Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tommy…..”

“Tommy…”

“Tommy…”

“Tom!” He jolted awake with a snort. Where was he again? He opened his eyes begrudgingly to be met with a green haired man wearing a black face mask standing outside the opened car door. Oh, right, Sam was driving, no wonder he fell asleep, Sam drove like a grandma. A very tired, paranoid one.

“Christ big man I’m up, where's the fire?” He grumbled jokingly, voice still slightly slurred and gravelly with sleep as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

“Tommy, I have been trying to wake you up for fifteen minutes! ” Sam half shouts.

“Sorry?” He tries, getting an exasperated sigh in return. 

“Come on Toms, hopefully this house is the last one, I have high hopes for it.”

Right, we were driving to house seven. Tommy remembered.

“Keep in mind you also had high hopes for the last four houses.” He said before he could really think about it. Sam’s face fell, the smile in his eyes drooping into guilt. Shit.

“Don't worry Sam, you know what they say, seventh times the charm!” It was a pathetic attempt at cheering him up really, Tommy had never been good at comforting, but fondness lit up Sam’s face anyway and Tommy could almost see the soft smile through the mask. He had never actually seen the man without his mask, he was curious but if it made him feel uncomfortable to take it off he wasn’t about to pry.

“They really don't…” Sam chuckled quietly as Tommy stepped out of the car, noticing the way Sam cradled one hand with the other. Damn, guess he needed to turn down his runes. It was meant to feel like a particularly nasty static shock, but clearly it hurt a bit more than he wanted it to. 

Tommy thumbed the blackthorn medallion around his neck, adjusting the strength of the talisman before clapping a hand on the social worker’s shoulder. 

“Honestly Sam, this one sounds good. Whoever lives here, Philipé or whatever, sounds pretty nice. Even if this doesn’t end up being the house I’ll have a good few weeks at least. I’m sure.” Tommy didn’t mention how they always seemed nice at first, or how the man having two sons already made him nervous, or how even if they tried anything all it would take was a photo and some thumbtacks to send them running. All that mattered was that Sam was upset and it was Tommy’s fault, so he was going to fix it.

“Alright. I really do think this one will do it though, Phil has taken in plenty of fosters before, hasn’t sent a single one back before they were due and even adopted two of them. He’s very nice. Ready to go?.” Sam seemed happy enough now, so Tommy nodded, grabbing the worn red rucksack from the seat beside him and following the green haired man down the front path towards the cottage. 

Admittedly what he’d said about Phil was a little bit suspicious, one thing Tommy had learned was that nice things didn’t just happen, there was always a reason behind them. Whether it was just to make someone feel good or to manipulate them into loving you even when you hurt them, there was always a reason. 

Maybe a few years ago this would have worried him, but Tommy was confident enough in his abilities for caution to be dampened into simple curiosity. What made this Phil be so kind? Sam knocked on the dark wooden door and a loud thump sounded from the other side followed by a muffled “Phil~”. A clang and some more running, until finally the door opened to a man standing on the other side. He was roughly 5’10, trim and broad shouldered with straight blond hair falling down to his chin. Ice blue eyes looked down from a smile wrinkled face with a warm expression. The air around him swirled with colors, a kind mix of pink and purple and blue with bits of white. He talked with Sam for a few moments before looking to Tommy, smiling at him.

“Hello mate, I assume you’re Tommy?” 

“Yep, and you’re Phil?” If his aura was anything to go by it would be ok for Tommy to let down his guard a bit. He definitely wasn’t going to push it, but relaxing a bit would be good for him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t fry any of them with a flick of his wrist.

“Yep.” Phil said, popping the P. “The one and only, why don't you guys come in?” He opened the door wider and let them inside. Tommy kept his shoes firmly on his feet, not quite trusting this place yet, and when Phil didn't object he followed the man into the kitchen where they all sat down and the adults started talking. 

“Don't take it personally if he's a bit rude, that's his humor and usually he notices when he takes it too far and tries to make up…” He only caught bits, zoning in and out, opting to nervously nip at his raw and scabbed knuckles instead of trying to follow the conversation. 

“Leftover bruising from the last house…”

“Loves red….” 

It went on for a few more minutes, Tommy just mindlessly gnawing at his fingers.

“Tommy!” He jumped, looking at Sam.

“They just healed Toms, stop chewing on them, they'll get infected.” Sam scolded.

“Oh, sorry.” Tommy mumbled.

“It's ok Tommy, I have to head out now, be good for them ok?” Tommy smiled mischievously.

“No promises.” Sam rolled his eyes and affectionately ruffled his hair before walking away. Once they heard the door close Tommy turned to look at Phil.

“Alright mate, do you want to go check out your room? I’ll show you around and then you can rest until dinner if you want.” He offered. Tommy swallowed his nerves and forced his voice to be level and comfortable.

“Sounds good big man.” Phil showed him around. The house really wasn’t very complicated, there were two floors, the only things on the bottom being the laundry room, kitchen, living room, dining room, and a small bathroom. Upstairs there was another bigger bathroom, three bedrooms, and a large room with a desk, fireplace, and a mini-library.

“Feel free to use the study, we honestly don't use the living room much unless we have guests over so if you're looking for one of us we’ll probably be in here. Up there,” He pointed to a hatch in the ceiling Tommy hadn’t seen before. “Is your room, the attic is finished so all you need to do is pull the ladder down. The hatch locks and nobody will go up without your permission unless it's an emergency so don't worry about that. I’ll come knock when dinner’s ready okay?” 

“Ok.” Tommy picked up the long wooden staff leaning against the wall and latched the little hook on the end onto a loop in the attic hatch, pulling it down to reveal a wooden folding ladder. 

“Bye Phil.” He pasted a cheeky grin onto his face and gave him a little wave as he flung himself up, pulling the trap door shut behind him and setting the staff against the wall.

He was looking at a good sized room, a twin bed with simple white sheets and a storage frame pushed into the corner against the opposite wall beneath a large round window. The left wall was interrupted halfway through by the chimney to the fireplace downstairs, the exposed brick pillar against the barn style wooden roof giving the space a homey feel. Between the chimney and the wall behind him a large wood wardrobe stood beside a simple dresser. A decently sized desk sat against the opposite wall and a soft green rug covered the open floor space. 

Tommy noted the thin exposed beams spanning the ceiling, perfect places to hang herbs for drying or really anything he wanted. He set his shoes by the hatch and dug around his rucksack until he pulled out an invisible pen. Carefully he placed runes around the window and trapdoor, building a spell that would work like a lock and keep everyone who didn’t have the “key” from entering without his permission. Hopefully Phil would keep his promise but better be safe than sorry. With that, Tommy sat down on the floor and dumped his rucksack out onto the floor. Not on the rug of course, that would be a pain to clean up and he didn't want to push this house's kindness. He put great importance in the rules of hospitality, and even if they were too old to be kept exactly the same as they used to be, ‘don't be a shit guest’ was still a good philosophy he had. Items on a mental list were checked off as he took stock of his supplies.

He had parchment, string, scissors, a toothbrush, matches, his earrings, a small dish, a few pairs of clothes, two small candles, talismans, a small pouch, a small bottle of moon water he had made last month, a fistful of assorted crystals, and a lighter. Not bad per say but still kinda shit. Maybe the town would have an apothecary he could get some herbs from. He quickly slid the small mountain of golden earrings into his ears and went back to thinking, enjoying the feeling of gold chains sliding against his neck. He was honestly proud he could keep them for so long, nobody stole from Tommy Innit.

A tapping at the window pulled him away from his thoughts, and he looked over to see a pair of purple eyes gleaming outside his window in the setting sun. Was it that late already?

Tommy got up to let his familiar in. The latch was tricky but after a few seconds the pane folded in from a hinge at the top. Frankly Tommy was built to look like a pool noodle, but he knew for a fact he could lift the heavy glass a million times over. Won the genetic lottery on that one. 

Henry slipped through the open window, the massive black and white spotted cat immediately glancing at the spread on the floor before settling down beside the chimney which was radiating warmth, somebody must have lit the fireplace downstairs. Henry’s rumbling voice rang out in his head. 

“You need more herbs, and it wouldn’t hurt to buy a lapis for enchanting. You lost yours, remember?” Ah, right, the well incident. They didn’t talk about the well incident.

“Thanks Henry. Is someone in the study?”

