Work Text:
Clementine toted him in wildly.
Her bell-like laugh twinkled in Tommy's ears even over the sound of his wings flapping to keep up with her current. "Clem – " he bites, eyes wide behind his goggles, before she flips him up and over, dropping him down on a tall grassy hill with ruffled wings, messy hair, and pink, wind-whipped cheeks. "Suns above, Clementine. You could at least land me carefully. Clara would never do this."
The Southern wind easily twists around him, blowing his own red coat collar in his face. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut in a wince – he deserves that. Clementine hates to be compared to her calmer, colder, Northern sister, but Clara is leagues easier to ride to places on.
"Sorry, sorry," he says quickly, gathering his messenger bag close to his chest and pulling in his wings before he loses them. "I take it back! You're beautiful and wild and the most perfect wind to ever exist. Riding you down to here was smooth as butter and I'm forever grateful for your service."
Somehow, she blows a gust that just feels smug.
When she's done gloating, the air is still enough for Tommy to stand on his own two wobbly legs and finally take in his surroundings. He's at the crest of a luscious hill that's dotted with a league of tiny multicolored flowers. He can hear the ocean somewhere off to his left, and down on the other side of the hill are homes scattered in between storefronts and dirt lanes.
He settles himself, and then carefully makes his way over the hill, eyes searching for the mail-house that his map told him would be on the other side of town. The first building he comes across smells of dough and sugar, and there's a tall man dressed in dark greens outside of it. He's fixing the window, while a shorter man in a red head-wrap looks on. Across the street only a little ways down, there's a woman with long hair all braided up into a crown of flowers, putting out pots on her steps. Wisteria hangs over the lip of her building, making her every move seem straight from a child's princess storybook. Down just a bit farther still is a man, wrapped in green robes, sitting on his steps, a canvas and easel out in front of him and a stained pallet in his hands. A striped hat is pulled against his eyes to shade against the bright sun, but Tommy can still see his content smile.
Each one of these people, as magnificent as they are, stop what they're doing and watch him as he walks by. The curse of the royal-wear he's dressed in. Bright red coat gilded in golden threads over his white button down. He always stands out from a crowd, and everyone always shifts out of his way as if he's royal himself.
Then, just as he's thinking it, someone knocks into him.
Tommy goes spilling to the dirt path, his wings coming out to try and halt his fall, but only managing to get in between him and the ground.
"Fuck!" He exclaims when they twinge in pain. Panic makes him scramble up quickly – his wings are all he has. They connect him to his job, the winds, the world. Who could he be if he couldn't fly? When they flex alright, he whirls on the culprit, teeth bared in a very un-royal manner. "You prick! Don't you look where you're going?"
The man is dressed in a long brown coat over a yellow button down that is tucked into grey pants. With moon shaped glasses and wild brown hair and what looks to be a dark brown silk tie threaded through his collar, he looks like the perfect kind of disrespecting bastard that would make Tommy's job harder.
Well, except for the two bird cages in his hands. That is certainly not normal.
"If you weren't standing in the middle of the road, no one would have to look where they're going, man," he huffs, his dark brown feathers behind him ruffling in irritation. Tommy glares. That makes no sense. Then, as if coming to that same realization, the man sighs. "Alright, my bad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you over."
Tommy bristles. "You didn't knock me over, you just –" he scrambles for words, and the man raises an eyebrow.
"I just knocked you over," he finishes.
"Whatever." Tommy steps back. He's not at all interested in this weird man and his birdcages. He's been thrown around enough for one trip, thank you very much. "See you."
"Wait!" The guy calls. Tommy keeps walking down the lane, hoping it deters him. It does not. "Wait, wait – I've never seen you around here before. What's your name?"
"None of your business."
"That's a depressing name," he remarks, stepping side by side with Tommy. "Mine's Wilbur. What brings you to town?"
"You remember my name?"
"Yeah?"
