Chapter Text
“ What the fuck were you thinking?” a seething voice thunders outside his locked door, booming even through the thick wood that separated them.
Tommy holds his knees closer to his chest. He props himself on the side of his bed, sitting on the floor. He picks at his fingers. This is shitty. His ears are ringing painfully, and not just from the sound of Wilbur's grating voice. His cheek falls to his bony shoulder, expression meek as he tries to tune out the voice as he glances fearfully at the door. He almost wishes it'd slam open already, so he'd get this over with. The outcome will be nasty in every scenario he thinks of, so it might as well be swift.
He shut his eyes tightly. Maybe they'll just go away if he prays hard enough. He scoffs inwardly. To what deity? Who'd answer his call? What pity would be given for some insignificant little human?
“I know you can hear me Tommy!” The 7 year old chokes up tears. He wipes them off hastily with the back of his hand. It's stupid for all they've put him through, but he hates this - disappointing them. Hates never living up to their standards. Tommy is never enough for them. Never was. He picks at his skin until he draws blood. His head pounds harder as his older brother's voice starts to drip with irritation.
What had lead up to this moment, you ask? A teeny tiny act of rebellion in his terribly authoritarian household. The tiniest. So what if he'd thrown a couple of things on his way out- a way out that so happened to be unauthorized for him to pass through? Eventually, he got dragged back inside anyway. And here's his price to pay for his failure.
Tommy can't even escape out the window this time around, not after his last attempt when he managed to jump out last minute. Two stories high, so subsequently, several broken bones. Admittedly, he didn't think very much in his panic, deaf through the chants of get me out of here GET ME OUT OF HERE. That had been a torturous to heal from, both physically and mentally. Being incapacitated in his little prison with his family- or, more accurately, tormentors, was a hell worse than purgatory that he'd never want to suffer ever again. That was his final warning amidst the many others.
And of course, you can't chain Tommy forever. So here he was. Sat miserably on the floor of his room as he awaits his punishment.
“Don’t make me use my voice on you!” Wil threatens lowly, eyes probably dark behind his door. Any other time, he'd roll his eyes. But Tommy knows it isn’t an empty threat, he thinks mournfully. Wil's threats are never empty.
The knocks he slams on the door make him flinch, probably harsh enough to leave dents with how hard they are. There are dents and scrapes from previous times he locked himself inside. Tommy knows very well that Wilbur always underestimates how strong he is, the bruises he sported on his wrist a year ago being a telling sign of this. They’re gone now, along with Wil‘s presence in his life, but Tommy doesn’t really know whether that's a good thing or not. He'd rather not dwell on it harder than he's already have.
New footsteps trudge towards his room, and dread sinks into him. Ah, shit.
“Wil, get off the door.”
Tommy pales. Well, he’s fucked now. He looks to his ceiling. Hello? Gods? Goddesses? Deities? Anyone?
His eyes dart to his blocked window as a last ditch effort. Yeah, the one they removed after he so gracefully leapt out of? Oh, he's stuck in here. The deeper, more gruff voice chafes his ears, though quieter than Wilbur‘s through the door, definitely much more terrifying. He wordlessly counts down the seconds, eyes screwed so tight his head begins to spin. Everything hurts. He wants to pray, but he doesn't even know who to pray to. Nobody ever answers his call. They probably tune out his cries for help like it were background radio.
5, 4, 3, 2-
Technoblade grips onto the side of the door frame, sinking his nails deep; effectively ripping the door clean off its hinges. Tommy gapes at him as he scrambles up frantically to the side of his bed. He doesn't even break a sweat with his inhuman strength. The wood splinters in his hands. Which should be impressive, with how ridiculously thick and heavy the door is. Once upon a time, he would've been awestruck. But now Tommy only feels fear. Pure unadulterated fear. Oh dear. What a predicament this will be for all parties involved. For Tommy mostly.
There's a side of him that wants to duck under his arm and bolt out the front door, with his middle fingers up and curses spewing out of his mouth in victory. Though he knows it's fruitless, and only a measly little fantasy. What'd really happen is that he'd be caught immediately, and embarrassingly so. They'd laugh and he'd only be humiliated, and he doesn't need any more cannonballs to fire at his already sunken ship.