“Yes.” A second, fluttery voice replied. His second familiar, Clementine. “ And I would suggest you come and see, it's rather interesting to say the least.” Carefully Tommy lifted the hatch up, poking his head down into the room below. 

A pink haired man sat with his feet propped up in a chair beside the fire. Honestly he was dressed a couple centuries too far back. The air around him swirled with red, pink, and tan, and he wore a fluffy sleeved white poet shirt with waist high black leggings, long pink hair braided loosely over his shoulder. It was an impressive length, but what caught Tommy’s eye were the sharp tusks that poked out from his mouth and the long pointed ears adorned in gold. Tommy smiled, interesting indeed. 

“Not human?” He said, more a statement than a question. He didn’t fake the curiosity that colored his tone, and the man's head whipped around to look at him. 

It was probably a strange sight, you're reading a book and suddenly there's a kid- ehem, big man talking to you while hanging out of your attic. Tommy didn’t care though, there was a non-human in this house and he was curious as to how exactly he had hidden for so long. Or perhaps he was a prisoner? A house guardian? He wanted to find out, so he asked.

“What are you exactly? Does Phil know?” Aaaand there was a sword at his throat. Lovely. Holy shit this guy was built, that might be a problem.

“You won’t be sayin’ a word about this to anyone. I will not let this family be destroyed because an attic gremlin couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” Oh. He thought Tommy was human. Fair enough.

“Calm yourself big man, you're not the only one who doesn’t want the media's attention.” He let the air crackle a bit, felt his blue eyes flash and the air charge with ozone. Just for a moment, but it was enough. The pink haired man looked confused, shocked even, but he quickly schooled his expression into a blank slate, effect totally ruined by the way he cocked his head to the side with cautious curiosity. 

“You aren't human either?”

“Nope.” Tommy confirmed, popping the P. “Really though, what are you?” The curiosity would eat him alive if he didn’t get at least a vague answer.

“Are you going to tell me what you are?” 

“Nope.” He said again.

“Then why should I?” The pink haired man replied with a roll of crimson eyes.

Oooh, bargaining, he could get behind that. His fae blood sang with excitement. 

“We match!” He gestured to the piercings that littered his ears. Ok, he said he enjoyed bargaining, not that he was good at it. The man gave him a look that said ‘seriously?’.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, how about I promise not to use it against you? I would be bound to oath, fae blood doesn’t fuck around.” The man considered it for a moment and lowered the sword. 

“Fine, I’m a boar minotaur.” Clementine was right, this really was interesting. As far as he knew minotaurs couldn’t be boar though. Maybe the pink haired man was a hybrid like he was? Now that would be awesome. 

“That's really cool! I always thought minotaurs could only be bulls, but I haven’t actually met one before so I guess I’m wrong.” 

“And you're a fae?” The man replied, probably analyzing exactly how to kill him.

“Sort of. Not really though, I have a handful in my heritage.” The man hummed.

“So what do I call you?” 

“Tommy, I’m going to be here for a month so we might as well get to know each other. I hope we can get along, I’ll try not to bother you guys too much. And I can call you…?” 

“Technoblade.” Tommy smiled, honest and kind, making something undecipherable flash behind the other man’s eyes. 

Just then Phil poked his head through the door, clearly confused and trying not to laugh at the scene he just walked into. Tommy glanced back at Technoblade and almost got whiplash from the sudden change, his ears had rounded off and his eyes were a rusty brown, like blood spilled onto dirt. His tusks had disappeared and his sword was nowhere to be seen.

“Ayup.” Tommy said, like he wasn’t currently hanging halfway out of the roof.

“H-hi mate?”

“Phil.” Technoblade sighed. “Care to explain why there's an orphan in our ceilin’?” 

“That's the new foster mate, clearly you’ve, uh, met , but he’s staying in the attic room.” 

“Clearly.” It was silent for a few moments before Phil cleared his throat.

“Well I came up to tell you guys that dinner is ready so come down and eat.”

“Got it.” Tommy reached up and grabbed the edge of the opening, dragging the rest of his body out of the attic until he was hanging from the ceiling by his hands, about to drop down before he remembered the pole to open the hatch from outside was still leaning against the wall above. He halfway pulled himself up again and grabbed it, not realizing he was effortlessly holding his entire body aloft with one hand, and dropped back down again, pulling the hatch shut. He raised an eyebrow at Phil’s surprised look and followed them downstairs. 

The dark wooden table was set with some kind of potato casserole, and it looked absolutely delicious. Everyone took a place around the table and started serving themselves. Everyone except for Tommy, who sat down against the wall and tried to ignore the gnawing hunger tearing through his body at the smell of good food. Sam's rules be damned, he was going to chew his knuckles.

“Are you going to come sit mate?” Phil asked after a few seconds.

“I’m allowed to sit at the table?” The older blond had about a dozen different expressions on his face before finally settling on some sort of sad determination. He gestured to the chair across from him.

“Of course mate.” Tommy cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed in confusion.

“And, I can eat too? Not like, leftovers?” He questioned. Technoblade started quietly fuming in his seat, his fork clutched in a white knuckled grip. Shit, wrong move, shit, shit, abort!  

“Of course I can always just sit there if you’d like. I can work with scraps or even nothing, don't worry about it!” He backtracked, panickedly waving his hands in front of him until the shocked Phil managed to get a word past his rambling.

“You can eat mate…. You can have as much as you want. If you don't mind me asking, how long has it been since you last had a proper meal?” He thought about it for a moment, he could go for about four days without food before it really started to hit him, and it was getting damn close to that point. It was a rough guess, but he would say three days or so? It had been a few months since he ate more than scraps, the last few houses he’d been in weren’t exactly great.

“Uh, it's been a few days I think.”

“ Days?! ” Phil yelped. “Come on mate, you have to eat something.” Tommy sat down as Phil portioned at least three pounds of casserole onto his plate. Tentatively he took a bite, it was delicious . He didn’t know who cooked it but it was the best god damned thing he had ever tasted, and suddenly the massive portion became a challenge. He was about halfway through the plate when Phil spoke up.

“Alright mate, you're going to be here for at least a month or two so we should lay down some ground rules.” And there was the catch. Earliest he’d been up doing chores was four am, he wondered if this house would break that record. Phil was nice, but they were always nice at first. 

“We don't really have any if I’m being honest, just tell one of us if you’re going out, and if you do keep your phone on you so we can call if we have to. If you’re going to be out past dark don't be wandering around, this town is small and I know almost everyone but something could always happen. Knock before you go into someone else's room and if you want to borrow something from one of us ask first. Do you understand?” Tommy let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, this house was pretty chill so far. 

“Yep, I got it big man. I can do that. Anything else to keep in mind?” 

“Nope, nothing.” So Tommy dug back into the other half of his casserole.

Chapter Text

That night Tommy didn’t sleep, he was relaxed, content even, nestled into his bed and listening to the faint guitar music seeping through the thin floors with Henry nestled into his arms and his other familiar -an orange promethea moth named Clementine- sleeping soundly tucked into his hair, but still he didn't sleep. 

Ah the joys of insomnia.

His sleep sachet had run out, its scent long since gone and it's magic faded. Until he could replace it life would not be fun. He could last without sleep for a few days, but the change would be noticeable and Tommy hated doctors. All it would take was a scan or an x-ray to see that his bones were hollow, that he was capable of exerting twenty times the normal human bite force, that his eyes could see farther than any humans could. Needless to say he wasn’t eager for the results of that. 

Henry had packed away his rucksack in one of the many drawers in the room, but he knew was missing almost all of the ingredients for replacing the sachet. Maybe he could find his own herbs in the forest? He’d done it before, if he was lucky Phil might let him grow them in his room and not question it. No, that was too risky here, in small towns where everyone knew everyone it was easy to tell when someone was lying about where they’d been. He could always choke down some Advils, everyone had Advil, five or so and he’d be out like a light. Actually no, he did not feel like explaining that to Phil if he got caught. Excluding drugs, maybe someone here had a garden he could steal from? He didn’t like to steal, but if he had to he was actually really good at it. Perks of his childhood he supposed. 

Tommy kept thinking, and before he knew it someone was knocking on the hatch and the sun was rising outside his window. Ugh, he hated the early bird houses. The person knocked again, and groggily Tommy pulled himself out of bed while Henry and Clementine melted into his shadow, their familiar weight settling easily behind him. 