"Good." Tommy opens his wings to leave this guy behind and maybe search for the post office from the skies, but as he goes to take off, that twinge of pain comes back, stalling him. "Fuck – fuck, ow."
He inhales sharply, his panic coming back. Stars and moons, he can’t fly. He can’t –
“Oh no,” Tommy twists, trying to survey the damage. “Oh no, oh no –”
“Woah,” Wilbur holds out his birdcages, fingers up, stopping Tommy from tripping on his own boots. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
“My wings –” Tommy pants. “They’re – I fell on them when you bumped into me earlier, I – I thought they were okay, but now I can’t –”
“Okay, okay. Breathe.” Wilbur soothes. He sets down the cages in the grass and puts two hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “Can I see?” Tommy stares at him. “I can help, I promise. I work in the town’s aviary. I’ve done this my whole life. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Tommy stares more. Wilbur winces.
“Well, more than I already have.”
Tommy hesitates. He needs to deliver this mail. But, he can’t do his job if he can’t fly. “Okay,” he allows. Wilbur pulls back and picks up his birdcages again.
“Follow me,” Wilbur says, then turns abruptly and leads him down a side lane.
Wilbur takes him down a couple of skinny alleys and past a few more stores before everything opens up. It's all tall grass, whishing back and forth in Clem's wind, instead of dirt roads, and it all rises in a slow hill. At the top is a beautiful glass dome with hatches going up to the sky.
"Woah," Tommy whispers, stopping in shock. He has to race to keep up with Wilbur's long practiced strides though, so he doesn't stand still for long. "This place is all yours?"
"Yep," Wilbur grins. "Built it all myself. I mean – I had a little help from some mechanics and welders in town, and my dad supported me, but you know. The whole thing was my idea."
When they get to the top, Wilbur hands Tommy one of the birdcages, so that he can pull out a key. Tommy squints at the cage.
"Wait…these are empty." He notices. "Why are you carrying around empty cages?"
Wilbur bumps the door open. "Because the birds were ready to fly." Then he walks in. Tommy follows slowly, and immediately, all his words leave him. It was visible from outside, all the greenery and plant-life, but it feels much bigger and more impressive when it's right in your face. There are plants lined up all around the dome: trees with many branches and bushes with leaves that belong in rainforests. The sound of birds singing envelops him, and make his bones vibrate.
In the middle of the dome is a little man-made rock pond, with a stone waterfall splashing into it. There are logs and water-flora and pretty red-leaved plants sprouting from it. Wilbur stops at its side, tilts his head up to the ceiling and whistles.
Immediately, birds come down to greet him – tiny brown winged ones with little yellow beaks and white feathered bellies perch on his shoulders, his arms, his head.
"Hello, hello," Wilbur cooes, his voice like a croon. "Hi, how are you doing today?"
They chirp back, and Tommy steps closer, eyes wide. "They're beautiful," he whispers. "This is – this is indescribable, really."
Wilbur grins, moving his arms, and some of the birds take off. "You like it? There are legends that say birds are the echoes of our Gods, that's why they have the ability to fly. They slip in and out of heaven when given the chance. Any place that has an abundance of them immediately feels holy."
No kidding, Tommy thinks, again casting his gaze over the room. The energy in here is so warm, the light is so golden, the plant life is so rich; it immediately makes Tommy want to jump into flight. The song of the birds vibrates from out of his ribcage, and he wants to sing along with them.
"Do you keep them here?" Tommy asks. "Is this some kind of religious shrine?"
Wilbur blinks. "What? No. Do you not have an aviary where you come from?"
Tommy shrugs. He isn't really from anywhere. He works out of the palace, and as a mail-carrier, he's more often on the move than not. He stays places maybe one or two days at the most before he drifts on with the next wave of letters. It sounds sad, but - well, it's his life. It's all he's ever known.
"Well, this isn't a cult," Wilbur promises. "Aviaries are where birds who need help go. I help injured birds, birds with illnesses, ones who need nursing, or abandoned chicks. Which is why I suggested you come here – maybe I could look at your wing and see what's wrong."
