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' Shut it' Tommy’s translator hisses as the cage he'd been thrown into rattles with the lock engaging. Reluctantly, he obeys. He's been hurt enough today.
After a moment, he realizes where he's going. The cage is sat on a podium… it's an auction.
The crowd gasps, some from fear, some from delight, some from disgust. Humans don't have the best reputation, being such an unpredictable species.
' It's your lucky moment, these things are rare to come by. We've even partially broken him in. This one is young, perfect for training, and passionate enough for any task. ' The auctioneer rambles, immediately scrambling to keep up with the bidders.
Instead of trying to fight, he takes the moment to scan the crowd. Various species crowd around the auction floor. Expectedly, the auction starts cheap. Humans are notoriously hard to handle, but frankly they should expect that from a species capable of rationality.
Information on humans past the milky way is unfortunately scarce, though. Most 'knowledge' stems from rumors.
As he looks over the crowd he notices an unusual group. A piglin, phantom, and elytrian species that seems to be together, one throwing high bids while the others stare at the boy with an odd intensity.
What intentions do they have for him?
' Sold!' Exclaims the auctioneer, and immediately the group starts moving to the front.
Well, he supposes he's about to find out.
A blanket is thrown over the cage as he is carried out to the group's ship. It's supposed to calm animals, which would be fine if he were an animal. All it did was serve him a nice, cold dish of claustrophobia. He tried to keep his outward panic to a minimum, wiping silent tears and desperately controlling his hyperventilation.
Just as he thinks nobody will notice, the ship hums to life, a robotic voice popping up.
'Welcome back. Health scans show signs of distress in an unknown entity. This may require attention should symptoms linger or worsen.'
God fucking damn it.
Outed by a goddamn robot.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
'Set the poor thing down, techno.' A voice orders, the translator droning in English as the cage is roughly placed on the ground, a scolding phantom sound responding to the clatter.
Immediately the blanket is pulled off, and Tommy’s panic skyrockets as he's surrounded by prying eyes. The piglin looks vaguely apologetic, the phantom concerned, and the elytrian… he's unreadable. There's certainly an emotion there, but Tommy’s not sure if he could even find a word for it in English. He's never seen an expression like that.
He quickly curls in on himself as the robot voice indicates urgency in caring for the distressed entity, and how he's at risk of a serious heart issue with a case of fibrillation like his.
Quickly, the phantom moves first, pulling the cage door off, lock and all, and ushering the others to step back, moving back a little himself and sitting facing the opening, arms open in a show of pacifism.
' We don't want to hurt you, and we won't hurt you. You're safe here. I will personally assure that you are. We don't know much about your species, however. Can you speak?' The phantom pipes up, voice oddly soothing in soft tones and gentle words.
Tommy can feel himself relax a little as he takes a breath. Is this a test?
"I'd rather not. Trouble," he explains through a jagged voice, worn from screaming at his captors for the weeks leading up to this moment.
Maybe they were right. Maybe he is broken in.
The elytrian croons sadly and the phantom’s face softens, speaking again. "You're not going to get in trouble for speaking here, I promise. You are free to move around the ship as you please, I can't imagine that cage being a good nest." The phantom offers, somehow already speaking english. It jarrs Tommy for a moment before he remembers how intelligent most other species are. Most aliens can learn quickly.
Where humans spent decades studying astrolinguiatics and developing translators, species like phantoms can hear a sentence in a language they've heard before and speak it with near perfection.
This feels like a trap. Some sort of scheme to gain his trust for whatever they intend to use a human for.
It doesn't look like he has an option not to fall for it, though.
After a moment of deliberation, Tommy slowly stumbles out of the confining metal, immediately stretching, feeling several joints pop as his muscles finally have a chance to extend.
The phantom flinches at the cacophony of popping noises, immediately voicing his concerns. "Are you okay?! Did you break your… I don't know what can break… do you need a medical scan?!"
Tommy waves the concerns off, fighting back a yawn. "No, muscles just get stiff when you're forced to be still for a long time," he explains, shaking his head out to try to wake up more. "The popping feels nice, it relieves discomfort from stagnation or displacement."
"That doesn't sound healthy," the phantom notes, seemingly debating doing a scan regardless.
