommy said again. “Make sure they put a lot of sugar in it though.”
Tommy may be immortal, but he wasn’t disgusting.
“Why don’t’ you buy your own coffee?”
“Because I’m wiser and therefore can tell you what to do.”
Wilbur wore an awfully thoughtful expression on his face, and Tommy began tapping his foot rapidly against the ground, waiting in tense anticipation for what he was going to do next.
“Alright,” Wilbur finally said, pulling himself to his feet. “I’ll buy you a sugar-filled coffee. You’ll owe me one, though.”
“You’d have to see me again for that.”
Wilbur smiled. “Something tells me that we will.”
Tommy had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he pushed it out of his mind, waiting impatiently for Wilbur to come back with his coffee. Well, the coffee part didn’t really matter all that much, but Wilbur’s company was pretty good.
Tommy chided himself. He shouldn’t be this eager to talk to people, especially get this attached to someone he just met. It was unhealthy, and it would only lead to more pain.
Tommy should just leave before Wilbur came back. It would be like ripping off a band aid. Wilbur would wonder what happened to that random kid he met one day, and Tommy would forget about Wilbur in a few centuries. Probably even less time than that.
Tommy’s heart squeezed at the idea of leaving the first good company he had in years, but his mind was already made up. Gritting his teeth, Tommy stood up and slipped out of the coffee shop without another word.
Tommy’s wings itched.
They always itched these days. Tommy didn’t like pulling them out from underneath his coat, which meant they were horribly under used and horribly under-groomed.
Tommy had become adept at ignoring the pain, even as he sat on a park bench, watching other birds use their wings freely.
It had been two weeks since the Wilbur incident, and Tommy still couldn’t get Wilbur out of his head. He just…. He had such an easy-going smile, as though there was nothing at all wrong in the world, but that wasn’t true. How could Wilbur think that way?
Well, Wilbur wasn’t immortal. Tommy supposed it was easier to believe in the good in the world when one didn’t watch it rise and fall throughout the centuries.
“Hey, Tommy!”
Tommy glanced up, his heart skipping a beat at hearing his name being addressed. Someone was probably just talking to their kid, but—
Think of the devil and he shall appear, because Wilbur was running toward him, holding a cup in his hand.
Tommy knew he should get up and leave before Wilbur caught up to him, but Wilbur was already upon him, grinning wildly and huffing and puffing as though he had just ran a marathon. Tommy could only sit still, staring at Wilbur in shock.
Wilbur held the cup he was holding out to Tommy, and upon closer inspection, Tommy realized it was a coffee thermos.
“It’s not sugar filled,” Wilbur said apologetically. “But you left before I could give you your disgusting coffee, so you can have mine.”
Tommy took the thermos in his hand, peering at Wilbur suspiciously.
“It’s not poisoned, is it?”
Wilbur’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. Tommy couldn’t help but to laugh at his expression of pure shock.
“Why would I poison you?” Wilbur demanded, sputtering.
“I don’t know.” Tommy forced himself to calm down from his hysterical laughter. “Approaching a random dude you met once with a coffee thermos sounds like kidnapping behavior to me.”
“What would I do with you? Hide you in my house?”
Tommy shrugged. “You’re the kidnapper. You tell me.”
Wilbur sighed, massaging his eyes. “I’m not… I’m not kidnapping you. I just don’t want my three pound’s worth of coffee to be a complete waste.”
“It technically still is a waste,” Tommy pointed out. “You didn’t hand me the coffee you bought for me, so no matter what—”
“Just drink the coffee,” Wilbur interrupted.
Tommy rolled his eyes and took a sip from his coffee, grimacing at the bitterness of it.
“Is this black?” he demanded, sticking his tongue out.
“Yep,” Wilbur said cheerfully. “Tastes pretty good, doesn’t it?”
Tommy glared at him, thrusting the thermos back into Wilbur’s hands. “You hate me, and I hate you, and never feed me that disgusting stuff ever again.”
Wilbur smirked, looking entirely too smug as he took a sip out of his thermos. “Your loss,” he said loftily.
“Wilbur?” Tommy glanced over to the source of the new voice, and he saw a tall individual with pink hair approach. “What are you doing?”
Wilbur grinned. “Technoblade, meet Tommy.”