"Oh."
Wilbur walks him over to another glass door, and opens it. The sound of birdsong dims, and Tommy looks around at the clean, white room. There's a long table with boxes of medical supplies, a couple of cages, and a cot for sleeping.
"You can sit there," Wilbur points. Tommy sits, putting down his bag. "Alright, can you stretch out your wings for me?"
Tommy does.
"Okay, did that hurt?"
He shakes his head. Wilbur hums, then leans forward, gently running his fingers along the leading edge of his wings. He takes it in his hand, then carefully bends it back, and that's when he feels that little ache.
"Ow," he says, more for Wilbur's benefit than anything. Wilbur stops instantly.
"Okay, okay. So it hurts when you try to fly, but they don't hurt to open. They hurt when they go to close, but not when they're actually closed . " Wilbur hums, stepping back. Tommy winces as he closes his wings. "I think you might have just over-worked them. You can give them a rest for a day and then we'll see where you're at." He pauses, eyeing Tommy's coat. "You can wait a day, right? The king won't fly down and kick my ass?"
Tommy snorts. "No, he wouldn't. Yeah, I can wait a day." Then he realizes something. "Oh. My name is Tommy. I figure you can know now that you've put your hands all over my wings."
Wilbur laughs. "Yeah, I'd imagine so. It's nice to meet you Tommy. Welcome to L'manburg."
Tommy spends a bit more time in the aviary before he realizes he's going to need a place to rest if he'll be staying. Wilbur offers him the guest room at his place, and when Tommy points out that he sleeps in an aviary, Wilbur rolls his eyes and promises that he has a real home, Tommy, I just prefer to keep a close eye on the birds if case they need me.
Tommy calls him a weirdo, and Wilbur bats him upside the head with his own thick dark brown wing.
He sleeps in Wilbur's guest room for the night, then wakes up the next morning to sizzling pans and tasty smells. They have breakfast together at his rickety kitchen table, and then Wilbur orders him to do wing stretches before he tries taking off.
If this is what living with your doctor is like, Tommy teases, then it is not the life for me.
He does his stretches though, and happily reports that all his pain is gone and he can open and close his wings as quick as ever. When he leaps into the air, his wing-beats don't falter, and he lets out a whoop of joy, greeting Clementine as she carts him up, up, up.
She drops him lower when he realizes that Wilbur isn't following, instead watching from the ground in front of his home with a hand over his eye to block the sun.
"Wilbur!" Tommy crows, "come up here with me! Fly with me, Wil!"
Wilbur seems startled, but then he shakes his head. "You go on, Tommy. Someone has to be able to catch you if you fall down."
Tommy laughs at the thought, then does a loop, relishing the feeling of the wind between his feathers. When he finally comes back down, Wilbur is holding his bag and his coat and is smiling gently.
"Thanks," Tommy says, shaking out his windswept hair and taking his stuff from the man. "And thank you for the fix-up. I really appreciate it. I'd be out of a job without you."
Wilbur waves him off. "It was nothing. Are you… leaving now?"
Tommy winces. This is always the hard part. "Yeah," he says. "I am. I've got mail to deliver and a schedule to keep. But hey! If this town is one for sending letters, then I'll be back soon. Maybe we could hang out. You know – without you bumping into me."
"Maybe," Wilbur says, but he doesn't sound too faithful. "Maybe we'll see each other again. But until then, remember to rest so you don't overwork yourself again, okay?"
"Yes sir, Mr. doctor, sir." Tommy salutes, and then pulls his goggles down over his eyes. He hesitates, and then jumps forward, hugging Wilbur. "Thank you."
Wilbur stiffens, and then he holds back, squeezing slightly. "Be safe."
Tommy pulls away. "Never," he jokes, then takes off, to the next city, to the next life.
He doesn't expect to see Wilbur ever again. Lots of coastal towns like his are pretty self-contained. They don't send many letters or packages, if they want to get somewhere, then they use boats or they fly themselves.
