Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining, and Tommy Innit was fucking miserable.

He scowled at Techno and Phil, waking in front, chatting amicably and ignoring the precipitation and also how terrible Tommy was feeling, the bastards. Meanwhile, Wilbur, also known as the only person in this goddamn party that Tommy actually liked, was walking with Tommy, trying to console him.

“We can get another hat, Toms. We’ll be in the city soon, and I’m sure they’ll have a haberdashery,” he soothed.

And Tommy was touched, really, that he was trying to help (unlike the fucking loser duo ahead of them), but Wilbur didn’t get it.

It wasn’t just the hat.

Well, it was, sort of.

The thing was that it was a Good Hat. It had a wide, floppy brim, and the pointed top wasn’t too tall, and he had little charms hanging from it from all the places he’d been, and it was a wonderful red color that hadn’t faded over the years. It was the perfect wizard hat for a powerful wizard like him.

Not only that, it was Tommy’s hat. He’d bought it himself, back when he was adventuring for coin on his own because nobody wanted to work with a kid like him. He’d saved up for it since the moment he became a wizard because what was a wizard without a hat, really? Plus, he’d known it had to be his from the moment he set eyes on it— the color complimented his wings, so it was practically made for him. He loved his hat.

And now it was soaking wet and drooping and heavy, just like the rest of his clothes. And his wings. And he was tired and cold and miserable, and—

“What,” he said slowly, “the fuck is a haberdashery?”

Wilbur blinked. “It’s where they sell men’s clothes. And hats. Didn’t you— where did you get your hat?”

“From a wizard store,” Tommy said confidently, eyes darting away for a moment before fixing firmly back on Wilbur’s face. “For wizard things.”

Wilbur blinked at him. “Right,” he said slowly. “Anyways—“

“I don’t want a different hat, Wil, I just want mine to not be fucking soaking wet.”

Wilbur frowned sympathetically. “I know,” he soothed, “but we’ll be in the village before you know it, okay?”

Normally, Tommy would object to being treated so childishly— he was a big man, not some toddler, and he was the most powerful wizard in the continent, he was sure of it— but he let it happen. Just this once. Just because he was tired.

He moved a bit closer to Wilbur’s side and listened to the rain fall, listened to the squish of their boots on the muddy path, listened to the distant conversation of Phil and Techno ahead, barely audible over the surrounding rain. He sighed.

He heard Wilbur humming.

It was soothing, almost. Made the world seem less hell-bent on drowning them with rain.

He glared up at Wilbur, admittedly half-heartedly. “Are you doing your fuckin’… bard bullshit on me?”

Wilbur just smiled back, and there was so much affection in his eyes that Tommy was taken aback. “No, Toms. Just humming for you.”

The song was so nice and made him feel so much better that he almost called bullshit. It would’ve been the last bits of Wilbur’s magic, anyways, before they could rest, which was risky. But a bigger part of him believed the man— Wilbur was just like that. He had a way of making the worst situations more bearable.

So, Tommy let it be. Moved closer to Wilbur and let him put part of his cloak around him, keeping a bit of the rain off as he shivered.

They’d be alright, he thought.

He was surprised and pleased when he realized that he actually believed it.

Chapter Text

Listen. It wasn’t that Tommy was new to this sort of thing.

He’d worked with other people before. The adventuring business tended to force you into that sort of thing. And with that, he’d experienced the sort of belittling that came with it for him.

He was young, so people assumed that he was weak or inexperienced or some shit like that when he’d actually been doing this longer than they had and could curse them so hard they didn’t know up from down for the next decade, thank you very much. Usually people figured that out as soon as he wiped out a couple of necromancers with a spell or two, and the teasing and condescending tone and shit tapered off.

That was how things had gone with Wilbur. The man had been upset that he had to work with Tommy, told him to stay out of his way, and all that. And then Tommy saved his ass in a fight, and then Wilbur returned the favor within the hour, and it had been the start of a beautiful friendship, the end.

Well, not exactly. Wilbur was still a prick. But he was also kind, and they worked well together, so they’d stuck together as a team.

And now with the fucking Asshole Duo.