Crimson eyes meet his. A taller figure emerges from behind him, eyes burning with his mouth of razor-like teeth grounding in fury. A faint voice can be heard in the background, which Tommy knows belongs to Phil, his supposed father figure in this splintering family they've so delicately crafted.
Fuck.
What an understatement.
___
Tommy runs into the forest, the wind nipping at his heels. His surroundings blur as he swerves past trees and undergrowth.
The air feels punctured out of his lungs. It’s exhilarating. He probably looks crazed. He feels crazed. There’s so much adrenaline injected into his bloodstream it burns through his veins like he’s lit aflame. His eyes are searing from the strain of the wind, and Tommy’s pretty sure he’s dry heaving. It feels like he’s going to die. And it doesn’t matter in the slightest.
A wide grin only stretches across his face, smiling so hard his cheeks start to hurt and his gums start to ache. There’s a hint of taste in his mouth, sweet on his buds as he chases after its fleeting flavor. He finds himself salivating for it.
Freedom, he decides. That’s the taste of freedom.
He spins again and again, carefree as he laughs joyfully. The trees spin with him and the stars seem to belt out in his wordless song as moonlight casts on him like a halo. The trees loom over him comfortingly, watching over his mindless dance. Trees he could once only see from his window with longing, sorrowful stares.
There’s a feeling in his chest, almost painful, like his heart’s going to explode. His heart is singing, or maybe screaming. There’s a dull buzz in his ears, and it’s like a weight’s been lifted off of him. It’s as if he dropped the enormous mountain he’d been unbearably carrying for so, so long. Tommy feels so unbelievably light. Like he could float. No, he’s soaring. There are miles and miles of land that stretch before his feet. And he’s not shackled and confined to his tiny little claustrophobic space.
Tommy doesn’t even realize he’s crying, but he finds his cheek wet, and the stars in the sky start to blur into little twinkles. He wants to fall to the ground in sobs. Lie there, and be enamored by the sky forever and ever, until his body sinks into the dirt and roots deep into the ground.
But Tommy knows he mustn't, if he wants this freedom to last. This is the furthest he’s gotten, and he’s not going to waste it. He’s not truly free, cause’ not all of his irritating shackles have been shaken off just yet. There’s a surging feeling in his throat. Determination. Tommy will get far, far away, and he’ll never see them again. Never.
Briefly, he wonders what he’ll face if he fails again. It sure wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for sure.
But Tommy will chase after the taste of freedom until he reaches it, no matter the stakes. And if he gets caught? He’ll do it all over again.
Now, onwards he’ll go.
He quickly calculated the time they’d realize he’d escaped, finally concluding that he’d be well away before they’d gain any awareness that he’d even left his room. They’re sleeping now or whatever sleeping means to them as supernatural, but even awake they’ll be ignorant to his absence. Perks of constantly being put into a room against your will. His empty silence will be taken as an act of stubborn defiance.
It‘s been an excruciatingly long month since they caught him sneaking out. As always, they locked him back up in the house, monitoring his every move. Every step was like watching for landmines. It was suffocating.
What greeted him were the dumb little talisman they've hung in doorways, magick they've casted on windows, a lot more of blocking him from - well, literally everything in his vicinity. Such an abrupt shift in behavior, he thinks in annoyance, suddenly focusing on him with more attention and possessiveness than he’s gotten in the past year. He wasn’t a resident in his own home, he was a prisoner. Tommy was like Rapunzel. Except all he had was three terrifying Mother Gothels and zero princes to save him from his stupid tower.
It was insane, none of his other escape attempts were met with any of this oppressive treatment. The ‘authoritarian household’ statement was a half joke, looking more like a truth in retrospect. 1984 much?
Tommy would think he’d want to drink it all up as it was there, but the attention only made him want to cower and hide. Tommy thinks all of it is pretty brash considering they’ve cast him the cold shoulder ever since he got too dull for them. Who knew? He didn’t think they still cared. Care in the definition that lacks living breathing individuals and lie more towards inanimate objects.
Did they only realize his worth when they nearly lost him? Why this time, when he was pushed to his limit, and not the many others? What changed?
