Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tommy wasn't sure what had come over him.

He'd been sitting on the edge of the Pub(e)'s floating island one day, watching Phil flying through the sky. Tommy basked in the way his father looked so... free, and so genuinely happy as he soared up to the clouds. He liked watching his dad fly often, it wasn't necessarily an unusual occasion for him. Sometimes Phil would even take him up with him, allowing him to glide to the ground once he felt he'd had enough of the wind in his hair.

He liked it, he really did. He just.. wasn't sure why he felt so different, watching today.

He'd brought his legs up to his chest, hugging them and resting his chin on his knees at the strange feeling it his gut, still watching his dad. The feeling swirled in his stomach— possibly a type of guilt, he thinks, but definitely a negative one overall. All he knew for sure, was that he didn't like it.

Tommy had explained it to his older brother later that day, when he found the phantom hybrid gathering wheat to make bread. The sun was set low enough below the horizon that he didn't have to force himself invisible.

"I was watching dad like I usually do, but this time it was.. different? I had this feeling— it was kind like.. jealousy, almost? But I'm not jealous, I know I'm not." Tommy rambled as Wilbur continued to harvest more wheat, listening patiently. "I like my wings, and I know I get a lot of shit for how I can't really fly, I just.. I guess I saw Phil and I wanted to be like him. I want to be able to fly, Wil." he finally said, his tone becoming softer towards the end. When Wilbur turned back to the younger boy, he was looking down almost bashfully, scuffing his shoes against the ground.

Wilbur hummed, thinking for a moment. "You do kinda suck at it." he smiled, and Tommy punched the brunette's arm, with only a slight amount of any genuine malice. "Ow!" he cried out dramatically.

"Stop being a dick." Tommy frowned, crossing his arms. Usually he wouldn't take such insults to heart. He knew that Wilbur obviously didn't mean it, but Tommy's been quite a bit.. all over the place recently, and feeling like this definitely didn't help.

Wilbur rolled his eyes with another small smirk. "You're envious— that feeling."

"En—vi—ous? The fuck does that mean?" Tommy asked, following closely behind his older brother as he continued to harvest, holding a plentiful amount of wheat in his arms.

"Like.." Wilbur hummed again, trying to figure out a way to explain, "you're discontent with the advantages and abilities that dad possesses— like the way his wings are so huge, and how effortless being able to fly for him is." he shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just voiced Tommy's insecurities aloud.

Tommy knew Wilbur was right. He'd described Tommy's gut feeling spot on, and he hated it.

"But hey— we could probably talk to him and convince him into giving you flying lessons if you want. He could train you, and then maybe you'd like, be able to get to his level." Wilbur suggested.

Tommy lit up at the idea almost immediately. He gasped aloud, "Really?" he asked, a near twinkle in his eyes. If he could have Phil train him and teach him how to use his wings the right way, maybe he'd really be able to fly, and not just glide like he'd always been able to. He could be like his dad, then he wouldn't have to take him up all the time for him.

The idea was brilliant, he thought, and he wondered why he hadn't came up with it sooner.

"I don't see why not." Wilbur said, relaxed as ever. Tommy nearly knocked all the wheat out of the older's arms when he threw himself at his torso, enveloping him in a quick hug.

"Hey! Get off me you fowl, you're making me drop the damn wheat!" Wilbur exclaimed, bending over and stumbling away to try and save the rest of what was still in his arms.

Tommy didn't have the anger to scold Wilbur for the nickname he knew he disliked— his body nearly vibrating as he involuntarily let out small chirps in his excitement, too caught up in the possibly of learning how to truly fly.

Wilbur had talked to Phil, and the man had— only barely reluctantly— agreed to do a type of "flight training" with Tommy. Wilbur had explained that he thinks Tommy might be some variant of a "baby elytrian" since he is Phil's biological son. Wilbur talked to Tommy, then, saying that he believed that with just a couple of lessons the blonde would be able to climb the air into the sky just as Phil does.

The next day Phil had taken his sons up onto the snowy mountain where his house was built, believing it would be a good place to start.

Tommy had put on his favorite dark red leather vest, black flight goggles atop his head and the brown boots that hugged up the middle of his lower legs in preparation. If he was going to learn to fly, he wanted to do it "in style" just as Big Brother Wilbur had said (without the "falling" part, of course).