Tommy gave Technoblade a nod, and Technoblade stared at Tommy without the slightest trace of emotion on his face.
“Is this the same kid who made you buy a coffee and ran off without taking it?”
“The very same!” Wilbur said cheerfully.
“Oh, screw off,” Tommy muttered.
Technoblade gave Tommy a small smile. “Good work, kid,” he said. “Everyone should work to make Wilbur’s life miserable.”
Wilbur stuck his tongue out at Technoblade. “The same could be said for you.”
Technoblade cocked his head. “I don’t know, Wilbur. I think I’m the perfect man.”
Wilbur looked all but furious at that. “Just the other day, you gave me Oreos filled with toothpaste!”
Technoblade raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? And?”
“They tasted disgusting!”
Technoblade looked Tommy in the eyes and nodded. “It was a worthy cause. His breath smelled like crap. Tommy, you understand.”
Tommy nodded sagely. He had only met Technoblade for a few moments, but he seemed like a pretty okay guy.
“Yes, you did society a great service.”
Wilbur huffed. “I should have never introduced you two.”
“That’s what you get for feeding me poison coffee,” Tommy snapped.
“It was not poisoned; you just have the taste buds of a child.”
“or maybe you just have the taste buds of an old man.” Tommy grinned. “After all, you’re over a thousand years old.”
Technoblade gave Wilbur a very exasperated expression. “Wilbur…”
“What?!” Wilbur flung his arms wildly in Tommy’s direction. “He’s five-hundred, he has no place to talk.”
“First of all, it’s five hundred thirty-six.” Tommy hated to admit it, but he was quite enjoying this joke that was Tommy’s truth. “How old are you, Technoblade? I bet you’re still in your decades.”
“Nope.” Technoblade gave Tommy a smug grin. “I’m seven hundred.”
Tommy gaped. “You cheated.” He glared at Wilbur and Technoblade. “You’re a family of cheaters. Let me guess, your dad is two-thousand years old.”
Wilbur and Technoblade glanced at each other before shrugging. “Close,” Wilbur said, moving his hand in a ‘so-so’ motion. “I’d say it’s more like two thousand five hundred; what do you think Tech?”
“Two thousand four hundred thirty-three,” Technoblade said easily.
Wilbur snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”
Tommy glared at Technoblade. “You made that number up.”
Technoblade shrugged. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”
Tommy huffed, standing up and walking away from the two. “I have to go. I’ll see you two weirdos later.”
No, Tommy wouldn’t actually. Tommy was very determined that he would never see those tow again. He wasn’t going to let himself get attached again. He wasn’t going to let himself decline into more grief and misery. Not again.
Apparently, Tommy’s wings were very angry with him. Angrier than the usual pain and itching, that was for sure.
Because Tommy could barely move without them sending waves of pain down his back, demanding that they be recognized, demanding that Tommy actually take care of them.
Well, joke’s on Tommy’s wings, because Tommy didn’t even take care of himself. Ha. Take that stupid wings.
Tommy rolled over on his bed, wondering if he should just give up and actually take care of his wings. It wasn’t as though there were anyone around to see them anyway.
But Tommy hated his wings. He hated what they had done to him. He hated that he could never go back to the life he used to have all those years ago.
Tommy snorted grimly to himself, burying his face into his pillow. Stupid little Tommy, still clinging to the past all these centuries later.
Tommy wasn’t sure how long he let himself lie around in bed, his wings trying to break past his clothing. Tears instinctually rose to Tommy’s eyes at the sudden burst of pain, but Tommy pushed them back.
He was fine. This was fine. It was just a small setback.
Sighing, Tommy finally forced himself to sit up. He glanced around his small cottage home, a place he had made for himself two centuries ago. The person who technically owned his property had no idea Tommy was staying there, and Tommy was just grateful the owner thought the cottage was cute enough to keep around. Hell, they even kept the place furnished for potential guests.
Tommy stumbled out of the cottage, his wings letting out more bursts of pain as he did so. Tommy grit his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly before forcing himself to straighten his back. His wings wailed in agony, but Tommy managed to ignore the pain.
He was fine. Tommy was fine.
The pain dulled half-way through the day, much to Tommy’s relief. It was still an all-consuming presence, but slightly less consuming than it was that morning. Hopefully, it would stay that way.
It didn’t.