But two weeks later finds Tommy with L'manburg on his schedule again, and he's so excited about it that he doesn't even mind Clementine nearly dropping him right in the ocean.
"Wilbur!" Tommy yells in greeting, running down the hill and waving wildly at the tall man with a bundle of birdseed in his arms.
"Tommy?" Wilbur blinks. A slow smile creeps across his face. " Tommy?"
"Hi Wil!" Tommy half-flaps, half-hops over to him, and when he flutters to a stop in front of the man, clouds of dirt kick up around them. Wilbur coughs. "Hi!"
"You're back," Wilbur says, sounding astonished.
"I'm back! L'manburg was back on the schedule and I swooped it up quick before Tubbo could get it." Tommy grins.
Wilbur laughs. "How long will you be in town for?"
Tommy winces. "I mean, I'm not supposed to stop really… but, if my doctor told me that rest and relaxation was important, then I would really have no choice in the matter, now would I?"
"I am not a doctor."
Tommy stares at him. "You wear a long coat and carry around band-aids. You're a doctor."
Wilbur huffs, amused. "Alright then, patient. I guess you better keep close so I can keep an eye on you, huh?"
Tommy's grin comes back full force.
They go back to the aviary and feed all the birds. Tommy, not injured this time, flies up to the top of the dome and perches on a branch to look out over the town through the glass.
It's a beautiful place, and Tommy feels a slight twist in his gut that he'll never get to know this town the way that so many people who live here do.
"Pretty, huh?" Wilbur asks, a parrot on his shoulder and a swallow fluttering around his head.
"It's beautiful. Woah – I can see the ocean from here."
"Go through the hatch, you can smell it from up there too!" Wilbur says.
Tommy follows instructions and carefully opens the hatch, crawling through and laughing when the wind greets him. "Hi Clem." She tugs a bit, urging him on, urging him to open his wings and fly, but then the hatch next to him opens and Wilbur pokes his head up, his feet on the ladder. He must have climbed up with it. Weird. Why doesn't he just fly?
"If you look out far enough you can see the horizon." Wilbur says wistfully. "You can almost see the boats disappear into it."
"Do you sail?"
Wilbur laughs. "Oh no. I'm not meant for the water. But I think it's beautiful. What about you?"
"Flying over it is good enough for me," Tommy says. "I'm not a very good swimmer."
Quietly, almost as if Tommy isn't supposed to hear, Wilbur goes, "Suns, what I would give to fly over the sea."
"Why don't you?"
Wilbur blinks. "Sorry?"
"Why don't you fly over it? It's right there. It's right at your backdoor. You could go out and be back before nightfall. You wouldn't even have to leave." Tommy flexes a wing out. "If I had this, I'd fly over it every day. Over this whole town. I'd learn all the roofs and gables and people's names. I'd learn these streets blindfolded. I'd never leave."
Wilbur is quiet for a moment. Then – "Tommy, do you remember what I told you about the birds? About how they're the wisps that the Gods left behind?"
"Yeah?"
"And their flight– it sends them to the heavens?" Tommy nods mutely. Wilbur looks out over L'manburg. "Well, we were blessed too. Part of our creation were the Gods modeling themselves after us. Giving us the wings they have. The flight that they have. We're their image."
Tommy nods again – he's heard these legends from his own parents. The sun has wings and that's how she floats way high in the sky. When she rained down onto the Earth, she created them, and everyone was given one of her fiery feathers, causing them to grow into matching wings. When they all die, they just fly on home, back to the sun. Giving back her feathers.
"But," Wilbur's voice cracks a bit. "But some of us weren't deemed worthy of flight. Some of us have broken wings."
Tommy frowns. When Wilbur doesn't speak, eyes down on his own hands, the pieces click. "Oh." He says softly.
Wilbur looks over, eyes bright with tears. "Yeah."