"Okay Toms, shake yourself out a bit, you're going to want to be relaxed." Phil said, standing to the boy's left. Wilbur had opted to stand a few feet behind them, his arms wrapped around himself in an effort not to freeze to death, shivering slightly nonetheless. He wished he was a bit more immune to the cold like his father and brother, but he supposed the layering of his sweaters would have to suffice.

Tommy shook out his limbs dramatically, and Wilbur could only stifle a smile at how funny the kid looked. He was practically shaking with elation, letting out even more small, exited chirps and lightly flapping his wings.

"Okay— okay." Tommy stopped, staring up at Phil with a type of determination Wilbur had never seen on his face. He'd never seen his little brother so intently focused on one thing in his life. "So, you know how you glide? It's like that, but you gotta think... longer, and higher." Phil said, and Tommy only looked the slightest bit confused.

"And upwards." Wilbur supplied. Phil nodded in front of them.

"Take a deep breath." Phil said, "And let it out."

Tommy followed Phil's exaggerated actions. "I am breathing! I am breathing! Did you know they call me Calm-Innit, Phillip?" Tommy asked, his breath being let out into small puffs of the cold air in front of him.

"Sure, Toms." Phil laughed. He closed his eyes. "Now, empty your mind and when you take off, focus on flapping your wings as hard as you can."

Phil put his left foot in front of him, and in a split second the man's raven-black wings spread out, nearly taking Tommy out completely because of how large they were at their full length. He pushed off the ground, ascending into the air and flapping his wings until he went higher, higher, higher into the sky until he was so far away that he looked smaller than their friend Sneeg— an inchling-hybrid who is about as small as an average child-sized hand.

Tommy took another deep breath, his face hardening with dedication. "I won't fail you now, dad." Tommy had said so quietly— most likely to himself— that Wilbur almost didn't catch it.

Tommy spread his wings (which, in comparison, really were much smaller than his dad's— with varying shades of red feathers, and cream-white ones lining the underside of them. Really, they were nothing at all like Phil's. Wilbur figured he must've inherited them from his mother; whoever she was) and bent down just as Phil did. With a boy-ish grunt, he pushed off the ground and flapped his wings through the air with as much force as he could manage.

Phil had flipped around in the air, turning back to watch over Tommy as he took off. Though, unfortunately, he only managed to get merely a yard off the ground before his wings had practically given out, and he was gliding down to the base of the mountain.

Tommy landed softly as he usually did, sighing as Phil landed a few feet in front of him. "Crap.." he sighed to himself.

"Hey, kiddo," Phil walked up to him, bending down slightly and placing a hand on his shoulder, "that's okay. It takes practice, yeah? Let's try again." he said with his usual dad-smile. Tommy nodded, and the proclaimed "Crow Father" began leading the boy back up the mountain.

They'd tried again. And again, and again, with Phil trying to give him more tips and Wilbur giving encouragement from the sidelines. When nothing seemed to work by the seventh try, Tommy was becoming frustrated.

He'd fallen to the ground at the base of the mountain once again, his body feeling tired and his wings feeling sore with how much he was overworking them. Tommy panted, leaning his hands on his knees as Phil gave him an almost pitying smile. "Can't I—" he breathed, "can't I just borrow your wings?" Tommy asks sarcastically. He knew it wasn't as easy as that. Really, nothing was.

"Unfortunately son, I don't think it works that way." Phil said, putting an arm around Tommy's shoulders when he stood back up. Wilbur had floated down the mountain, meeting them where they were.

It was itritating, Tommy had to admit. But he was never one to give up on the things he wanted easily. If Tommy was anything, at the very least, he was horribly stubborn.

"You know, I really think you almost had it with that last one." Wilbur said, giving that nearly sad smile that somehow looked almost identical to Phil's, even though he was considered adopted.

The man cleared his throat. "Wil, can I, um.. speak to you?" he paused, giving a quick glance down to Tommy who looked back at him in confusion. "Just really fast. We'll be right back, okay?" he said, looking down at his son.

Tommy just shrugged, pulling out his communicator to update Tubbo on how it was going while the other two stepped away.

"Wil," Phil spared a glance over at Tommy, returning to look the phantom in the eyes, "I don't think this is going to work out."

"What? Why not?" Wilbur asked, his brows knitting together.

"Because.. he.. he's not elytrian, Wil. He can't be, even if we tried to make him somehow. His wings are much too small, they'd never be able to carry his weight like mine can. They're just not built for it." he explained. "I know you thought maybe this would work but, I probably should've cut this whole thing off at the bud. I don't want to get his hopes up."