It was snowing on the day everything changed.
Tommy was sitting in the park again, letting the snow dust his entire body. His wings were aching more than usual at the cold weather, and Tommy closed his eyes, trying to keep his thoughts focused.
“Oh, hi, Tommy,” Wilbur’s voice said, floating above him.
Tommy forced himself to open his eyes, and he gave Wilbur a tired smile.
Ever since their first two meetings, Tommy and Wilbur had been finding more and more time to spend time together. Tommy hated himself for it; he hated that he was allowing himself to be this weak again, but there wasn’t anything he could do. He liked Wilbur, and Wilbur seemed to enjoy Tommy’s company as well. Unless Tommy wanted to seriously hurt Wilbur (and seriously hurt himself in the process), Tommy was willing to endure the future grief to enjoy this moment.
Sometimes, Tommy wondered what would happen if he just told Wilbur. Would Wilbur shrink away in disgust? Would he call Tommy crazy? Would he laugh it off like Tommy was telling another joke?
Knowing Wilbur, it would probably be the third. Wilbur was nice like that. He’d never be disgusted by Tommy, nor would he be willing to insult Tommy like that.
At least, Tommy was pretty sure he was nice like that. Maybe there was no way for Tommy to be able to know for sure.
For now, at least, Wilbur was giving Tommy an easy smile, holding yet another coffee thermos in his hand.
“Do you want some?” Wilbur asked, holding it out to Tommy.
Tommy eyed it warily, and Wilbur laughed.
“It’s just hot chocolate. Phil made some.”
Tommy knew that Phil was Wilbur’s dad, and from what Tommy had heard, Phil was actually a pretty nice guy.
Tommy took the thermos from Wilbur, the smooth surface warming Tommy’s fingers on the cold day. He took a careful sip of the hot chocolate, and he relaxed into the delicious, rich flavor.
“Better than the coffee?”
Tommy nodded. “yeah, it’s—”
Tommy’s wings flared up in pain again, and Tommy let out an involuntary hiss of pain. Wilbur’s eyes instantly widened, probably searching Tommy for injuries.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did you get stabbed—”
Tommy lifted a hand to silence Wilbur. “I’m fine.” A lie. “The cold just got to me.”
Wilbur relaxed slightly, although his eyes continued to scan Tommy’s body. Tommy rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek as his wings continued to act up.
Honestly, couldn’t his wings have found a better time to do this? Tommy was trying to hang out with Wilbur, who was probably his first friend in at least a century, and now his wings were acting like the world was ending.
“I should probably go,” Tommy admittedly grudgingly. The last thing he needed was to break out screaming in front of Wilbur.
Wilbur looked almost as sad as Tommy felt. “So soon?” he asked. “Is it your injury?”
Tommy huffed. “I’m not—” He hissed as he stood up, his wings getting more and more aggravated. “I’m not injured.”
Wilbur frowned. “Tommy, you don’t need to lie—”
“I’m not lying.” Tommy took a few steps forward, and his wings seared in pain, causing Tommy to let out a sharp cry as he collapsed into the snow.
“Tommy?!” Wilbur’s voice cracked as he bent down next to Tommy. “Tommy, oh my god, your back—”
Tommy rubbed his eyes, trying to get the black spots out of his vision. “What about my back?”
“It’s bleeding.” Wilbur’s voice was becoming more and more frantic. “God, we need to get you to a hospital—”
“No,” Tommy said harshly. It was harder to speak or think past the pain, but this much he knew. “No hospitals.”
Wilbur looked Tommy in the eyes, and he must’ve seen the desperation in Tommy’s eyes, because he sighed. “Okay. I’ll take you to Phil then. Okay?”
Tommy bit harder against the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to get over-attached to Phil on top of everything else.
Tommy pressed his hands against the cold snow and tried to stand up, but his wings seemed determined to push him back to the ground, the pain was so immense.
Tommy dimly realized that tears were involuntarily rushing down his face.
“Fine,” Tommy hissed. “Just. Fine.”
If Phil decided to kill Tommy for what he was, at least Tommy wouldn’t find himself in some sort of lab being experimented on by the government.
Unless Phil sold him out.
New tears rushed down his face at the thought, his vision becoming more and more spotty as Wilbur scooped him up in his arms.
Why couldn’t Tommy have anything good?