Tommy doesn't know what to say. I'm sorry, maybe. Or that's awful. But somehow, neither of these things feel quite right. He thought, when he first crashed here, that his wings were the only thing tying him to the world, but here is Wilbur, with no flight, closer to heaven then Tommy could ever be. With all the beauty that Wilbur's shown him, the holy birdsong that echoes through his chest, the way the godly wisps land on his shoulder or head as if they belong there - it doesn't feel right to pity someone blessed with all of that.
Tommy's frown deepens. Clementine tugs at him again, and this time, he stands, wobbly on the glass.
"Tommy?" Wilbur blinks. "What are you doing?"
"Come here," Tommy holds out a hand. Wilbur stares at him like he's crazy. "Come on, Wil. Just come here."
Wilbur reaches up, hands shaking, and lets Tommy pull him to his feet. Once he's standing up at the top of the dome, Tommy squeezes tighter.
"I spend a lot of time flying," he says. A certain type of wariness crosses Wilbur's face. "To cities, to towns, over seas, over forests. In cold, in heat, in rain. All of it. And the one thing that remains consistent through it is – "
"Let me guess," Wilbur interrupts. "Your wings." He sighs. "Tommy, if this is you trying to fix me, then – "
"No," Tommy huffs. "No. As you saw, my wings can fail me. They're not perfect. Just because they came from the suns doesn't mean that they're automatically godly. No, the one thing that stays the same is the wind. The current that I ride." He smiles. "Meet Clementine. The South wind."
Clem blows a friendly gust over Wilbur, rustling his curls and feathers. Wilbur's eyes widen. "You – you're friends with the winds?"
"North and South, cause those are my routes." Tommy nods. "Clara is a lot colder, so I don't get to hang with her often, but I'm sure that Tubbo has a lot to tell you about the East and West winds. Benson, Micheal. They're friendly enough."
"Wow," Wilbur blinks. Clem blows again. "Hello, it's nice to meet you."
She twinkles happily. Tommy smiles. "She likes you. Because you rescue her birds." He pauses. "Because you sort of rescued me."
Wilbur flushes like he's embarrassed, but his hand tightens in Tommy's.
"Let me show you something," Tommy says, then brings Wilbur back down through the hatch. He takes the stairs with him, still holding his hand, and only lets go when they're back in the middle of the aviary, by the stone waterfall. "Here."
Wilbur's brow wrinkles. "The pond?"
"No, Wil. Look. You think you're only worth something if you can fly," Tommy frowns, "but look at all you've managed to do without it." He spins in a circle, brandishing his arms at the aviary. The millions of birds who saw him as a safety, as a home. The health he could nurse from here, on the ground. "The skies aren't worthy of you, Wilbur."
Wilbur blinks at him, then around, like he's seeing it all new. "You – wh – "
"Wilbur, you're a safe house." Tommy says. "A port in storm. The suns made you this way. There is no fixing you. You've always been perfect the way you are." Tommy bows, wings folding, a show of respect meant for the shines and temples and churches. "And the winds are grateful for your service."
Wilbur gapes, then his eyes well with tears. Tommy isn't surprised when the man tackles him in a hug, almost bringing him down to the ground.
"You don't know how badly I needed to hear that," Wilbur whispers, holding tighter. Tommy hums, letting his arms wind around him and his fingers curl into his soft feathers.
"Well," Tommy says after a moment, trying to pretend he isn't tearing up, "you don't know how badly I needed to meet you. So I guess we're even."
"Come back," Wilbur begs the next day, as they stand atop the hill – Tommy, with new letters to send away and a belly full of Wilbur's food.
"Give me a reason," Tommy responds, then squeezes his hands and leaps into the skies.
He makes a lot of trips back to L'manburg in the coming months. Letters, a million of them, suddenly need to be sent out. It's as if the town all decided to get pen-pals all at once.
A bunch of these letters go straight to the castle, to the king, they say, decorated in colorful stickers with pretty paper, and Tommy bundles them up easily. He doesn't mind the extra work. Especially not when, with every trip, he gets to see Wilbur.