Nothing Tommy did seemed to impress them. And the worst part was that Philza and Technoblade seemed to genuinely respect Wilbur, and they were decent to him, but it all fell apart as soon as it came to Tommy. No matter how much Wilbur tried to defend him, nothing worked.

They acted like he was a nuisance. Like he was something to be worked around rather than worked with.

It drove Tommy up the wall, and he hated that it did.

Sometimes people were assholes. He knew that. Why couldn’t he just accept that with Phil and Techno and move on?

They were entering a tavern, now— to rest and gather information, and so Wilbur could possibly play for coin.

Tommy saw the guy as soon as they walked in.

He was used to scanning for sketchy folks, okay? Always be on the lookout, and all that.

A dark hood covered his face, and he sat in the corner of the room, shifting uncomfortably. Prime, somebody teach this poor sod to be stealthier. He literally had a pamphlet for the cult they were investigating right in front of him.

Tommy glanced around and realized he’d been abandoned at the entryway. Wilbur was setting up his instruments in the corner opposite Sketchy Guy, and Phil and Techno had headed straight for the bar.

He’d prefer not to bother Wilbur just yet, so he reluctantly trotted over to the pair. He tapped Phil’s arm. “Er, Philza—“

“What do you want, Tommy.” Prime, the man sounded exhausted. And irritated. “Can it wait?”

“I mean, it’s important—“

“Are you dying?” Techno asked. Tommy stammered for a response, bewildered, and Techno continued. “No, so you can wait.”

Tommy slunk away, ashamed and confused. They were… worse than usual. Was it just because they were tired? The journey hadn’t been particularly bad this time, but maybe…

He glanced around the room one more time before his eyes settled on Sketchy Guy, who was getting up. Nobody to help now.

Well, he thought, straightening, it wasn’t his first time working alone.

First things first, check the surroundings. Tommy drew his wand as discreetly as he could, trying to sense any magic that might be present in the bar.

And promptly almost fainted from the sheer information overload he was presented with.

Every single goddamn thing in this place was magic as fuck. It wasn’t good magic, either, or the kind you’d expect in a bar— cleaning spells, and all that shit— it was fucking enchantments.

Tommy hated enchantments will all his heart. Ever since a good friend of his had gotten magically manipulated a few years back— but that was a story for another time.

Aggression spells, spells to get you drunker faster, spells that heighten emotion. Some things you wouldn’t necessarily want in a bar, really.

Tommy looked more closely at the other patrons. Some were arguing, some were playing cards, others were just chatting amicably. Maybe they weren’t affected by the spells— he’d have to know more about how they were cast to know for sure. But there was nothing really off about any of them—

Oh, holy shit. How the fuck had he missed that?

The symbol of the cult that was covering the front page of Sketchy Guy’s pamphlet, a weird sort of egg-shaped flower. Every one of these assholes had it somewhere on them— embroidered of a coat pocket, or pinned in their hair, or painted on their earrings.

No wonder the man wasn’t being particularly stealthy— he didn’t need to be. They were all in the same cult!

Panicked, Tommy turned back to the bar, where Phil and Techno were receiving drinks from a bartender with the symbol on his apron.

He was back by their side in a second. “Hey!”

They both paused, glaring at Tommy. He felt a little better knowing they were enchanted— Prime, he hoped they were enchanted and not just this upset at him.

Anyways. He had their attention, at least. And also the bartender’s. And about half the bar. He winced internally— he’d been a bit too loud.

How could he get them out of here without getting them all murdered? One wrong move and he could have a riot on his hands.

Time for a performance.

“I just realized you two shouldn’t be drinking!” Tommy said, faux-cheerfully. He shook his head at the two, glancing at the bartender with an apologetic smile. “You two are the designated drivers!”

Technoblade blinked slowly. “What.”

Fuck. His wings twitched behind him. Work with me, please. “We still have a long travel ahead of us, and Wil and I aren’t nearly as good at leading the horses as you two are,” Tommy rambled nervously. “I’m not old enough to do it, and you can’t drink, or you’ll fall right out of the saddle, and then we’re not getting anywhere—“

Phil blinked, brows furrowing slightly. He swayed a little. “Tommy, what are you talking about? We’re staying the night—“

“Wilbur!” Tommy called, voice high with panic, not taking his eyes off them. “C’mon, man, tell them about how we agreed not to stay here tonight—“

“No, Tommy,” Wilbur said slowly, and Tommy looked up to meet his eyes, only to see him looking hazy as well. “We were going to stay here.”