Tommy woke up with something warm being spread on his wings. He didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, it was seeping away the pain like it was nothing.
Tommy relaxed into the mattress he was leaning against, letting out a small sigh. Someone let out a trilling sound, and Tommy involuntarily let out his own trill.
Huh. Tommy never knew he could do that.
Tommy peeled his eyes open, and he found himself staring into someone else’s blue eyes. The blue eyes seemed to sparkle like diamonds, and Tommy smiled dumbly, trying to reach for them.
The face that belonged to the blue eyes smiled, gently taking hold of Tommy’s hand and resting it on the bed. The touch was so warm, and Tommy let out a pleading trill as soon as it was gone.
“Sorry mate.” The voice sounded far away. “I have to work on these wings.”
Tommy whimpered as his wings continued to ache, and the person taking the pain away let out another trill. Tommy felt some of the anxiety in his chest loosen, and his eyes drooped.
The next time Tommy woke up, everything was much clearer.
“Bloody… the hell?” he muttered, blinking up at the clean white ceiling. What even was that?
On the bright side, his wings barely hurt. There were a few pinpricks of pain, but they felt much better than before.
That probably had something to do with the fact that, you know, his wings were spread out behind him instead of squeezed behind his back.
On that note, Tommy was not in a lab, which meant that Phil hadn’t sold him out. He also wasn’t outside and cast aside like a rat, which meant that Phil also hadn’t thrown him out.
Maybe Phil was nice enough to wait for Tommy to recover.
Tommy sighed, trying to pull himself out of bed, but his wings seared in pain, and Tommy instantly collapsed back onto the sheets.
This majorly sucked.
The door to the bedroom he was in began to rattle slightly, and Tommy watched as Wilbur stepped into the room. Wilbur looked stressed and worried, which Tommy thought was strange for someone who had discovered their friend was a fraud.
“Hey,” Tommy said harshly.
Wilbur jumped, but when his eyes landed on Tommy, a huge smile spread across his face.
“You’re awake!” he said cheerfully. Actually, he looked downright thrilled.
Tommy had officially no idea what was going on anymore.
“I am.” Tommy gave Wilbur a tense smile. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair soon—”
Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Phil said your wings needed rest. I mean, I understand if you want to leave, and nobody’s forcing you here, but don’t feel like you have to leave, you know?”
Tommy blinked. That was a lot of confusing words coming out of Wilbur’s mouth. “Are you okay?”
Wilbur sighed, massaging the back of his neck. “I’m a bit stressed.”
Tommy winced. “Oh. Sorry.”
Wilbur shook his head quickly, his hair bouncing every which way. “It’s not your fault. I just… I was worried, and I don’t handle worry super well.”
Wilbur gave Tommy a sheepish grin. “But enough about me. How are you feeling?”
Tommy wasn’t sure he and Wilbur were having the same conversation anymore. “You’re not going to mention the wings?” Tommy demanded sharply.
He tried to move one of his wings for emphasis, but they were apparently still mad at him, because they shot more pain up Tommy’s body.
“Oh, those.” Wilbur sighed. “Tommy, I wasn’t joking when I said I was a thousand years old.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Wilbur, I don’t want your stupid jokes, I want to know why—oh.”
Wilbur wasn’t human anymore. Don’t get Tommy wrong, he was still Wilbur, but his face was shimmering almost ethereally, and scales moved up his neck. His pupils were thin slits, and his ears were pointed.
“Oh.” Wilbur’s laughter was strangely melodic. “I’m a siren, Tommy.”
Tommy’s mouth was suddenly dry. He suddenly felt like an idiot. Admittedly, he hadn’t known that sirens actually existed until this very moment, but still.
“You didn’t like… spell me earlier, did you?”
Wilbur shook his head. “Of course not.”
Tommy released a small breath.
“So. Um. You’re actually a thousand years old?” Tommy asked, his voice suddenly frail. He’d never met an immortal like him before. He’d… he’d thought he was the only one.
Wilbur smiled and nodded. “Although, I didn’t realize you were actually five hundred thirty-six. That was my mistake. I’m sorry.”
Tommy shook his head quickly. “No… no… I didn’t want you to know.” Tommy’s voice was cracking now.
“Phil’s a phoenix too, you know,” Wilbur said gently. “He said your wings were growing more, and they were straining against the resistance you were putting them under.”