They walk the streets of the town together, with Wilbur introducing him to all the residents – his father, Phil, and Sam, a mechanic, and Ponk, who works at the bakery. There's Puffy, with all her wisteria, and Bad and Sapnap who work down at the docks. Niki in the library and Foolish, who builds their paths. Everyone is friendly, and they're all so excited to see him, especially Phil, who offers Tommy a place to stay anytime he needs.
Tommy, of course, politely declines, seeing as he lives at the castle when he isn't working. But also, his place is with Wilbur when he visits. Every time he comes back, that guest room looks more and more like his own, and the sight of it feels even better than soaring.
They have breakfast together and walk by the ocean, and Clementine curls around Wilbur, raising him up off the ground in little bits, making him laugh with her. At night, they sit atop the aviary and look at the stars.
It's almost like L'manburg is his home. If he closes his eyes, he can picture his life here, at Wilbur's side for the rest of time.
Techno calls Tommy into his viewing room one evening.
It's one of his few rest days, and while Tommy would prefer to spend that time in L'manburg, he's sure that Wilbur would have something to say about taking the time off to rest his wings.
Tommy expects that he's being called down to go over a package that will need handling. Every once in a while, the king will have something that cannot be under rough winds or near the spray of the sea, and Tommy will be told so he can try his best to follow these instructions as carefully as travel allows him.
But, when he gets to the room, there is no package sitting on the desk – merely a basket of letters.
"Sir?" Tommy frowns, pulling up from his greeting bow.
"None of that, Tommy," Techno chides gently, then picks up one of the sealed envelopes carefully, turning it over, letting it catch the lantern light. It looks weirdly…familiar. "You know I've been very busy recently with royal dealings. I haven't had the time required to sort through the mail that you've brought me as I should. But last night I finally got the chance."
"Are these offensive?" Tommy asks, stepping forward, ready to hurl them into the fire where they belong. It isn't often the the king gets threats or insults, but any time he does, Tommy feels personally responsible and seeks to memorize their addresses so as to never deliver their royal mailings ever again.
"Oh no, not at all." Techno says quickly. He smiles a bit. "They're perfectly fine. It's just…well, they're not mine."
"I'm sorry? Your highness, I don't understand."
"Tommy," Techno says, holding the letter out. "Look at who this is addressed to."
Tommy takes the envelope and squints at the familiar curled lettering. To the royal palace. To the king. Or, what he originally thought said to the king actually ended in to the king's mail carrier. To Tommy. He had glanced over the words, seen king, and automatically assumed.
"Oh." Tommy says.
Techno smiles amusedly. "This whole basket is yours, actually. It seems," he says, standing and stepping around the desk, reaching over to ruffle Tommy's hair, "that you have a friend."
Then he leaves Tommy in the viewing room to stare at the teeming basket of sticker covered colorful envelopes.
Dear Tommy,
I don't normally write letters, which is to be expected, as everyone that I have ever known lives in my town. If I need to talk to them, then I just go across the street, or head three lanes down. But to be honest, I don't find myself having much to say to these people I've known all my life. It feels quite ironic then, that the one person who I want to talk to day in and day out is the one person rendered unreachable by the winds.
You blew into my life on a wild wind, and I've found myself trying to follow you ever since.
Please, dearest friend – best friend – come back. Make this place your home. Make me your home.
I know this may be unfair to ask, but I'm a selfish person, and I always want what is just out of reach. You've helped me see that I don't need flight, but I doubt even you would be able to talk me out of needing you. Even now, this letter, and all the ones after, are just a ploy to get you to come and keep delivering. I will send them until I can't. Until you either stay or leave forever.
Please choose to stay.
Yours, Wilbur.
Wilbur steps out of the aviary with a yawn, letting his arms and wings stretch out.
He's taken to sleeping here when Tommy is off working, because with him gone, his home feels a tad empty, and the ringing of birdsong fills that void better than anything else. It might not be the best for his back though – especially with all the time he's spent recently hunched over his desk scribbling letters to mail away.