"But— we just started! Surely if he keeps practicing he can get somewhere with it, right? I mean, he was so excited— you saw him! C'mon dad," Wilbur said, deciding not to bring up Tommy's secret jealousy for the man. "let me see if I can help."

Phil looked hesitant. "Alright."

Over the next few days Wilbur had worked on building up a course of pillars that varied in height, each certain amounts of feet away from each other for Tommy to glide and/or try to fly to. When he showed Tommy, the kid seemed hopeful and just as excited as when they were up on the mountain.

Wilbur had helped him with it, Phil watching over the two boys. The man sat under a nearby tree, resting the crooks of his arms on his bent knees, holding his white and deep gray hat in front of him. He didn't remove it often, but it was nice outside today, and the breeze felt good blowing through his shoulder length hair.

So far, Tommy had been doing surprisingly well. He'd glide down from the higher pillars to the slightly lower ones, and using his wings to fly back up to the ones that elevated again. Phil couldn't help the way the corners of his mouth pulled into a smile at Tommy's own every time he achieved reaching a new pillar. Though, Phil's heart nearly almost stopped a few times whenever the boy would land on a pillar and nearly topple off it on his unsteady feet. But other than that, things were going well.

He'd practiced with Wilbur shouting encouragements from the ground until Phil had to nearly pull the boy away because of how exhausted he looked, but refused to admit. Phil couldn't help the spark that lit up in his chest at how proud he felt of his son, making slow— and for once— patient progress on something he had decided to set his mind to.

Wilbur went to visit Niki soon after, and Phil had taken Tommy back to his place to clean up both of their wings after a long day of using them.

Despite insisting that he was a "huge man" and that "huge men never get tired", Tommy had fallen asleep in his dad's lap nearly as soon as he finished helping preen the boy's wings. The feeling must've soothed him; minuscule chirps emitting from his throat when Phil corrected his out of line feathers.

Phil hadn't gotten around to preening his own until the next morning, but he supposed the sacrifice was worth it when the night before, he had his boy in his arms, sleeping soundly as he ran his fingers through his dirty blonde locks. Tommy had always insisted that he was too old and "big" to stay with his father once he hit sixteen, and had made him own room in the Pub(e) to sleep in on his own. He rarely stayed with Phil anymore, and for the first time in a while, the feeling of having one of his boys in his company so late at night, so close to his heart, was one he didn't realize he missed so dearly.

Tommy continued to practice at the pillar course, most times on his own since Phil or Wilbur had other things to attend to, (occasionally checking in on him, of course) but that was okay. Today, Tubbo had decided to come along with him, buzzing in the air and following Tommy as he went from pillar to pillar.

"Go! Go! Go!" Tubbo chanted, flying around Tommy as his wings twisted and swooped swiftly in the air.

"Tubbo!" Tommy shouted in that tone he used that was more sarcastic than anything, stumbling onto a pillar and almost losing his balance. "You clingy fuck! I can't focus with you droning and bee-in' all around me!"

"Sorry, who was the one that curled up into my bed after they had a nightmare just the other night? Hm?" Tubbo said, hovering in the air as his wings fluttered at a speed that hurt Tommy's eyes to watch. The brunette crossed his arms, landing gracefully on a pillar next to the one Tommy currently crouched on.

Tommy looked over at the boy through his fringe. "Fuck off. I'm a big man."

"You literally asked me to be here!" Tubbo exclaimed.

Tommy only grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. He really did need to focus, especially if he wanted to make it to this next pillar. It was much higher than the ones before it, and it was the only one Tommy had been struggling with.

Tubbo went silent, looking from Tommy's glaring expression to the pillar. It was as if the stacked up wood had killed the blonde's family or something, with the way he looked almost angry at it. "I can do this. I can do this." Tommy said under his breath.

There was a beat of silence as Tommy stared, seeming to try and hide some kind of hesitance.

"Tommy..?"

Tommy shushed him. Something in Tubbo's instincts was telling him that something didn't feel right, this time around. The past few times Tommy was close to making this once, nearly getting waste level up to the small platform until his wings had practically given out on him. Tommy had fallen to the grassy earth, scraping up both his knees.