He opened the hatch to a person he hadn’t seen before. It was an illegally tall man in gold rimmed round glasses and a yellow sweater. Fluffy earth brown curls nearly covered one of his goldish-brown eyes and a clearly amused smile painted his face, the air around him swathed in blue and purple and magenta.

“Hello gremlin child, you can call me Wilbur. Dadza sent me to come get you so we can go shopping and make your incredibly bland room somewhat less boring.” He greeted in a British accent. Ouch, uncalled for, but true. Tommy scoffed, placing a hand dramatically on his chest.

“Never before have I been so offended by something I one hundred percent agree with. Name’s Tommy king, we’re going to get along great I can tell.” The tall man grinned and Tommy quickly got dressed and dropped down from the attic, bringing the hatch staff with him this time. They walked downstairs to find Technoblade and Phil in the kitchen, the pink haired man reading a book at the table and Phil flipping pancakes at the stove. 

“Good morning big men, now Technoblade, explain why the spaghetti noodle calls me a gremlin.” Tommy demanded.

“Spaghetti noodle? I for one think I deserve twig at least .” Wilbur scoffed.

“I dunno, maybe it's the fact that you literally live in the attic.” The pink haired man drawled, ignoring Wilbur.

“Phiiiil Technoblade is bullying meeee.” 

“Techno stop teasing your brother.” Tommy stiffened and opened his mouth but Technoblade spoke first. 

“Phil, I've known this orphan for like, ten minutes. He is not my brother.”

“What he said.” Tommy agreed.

“Fine, fine, no need to fuss about it.” Phil gently smacked Technoblade on the nose with a fork as he set a large plate of pancakes and a bottle of syrup on the table. 

“So Tommy.” He continued once everyone sat down. “Will told you we’re going out right?” 

“Yeah he did.”

“Good, we’re going to head off once everyone is done with breakfast, is there anything we should avoid?” Tommy was surprised at that, seemed to be a trend as of late. 

“No, uh, nothing, nothing worth worrying about.” He lied.

Accept crowds, and small spaces, and blacksmiths. He shut his traitorous mind up after only a few seconds. Eugh, he didn’t want to think about blacksmiths. The work they did was cool and all, swords and shit, but the memory of hot iron brands were ingrained into his memory to the point where just the smell of melting metal made him feel sick. 

“Alright, that's good.” Phil said, and after a few minutes breakfast was over and they were all out the door. Tommy did his best not to stare at the towering pines and rolling plains that lined the path from the small farm to the town of L’Manburg, but Wilbur caught him glancing and leaned over to talk.

“Isn’t it pretty?” He asked, sounding awed himself even though he’d definitely seen it hundreds of times.

“Yeah.” Tommy mused, letting a small smile turn his lips. “Reminds me of home.” 

“Home?” Wilbur asked.

“I’m originally from North America king, did it not say on my file?”

“ What? I didn’t read your file, what was it like?” Curiosity flowed off Wilbur in waves, and Tommy sighed, it couldn’t hurt to share just a bit.

“I don't remember much to be honest, I was born and raised in the Antarctic Empire, traveled with my family for a good while before I ended up here.” L’manburg was in Europe. When Tommy didn’t elaborate on how exactly he got across the entire fucking ocean Wilbur answered. 

“That sounds incredible, I’ve always wanted to travel the world. Even before Phil found me I had never left the county. It's cold there, yeah? Do they speak another language?” 

“You tell me.” Tommy replied in Imperial. 

The language of the Antarctic Empire was a weird mash of English, Latin, Russian, and some tongue from long ago that nobody spoke anymore fused together to make something new that sounded both similar to and nothing like any of the languages it was made from.

“Of course it does, they’re on another continent in a country almost entirely covered in snow and mountains. You think they wouldn’t speak another language?” Technoblade cut in, also in Imperial. His had a sort of upper-class formal tinge to it, like a dictionary or textbook. 

“How does he know that?” Tommy asked Wilbur, pointing a thumb in Technoblade's direction.

“English major.” Wilbur snorted.

“You went to college ?” Tommy wheezed incredulously. Rust brown eyes rolled.

“Is it really that surprisin’ Tommy? I learned Imperial from a book and a teacher. You're a native, the difference is obvious.” He seemed almost embarrassed to admit the last part, like it was some sort of sin to not know a language better than someone born and raised speaking it.

“Now that you mention it you actually do have an accent.” Wilbur said. 

“Of course I do, I left when I was thirteen or so. It took me a year to learn English, and the last three I’ve spent picking up this accent. I worked my ass off to lose as much of my Imperial accent as possible, where I landed wasn’t the kindest to foreigners.” Again Tommy didn’t give any more details, but this was the most he’d said since he got to L’manburg so neither of them pried. 

“Also Techno stop acting like your Imperial is shit, it's better than most I’ve heard outside the Empire, you just don't quite have the accent down and speak a bit formally. The formal bit actually suits you, it doesn’t sound stiff with you like it does others, and if you really think it's bad I can teach you. I can change how thick my accent is whenever I want, it wouldn’t be a problem to show you the ropes.” 

“Really? You’d do that?” 

“Of course, it brings back good memories to hear my mother tongue again.” Tommy smiled, letting the thick Imperial burr take over his voice and make his English just barely intelligible. 

They talked and laughed the rest of the way to town, Tommy changing the thickness of his original accent and the lilt of his voice at random intervals to mess up the others who were dutifully trying to mimic him.

L’manburg was a small town -more a village really- built on the edge of a lake, it was all storm drains and boardwalks. A good portion of the market district was even on stilts over the water according to Phil. None of the buildings were over three stories tall, though most of them were two, and Tommy could almost picture the colorful banners strung across the streets the others said were hung up during festivals as they walked. People milled about, a carriage trundling down the road every once and a while, but it was spring and the lake was still melting so there wasn’t really anyone but locals around.

The crowd really started to thicken when they got to the market. It wasn’t packed, but enough to put Tommy on edge and make him bashfully grasp the tail of Wilbur’s trench coat like a lost toddler. He didn’t seem to mind though, kindly smiling at him over his shoulder and continuing to walk with Tommy hanging off his coattails as though nothing happened. They shopped like that, Phil buying things Tommy needed and a handful of things he wanted, as well as necessities they were out of. Before he started the errands part he gave them each a handful of spending money and told them to stick together, so they did. 

Phil went off to buy things like sugar that they couldn’t make, grow, or hunt at the farm, and Tommy did his best to keep up with Technoblade and Wilbur, -mostly Wilbur really, he was bouncing from stall to stall in barely contained excitement- He was doing a damn good job of it too until the scent of brimstone filled his nose and the sound of hammerfalls drowned out everything but the beat of his heart. 

The muscled, tan haired woman bent over the anvil didn’t even notice him, her attention entirely on the iron bars she forged, but Tommy’s vision flickered and swam, bile rising in his throat until his feet were moving against his will, carrying him as far away as possible down the nearest alley. 

Faintly he heard someone call out to him, somebody curse, and two pairs of footsteps running after him, but all that did was feed the panic coursing through Tommy’s veins like fire, amping up the adrenaline that made his blood rush. All he heard was haggard breathing and a heart pounding to the beat of feet on cobbles, practically flying over the ground and forcing the wind into a slipstream to hasten his steps careless of the consequences if somebody saw. 

He didn’t know where he was when his heartbeat calmed, electricity he hadn’t noticed before arcing between his fingertips and slowly settling. Tommy threw up on the ground inside the alley, emptying his stomach and dry heaving somewhat before finally taking stock of his surroundings. 

Nobody walked down the street, all of them funneled into the market square, letting him look around without any obstructions. There was nothing particularly interesting around accept for a hand-painted wooden sign with the words 

                      Buttercups and Bumblebees

                          Apothecary & Bakery  

Written in a flowery script. At least the universe had the decency to apologize after whatever the hell it just put him through. Tommy wiped his face on his ragged sleeve and walked into the apothecary, a little bell ringing when the door opened. The shop was small, shelves set up along the walls and tables invading the middle of the room. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and a variety of things covered the shelves, from herbs to fruit preserves to spices to a cart of potted flowers and herb bushes set up near the front window. Upon his arrival a brown haired boy with his head resting against the counter, barely awake, looked up to see him. 