Did they get upset that their little display puppet wanted to leave? Tommy’s no puppet, he can’t sit still and blissfully play the domestic family game forever.
Should he have left?
Tommy stumbles over a root. He’s getting lightheaded, starting to feel a little nauseous as it’s hit him that he’s finally leaving them. After countless tries. Tommy’s never thought this far. The endless pages of meticulous planning went blank after this page. The sudden joy of freedom drains from his body. The moonlight seems to dim in his despair, losing its comforting warm glow. He's depended on them for so long. Could he even survive without them? Where is he even heading? He falters. A knot finds itself in his chest.
Above all the other things, they've provided for him, sheltered him, made sure he didn't go hungry. They took him in when he had no one.
His parents. They weren’t exactly the bestest people, a phrase he's convinced himself of. This new family he got himself dragged him into, Tommy has to admit they were much better. Not people people, but they still loved and cared for him. Past tense. Or maybe present tense, still. Maybe they're worried about him right now, looking for him. They did notice he disappeared, and they’re frantically searching for him. Maybe they've noticed their slipup, and they're ready to change.
They haven’t been exactly the picture perfect family he wanted for the past two and a half years. But the first couple of months they were kind to him, a kindness that he’s been taught was hard to come by in this cruel world. He falters again in his steps, slowing to a stop.
Oh gods, he’s going to die here. He's going to die here because he’s an idiot.
Tears suddenly well up in his eyes. He’s being impulsive and stupid again, isn't he? He needs to turn back. What on Earth was he thinking?
His face screws up, and he grits his teeth. What is wrong with him? Yeah, what on Earth is he thinking? His brain’s screwing with him. There’s mush in his head or something. He’s going crazy from all this running cause’ of how unathletic he is from being cooped up.
They don’t love him any more. They said it themselves: He just wasn’t interesting to them anymore. He’d gotten wearisome. Getting rid of himself is for the better. They yelled at him. Like a lot. And didn’t let him have friends, and liked to lock him in his room. And they know he’s claustrophobic. Where’s the love and care in that? Tommy wipes wildly at his eyes. He whips back to the night after he’d been confronted.
He remembers the soft fingers had cradled his hair in an attempt to soothe his distressed state, touch which he flinched at. “This is for your own good,” the voice crooned, voice honeyed even in the echo of his thoughts. But Tommy knew even in the moment that underlying it was a dangerous edge to it. His head throbs at the phantom pain of the hand on his head that gripped his locks tighter.
Yeah they were kind. Yet so cruel.
Tommy was unheard of. He was a peculiarity. An enigma. A human boy adopted by the Angel of Death, a erinyes harpy, along with his siren son Wilbur with the ability to hypnotize crowds ( unheard of with sirens), and pseudo warlock son Technoblade, cursed with the appearance of a boar and the voices of warfare. They were not a force to be reckoned with within the supernatural community. An unthinkable trio, but that's what makes them deadly. Crowds part dramatically like they've stepped into a sea as moses, a sea paired with whispers and hisses.
Of course Tommy was young, but he wasn’t too young that he didn’t see the disapproving glances that were pointed at them behind their backs, once upon a time when they still had the energy to let him tag along. No one would do anything of course, you simply don’t mess with the family of a erinyes, Tommy had found out through Wil.
He didn’t really need to tell him, because Tommy would’ve found out anyway, as much as he wishes he didn't.
They were at Sol, one of the few magicked places where it wasn’t branded species specific. The quartet were visiting the city, where they discreetly navigated into a seemingly empty alleyway, and walked straight into the wall. Tommy shouted gleefully as the brick faded into nothingness, revealing a bustling street full of all supernatural alike. He leaned close by as he watched a vampire walk by, a withering look on his face as he tried to avoid eye contact, which seemed to be the case with most beings that he passed by. Wilbur had held him possessively then, uncomfortably so.