Not you too, you bastard!

The bartender was coming around the counter now. “If you’re not old enough to drive horses, you shouldn’t be in the bar,” he said, seemingly politely, but Tommy could see the glint in his eyes. “No minors. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Tommy wanted to point out that it hadn’t been an issue before he’d started making a mess of things, but he knew logical arguments would get him nowhere. “Wilbur,” he pleaded.

“It’s alright, Tommy,” Wilbur said, vaguely comfortingly, but his eyes were unfocused. “Just go outside. We’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

And Tommy, despite his protests, was deposited in the snow outside.

He sneezed as the powdery snow flew into his face and glared at the exterior of the bar.

Okay. He needed to act fast. Who knows how long it would take until something bad went down in there?

Okay. Okay. This was fine. Breathe. It’s not like your friend’s life is in danger. Everything is a-okay in Tommy Town.

Think logically.

…

…

Fuck it. 

He gripped his wand and adjusted his hat. Gritted his teeth and raised his wand, pointing it at the bar. 

He said a prayer, and then an incantation.

A beat. He tensed, waiting—

BANG.

He still flinched, scrambling back as a bolt of lightning struck the bar with the force of ten suns. It didn’t hurt him, of course, but it was still a little terrifying.

The people inside screamed, and he took the moment to tear the door open. He inspected his party quickly, making sure the spell-sculpting worked and they were spared from the damages. Satisfied that they were only dazed and not injured, he rushed forward, grabbing them and pushing them out. “Alright, men, time to go—“

A man, charred from the lightning, screamed at him, stumbling towards him with his arms outstretched. Tommy kicked a chair into his way and shoved his friends out the door, following and slamming the door closed behind them.

“Fuck, they’re going to be coming after us,” Tommy hissed, staring fearfully at the remaining bar. He shook himself out of his thoughts. “Okay, we’ve got to move. Damn it, I probably could’ve gone about that better—“

“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, dazed but blinking back.

“Not the time, big man,” Tommy said, grabbing the leads of the horses and tossing one to Wilbur. “Glad to have you back, but we need to—“

The door opened, and a burnt man stared at them. Tommy thought he might’ve been the bartender. Tommy shot a ray of frost at him, half out of instinct, and yelped as he collapsed further. “Not good,” he muttered.

He looked back at Phil and Techno and cursed at the sight of a still-confused Wilbur attempting to convince them to move, to no avail. He muttered a quick, general enchantment breaker for each of them. “We’re getting out of here!” he announced, climbing atop one of the horses.

Thankfully, mercifully, none of the awakened men questioned him, getting on top of the horses as well, and then they were riding— Tommy behind Phil and Wilbur behind Techno.

They were going fast, blurring past the other buildings in the cursed little town. Tommy stared at the way the snow looked beneath them, and then—

He yelped as he slumped, eyes slipping closed. His body, pushed to its magical limits, had given up on him. He should have expected that, he thought blearily. Lighting like that always came at a high cost.

He heard Phil yell and curse, and a warm hand wrapped around him, keeping him from sliding off. “Wilbur, what’s happening? I can’t turn to see!”

Wilbur shouted back, voice half-lost in the wind. “Magical exhaustion. Just keep him from falling, and I can help when we stop.”

Tommy thought he heard Phil mutter something, but he was lost before he could tell what it was.

His head was filled with cotton and dried leaves and firewood. It was hard to form conscious thought, but he was aware enough to know that this sucked.

A soft voice came from above him, and he was dizzy and confused. Where was he? Why were they above him? Were they going to hurt him?

Someone was touching his hair, but the sensation felt far away.

There was heat around him. He heard voices. It took a long time to be able to tell what they were saying.

“… I don’t understand.”

“He’s a powerful wizard.”

“He’s a child, Techno!”

“It might be hard to understand for you, old man, but age doesn’t really make a difference to wizards. They train to become magic-users. You’re a paladin, I’m a cleric— we just make deals with the gods for magic. Wizards study it. As long as you can learn, and you’re determined as Death to do it, you can become a wizard.”