“You look like shit.” He said.

“Damn, thanks man, really what I needed today.” Tommy said sarcastically.

“No seriously you look like shit, are you ok?” The boy, who he noticed was quite short, said again. 

“If you call having a flashback, panicking, and running until you could easily cough up your lungs ok then yeah.” Tommy mumbled. “Yeah man I’m good, came to buy some stuff.” Is what he really said. Taking a closer look at the boy, the air that clung to him was all yellows and purples and oranges, tints of tan and green mixed in. There were a lot of colors, but they blended in a coherent way that drew Tommy to him, he seemed like a good friend.

“You know dude, it's kind of rude to stare at auras for so long.” Tommy jumped.

“What do you mean?” He sputtered.

“Don't play dumb, I know for a fact my bedhead isn’t that interesting, also your face is really easy to read. We don't judge around here, this shop is witch friendly. If you’re a hybrid or anything else I’m not going to bother you either, hiding attributes for too long at a time is horrible for your health.” 

Tommy sighed, no getting out of this one. 

“Sorry dude, most people don't notice when you look at their aura. Yours is very pretty by the way. Call me Tommy, Phil’s new foster, are there any rules around here?” 

“Nope, just don't hurt anyone for no reason. Call me Tubbo, he/him. I haven’t seen any new witches around here since Ranboo, do you want to be friends?” The boy, Tubbo, smiled. It was contagious apparently, as Tommy found himself grinning alongside the brown haired boy. 

“Sure. Nice to meet you big T.” Something clicked, Tommy wanted to be friends with this person, and he had a feeling they could be like brothers. He’d always wanted a partner in crime.

“POG! Whaddya need bossman?” The other boy immediately perked up.

“What I need is a new sleep sachet, so that translates to yarrow, vetiver, rose, basil, lavender, benzoin, and a fuckton of myrrh. Also a lapis, I could use one of those.”

“Shit what are you trying to knock out, an elephant?” Tubbo teased, grabbing various satchels and jars from the shelf behind him.

“An insomniac.” Tommy replied, and Tubbo hummed in response. 

“I feel that, throw some chamomile in there too, it doesn’t do anything magically but it overpowers everything but the lavender and makes it smell nice. Also we’re out of myrrh but I’ll have some more in a few days. I’ll bring it up to you when I do, yeah?”.

“Thanks. While I’m here, is there anything I should avoid?” He asked while Tubbo rang him up.

“Depends on what you are.” The brunette boy quipped.

“Sorry, that's a secret.” 

“Awwww really? I’m a bee!” He said, four delicate wings fanning out behind him and little antennae poking through his messy hair. His eyes turned black and insect-like, nails lengthening into points similar to stingers, short, sharp, and hooked. 

“Holy shit that’s awesome ! Can you talk to bees? Is that why this place sells honey?” Tommy asked, child-like excitement vibrating off of him. He couldn’t help it, he loved animals and he’d never seen a bee hybrid before.

“Isn’t it? I can talk to bees actually, we have a few hives out back with the garden, that's where we get our honey from.” Tubbo seemed just as excited as Tommy was, their emotions bouncing off of each other and amplifying them.

“Is one of the queens named Lizzie?” Tommy asked.

“Is that even a question of course!” Tubbo sounded offended that he would even think otherwise. This just made Tommy grin wider, if that was possible. They kept talking about everything from the morality of killing mosquitos to long convoluted schemes on how to use a bag of cheese puffs to overthrow the Enderian government. Tommy didn’t even care that his Empire accent bled into his speech. He felt comfortable with Tubbo, more than he had in a long time. He wasn’t scared when he asked Tommy to teach him Imperial, apparently the accent sounded menacing and Tubbo wanted to use it to intimidate people he didn’t like. 

“Your staticing bossman!” Tubbo pointed to his hair, and Tommy felt it to find that it was puffed up with static and sparks of electricity were bouncing between his fingers.

“Just comes with the life big T.” He chuckled, poking Tubbo in the arm and shocking him, making them both laugh. 

“Can you pleeeease tell me what you are? I’ve never met anyone who can do that!” 

“Sorry Tubs, I really can't. I would show you but it would probably destroy your entire shop. Tell you what, next time it rains come see me and you’ll find out.” He said. Tubbo’s eyes flicked to the windows and widened. 

“Shit! The sun is setting already!? You have to go home!” Tommy turned to the windows and saw the sun was already halfway down.

“FUCK!” He yelled, Tubbo practically stuffing him out the door.

“See you later Big T!” He called over his shoulder, sprinting what he thought was toward the market. He ran through the now empty streets, too rushed to see much until he caught sight of a head of brown hair yelling his name.

“Tommy!” Wilbur called, both hands cupped around his mouth. Tommy didn’t care if his voice was just a little too loud to be human, he launched himself toward the man, who turned and looked at him. He expected a slap, maybe yelling, no dinner, but Wilbur rushed forward and pulled Tommy into a hug. 

“Holy shit!” He yelled, pulling away and checking him over for injuries. 

“What happened? It's been hours! Where did you go? Are you ok?”

“I uh, I’m sorry. I kind of freaked out and ran but when I realized it I didn’t know where I was I found this shop and met a kid called Tubbo. We were talking and I lost track of time, before I knew it the sun was setting.” Tommy mumbled, practically deflating. Wilbur sagged into him, holding him close.

“Thank fuck. You just ran . We were so scared, thought you’d been kidnapped when you didn’t come back. If you were with Tubbo then I’m not surprised you didn’t notice the sun going down but why did you run at all Tommy?” 

“ Blacksmiths .” He whispered, hating how weak he sounded.

“Pardon?” 

“Blacksmiths.” He said again, louder this time. Tommy Innit was not a pussy.

“What's the matter with blacksmiths?” Wilbur asked. Tommy shuddered, the memory flooding back and making his stomach flip. Wilbur noticed this and backtracked, pulling him closer.

“Hey, hey, it's ok. You don't have to tell me Tommy. You don't have to if you don't want to.” He took a second to steady himself, but decided to explain.

“When I was a kid I lived with my family as part of a travelling merchant's caravan. Usually it was fine, but sometimes when things were rough we had to steal to survive. I was the smallest and the quickest, unremarkable, it made me the best thief. We passed through a town during one of those years and I saw this beautiful set of knives. Half of ma’s had broken by then so I thought I’d nick it for her as a present.” He took a shaking breath.

“Blacksmith caught me and didn’t wait for the guards, tried to give me a Thief's Brand right then and there. I only made it out cause an old friend of mine sacked him and ran with me.” He explained, shuddering again as he pictured the hot iron dropping towards his bare palm. Wilbur’s expression was grim, somewhere between anger and sadness. 

“You’re ok Tommy, the blacksmith here is nice, her name is Minx. She’s my drinking buddy’s sister, a bit rough around the edges but she would never do something like that. Nobody will hurt you here, the one you met was just a bitch.” He comforted, the sureness in his words making Tommy want to believe him. 

“Ok.” Was all he could say, but Wilbur smiled kindly, taking his hand and walking them toward the farm.

“We’ve got to go back now ok? Phil is worried sick and Techno is getting close to breaking and entering to find you.” 

When they got back to the farm Tommy explained to the others what he did to Wilbur, getting nothing but understanding and kindness in return. 

Tommy still didn’t sleep that night. He knew the sachet wouldn’t be strong enough without the myrrh, so until then he guessed it wasn't an option.

Chapter Text

He was right. He didn’t sleep a wink between then and when a few days later Tubbo brought him enough myrrh for a handful of spells, exchanging it for a few silver coins as promised. Phil invited Tubbo in, and they hung out for a while, talking and scheming.

Technoblade, Phil, and Wilbur decided to go to the pub at some point, Tubbo and Tommy barely even noticing past their conversation.

“Say big T, I understand the bumblebee part of your store name but what about the buttercups?” He asked. He’d been wondering, since the bumblebee part clearly represented Tubbo, was there a second person or was it just because he sold flowers?

“Oh, I’m just an employee. There's also Hannah and Eret, the buttercup part comes from the manager, Niki, but she’s away right now. They’re all witches too.”

“That makes sense. So are you the second in command or something?” Tommy was pretty sure Tubbo answered, but suddenly he couldn’t hear. His ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, and an electric beat thrummed through his body. After a few seconds his hearing cleared up, but the rhythm remained, the steady melody of his blood and the pull of the outside stealing all of his focus.