Tommy was honestly doing his best not to cry at the moment, and he looked away, staring at a fancy vase sitting on a table. “Oh.”
“Do you want me to get him?”
Tommy swallowed. “Was he the one who… who was helping me earlier?”
Wilbur smiled and nodded. “The very same.”
Tommy had liked it when Phil had done that trilling thing with him. Tommy had never done anything like it before, but when he did, it was as though an empty part of him had suddenly become whole.
But Tommy didn’t know Phil. Not yet, at least.
“No. I think… I think I’m more comfortable with you right now.”
Wilbur smiled and sat down at the chair next to Tommy’s bed.
“What would you like to do, then?”
Tommy hummed tiredly. “Let’s just talk.”
“Okay.”
And Wilbur talked. He talked about the things he had seen when he was a younger immortal. He talked about Phil finding him. He talked about finding Technoblade. He talked about anything and everything, and Tommy listened, hope and heartbreak swelling in his chest.
Would they want Tommy? Would they want him, even though he was apparently stupid enough to let his wings hurt him? Would they want Tommy, even though he was dumb enough not to notice immortals living among him?
Or would they cast him aside as soon as he was healed?
It was easier to handle disappointment when one was expecting it, after all.
Wilbur was frowning, and Tommy tried to focus back on the conversation.
“Is something wrong?” Wilbur asked.
Tommy hummed. “I just… I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to be afraid to ask me something.”
Tommy shut his eyes. “Am I allowed to stay?”
He held his breath, and Wilbur let out another melodic laugh. “If I’m being honest, I thought I’d have to convince you.”
Tommy’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at Wilbur with breathless shock. “You mean it? I can stay?”
Wilbur nodded. “Of course, you can. I care about you, and Technoblade cares about you, and I’m sure you and Phil will get along nicely. I just thought that you’d might want some space at first—”
Tommy grabbed hold of Wilbur’s hand, shaking his head fiercely. “No. No. I want to stay. Please.”
Tommy couldn’t stand to be alone again.
Wilbur smiled. “Then stay you shall.”
Wilbur was right: Phil was a nice guy.
He helped Tommy with his injuries, made sure Tommy was well fed, and even showed Tommy how to make those weird bird sounds he was making earlier.
“It’s from the chest,” Phil had explained.
Eventually, after Tommy was pretty much recovered, Phil had hesitantly asked Tommy if he could preen his feathers.
“That was part of the problem,” Phil slowly explained. “The feathers were so out of alignment that they were hurting your wings.”
Tommy’s wings still did itch a bit, but he hesitated. Preening was something meant to be done between family, and Tommy… Tommy hadn’t had a family for ages.
But then again, Phil had been patiently taking care of Tommy for weeks now without complaint. Maybe… maybe Phil could become his family.
Tommy slowly nodded, and Phil smiled.
“You can tell me when to stop whenever you need to,” he said.
Tommy nodded again, and Phil slowly began working his fingers through Tommy’s feathers, lining up the healthy ones and taking out the ones that didn’t belong.
Tommy slowly relaxed into the touch, feeling his eyes droop.
He let out a sleepy trill, and Phil trilled back.
Technoblade peeked into the room, his eyebrows raised when he saw Phil preening Tommy.
“Preening time?”
Phil nodded. “Yep.”
“Can I join?”
Wilbur burst out from behind Techno. “I want to join too!”
Phil laughed and invited them in, and Wilbur and Technoblade situated themselves behind Phil, each working on one wing.
“Tommy, did I ever tell you what Technoblade was?”
Technoblade sighed. “Don’t believe a thing he says.”
Tommy grinned. “What?”
Wilbur laughed. “A werebunny!”
Tommy blinked. “What?”
“I am a werewolf. A wolf, Wilbur!”
“He looks like a bunny rabbit, though. He has these really long ears when he’s a wolf, you should see it—”
“Wil,” Phil scolded gently.
“No, no, I want to hear more,” Tommy said. “How long are his ears?”
Technoblade sighed in exasperation, as Wilbur eagerly declared that his ears were at least the height of sky scrapers.
Tommy smiled tiredly to himself as he listened to Wilbur.
Maybe… maybe this was family, laughing and joking and bonding.
And maybe… maybe everything was going to be okay.