Tommy shifted slightly, freezing at the sharp pain that accompanied it. The voices halted.

“Is he awake? What do we do? Wilbur’s not back yet.”

He heard rustling, and suddenly one of the voices was closer. “Tommy?”

His mind still felt like it was filled with honey syrup, but recognition still filtered through his mind. “Ph’l?” he slurred.

“Yeah, mate, it’s Phil. Wilbur’s at the shops now, but he’ll be back soon.”

“M’kay.” Prime, he felt terrible. He was fighting to get his mouth to cooperate with him, but he needed to speak. “S’rry,” he muttered.

A beat. “Sorry for what?” Oh, that was Technoblade.

He hesitated, wondering if it was a trap, but the man sounded genuine enough. They were really going to make him explain, huh? Sleep was already tugging at him again. “Havin’ t’ deal with me,” he mumbled.

He was drifting before he heard a response.

Things were quiet for a while. Soft.

Then he flinched awake to the sound of clanging metal, heart pounding, grasping for his wand.

He looked around and saw three pairs of eyes on him, along with Wilbur tending to a soup pot on the fire. He laughed awkwardly, drawing back. “Ah. Morning, big men.”

He was met with silence and more stares. He faltered, wracking his mind for whether he’d done anything to make anyone upset recently—

“Tommy,” Technoblade said seriously, and Tommy paled. Was he going to be left behind? They’d decided he was too much to deal with, and now he was going to have to look for another job on his own again—

“We’re sorry.”

He stilled. His eyes darted between each of the men in front of him, and he laughed nervously. “Pardon?”

“We realized we’ve treated you kind of shit, mate,” Phil said, smiling apologetically. “You’re a wonderful wizard and a good party member, and we’re sorry for acting like you weren’t.”

Tommy just… stared. He felt as though his brain was fizzling like an aborted spell.

A warm bowl of soup was pressed into his hands, and Wilbur sat next to him. “You don’t have to forgive them right now,” he whispered. “Or ever.”

That snapped him out of his head. He whipped around to look at him and then glanced back at the men, sitting awkwardly with their heads bowed.

Tommy blinked. Cleared his throat. “No problem, gents,” he said with a smile. They both looked up, surprised, as Tommy continued. “Better late than never to realize my potential, right? Besides, things like this happen all the time for me. Don’t worry about it.”

Both men smiled, even with a little uneasy glance at each other.

They served themselves soup and, with a somewhat stable truce, rested.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke up with his wand in his hand, breathing harshly and curled up against the darkness of the room. He scanned the darkness for danger, for monsters, for… 

His walls were all that he was greeted with.

The seconds ticked past as he slowly regained awareness— as soon as he did, he dropped his wand like it had scorched his hand, images of damage and destruction flashing through his head. He could’ve done something terrible if he’d cast haphazardly.

And then he was reminded of the nightmare, and—

He practically threw himself out of bed, tearing the door open. He needed to get away, had to do something, anything to get it out of his head—

He stumbled into the living room, looking around for something— what, he didn’t know— and yelped as the front door opened, startled.

To his credit, Technoblade seemed just as startled to see him.

They both stood frozen, staring at each other, until finally, Technoblade fully entered, closing the door behind him. “Hey, Tommy,” he greeted quietly.

“Scared the hell out of me, big man,” Tommy whispered, a bit of a joke but too close to something true for either of their comforts.

Another awkward silence came to rest between them. Tommy climbed onto the counter, sitting perched on the edge. His wings twitched.

Technoblade moved forwards, proceeding to prepare tea as quietly as possible so as not to wake the others up. Tommy watched him quietly.

He was honestly glad it was Technoblade and not anyone else. Techno wouldn’t ask questions.

“Why did you become a wizard?” Techno asked suddenly.

…Well. At least he wasn’t asking the wrong questions.

“Why did you become a cleric?” Tommy shot back.

“Because the Blood God summoned me to,” Techno answered calmly. “Your turn.”

Shit. Alright, then. Tommy tried hard to think of an answer, to remember— he needed to remember—

“Uh, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Technoblade interrupted, looking uncomfortable and a bit concerned.