Even as Tubbo told him to take a break, his best friend's stubbornness didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

In all truth, Tommy wanted to make it. He wanted to be able to fly up to the pillar, because it would mean that he was really getting somewhere— that all his hard work was finally paying off.

In the rare free time he took to rest and eat, he'd been thinking more and more about all of this. He realized he didn't just want to be like his dad, he wanted to be like every other avian that was able to fly. He'd never met one like himself, and it was starting to feel like... like something was wrong with him. Like he came out wrong, and he was only destined to be a useless fowl, merely a stupid chicken, just as Wilbur and plenty others inhabiting the SMP had said.

Deep down, he wanted to prove them all wrong. He wanted to be more than that, he wanted to be a real avian-hybrid like any other. He was tired of all the "above average" bullshit. He really was useless, he knew, with how practically the only thing "special" about him was that he could run slightly faster. It was lame, and he knew he was just the loser of the server. He.. he wanted to be better. He knew he could be more, he just had to try harder.

"Tommy, I don't think—" Tubbo went to speak up, but Tommy had already bent down, pushing off his feet.

As soon as he did, he felt a sharp pain slice through one of his ankles, throwing him off as he pushed himself through the air. His wings spasmed with the surprise of the sudden pain, causing him to hit the side of the pillar and nearly plummet to the ground.

Tubbo had screamed his name again at some point, but all Tommy knew once the pain shot down his foot was that he blinked, and the next thing he knew was that he was laying on the ground, his right ankle was pulsing with pain, but.. but his left wing suddenly hurt much more.

"FUCK!" Tommy gasped at the horrible feeling, his head spinning with dizziness as he realized what happened. When he fell, he must've pushed off the pillar when he hit it, and landed on his wing when he fell on his back.

In a split second Tubbo was kneeling at his side, his face full of concern, "Tommy? Oh, gods, are— are you okay?"

Tommy tried to turn over to get off his wing, but all he could do was whimper and let out a pained chirp when he tried to move. His wing twitched, which only made it hurt even more. "I— I'll get
Phil—" Tubbo went to stand, but Tommy grabbed onto his wrist just in time.

"No!" he said, breathing still heavy from the crash. "Just.. just help me up, I— I'm fine. It was just a fall, I'll be fine."

"O— okay, uhh, okay— here. Grab my hands." Tubbo said, nervousness evident in his tone. He reached down and Tommy whined when he had to move his shoulder, but grabbed on to Tubbo's hands nonetheless. The shorter boy helped him up, and Tommy leaned into him immediately, letting Tubbo hold some of his weight. He was lucky that Tubbo was relatively strong for his smaller stature.

When Tommy went to take a step on his bad ankle, he took a sharp inhale, catching himself on his good foot before he could crumble to the floor again. He had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to try and keep the tears building up in the corners of his eyes from falling.

His entire body ached, his ankle whined with every step and he was trying so desperately hard to push down his panic at the fact that his wing was most likely broken, with the way it practically screamed at him when he tried to fold them into his back.

"Tommy, you can barely walk. I really think we should get Phil, or— or at the very least Wilbur, I mean—"

"No, okay? Tubs, look, I appreciate the concern but they can't know about this. Please, you can't tell them." Tommy pleaded, trying to stifle another wince as they walked slowly, Tommy putting more and more of his weight onto his friend. He swallowed thickly, trying to blink away the dark vignette that threatened to eat his vision whole.

"Why not? They can help, can't they?"

"No. They— they'll just think I'm weak. That I'm not good enough." Tommy found it hard to think clearly with all the pain, and before he knew it he was ranting, as if his mouth suddenly had a mind of his own. "Hell, maybe they're right, but I won't let them have this, okay? My whole life I've been told I'm just some— some good-for-nothing, mediocre chicken. My wings suck, and I was trying to convince myself that I could be like Phil and... I— I know I can't." he said, feeling the tears begin to fall. He hated crying around people, but he was upset, and frustrated and tired. So, so very tired.

He knew he'd been overworking himself, but he couldn't help it! He hadn't been eating much because he'd been taking less breaks, which was probably why he felt so weak right now. Part of him thinks he should've known better, but he also knew his judgement was clouded by his stubbornness. He just wanted to be better. He wanted to be something, deep down, he knew he couldn't be.