“Tommy? Are you alright?” He tuned back into reality to Tubbo staring at him with a worried expression.

“Hey Tubs?” He felt his vocal cords shudder, aching to shed the human words.

“Yeah bossman?” Tubbo asked.

“You wanted to see what I was right? Come outside. I’m big as fuck and I don't think Phil will be too happy with us if he comes home to his house in bits.” The other boy’s face immediately brightened, still looking mildly concerned as he followed a glassy-eyed Tommy outside into the back field. His speech was fucked at this point, answering in churrs and rolling chirps whenever Tubbo tried to talk to him. 

The dark clouds above thickened, the light rain he was expecting becoming the start of a steady fall. Tommy ran then, everything but the hum in his ears forgotten, and when the raindrops started to pour, there wasn’t any more stopping him. Tubbo called out behind him but he didn’t hear. Who was Tubbo anyway? There was nobody but Tommy and the clouds, Tommy and the wind, Tommy and the rain. 

Pale gray-blue feathers sprouted from his skin as he grew taller, wings growing from his back as his body shifted and the feathers engulfed him to form something new. Tommy was no longer human, his body was three times the size of the house, human hair faded into shocks of golden feathers that rippled across his cheeks, flanking the sharp beak that now replaced his mouth. His feathers fluffed up in spiny ridges down his back and on the top of his head, a long ribbon-y tail fluttering behind him while he spread his massive wings that could blot out the sun and took off with a thunderous beat of his wings. Higher he climbed, all four of the feathery appendages working in tandem to bring Tommy closer to the sun. 

When he broke into the clouds it was all electric excitement, he felt like the sky would part for him if he asked, that the clouds would dance for him and the rain would fall for him. He wasn’t Tommy up here, he was ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᓵ⍑╎ꖎ↸ 𝙹⎓ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᓭ⚍リᓭ⍑𝙹∴ᒷ∷ᓭ.

He was the Thunderbird. 

Tommy twirled and spun, muscles sore from underuse stretching therapeutically as he flew over all of L’manburg. Diving over the lake, skimming the water with the edges of his wings and performing above the village for anyone who saw. He didn't know how long it had been before he caught sight of a brown haired man and an older blonde through the window of a pub below, another pink haired man he hadn’t noticed before meeting his eyes and staring. He focused his vision on it, swooping out of the clouds and as low as he dared, meeting the astonished eyes of the puny hybrid thing with boar tusks and gold crusted ears. It looked wary, like it was admiring him and planning how to kill him at the same time. So he did what he did to potential threats, he gathered his voice and screamed, thunderclap layers of explosive sound rolling over the city in a near tangible wave. The puny pink thing looked properly cowed now, right prick it was. To anyone not listening for it you could mistake it for thunder, but the pink thing knew, it knew and was afraid that it was not. As it should be.

The rain would let up in a few minutes, he could tell, and his little display had caught the eye of the blonde and the brown haired man as well. They stared at him, flapping his wings and hovering in the same place to look right back, golden yellow eyes glinting in the sunbeams that broke through the now retreating clouds. However, unlike the pink haired man, they looked shocked, the brown haired one staring in terrified awe and the blonde wearing a small smile on his lips. He felt a question coming from that one, gently prodding at his mind’s defenses. He let it through. 

“Are you passing through or am I gonna have to fight you?” A British accent spoke in his head. He recognized that voice, why?

“At peace godling. I think I’m going to be here for a while, but you need not worry.” His voice sounded like rolling thunder. He knew the Imperial would be translated over mind-link, but still it felt good to speak it. 

The blond godling nodded below, and returned to his meal. Fuck, he was exhausted , so he flew back towards his flock, towards Tubbo. 

He returned to find the brown haired boy had an umbrella now. It was blown away when Tommy landed, but he didn’t seem to care, as the second Tommy shrank back into his human form he was running towards him, hugging him tightly.

“Fuckin’ hell bossman that was so awesome!” Tubbo yelled when he pulled away. Tommy was too weak to do much more than grin dumbly, almost a week of no sleep on top of magic, that static-y thing he’d been doing, and a long flight would do that to you. On their own none of that would have been a problem, but together? Tommy was ready to drop like a sack of bricks chucked off a cliff. 

“Thanks bigman now imma go’da sleep cuz i’s bin at least a month since I’ve done that and I haven’t slept in like, a week.” He slurred, promptly collapsing into Tubbo’s arms. The bee boy was surprised for a moment, but if Tommy really hadn’t slept in a week (which honestly wouldn’t surprise him) then Tubbo wasn’t about to wake him up, or let anyone else for that matter. He had trusted Tubbo enough to show him what he was, he wasn’t about to ruin it by having to explain to Phil why exactly he was standing with an unconscious Tommy in the middle of his field. Tubbo wasn’t stupid, he had heard legends from the Antarctic Empire, he knew about the Thunderbird. 

It was powerful and it was rare, only one in every couple million phoenixes born as one, and phoenixes rarely had children as it was. He shuddered thinking about how often Tommy must have been hunted, no wonder he could mask his power so well. Just one slip like he made with the static in his shop or Phil’s living room around the wrong person would be catastrophic. On the other hand it made him happy to know that Tommy trusted him enough to tell him something like that. Maybe he had felt that click too when they first met, Tubbo would never know.

In a few minutes they were back at the house, Tommy now fully asleep and forcing Tubbo to cart him inside in bridal style. He kicked open the unlocked door as quietly as he could and sat down on the chaise, laying the blond boy on the couch beside him with his head on his lap. They just sat there, Tubbo gently carding a hand through Tommy’s soft golden curls and thinking about how much it reminded him of sunflowers until a half hour later the door opened and the others came in to find the boys hadn’t moved.

“Is he asleep? ” Wilbur asked when they walked into the living room. If a flash of realization flickered through Technoblades eyes when he saw Tommy's hair was just a bit damp, nobody saw.

“Yeah, I don't think he’s gotten much rest lately.” Tubbo replied and smiled fondly at the peaceful blond.

Chapter Text

Tommy was flying, Tommy was landing, Tommy was speaking, Tommy was falling. Tommy woke up.

 Vaguely he registered his familiars tucked into his sides, he was in his bed in the attic, snuggled into the new red blanket. The moon was high in the sky, and his mind was foggy, though his body hadn’t felt so good in months. How had he ended up in bed? It didn’t matter, he was tired… it wouldn’t hurt to go back to sleep. 

He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t. So as quietly as he could he got up and began pacing around the attic, stepping lightly so as to not make much noise until he heard a gentle tune seep up through the floorboards. 

It was soft, Tommy could barely hear it, but something about the wordless chords drew him in and before he knew it he was down the ladder and up the hall, red blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stood outside Wilbur's room. The music was louder now, still soft and sweet, eventually convincing him to knock gently on the door. 

“Hello?” Wilbur’s familiar British lilt spoke as the strumming stopped. Tommy opened the door a crack, seeing Wilbur sitting cross legged on his bed in a pale blue turtleneck sweater with a guitar in his lap. It was old, he could tell it was older than he was just by looking at it, yet the instrument was worn in a way that would suggest it had been outside for a long, long time, all the while played often, not wilting on some forgotten shelf. The smooth brown wood was shiny with age, mostly plain save the unnatural silver glint of the strings and the golden shimmer of an inscription written across the side that he didn’t have time to read. It seemed old, but maybe twenty or so years younger than the guitar itself.

“Do you mind an audience? I can't sleep and your music is beautiful. I’d love it if you’d let me listen.” He asked. The British man seemed surprised, but it didn’t take long for him to grin, beckoning Tommy to come sit with him.

“I’d love it if you’d listen to me. There's a new song I’m working on and I want to know if it sounds as good as I think it does.” Tommy sat down beside Wilbur and listened as the man began to play. 

The song was soft and melancholy, it made him think of graves and trains and ravines and TNT, brotherhood and potions and days spent laying under the sun or nights of pointing out stars. It soothed and saddened him at the same time, made him want to cry for a thousand different reasons, not all of them sad. He could almost see the story it told, but it was almost like he wasn’t supposed to. From the angle he was at, slumped against Wilbur’s side and half in his lap -when did he get there?- he got a closer look at his guitar. The golden words were in a loopy sort of handwriting, a glittery golden ink that could have just as easily been written with a fingernail rather than a pen. 