Tommy hated this. Hated when he couldn’t remember. But. Technoblade was alright, wasn’t he? So he bit his lip and answered truthfully. “I honestly don’t know, big man. My earliest memories are of the school.”

Techno hummed, pouring hot water into a mug. “What was it like?”

“Terrible,” Tommy answered simply, staring at the floor and swinging his legs. He didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t like remembering the school. The only things from back then worth holding onto were his lessons and them.

Techno just nodded, accepting the non-answer. He leaned back against the counter and glanced behind Tommy. “Your wings are a mess,” he pointed out.

Tommy leveled him with a glare. “Thanks, big man, wasn’t aware,” he muttered. “Haven’t gotten around to preening yet.” They’d only just gotten to the house, after all.

Techno hesitated. Tommy glanced at him and frowned. “Spit it out, man.”

“Do you want… help?”

Tommy blinked at him, incredulous. 

Technoblade rushed to elaborate, uncharacteristically nervous. “It’s just, Phil always complains about not being able to reach the back. I’ve been helping him out for years. I just… thought I’d offer.”

Tommy stared. Just sat and stared, for long enough that Techno— Technoblade!— started to fidget under his gaze.

Tommy was shocked by the offer, but… it sounded like Techno genuinely didn’t realize how important preening was. It was a social activity, bonding and a show of trust, and everything his instincts screamed at him for the opportunity. Techno was close to Phil, but Tommy…

He didn’t know, and it couldn’t do any harm, Tommy told himself. It was just… a secret. A way to tell Techno that he trusted him, except nobody needed to know.

“Sure,” Tommy whispered finally.

A beat. “Okay.”

They settled near the couch. Technoblade was gentle and careful and comforting as he worked, skillful and practiced in his movements. Tommy relaxed, reveling in the way his wings didn’t make him feel like crawling out of his skin anymore. He was comfortable.

He was safe.

And he when he woke up the next morning deposited in his bed, wings neat and clean, he felt loved.

Chapter Text

Something was off.

Tommy couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this town seemed wrong to him. Familiar is a weird way. He didn’t like it.

“Tommy?”

He snapped back into focus, turning to see Wilbur. The tall bitch made the poor shop seem tiny, he noted idly with some amusement— his head was almost at the ceiling.

“You zoned out again, man,” Wilbur said, smiling, but there was a note of concern in his voice. “You alright?”

“Fine, Wil,” Tommy said with a weak smile, still glancing around, looking for some kind of hint of why everything around here looked so familiar.

They stepped out of the shop back into the town square. It was a relatively quiet place— busy, but not bustling like the larger cities were. 

His eyes landed on a bakery across the street, and he froze. “Oh, holy shit.”

Wilbur blinked. “What—“

But Tommy was already off, heading straight towards the bakery. He tore through the door, wings fluttering and heart pounding. The woman at the counter looked up, surprised, and gasped when she saw him. “Tommy?”

“Is he here?” Tommy asked, brushing past the formalities, but he didn’t even need to ask.

The man appeared so quickly he might have teleported, wearing an apron and looking as upsettingly tall as ever. Tommy stared at him.

The door chimed, and he heard Wilbur’s voice, but he didn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him. They stared at each other for a moment longer before—

“I didn’t forget you.”

“You motherfucker!” Tommy tackled Ranboo, or at least tried to— he was too small to make much of an impact. They ended up hugging anyways, which was the ultimate objective.

Prime, it had been years since they’d seen each other. He was the only person from the school Tommy cared about keeping up with, anyways, he couldn’t believe it’d been so long—

“I missed you too, Tommy,” Ranboo said, and Tommy sort of felt like crying.

“Wilbur?”

Tommy glanced over to see Wilbur staring at Niki behind the counter, shocked. “Niki?!”

“Oi! How do you two know each other?” Tommy demanded, still not letting go of Ranboo.

Wilbur turned, scowling. “How do you know him?” he asked, gesturing at Ranboo.

“Old adventuring partners,” Tommy replied defensively. He left out the school— left out that they were technically a trio, once.

Wilbur seemed to relax a bit at that, though. “Same here. Niki was one of the first people to ever work with me,” Wilbur responded cheerfully.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” Niki said, grinning. “Both of you. Sit down, I’ll grab some pastries, and we can catch up.”