"Tommy... they won't think that. They're your family, and who cares what anyone else says? You need help, Toms, please. You're so pale, you look like you're about to pass out—"

"'Mm— I really am just a failure of a boy, Tubbo." Tommy's vision began to cloud again. Everything was blurry, and he knew the lack of sleep and food was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"Tommy?" Tubbo asked, and he stumbled slightly, the agony becoming too much. His brain was shutting down as some stupid excuse for protection. At the sound of his name, he could only let out a weak trill from the back of his throat as his eyelids began to sag. "Tommy?"

No. no no no, I can't pass out. They'll know— they.. they'll...

Tommy didn't even get to finish the thought, before everything went black.

Tommy awoke, immediately letting out a distinctly bird-like and pained warble, his body aching as he shifted slightly. When he blinked his bleary eyes open, he realized Tubbo was gone. The pillars were gone, the grass and the blue sky were gone. He was.. in a bed?

He remembered what happened as the sharp feeling returned with the flex of his foot under the blanket, and dread settled in his stomach.

He had fallen.He'd worked his body too much, and wasn't taking care of himself in his determination to work on his flight. His stomach still ached with the emptiness of it, and he felt the way his stomach gnawed at it's own lining in effect. It didn't help with the rest of his pain, of course.

Where was Tubbo? He'd try to move, but everything hurts too much. His wing the most, the mere thought of it wanting to make him sob.

He'd really messed up. What would Wilbur think? Or Phil— oh gods, his dad will be so disappointed. They'll all call him useless again, and he'll be even more so than he was before. He doesn't think he can handle it. He's not good enough— if he hadn't proved that before he sure as hell has now. He'll never be a real avian, no matter how hard he tries. He's stupid, and his wings are stupid and now one is broken and he might not ever even be able to glide now— or even at the very least sprint the way he could; the two things he was used to, the two things he was barely decent for.

He recalls Wilbur having made him potions that he thought might help with the flying. Wilbur wanted Tommy to succeed, but Tommy didn't want the potions. He wanted to prove that he could do this on his own, that he was good enough, that his dad should be proud of him. And yet, all he did was screw it up just like he did with everything else in his life. Phil will hate him now, surely, and will look down on him from now on as a failure, a son that came out wrong, wrong, wrong.

He doesn't realize how hard he's crying until there's someone kneeling down in front of him at the bedside. They're shushing him softly, and then there's a soft hand petting his hair, "Toms? Hey, sunshine, can you hear me?"

He recognized that voice. It was— it was—

Tommy forced his eyes open, blinking away hot tears. He sniffled, scanning over Phil's (worried??) face.

Of course, he's in his father's bed. He should've recognized the sheets, he thinks distantly.

"Hey there, my scarlet boy." Phil said with that same soft smile. It made Tommy in his still sleepy, cotton-filled brain confused, because shouldn't he be angry with me?

The pet name only made Tommy cry harder, as it was something Phil mostly called him a child, especially whenever he got hurt. Though it was never this bad— (a couple scraped palms here, a cut on his knee there)— he'd never hurt himself this bad. He'd never messed up this bad.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, and all that would come out were sad, broken chirrups. He found that it wasn't uncommon that he'd communicate with his more bird-like qualities when certain emotions were heightened.

"It's okay, you're okay. Tubbo explained what happened, I'm just glad you're awake." Phil said gently, looking so sad. "How are you feeling?"

"I— I— I'm s— sorry." Tommy cried, closing his eyes and avoiding the question.

"No, no, it's okay. I should've been there. I should've watched over you better, I'm so sorry I wasn't there." Phil apologized, a low, calming, fatherly, distinctly his dad lilt emitting from his throat. Tommy had calmed soon after, at some point finally realizing that his dad most likely didn't hate him.

Maybe he should, his mind supplied. He bit at the inside of his cheek, his mouth dry, now with a metallic taste settling on his thick tongue.

"Not— not that." Tommy nearly whispered. His throat hurt, he was definitely dehydrated. "I— I'm sorry, for— for being disa—disappointment." he said through a hiccup.

"Wh— Toms, what do you mean?" Phil asked, his concern seemingly holding an unlimited supply.

"I can't fly. I— I'm hopeless, I'll never be a real avian." Tommy said, dropping his gaze. "I'm useless." he nearly whispered.

"No... no, Tommy." Phil reached forward, his heart silently breaking at his son's words, carefully taking Tommy's hand that was sticking out from the blanket in his own. He continued to run his other hand through Tommy's soft curls.