Wil immediately parted ways from Phil and Techno, dragging Tommy into a bar, which he wasn't sure was very legal. A nymph and a gorgon (the snakes of her hair hissed at them) parted a wide berth, getting caught in their path as they approached the bartender. Everyone eyed them waringly, eyes of all kinds staring from all directions. Tommy tugged on Wilbur‘s sleeve, to which he only responded with a reassuring look, which didn't exactly reassure Tommy's nerves at all. Wil pulled him up onto the barstool, which he was too short for, and called for the bartender, sliding his elbows onto the smooth marble of the countertop.
A scowl greeted them. The man had a large jagged scar on the left side of his face, seemingly blinded in the eye and missing tooth replaced with a golden canine that jutted out of his cheek, much sharper than his other teeth. The room's too dark for Tommy to see anything much, but he catches a glimpse of golden harpy feathers. Tommy might’ve felt a shiver of fear, but he’s seen Techno, who had way more scars and was way more intimidating than this man. The man briefly flicked his eye down to Tommy before meeting Wil's.
“You have some nerve coming here,” he sneered. Wilbur replied with a blinding, predatory shark toothed grin.
"Quackity, my man!” He ignores the comment. “How has this fine establishment been doing?” Wilbur tilts his head coyly, “been awhile since I’ve been here.” His voice is mocking, dripping with a sort of sick amusement he couldn't quite place. A feeling he can only define as uncomfortable settles into Tommy.
The harpy, Quackity, grits his teeth, a faux smile plastered on his face and growls lowly. “Well, business’ been lower that usual since I’ve been scaring off customers ever since your brother gave me this stupid FUCKING SCAR.”
Tommy tenses, eyes wide. Wilbur doesn't even flinch, only leaning back comfortably on the bar stool.
“Shame.” he says dismissively. Wil‘s expression hasn't changed in the slightest, remaining pleasant. “I just wanted to drop by to introduce my pet, little Tommy over here - show him off in Sol.”
Tommy shivers uncomfortably, for probably what is the first time of what is many to come. When asks later what Wilbur means by the term pet, he shrugs it off as a term of endearment. Unease pools in his stomach, but he ignores it. He only smiled back.
Quackity frowned and Tommy thought for a second that he glimpsed at Tommy with what looked like horror. He fiercely glares a Wil, “Get the fuck out my bar. Flaunt your toy somewhere else.” Wilbur almost pouts. Tommy's stomach queases at q‘s words. A tight grip is on his hand, and before he knows it, they’re at the front door. “Say hi to Sapnap and Karl for me!” Wil calls out, tauntingly, to which Quackity responds with a tense jaw, something indescribable burning in his eyes. The noise in the bar almost stills for a second.
They leave. Once outside, they stroll deeper into the market, and Tommy almost forgets whatever's happened in the bar. Tommy just pushes it far, far back into his head. Instead, he widens his eyes in awe as he walks down the pixie lit walkway, street filled with street vendors and smoky floating lanterns. He briefly notes a stall selling kraken meat before he is pulled further. Wilbur only glances at him in amusement. It is almost fond. Almost.
And it is sudden when ghouls approach them from nowhere, clearly drunk. Tommy stared at their long, melted faces. “What’re you doin’ with a ‘uman, dear siren,” one slurs. Wilbur immediately goes frigid, demeanor suddenly cold. The grip on Tommy‘s hand is deathly tight, almost painful. “Ya’ know these folk’ aren’t allowed ‘ere,” another puffs out, stumbling. “Looking to sell?” they howl with laughter, an ugly, grating sound. The grip on Tommy‘s hand gets impossibly tighter. Eyes darkening, Wilbur starts to use his charmspeak, teeth ground down. “Why don't you hideous gentlemen fight yourselves to the-”
He gets cut off by large wings, flapping down behind the ghoul scum. The ghouls are the only thing he’s terrified of. Tommy can only see cruel eyes all around him. A large figure approaches them, and Tommy knows it’s Technoblade. An unsettling pit is back in his stomach, enlarging by the second. One of the ghouls howl in fear, realizing their predicament. “Thats the erinyes, you idiot!” The other two go berserk at this, curses and apologies fumbling out of their decaying mouths. Wil only looks annoyed at Phil and Techno.