It ended up being that, while Niki and Wilbur exchanged stories, Tommy and Ranboo exchanged jokes and insults, quickly slotting together in the way that old friends tend to.

Tommy was disappointed when they needed to leave again, even though he knew Phil would worry if they were out much later. He bid goodbye to both of them, holding back tears.

It was a quiet walk back to their current inn, both Wilbur and Tommy lost in thoughts of the past.

He wondered when he’d be able to meet with Ranboo again— after all, they both traveled often. It was a miracle they’d appeared in the same town at all.

He wasn’t too worried, though. He knew the fates wouldn’t allow them to be distant for long. They’d meet again soon— they always did.

Chapter Text

They’d been traveling together for almost five months now.

They worked well together— they’d gotten over the rough part of working with a new group, and now they could fight rather well as a team. They were closer, too. They’d talk when they rested or while they traveled, sing or play games whenever things got too dull.

Five months. That’s how long he’d lasted.

He shouldn’t really be surprised, Tommy mused, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He knew enough about his race to know that this happened. He knew he was still considered a fledgling by most standards.

He wasn’t happy about it. It was scary being close to people, depending on them. Even if he knew that they cared about him, too.

All those thoughts didn’t stop the damn instincts in his mind.

Find flock! his mind screamed. 

And suddenly, he hated being alone.

He did his best to push the thoughts back and rolled over in bed, burying himself in blankets, pretending that it was a hug—

Stop it. Shut up, brain. Stop imprinting on the party members. You are a respectable wizard with dignity and pride—

“Toms? You’re usually up by now—“

FLOCK, his mind screeched. And Tommy, to his own horror and humiliation, peeped.

Wilbur went silent. Tommy didn’t look up, refusing to acknowledge him, and burrowed deeper into his blanket den. He hadn’t even heard the man come in.

“Tommy?” And now he heard the floorboards creak, and he was getting closer, and oh no, “Are you alright?”

Tommy let out a string of quiet peeps and chirps and trills, unable to stop himself, somewhat muffled by the blankets he was pressing his face into. He was distantly aware that he was shaking.

His blankets were being disturbed, peeled away. He was being unearthed. A hand brushed against his back, and Tommy tensed. It gently, soothingly combed through his feathers. Tommy whined and chirped automatically. “Wilby,” he complained.

“Do you not feel well?” Wilbur asked sympathetically, all soft and shit, and did he not understand how hard Tommy was fighting to stay coherent right now? His brain wanted him to be all soft and baby, but he would Not because he was a Big Man—

“Can you look at me, Toms?” Shit, he’d gone too long without responding. It wasn’t his fault time felt all slippery today. He carefully, slowly peeked up at Wilbur, blinking away the light—

And he saw Wilbur’s face, concerned and fond and confused, and he was gone.

Flock. His flock was here.

He trilled happily, trying to sit up and crawl closer, but he was tangled in his blankets now. He tried to tug himself free, to no avail. And now he was panicking— fear slithered through his mind— these were snakes, vines, curling around him and trapping him. He flailed desperately, chittering out his fear, wings flapping wildly.

“—ommy, Tommy, please—“

He heard the voice and was reminded of Wilbur again, of flock and his instincts went wild once more, pleading for him to move closer, but he couldn’t, he was trapped, he was dying—

And then two hands grabbed beneath his arms and he was lifted. He stilled, legs and blankets dangling underneath him.

Wilbur, holding him out in front of himself, blinked placidly. “Kick,” he commanded.

Tommy kicked at the air. The blankets slid off, landing on the floor with a soft thump.

He stared, wide-eyed, at Wilbur. His brain felt mushy.

“You’re weird today. Weirder than normal,” Wilbur mused.

Tommy peeped in response.

“Like that. You don’t normally make that sound,” Wilbur said, frowning.

Tommy peeped again.

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. Tommy blinked back at him.

“Alright,” Wilbur decided, setting Tommy down. “We’re going to go ask Phil.”

Tommy frowned at being set down, slipping his hand into Wilbur’s and pressing himself against the man’s side to compensate.

Wilbur looked surprised, but didn’t say anything.

They shuffled down the hallway, making their way to the living room. Phil was there, reading something on the sofa. Tommy perked up as soon as he saw him, making an excited whistle.