The wind blows around him – Clementine saying hello. "Well, hello to you too," Wilbur says, yelping slightly when she pushes at him from behind, nudging him down the hill. Automatically his wings open to slow his descent, and with his toes grazing the ground, he glides to the bottom. "What – Clem, what's wrong?"
She blows leaves all around him, completely ruining his curls and feathers. She pushes at him again. Urgent.
"Okay," Wilbur says. "Okay, I'm going. Just – lead me there."
She does, taking him through the narrow lanes, past Puffy, who's just opening her doors, and Ponk, who's having a morning bagel. She takes him over the cobblestones, and past the church, all the way to his own front door.
"What is so serious about – "
Then Wilbur sees him. Tommy is sitting there, on his stoop, without his royal coat, a bundle of letters pressed close to his chest.
"Tommy?" Wilbur goes. He doesn't need Clementine's help to stumble the last couple of steps forward. Now that he's closer, he can see Tommy's blue eyes, bright with tears, and his mouth curved in a frown. "Oh suns, Tommy, are you okay? Are you hurt? Is everything–"
"I don't work for the king anymore." Tommy blurts.
Wilbur's heart sinks. "Oh no. No, Tommy. I'm – I'm so sorry. What happened?"
Tommy sniffles, then, weirdly, laughs a bit. "I quit. Or, well, Tech let me go. It was mutual. We – we had a talk."
"A talk?" Wilbur asks skeptically. The tears in Tommy's eyes don't seem all that mutual. Wilbur can't fly, has only ever used his hands to heal fragile bones and lay delicate feathers, but if the king unfairly fired Tommy, even after all the hard work that he put in, then Wilbur will have no problem hiking all the way over there – over the sea and through the mountains – on foot to tear king Techno a new one.
"Yeah." Then, keeping all the other envelopes clutched to his chest, Tommy holds out a folded piece of paper with a shaky hand.
Wilbur takes the paper carefully. He reads it and stiffens. This is his letter. One of many. He remembers inking it and slotting it into his mailbox, praying to the suns that they send Tommy and not any other mail carrier.
"Did you mean it?" Tommy asks, voice trembling.
Wilbur looks up at him, stunned.
"Did you?" He asks again, sounding desperate.
Make this place your home. Make me your home.
"Yes," Wilbur whispers. "I did. Yes."
Tommy bursts into sudden tears. All of the other sealed envelopes fall from his arms and spill to the ground, and Wilbur's letter follows them, but it's okay because Tommy is in his arms, wings flapping wildly, trying to burrow his way into Wilbur's chest with how tight he's hugging.
"Is this you staying?" He asks, voice choked. "Is this –"
"Yes," Tommy says, squeezing. "Yes, yes, yes. I want to stay. If you'll have me."
Wilbur laughs wetly. "Always, Tommy. Always."
Tommy gets a job as L'manburg's official mail carrier. The coastal town, now that Wilbur isn't trying to get Tommy to come back, doesn't send many letters out over-seas, but they don't leave Tommy with nothing to do.
Tommy, Ponk waves his oven mitt, can you send these muffins down to the pier to Bad for me?
These marigolds are for Niki, Puffy flushes, holding up a bouquet, I think they're her favorite.
This painting is for Sam's workshop, Phil grins, swiping paint over his forehead, can you make sure he gets it?
Tommy speeds through the streets with his deliveries, hopping from roof to roof, waving at all the residents he passes. He learns all the shortcuts and all the crosslanes and everyone's names. He takes their small offerings of water and cookies and extra cash, lingers in their homes because he knows them. To them, he's just Tommy, not the royal mail carrier that everyone is afraid of crossing.
(Even if King Techno will sometimes send him royal summons because he misses Tommy.)
At the end of every work day, he heads up to the aviary, up to Wilbur, who teaches him how to set a wing, or treat a burn, or wrap a wound. And then, they both walk down the hill together, back through the streets.
Together, they go home.