Perhaps it was never meant to be, but some things aren’t. You will heal, you will live on. My Wilbur, my baby boy, finish your symphony with this.

Wilbur shifted the guitar in his grip and a little engraved flag caught his eye, it was the L’manburg flag. The old L’manburg flag. Blue, red, black, yellow, white, x’es. The instrument gleamed purple in the lamplight.. Enchantments? Every little thing Tommy had noticed suddenly clicked together, how he could be so much louder than he should have been, why he looked so sad to see the town, how his voice could evoke such emotion in him, his height, how his mouth opened a bit too wide whenever he yawned, how he never seemed to be tired even when Tommy heard him playing his music all night long. The realization was actually relieving, and as Tommy became increasingly sleepy he spoke.

“Is nobody here a fuckin human? Here I was so worried about it and there aren't any humans to hide from. What's next, Phil is a lizardman?” Wilbur froze, his fingers stone still on the strings of the guitar and making Tommy immediately feel awake. He’d been charmed, that was… actually kind of sweet. 

“What do you mean?” Wilbur said cautiously.

“I just figured out you're not a human. We witches don't give a shit if you're a human or some three headed cave monster from the bottom of the ocean. I met one of those once, he was actually a pretty nice chap. So don't worry about charming me or whatever it is you're trying not to do king. I could use a good sleep.” Wilbur was silent, Tommy could almost picture him gaping like a fish from where he was snuggled into Wilbur's thigh. Very smooth sleep deprived Tommy. When he got here he was all ‘nobody is going to figure me out this time!’ and in a week two, probably four people knew he was a witch, and two knew he wasn’t actually human. The silence drew on for a moment until he heard a soft chuckle that quickly evolved into a high pitched laugh. 

“So you're a witch? That's fuckin awesome! Before you came we were all sat at the table trying to figure out how the fuck we were going to hide our magic from you and you were doing the same thing the whole time!” He kept laughing, causing Tommy to laugh along with him.

“You were? God Techno must be total shit at it then. First night here I caught him reading without his glamour and then he tried to fuckin stab me until I told him I wasn’t human either.” Wilbur sighed, putting a hand over his face and trying to look disappointed, failing miserably at hiding the clear grin on his face.

“That's Techno for you. Wait, you aren't human either?” Tommy was getting de-ja-vu. Welp, might as well play into it. When the universe pulls shit on you you pull shit on it.

“Nope.” He replied, popping the P. 

“How the fuck are you that good at hiding it? I’m not even that good and I’ve had ages to figure it out.”

“Have you tried running from hunters looking specifically for you for over a decade? Works wonders for the survival skills.” Tommy joked. “So what are you anyway? You’ve got an old guitar more ancient than Phil from og L’manburg that looks like it was made specifically for you, so that means you’re really fuckin old, you’re way too fuckin’ tall, your really good at singing, and your mouth opens scary wide when you yawn. That's all I got, fill me in.” 

“ That’s how you figured it out?” Wilbur yelped.

“Yep. Also your guitar is obviously enchanted.” Wilbur facepalmed.

“If a gremlin child can figure me out I’m gonna end up having to take extra lessons from Niki.” He groaned.

“OI! Not a child! But Niki? Like witch-who-owns-the-apothecary Niki?” Tommy asked.

“How did you know she was a witch?”

“Tubbo. He caught me staring at his aura and called me out.” If Wilbur kept facepalming he might end up putting a dent in his forehead. 

“Of course, but yes, that Niki. She's a siren and a witch, but you would never be able to guess even with magic detection. Almost no one in this village is human by the way. Everyone who is are either witches or oracles.”

“What the fuck!? Wilby that-” Tommy screeched, and Wilbur gasped.

“Did you just call me Wilby? Did you just call me fuckin’ Wilby? ” 

“I didn’t- I did not call you Wilby!” 

“You just called me fucking Wilby.”

“I did not fucking call you Wilby!” Tommy sputtered, cheeks turning beet red as Wilbur crooned.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“OI DICK’EAD, I did not call you Wilby I-” 

“You’re embarrassed to call me Wilby. Awwwwww Tommyyyyyyy, you can call me Wilby if you want Tommy!”

“Fuhuhuuuck.” Tommy knew he wasn’t going to win, so he sprawled out over Wilbur's legs and went limp.

“You’ve lost leg privileges.” Wilbur snickered and flicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, before pulling a flashlight out of seemingly nowhere and flicking it on beneath his chin. 

“Now, you’re beloved Wilby will answer your original question, have you ever heard of the Banshee of L’manburg?” 

“No you dramatic bitch, enlighten me.” Wilbur smacked him playfully on the back of the head.

“A couple centuries ago, in the 1800’s, there was a nation, more of a city state really. It was created by a small group of people who wanted something better. Everyone was happy for a while until the founder decided he wanted a democracy and they held an election. He was winning until a traitor made a deal with a dictator. They won because of it, and when the dictator  became president his first move was to exile the founder and his little brother from their own country. The founder decided that if he couldn’t be president, nobody could be, so he began planning the destruction of his former home. There was a war, and many battles were fought, until the founder went mad, and in the end, while his brother and allies fought below, he detonated the TNT laced beneath the city and blew it all to kingdom come. He went out with it.” He paused.

“What happened to his brother?” Tommy asked quietly.

“He died in the fighting. If he hadn’t he would have been blown up by his own brother, so I suppose it was for the best. After the founder and his brother died, the people who he allied with realized they didn’t care about the nation, but what it stood for, and that was long gone. So they left. Nobody knows what happened to them, but I’d like to think they went off and started their own families, and that their great great grandchildren eventually went back.” Wilbur smiled at that, it was sad, and nostalgic, but there was a hint of something else in it too. They turned the flashlight off, laying together in the dark with Tommy nuzzled into Wilbur’s side.

“From then on people who traveled through the area said they saw the ghost of the founder, that he was friendly and only remembered the good and happy things in his life. He would offer people blue powder that would smear like paint and stain everything it touched. Many people felt bad for the ghost, as he said that the blue he gave to them was clear and would turn blue as it sucked away their sadness, but whenever he gave it away it was already indigo, the same blue as his flag. Things stayed that way for thirteen years until somebody told him.” He couldn’t see it, but Tommy was almost certain Wilbur was crying.

“Told him what?”

“Somebody told the ghost what he’d done. They told him what he’d lost and who he’d hurt, all of the terrible things he did after he went mad, all of the things people who followed him did to others and themselves after he died. They told him it was his fault, that his brother died cursing him. It made him sad, so sad that he wasn’t a ghost anymore. He became a banshee. He wailed and sobbed, he screamed apologies to people long dead, and he did it for another two hundred years. At some point he met a kind woman with black hair who gave him his guitar. She said that she had been watching him for some time so when she found it in the wreckage she fixed it up for him. He played his guitar from then on, some people said they saw him in the daytime wearing a trench coat and sporting red eyes, with a cigarette in his mouth and a white streak in his hair, looking the same as how he did when he was alive. He would sing the anthem for his lost nation to the tune of his guitar. Others saw him at night, but most people heard him instead. He would scream for his brother and somebody called ‘mom’. He didn’t play the guitar at night, all he would do was sob. Eventually a village was built over top of the L’manburg wreck, and sometimes when a villager was about to die, he would cry even louder. Bakers and kids with blond or orange hair, especially boys, he would cry for them the loudest.” They sat there in silence for a while until Tommy spoke up.

“I’m glad Phil found you. That sounds so lonely Will, I’m sorry. Thank you for telling me, it must have been hard.” Wilbur said nothing, so Tommy hugged him, and the brown haired man hugged back. 

“I’m so glad you don't hate me.” He whispered, but Tommy still heard.

“I could never hate you Will, you did those things literal ages ago. People change. I know how it feels to get fucked over for something you have no control over, I would never hate you Wilby, an your brother wouldn't either.”

“Thank you. Thank you Toms.” Tommy may have melted a little at the nickname, and Wilbur might have been crying, but in the dead of night, in the softness of the dark, nobody had to know.