Phil startled as though he’d been shocked, turning to look at the pair with wide eyes.

“Wil?” he asked, never taking his eyes off Tommy. “What’s happening?”

Tommy flapped his wings eagerly, and Wilbur winced. “I was hoping you knew?”

Tommy peeped, and Phil looked like his entire world had been shattered. He opened his arms wordlessly, and Tommy panicked, glancing up at Wilbur because flock but flock and he didn’t know where to go—

Wilbur took half a step forwards, and that was all the reassurance Tommy needed. He was before Phil in half a wingbeat, and then he was wrapped in his arms, and he was safe.

“Oh, poor kid,” Phil whispered shakily.

Wilbur was next to them, then. “What?” he asked, tense, hovering. Tommy made a dissatisfied hrmph from where he was smushed into Phil’s robe, and Phil dragged Wilbur’s hand to Tommy’s shoulder. He relaxed.

“It’s so easy to forget sometimes. He really is just a fledgling,” Phil said, wondering.

“Phil,” Wilbur snapped. “Tell me what’s happening to him.”

“He’s imprinting.”

A long beat of silence. Tommy’s wings twitched.

“What.”

“He’s a baby bird of an avian, and now he sees us as family. It’s a bird thing. He just needs snuggles for a while. He’ll be okay, Wil.”

Another long silence. Finally, Will cooed, brushing his hand through Tommy’s feathers again. “Aw, Tommy. We’re your family?”

The indignity was enough to drag Non-Bird Tommy out for a last hurrah. “Shut up, dick’ead,” he slurred, leaning into the touch.

“Flock,” Phil said softly. Tommy peeped.

And then there were footsteps. Tommy stiffened, curling into Phil’s lap, until—

“Morning, Techno,” Phil said, and Tommy peeped and chirped and whistled.

Techno blinked blearily at the auditory assault. “I don’t… speak bird,” he muttered weakly.

“He wants you over here. He’s imprinting,” Phil explained.

“Oh,” Techno said. A second passed while he processed what had been said. Then— “Oh,” he said, and shuffled over to the impromptu cuddle pile on the couch.

Tommy chirped happily and pressed himself into Techno’s side as soon as he sat down, practically draping himself over him and Phil with his wings sprawled out. He made another happy trill once he was comfortable, and all three of his witnesses (family, flock) watched on in wonder.

Techno noted how hazy the boy’s eyes were, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “He’s… really out of it, huh.”

“Yeah,” Phil confirmed fondly. “He’ll be like this for a while.”

Tommy’s gaze drifted to Wilbur, and he raised a hand weakly to grasp in his general direction. Wilbur took the hand in his own, and the boy settled again.

Unfortunately, the day couldn’t pass like that forever. Phil tried to extract himself to make food and Tommy threw a fit, too out of it to follow on his own, so Wilbur put him in a piggyback and they all moved into the kitchen.

When Wilbur got too tired, he passed Tommy off to Technoblade, who carried him in his arms like a child. As long as they were all in the same room as him, he seemed alright, so they moved through the day and the rooms as a single unit, passing Tommy between them when needed.

Slowly, Tommy started to regain some consciousness, managing to string together words and shift slightly. “Wilby,” he murmured into Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Hi, Tommy,” Wilbur soothed. “Right here.”

Tommy pried his head up, peering around. “Techie?”

All three men melted at the nickname. Techno stepped into Tommy’s line of sight, fighting for his life against a smile. “Right here,” he said, “present and accounted for.”

Phil went ahead and stepped next to Techno. “I’m here, too, mate. We’re all safe, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Tommy nodded slightly, dropping his head back down, exhausted from the effort. Wilbur held him a bit tighter.

“I don’t know what’s better or worse,” Techno mused, “him remembering all this or not.”

“Him remembering,” Wilbur answered, immediate but soft. “He’d tear himself up about it, I know he would.”

A somber silence fell over them. Tommy, sweet, baby bird Tommy picked up on it, flapping his wings sleepily.

“He’ll learn,” Phil said decisively. “We can show him that he’s safe with us. We’re his family.”

“Flock,” Techno murmured. Tommy peeped.

They would be alright.