He pulls Tommy around, walking in the opposite direction. Tommy tries to look back, but Wil hoists him up, carrying him, and the firm grip on the back of his neck prevents him from peaking even the slightest. His blood runs cold when he hears tearing, howling, and awful, awful shrieking. Not something a 5 year old exactly should be in earshot of. He starts crying. He thinks of his parents.
Wilbur shushes him, blindly thinking it’s for a completely different reason. “Don’t cry, Tommy, we’d never sell you away, you’re ours to keep.” Tommy just cries harder. They all forget about it the next day. All of them except him. The shrieks only replay in his ears as he lays awake in a bed that suddenly starts to feel too cold. Was there ever warmth in this bed?
He eventually dismissed it then. He must be the irrational one if he’s the only one making a big deal out of it. They helped me. They saved me! He repeats like a mantra.
It was only the end of the beginning.
Wil was the nicest in the beginning. The meanest at the end. He’d caught the attention of the siren first, who cooed at the sight of the newly orphaned 5 year old, who sobbed at the feet of his parent’s corpses. Techno had looked at him in disapproval then, which he still does now, but in between those he gained some sort of mirth out of him. Phil only looked joyful at the prospect of a new child, with Wilbur grown and never even seeing Technoblade's childhood.
In hindsight, it was really: what a vulnerable, weak, fragile thing to entertain us.
Tommy had been blinded then. He ignored the fact that they slaughtered his human household in order to rid them after they accidentally caught the coven one night, too much to wipe from their minds. Tommy was supposed to die that night. His head fuzzes when he thinks about it, memories going choppy when he thinks of the room he walked in on that fateful night. He sees it in his dreams sometimes, but can never seem to remember when he wakes up. Only wisps of it.
Sometimes, if things get too quiet, he can still see blood on his hands.
So no, his 7 year old self thought to himself. He wasn’t going back. Mama and papa were dead because of them and they snatched him into this new life he never wanted. He should have died that day. His smile is bitter, pained.
Years of neglect, of being talked down to with condescending words coated sickly sweet, of being thought of as a lesser being and a toy to throw to the side - he was done feeding into their savior and superiority complexes and disgustingly massive egos. They were absent until he messed up. He’s a show puppet no more, Tommy’s cutting his strings.
Tommy's eyes burned. Fuck them. His steps stutter before they continue furiously into the depths of the forest.
The forest is off limits. He knows this. Forbidden . They'd said. This is usually the farthest even they go. Tommy doesn’t find it in him to care. If anything, it spurred him even more to go in with an even stronger incentive.
“The forest is filled with magic, Tommy. You want to get kidnapped by an ogre? Or get hunted by a feral werewolf pack? Get eaten by them, huh?” Wil had joked with him the first month in, when he pointed to it. There was a truthful undertone to it, and was reaffirmed later when he asked the question again at their dinner table, which Phil answered warningly this time. The Mist was used on humans to get away from these woods for a reason.
Well, he’d rather be eaten than be trapped in that stupid house. Who cares? They didn't. He charged into the forest like a bull, unleashing his rampage.
The trees he passed started to get taller, and the air started to sharpen almost sinisterly, and the woods picked up a sudden vibrancy even seen in the pitch dark. The canopy was thickening, and moonlight seemed to scatter less and less as he pushed on. The branches and vines seemed to sway with a life with a consciousness not particularly seen in plants. Peculiar looking mushrooms littered the mossy floor, plant life growing with anomalous qualities that'd only form in dreams. Strange looking creatures weaved through the trees as he ran, watching from afar with curiosity that seemed a little too curious to be innocuous.
If only he'd had the perception of a supernatural being, he’d feel the magick swirl dangerously in the air, nip at his heels. But alas, he heaved with each passing minute, completely oblivious to the change in surroundings.
Tommy whips his head around, spinning on his heel at his surroundings. He’s completely stunned with how far he’s run, especially with his 7 year old body, which he’d never admit is pretty weak in comparison with older counterparts. He then realizes with a jolt that even if he wants to go back, it’s too late. He’d never find his way back now. And hopefully it goes both ways, that they’d never find him as well.
Pride wells in his chest. If only he knew, the woods herself was steering him deep into the clutches of her heart as her trees parted and her roots flattened in his path.
He just misses the glowing green eyes that tracked his every step.