Chapter Text

Tommy was sleeping more and more often thanks to Wilbur. Now that they both knew the other wasn’t truly human, the tall man had no qualms charming him to sleep when he heard Tommy pacing at late hours of the night. Still, only on a good day would it actually work. Most would tell you Tommy is lucky to be resistant to charming, stunning, hypnosis, and the like, and most of the time he would agree with you. This was not most of the time. So he decided tonight was the night he made a new sleep sachet. 

Yes, a wonderful plan at three in the morning, after just over twenty-four hours of no sleep. He could go for a week or so without proper rest, but that was before it really hit him. He meant that as in can-barely-stand tired, it didn’t mean the days until that point weren’t incredibly shitty.

He pulled the red rucksack from its place beneath the wardrobe and sifted through it, pulling out the herbs and lighting a candle to see by before grabbing the rest of his materials. He dumped the old herbs into the garbage and set the now empty pouch on the desk. Henry slipped from his shadow as he grabbed the lapis he had bought at Tubbo's and set it on top of the pouch. 

First order of business, enchanting. The runes and enchantments were already there, Tommy just needed to recharge them. Henry curled his tail around Tommy’s wrist as he held the blue stone above the pouch. Focusing his power into a ball in his chest, he pushed the energy through his hands and into the lapis, watching the tendrils of purple-blue light reach down and light up the hidden runes etched into the fabric below. When the air around him crackled with power, Henry pressed it into the runes and together they cast.

“ ʖᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ᒷᒲ!¡𝙹∴ᒷ∷ᒷ↸ ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑ リᒷ∴ ᓭℸ ̣ ∷ᒷリ⊣ℸ ̣ ⍑, ᓭ𝙹 ᔑᓭ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⎓⚍ꖎ⎓╎ꖎꖎ ||𝙹⚍∷ !¡⚍∷!¡𝙹ᓭᒷ ∴ᒷꖎꖎ. T⍑𝙹ᓭᒷ ∴⍑𝙹 ᔑ∷ᒷ ∴ᒷᔑ∷|| ᒲᔑ|| ꖎᔑ|| ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ╎∷ ⍑ᒷᔑ↸ ⚍!¡𝙹リ ||𝙹⚍ ᔑリ↸ ʖᒷ ⊣∷ᔑリℸ ̣ ᒷ↸ ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣ , ᓭ𝙹 ꖎ𝙹リ⊣ ᔑᓭ ||𝙹⚍∷ !¡𝙹∴ᒷ∷ ∷ᒷᒲᔑ╎リᓭ. Aᓭ i ∴╎ꖎꖎ ╎ℸ ̣ , ᓭ𝙹 ╎ℸ ̣  ᓭ⍑ᔑꖎꖎ ʖᒷ, ⎓𝙹∷ リ𝙹∴ ᔑリ↸ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ! ” 

As they spoke the energy was wound and woven into every fiber of the pouch, the previously dull strands of magic brightening and thickening until the whole thing shone with invisible power. Once it was over he carefully picked it up, examining it for mistakes, when he found none he set it down again and grabbed the new herbs. On to phase two, that was the tricky part. It wasn’t difficult per say, but definitely harder. 

“ Thank you Henry, now I need some help from you Clem.” He let Henry soak up the excess magic in the air and in a few seconds Clementine the moth had settled on his head. They were a trio when it came to spells like this. Tommy provided the raw power, Henry helped enchant, and Clementine controlled the finer aspects of their work. 

He couldn’t not do it without them, but they definitely made his work much sturdier. Instead of the glass canons he could make on his own, together they could weave spells and enchantments that would actually last beyond a single use. The little moth fluttered down and landed on his head. Tommy opened the pouch and one by one poured the little vials of herbs inside, wrapping the whole thing with his magic all the while and letting Clem stitch it in place with her own. 

“||ᔑ∷∷𝙹∴ ⎓𝙹∷ ᓵᔑꖎᒲリᒷᓭᓭ, ⍊ᒷℸ ̣ ╎⍊ᒷ∷ ⎓𝙹∷ !¡ᒷᔑᓵᒷ 𝙹⎓ ᒲ╎リ↸, ∷𝙹ᓭᒷ ⎓𝙹∷ ∷ᒷꖎᔑ ̇/ᔑℸ ̣ ╎𝙹リ, ʖᔑᓭ╎ꖎ ⎓𝙹∷ !¡ᒷᔑᓵᒷ, ꖎᔑ⍊ᒷリ↸ᒷ∷ ⎓𝙹∷ !¡ᒷᔑᓵᒷ, ʖᒷリ⨅𝙹╎リ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ʖ𝙹𝙹ᓭℸ ̣  ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭ ᓭℸ ̣ ∷ᒷリ⊣ℸ ̣ ⍑, ᔑリ↸ ᒲ||∷∷⍑ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ↸𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᓭᔑᒲᒷ._. ʖᒷリ↸ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷᓭᒷ !¡𝙹∴ᒷ∷ᓭ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲ|| ∴╎ꖎꖎ ᔑリ↸ ⊣╎⍊ᒷ !¡ᒷᔑᓵᒷ⎓⚍ꖎ ᓭꖎᒷᒷ!¡ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹ᓭᒷ ∴⍑𝙹 ᓵᔑꖎꖎ ⚍!¡𝙹リ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷᒲ. Aᓭ i ∴╎ꖎꖎ ╎ℸ ̣ , ᓭ𝙹 ╎ℸ ̣  ᓭ⍑ᔑꖎꖎ ʖᒷ, ⎓𝙹∷ リ𝙹∴ ᔑリ↸ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ!” Tommy could feel the power compress and dim, fading into a faintly shimmering sleep sachet with enough power to knock out a fucking elephant. It smelled absolutely incredible and he was 90% sure the smell was way more cohesive than it should have been, but hey, he wasn’t complaining. He was however, incredibly exhausted, so with no hesitation his familiars found comfort in his shadow with bellies full of excess magic and he slipped the sachet beneath his pillow and dropped into bed, falling asleep before he could close his eyes. 

Even with his newfound friend called actual rest and Tubbo coming to visit almost every day the next few weeks were quiet. This had the unfortunate consequence of boring Tommy, and he decided he was going to make that everyone's problem, so when Phil left one night to go into town he struck. 

“Will~ I’m bored~” He whined, packing as much annoying kid energy into the words as he could while flopping into the brunettes lap, pointedly interrupting the mindless twitter scrolling he was so entranced by. Wilbur glared at him but kept scrolling.

“Did you hear me? Will, I said I’m bored. Entertain me, or I will start causing problems on purpose.” The man scoffed and shoved Tommy out of his lap and onto the floor with a thump.

“Oi you prick!!” Tommy screeched as he pulled himself up, setting his hands and chin on Wilbur’s knees and putting on his best pair of puppy dog eyes when Wilbur didn’t react to his screaming. The second the man glanced at him over the edge of the phone Tommy had him, and they stared at each other until Wilbur groaned dramatically, his head flopping backwards onto the back of the couch. 

“Fine, what do you want to do, gremlin child?” Tommy grinned.

“Karaoke.” He said resolutely.

“Oh.” 

“And I want to force Techno to do it with us.” A mischievous glint flashed in Wilbur's eyes.

“Did you know Techno is actually really good at singing?”

“Really?” That seemed like a stretch, but also not, in a weird, Technoblade-is-godly-at–random-shit kind of way. Tommy had seen him do a bunch of crazy things that were so obscure he didn't know where the man would even learn them. Like play Bedwars, eat food, listen to music, and read all at the same time and still somehow manage to be god tier at them all. He didn’t even know how someone could be god tier at fucking eating but Technoblade had found a way. Tommy had long since learned not to question things the pig man could do, for the sake of his sanity.

“Yup, he’ll never admit it, but he was total shit at first, then he heard me and worked his ass off so we could duet. He plays violin too.”

“Huh.” 

“Techno~!” Wilbur yelled, much louder than should have been physically capable of, but who cared about following the laws of the universe anyway? Definitely not Wilbur Minecraft. A few seconds passed before a door shut somewhere above and a disgruntled head of familiar pink hair tromped down the stairs. 

“Did you just wake up? Technoblade, its fucking midnight !” Wilbur said incredulously.

“Your point?” The man deadpanned, getting a sigh in return.

“Never mind, you're going to do karaoke with us! The child demands it and he won't leave me alone. Also take off your glamour, Tommy figured me out too there's no point in hiding them anymore.”

“Why am I not surprised?” The pink haired man sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “No. To all of it.”