"Tommy listen to me. Can you look at me?" Phil asked carefully. Tommy hesitantly looked up to meet his father's bright blue eyes; a near mirror of his own that he inherited from Phil himself. Phil squeezed his hand slightly, and Tommy sniffled.

"My darling boy, you have never disappointed me. you are not hopeless or useless or any of those things." Phil assured, his voice matter of a fact. "You are avian. Whether you like it or not, you're my blood, and just because you're.. different, that doesn't make you any less worthy of the title, or my love or being treated the way you deserve to be. I'm so unbelievable proud of you and how much you've grown. You're stubborn as a bull, but Tommy, you are avian at heart. It doesn't matter how big your wings are, or whether or not you can fly. I love you just as you are, and I need you to know that."

"I messed up. I.. I might not even be able to glide or even run correctly now.. what will I be worth, when even withmy puny wings I already feel so worthless, without being able to use them?" Tommy asked, and Phil's frown seemed to deepen.

"I checked out the break, and it isn't as bad as you think. I've taken care of it, and it should heal just fine. You don't have to worry about that. I wrapped your ankle as well, but I'm pretty sure you just sprained it." Phil reassured. "Don't.. Toms, you're not worthless. I'm serious, alright? You're amazing, and unique in your very own way. You're so special to me, and so many others, and I love you so, so much."

Tommy couldn't help the small, sad smile that quirked at his lips at his dad's words. Even if he didn't believe it now, and it might take some time to, the words were comforting.

"What about Wil? Is he.. is he.."

"No, he's not mad, or disappointed. He's worried, if anything. So is Tubbo. I think.. I think Wil feels a bit guilty. Should I get him? I think he wants to speak to you." Phil asked.

Tommy gives a small nod, and Phil leans down to kiss his forehead before standing to leave the room. The ghost of his hands still settle on Tommy's hand, and in his hair even after Phil leaves.

After a moment the door opens again and closes softly, and Tommy doesn't hear any footsteps. Someone silently rounds the bed, and suddenly Wilbur is in front of him.

"Wil—" Tommy tried to sit up, but the pain that shot through his back made his stomach turn with nausea. He thinks Phil used a splash potion on him while he slept to heal the pain, but it's probably wearing off by now. A part of him wonders how long he was out.

"Don't— don't try to sit up. Let your wings rest." Wilbur says.

There was a beat of silence as Tommy laid back down. "How long was I out for?" he asks when the silence becomes only slightly unbearable.

"Nearly a day. Gods, we were so worried." Wilbur paused, looking down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. "How bad is it? The pain— I mean."

"It's not as bad as.. before." Tommy says.

The tension was nearly choking, suddenly. The air felt thick, and Tommy hated it. He hardly ever felt like this with his brother, and it was clear that he older was holding back from saying something.

"What.. what is it, Wil?" Tommy asked.

Wilbur swallowed, and Tommy noticed the way his eyes suddenly became glassy. "I'm so, so sorry, Toms."

"Wh— Wil, it's not your f—"

"No. It is. I.. Tubbo told me what you said— how you felt. I.. I never should've said the things I did. If I had known that you'd take it the way you did... I just.. I'm so sorry. For everything." Wilbur said, and Tommy didn't really know how to respond. He thought hemessed up— that Wilbur would be scolding him right now. This definitely wasn't in the script in his mind.

"I never wanted you to change, Tommy. I never meant to plant the seed that there was something wrong with the way you are, because there isn't. You don't have to be like Phil to be worthy of love and being respected." he said, sighing. "I'm sorry."

Wilbur sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair just like Phil did. He wonders if that's where he got the gesture from. Wilbur's touch is much lighter, of course, and it's nice, soothing. He thinks a part of him thought he'd never feel it again, at some point, for some reason.

"Gods.." Wilbur's voice cracks, "you're hurt, and it's all my fault."

"It's not, I— I overworked my body on accident. It was dumb of me." Tommy says with a half smile, trying to somehow lighten the mood.

"Yeah but—"

"Wilby." Tommy suppresses a wince as he reaches up to put his hand over his brother's.

Tommy squeezed lightly, and Wilbur pursed his lips. It's okay, he tried relay silently.

They sat in silence for a bit, everything was quiet, but the silence was... comfortable. And then, Tommy's stomach suddenly rumbled, and another wave of nausea swept over him despite his empty stomach.

Tommy hummed. "You know, as much as I love sitting here and moping around with you.. I'm starving. And I think I'm dehydrated too." he blinked, feeling a dull ache forming in the back of his head.