"It's harmless," Tommy dismisses, stretching his neck. Fuck, he's never going to let himself have bad posture again. This is shit.
"Entity is still under concerning levels of distress. Fear response deemed a health threat.
Entity also appears to be malnourished, mental health inspection recommended."
That fucking snitch.
"I'm fine," he grumbles, keeping an eye on all three aliens, wanting an upper hand should either make a sudden move.
"You are, in the most literal sense, not," the phantom corrects, brows furrowed. "You show far more signs of intelligence than anyone's ever marked for a human. Are you an unusual case?"
"I think I'm average for a teen, we're typically not good at making safe decisions until we're older, though. Most humans don't live alone until we're closer to eighteen, even then, a lot of us continue to pursue education," he admits, rubbing his eyes. Fuck, why is he so tired?
"Are 'teens' this low-energy typically?" The phantom asks, scooting a little closer.
"This is actually a weird amount of exhaustion. Not sure what's wrong there, it'll be fine though," he admits. He means it, typically sleeping makes the issue go away. "What are your names?"
"I'm called wilbur," the phantom starts, before pointing to the other winged alien, "philza," he notes, before finally nodding to the brutish one, "techno. What's your name?"
"Tommy," he admits, "why did you bid for me?" He gathers the strength to ask as Wilbur stands, careful not to startle him.
The brunet pauses for a minute, tipping his head to the teen. "I wish I could say it was some noble cause. You just… you look like a wingless phantom with broken horns. My instincts are dragging me through hell and back, seeing you uncared for, especially so young! Hatchlings dont even open their eyes for the first few decades. If they do, they were raised in a very dangerous environment. How old are you again?" He asks after a small rant.
"Fourteen?" Tommy responds shyly, allowing the man to slowly usher him to another room. "What's this?" He asks immediately as he walks into a room. There's a phone-like device on a table in the corner, a comfy looking chair sat beside it.
It looks like a barren office, with low-sensory input being the main theme. Honestly, it's a little calming.
"Mental health check. You can talk on the phone over there and it will ask you a few questions. Combined with the brain scans, we should get a fair idea of where you are mentally, and how to take care of you," he shrugs, like that's just a normal device.
He doesn't like the idea of being psychoanalyzed on his first day, but here he is.
"What instinct accommodations do you need," the phantom asks immediately after the test is done. He seems ancy, are the results bad? Scuffed? Scary?
"I uh-" he pauses, trying to wrap his brain around the question. Humans didn't know much about space until it was too late. It's not like they developed an accommodating language for their needs. "Food?" He asks, before trying to process his needs better. "Security and stuff are big factors, we're pack animals in a way, it feels much safer and much easier to be with others… affection is important too but I wouldn't ask that of-"
"Can I hold you?" The older asks immediately, migrating closer to the chair Tommy currently sat in.
The fuck?
Oh, right. His instincts.
It's not safe to not accommodate instincts, aliens can become unpredictable if denied instinctual relief.
With a sigh of preparation, he nods. Immediately, a trill of excitement leaves Wilbur and the boy is scooped up into careful arms, gentle wings tenting carefully over the two, allowing for a comfortable darkness to slip over them, the only real light showing through the membrane of the limbs and the slight glow to the alien's freckles, eyes, and grin.
This is his life now.
There's no getting out of this.
He's way too deep into this.
Whelp.
The cooing alien gently carries them into another room on the ship, a large nestlike structure nestled into a cubby. Despite the slightly claustrophobic size, it looks quite cozy.
Quickly, he's settled into the nest, held against a protective chest that rumbles with low, satisfied purrs. He supposes he could use a nap, he was tired, after all.
"- highly traumatic" his translator drones, waking him. " He's unstable, Wil. We don't know enough about humans to know if he will be dang-"
"He's a hatchling. He needs to be cared for, loved, protected. He is not the age to leave his parents, separation from them now, for who knows how long, likely has its impacts."
"We don't know what those impacts are, that's the problem. You've heard of how violent their kind is."
Gently a hand comes to cup the back of his head, nestling him further into the phantom. The motion feels unexpectedly protective. " Dangers don't sleep like they've been starved of a haunt. Hatchlings do."
A wing gently drapes over the two, ending the conversation as comforting coos and purrs echo through his head.