“Awwww c’mon Tech, if you do one we won't make you do the other.” Tommy said from his spot sprawled on the floor.

“Bold of you to assume you could make me do anything.” The pinkette quipped. Wilbur stared at him, and Tommy used his patented pout face. It had worked once, why not twice? It was a staredown for at least thirty seconds before Techno let out an exasperated sigh and shed his glamor, the tusks and ears fading into existence while a new joint clicked into reality on his legs which became fluffy and pink and feet became hooves.

“Your turn Tommyinnit.” He deadpanned. They cheered, Tommy pumping his fist and Wilbur shooting his arms into the air. 

Tommy pulled himself up off the floor and took a few seconds to collect himself.                “ There are no hunters, you’re safe here .” He reminded himself, his familiars’ minds reassuring him from wherever they were off in the forest. With a deep breath, Tommy rolled his shoulders, allowing the two sets of wings to unfold from his back. 

They were the same as his larger form’s wings, albeit smaller, dark bluey gray marbled with a lighter shade and shocks of bright yellow. The top set sprouted from just below his shoulder blades, and the bottom settled on his back. It had been ages since he had used this form, the unfamiliar weight completely fucking his balance and making him fall on his ass. He expected the others to laugh at his bumbling, but when he looked back to them they were just standing with the most shit-eating faces, as close as you could get from Techno. A hint of satisfaction played on his face like a theory of his had just been confirmed, while Wilbur was slightly concerning, as he no longer bothered to try and be human, his mouth dropping open all the way. 

“What? Never seen wings before?” Tommy said. Wilbur put a hand over his mouth, replacing the quite literally slack-jawed expression with a mischievous grin. 

“Hey Tech? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” The man in question crossed his arms with a hum and nodded thoughtfully.

“Phil’s gonna be all over him.”

“What are you talking about? What about Phil?” 

“Tommy, Phil has wings too.” Wilbur snickered.

“And?” Tommy replied, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d seen. Technoblade was trying not to laugh.

“You know what? It's nothing Tommy.” Yeah there was no fucking way it was nothing. Still, Tommy relented and they set up the karaoke machine. Wilbur didn’t bother staying opaque, letting his form flicker and his skin go blueish white, and in less than ten minutes they were all arguing over the song. 

“Will you should do Mask!” Tommy suggested.

“If you sing Mask I will not hesitate to smother you in your sleep tonight.” Technoblade deadpanned from his place on the couch. 

“Road Trip then.” 

“No, Taylor Swift.”

“That's it! You both have shit taste and I’m singing sea shanties!” Wilbur yelled, gleefully snickering at the groans from the others. Wilbur, in typical shit disturbing fashion, had been humming the exact same sea shanty for the past week, and low and behold, when the mic turned on and the karaoke video began to play, Sailors Boots, in all of its now ear shattering glory, started up. Did Wilbur put on a fucking remix!? He did, he put on a K-pop remix of a sea shanty. Tommy decided he was going to hang Wilbur, or whoever put such a cursed video on the internet. Was it a good or bad thing that Wilbur was actually rocking it though? Like holy shit. 

Finally, the song ended after what seemed like way too long and Technoblade took the stage, or, in layman's terms, Phil’s coffee table that Wilbur had decided to stand on halfway through his performance. But that wasn’t important! Tommy was so glad the cursed ass K-pop shanty was over, only for Technoblade to speak Taylor Swift. 

He spoke Blank Space with a monotone fucking voice, for the entire. Fucking. Song. Tommy didn't get paid enough for this. He didn’t get paid at all actually, he would have to talk to Phil about that. But in the meantime, Spoken fucking Taylor Swift!? Surely that was illegal? If it wasn’t he was going to find a way to make it because holy shit did Blank Space sound threatening when it wasn’t sung. Or maybe that was just Techno, either way, suddenly it was Tommy’s turn and he was regretting his decision to do karaoke. 

“Your turn Toms!” Wilbur cheered. 

“But Will-” 

“So long Theseus.” Techno interrupted, chucking the microphone at Tommy’s head. He caught it of course, with his face. But that didn’t matter because he was now standing on the impromptu stage with no recollection of how he got there. Did Wilbur just charm him? His resolve was cemented, Tommy was going to hang Wilbur, if he could find a tree tall enough.

Jump In The Cadillac pumped through the speakers and Tommy fucking killed it if he did say so himself. After that they continued taking turns, and it slowly became a competition, Wilbur’s songs of choice slowly becoming less cursed and Technoblade starting to actually sing.    By the four hour mark, at around three am, they were all delirious and absolutely belting out songs, Lemon Demon and Imagine Dragons shouted at unnecessary -a word they had all long since forgotten the meaning of- volumes with only a handful of voice cracks, which never failed to send them all into fits of sleep-deprived cackling. 

Philza Minecraft came home from a town meeting about the Thunderbird sighting at four in the morning to two partially insane children standing on the living room coffee table screeching Two Trucks by Lemon Demon at maximum volume while Technoblade sat curled up on the couch looking like he wanted to sink into it and die. 

Needless to say, he could barely turn on the light before he was on the floor laughing so hard he could barely breathe. The boys froze like a deer in headlights, Tommy with all his wings stretched wide and the mic in one hand, the other pointing at the sky, and Wilbur with one hand dramatically on his chest as if he were declaring something incredibly important and the other hand holding the mic to his mouth. The poses didn’t help Phil, who keeled over laughing again the second he saw them. It took a solid minute for him to collect himself, at which point he wheezed.

“What the fuck are you chaotic little shits doing?” 

“You simply would not understand Philza, as you are far too old, but our performance is truly amazing and you should be clapping.” Tommy stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Phil lifted his head to look at him and froze at the sight of his wings.

“Mate…” he whispered, and Technoblade oohed from the couch.

“Phil’s got him now.” Tommy looked over at him.

“What? Can't handle the most handsome wings in the world? Will says you’ve got them too so I don't see why you're so surpri-” A small chirp cut him off and Tommy froze. Phil chirped again, and before he could stop himself a trill loosed from his throat. It was quite loud, a sound like stones grinding together but his pupils pinned and immediately Phil was fussing over him, black wings almost as big as Tommy’s appearing out of seemingly nowhere and fluttering frantically as the man checked him over. All worries about the Thunderbird were gone, he’d found it, but that wasn’t important because Tommy’s wings looked like shit .

“Holy shit since when do you have wings ? What kind of hybrid are you? Are you taking care of them? How long has it been since you let these out , that can't be healthy?”

“Phil.”

“ When did you last preen them? Oh look at all your feathers they’re all sorts of fucked up. I haven't seen a bird with these kinds of feathers before. Is there anything special you need for them?”

“Phil!” 

“What kind of hybrid has four wings two look smaller is that natural or is something wrong? Have you been eating enough? Is it too hot? How long has it been since you went flying-”

“PHIL.” He froze.

“I’m fine Phil, I am the biggest of men and I can take care of my wings! Look at them!” He flicked the rumpled feathers in emphasis, not really helping his case when a few fluttered down to the ground.

“Seriously, how long has it been ? Doesn’t that itch?” Was the itch not normal? Phil let out a hiss when Tommy voiced this, and before he knew it he was sat on the floor in front of the couch, wings spread behind him, with all three of his family- “When did they become family?” members carding their hands through his wings. Wilbur took the bottom two while Techno and Phil took one big wing each. Carefully, they tugged their fingers through the plumage, tugging loose feathers out gently and straightening the crooked ones, which were admittedly a lot. Tommy sagged at the touch, warm and comforting, and let his eyes drift closed, more rockslide churrs escaping his lips and getting softer windchime coo’s in response. 

“Hey mate?” Phil asked carefully.

“Mhm?” He mumbled.

“How would you feel about staying with us? Forever?” He froze, craning his neck back to look at a very anxious looking trio. Tears slipped down his cheeks and a watery smile made its way across his traitorous lips. 

“If you’ll have me.” He whispered, and in a blink there were arms wrapped around him, and he covered his family, his flock with his wings. They stayed that way for a while, but they eventually had to pull away. 

“We’re gonna have a great time Toms.” Wilbur smiled, a gooey, fond thing, but Tommy couldn’t care less. They all went back to preening his wings, and when he felt his eyelids droop he barely noticed, simply letting his eyes shut and his body slump forward, where waiting arms caught him and held him in a warm embrace.

He could get used to this.