He's actually quite comfortable like this. A little more sleep wouldn't hurt.
"So, we managed to find hoglin meat, which sounds very similar to the boars you eat on earth. It should, in theory, be healthy for you," Wilbur explains, wings pressed tightly against his back in something reminiscent of a wince.
"Well, it doesn't smell like poison, which is leagues better than what I've had in a long time," Tommy jokes, but it falls flat as all three aliens make their own version of a saddened noise.
With the mood killed, he decides to take a bite to change the subject.
"Oh!" He yelps, processing the flavour. He pauses, squinting at the food. "It tastes like a well-seasoned porkchop. That's…" he processes out loud, trailing off in thought before seeing the concern on Wilbur's face. "It reminds me of home," he clarifies, trying to pull a small smile to the surface.
' We can pick up more at the market today,' phil affirms, patting the boy's chair as he walks past, probably moving to redirect the ship.
Everyone's doing their best to learn how the new dynamic is meant to work. Wilbur insists that he is fully capable of raising Tommy, Tommy insists he doesn't need parents, Philza insists that Wilbur needs to be prepared to share responsibility, and Techno insists that Tommy will kill everyone in their sleep.
Essentially, everyone's defensive in their own right, and nobody's budging. It's an awkward armistice where they're stuck waiting for whatever the space equivalent of Fuck around and Find out is.
The worst part? The phantom with no sense of privacy. He's either in full contact with or hovering over the boy in any given moment. Despite having a room prepared for him, Tommy's never been able to sleep anywhere aside from the elder's nest.
He elects to ignore that it's the best sleep he's ever had. He chooses to forget what it's like to wake up from a nightmare surrounded by metal and not loving arms, soft words, and gentle eyes.
Ah, shit. He's attached to the clingy shithead, isn't he?
He is.
He most definitely is.
After entering the market, Phil managed to convince the phantom to let go, only for Tommy to panic immediately afterward, clinging to the man instead.
' He's imprinted' the phantom whispers, tone full of adoration in his native tongue.
So, the two set off in the market together, viewing the various wares and goods being sold.
All thoughts come to a grinding halt when Tommy sees the cutest little abomination. It looked like a cow infested with colorful mushrooms.
It's so horrific and fluffy and he needs to pet it .
" Big puppy! " He exclaims giddily, immediately scrambling away from the phantom to place his grubby little hands on the fugly precious little thing.
"A what? A bi- TOMMY NO THAT'S- " The older tries to object but the little gremlin of a human is already reaching over the fence and scratching behind its ears.
The little thing collapses , leaning into the touch like it's a drink of water in the middle of a desert. It releases the happiest, most terrifying snorts and huffs he's ever heard. It's perfect. He's calling it Henry.
"Dangerous…?" The phantom finishes, seemingly confused that Tommy didn't just drop dead or something.
The stall owner looks something between awe-struck and pissed off. "Get your human under control, and tell it to stop using that weird magic on it."
"I don't think he can do magic. Can you do magic, Tommy?" Wilbur asks immediately, throwing all bystanders for a loop. Humans are treated as pets, usually, so asking for one's opinion is unheard of.
"Wait, you're telling me magic is real? It's just a fairytale where I'm from," Tommy asks incredulously, before grumbling something about living on the worst possible timeline. "It just wants a little scratch though. Behind the ears, back of the neck, upper back, those are all just utter bliss for earth's version of these," he explains with a shrug.
The stall owner watches him with furrowed brows as the cow practically crushes him, leaning in happily, huffing and wiggling and having the best time as he scratches all the itchy spots.
"Oh what a precious little thing. I bet you got all grumpy because of that nasty itch, didn't you!" Maybe he was baby-talking a cow thing, he didn't care, Henry deserves the world. "Yeah, I would be too." He agrees to nothing in particular before giving the cow a happy pat on the flank, the creature obeying the laws of nature and letting him leave after a proper goodbye.
"Mooshrooms are infamously untamable, how did you have one acting like a domesticated pet?" Wilbur asks once the boy is on the right side of the fence.
"Cows and bulls were the same way where I'm from, but the human urge to pet anything that looks remotely friendly overpowers most forces of nature," Tommy shrugs, leaving a stunned phantom in his wake to point at a painting that looks an awful lot like shrek. "That looks like a character, or god depending on who you ask-"
' And then he jumped the fence! I started thinking about how I was going to explain why our human got mauled, but the weirdest thing happened… he domesticated it. It was leaning on him, making happy sounds, and wiggling in excitement in a way I've never seen a creature like that act.' Wilbur explains to the others, tucking the younger against his side. 'Also, he insisted we buy this because it looked like a sharké'
"Shrek," Tommy corrects, "he's a lifestyle."
"I thought you said he was a god?" Wilbur asks, switching to english to speak directly to the human.
"He's both. A character in a transformative work of art is bound to do that," Tommy shrugs, pausing before yawning quietly.
Wilbur freezes before immediately picking up the youngest, holding him tightly against a comfy jumper. "Why didn't you tell us you were sick?!" He yelps, immediately scrambling to run the boy back to the ship, the others trailing quickly behind, equally concerned expressions distorting their faces.
In his confusion, Tommy is stunned silent, watching with furrowed brows as he's dropped into the bed he's never slept on.
"What's going on?" He asks after a moment of being fussed over, the shift in mood nearly scared him with how immediate the change was. He's not even sure what he did to make things like this.
"You're not getting enough breathable gasses, sick hatchlings are a serious concern." Wilbur explains, visibly holding back instinctual sounds.
"It's just a yawn, is that what you were talking about? Yawns just mean I'm tired and trying to stay awake." He corrects, deciding to take a chance and scratch behind the phantom’s ear to calm him down. As a pleasant surprise, the taller melts immediately.
' This is what Wil was talking about?' The translator offers, exposing the elytrian's comment. ' Is this a normal human thing?'
"You're telling me that despite having affectionate species, you don't have any that will risk everything to pet something friend-shaped?" Tommy asks, head quirking to the side in genuine confusion. "I'd consider humans more violent than most but we've risked it all to get wolves that'll let us bap their nose," he laughs, thinking about the silly videos from his childhood of huskies getting a satisfactory boop!
"Wolves, you mean the vicious canines of your planet?" Techno asks immediately, eyebrows nearly connecting as he pulls out a book he must have bought at the market.
"Yeah, domesticated them for jobs, like hunting, war, or transportation… before the whole invasion thing, they mainly were for pets. We did have some for law enforcement, healthcare, guides for the blind, and entertainment, though." He admits with a shrug.
"Humans need to be scientifically studied," Phil starts, tone half joking. Regardless of the tone, the human still flinches. "Right, too soon. Sorry."
When Tommy moves his mindless scratches to the phantom’s middle back, resting between the wings, the man falls completely limp.
"He's boneless, " the piglin notes in slight awe, before pausing and making eye contact with the boy.
Well,
not quite.
With a little more thought, the eyes settle higher than the blond's own eye level.
A chuff tells him all he needs to know.
' Gold' the translator so helpfully notes.
The piglin is in his instincts, must have been more vulnerable from the health scare… he's still not sure what the whole yawn thing is about.
Wilbur makes a confused noise as techno slowly reaches for the blond curls. With a slightly suspicious squint, he leans into the hand, only to immediately melt into gentle scratches.
"It works on humans too!" Wilbur exclaims happily, trilling with excitement as Tommy fights a losing battle to stay awake.
"I have to admit, that's adorable," Phil huffs, wings perking with visible instinct haze. Unfortunately, Tommy's mouth didn't allow him to make more than a vaguely irritated huff before he slipped into the realm of unconsciousness.
Tommy woke up feeling distinctly warm. When he gains the courage to slide his eyes open, he notices huffs of hot air rustling his hair, and a very strong torso in front of him. Techno, then.
With more thought, the thing nestled into the crook of his neck must be Wilbur's head. He at least knows the phantom’s wing is protectively draped over him, and the bluish pale arm looks familiar as it traps him against his new father figure.
The last thing he notices is a large, dark, and feathery mass laying across the three. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't a blanket. Phil's wing was draped over the entire group, keeping the cozy warmth atop the human's bed.
Tommy still hasn't had a moment of privacy, and doubts that he ever will at this point…
He's not sure if he minds all that much.
Privacy might be worth something, but what's worth more? His personal translation of his current situation.
Nothing could say it clearer,
Welcome to the family.
.