"Oh— shit, yeah. I— I'll get Phil, okay? Be right back." he said, and Tommy had to hold back a small laugh as he left. He'd closed his eyes, his throat dry and mouth thick with the taste of sleep, trying not to fall back asleep. He was still so tired despite sleeping all day, but he knew he had to eat.

He took a breath, slowly maneuvering his right hand under himself to try and sit up. He kept his left arm in one place near his body as not to move it, because he knew if he did that meant that his the muscles of his broken wing would as well. He forced himself to stifle a whimper when it hurt anyways, but he was determined to push through. Surely he could sit up on his own— surely he wasn't that pathetic.

He shoved the discouraging thought away, pushing against the bed and moving to sit with a noise only slightly less that a full-on sob. He makes sure he doesn't crush his injured wing behind him, hands shaking as he tried to shift the appendage as he laid it out on a pillow beside him. Towards the end, wrapped around red, disheveled feathers was a white bandage, tied tightly probably to stabilize the wing. It seemed to only make it hurt even more though, he thinks.

Phil opens the door then, carrying a platter with a class and a bowl of something visibly steaming, and Wilbur isn't far behind.

"Woah, Toms— you okay?" Wilbur rushed to his side, probably seeing the way the younger's breathing is so uneven, and his hands continued to shake, hovering over his wing as if he was scared to lay another finger on it.

His wing twitches, and he lets out a low whine, nodding his head anyway. "M-hm."

"Tommy.." Wilbur frowned when Tommy sniffled, looking away. The upset he felt weighed heavy on his shoulders, only seeming to make him feel even shittier.

"Sunshine, don't worry." Phil set the tray on a table by the bed. "It will heal, I promise."

Tommy nodded, trying to even out his breathing. He knew Phil was right— and if the nickname made him feel the slightest bit better, nobody needed to know— he just didn't know how he'd be able to rest and be ground-ridden for however long that would take. It would have to be at least a few weeks, surely.

A hand slipped into his carefully, and when Wilbur squeezed, Tommy half-heartedly returned the gesture. His older brother sat on the bed, scooting closer to let Tommy lean into his side.

"Wil said you were hungry, I made a vegetable soup since I figured it would be easy on your stomach." Phil said softly, and Wilbur reached out to Phil when Tommy only buried his face into the phantom's yellow sweater.

Phil took the soup, a cloth underneath the bowl to that he wouldn't burn himself, and laid it in his oldest son's lap.

Suddenly it felt like Tommy was little again, when he'd recklessly glide into a tree and scrape his limbs on the rough bark of the branches. Tommy would cry over the pain of his bleeding skin, and Wilbur would hug him close as Phil patched him up with colorful bandaids.

Someone knocked on the door, and Tommy sniffled as he peeked out from the fabric to see whoever it was. The door opened carefully, and suddenly Tubbo was peeking his head into the room, antennae and all. "Tommy!" he exclaimed at the sight of his friend, opening the door all the way and rushing in.

"Oh my goodness," The boy held his hands together in front of him, probably trying to suppress tackling his best friend, "you're awake, I was so worried! you fell, and then— and then passed out in my arms and I was so— so scared—" he buzzed, frowning, shifting on his feet anxiously.

"I'm so sorry, I— I didn't know what else to do but call Phil. I understand if you're mad at me, I just—"

"Tubbo." Tommy cut him off, letting go of Wilbur's hand and reaching out to his friend. It might've been dramatic since it wasn't like Tommy was dying or something, but Tubbo looked like he was two seconds away from a panic attack, and he letting him hold his hand would calm him down.

Tubbo took his hand immediately. "Are— are you okay?" he asked, chitin wings twitching behind him.

"My wing's broken.." Tommy frowns, and that should be answer enough. "Thank you, by the way... for calling Phil."

"Hey— I'll be okay." Tommy is quick to assure as he noticed the way Tubbo's bottom lip quivers. "Don't worry, Tubs. I'm not dying. Big men don't cry, remember?"

Tubbo sniffled, pawing at his eyes with one fist,
"You— you cried!"

"That doesn't count, because I said so. Also, I'm injured."

Tubbo let out the most minuscule, but breathy laugh, and Tommy took it as a win.

Tubbo nodded quickly, taking a deep breath. "Fine." he paused, running his thumb over the top of Tommy's hand. "Y— You should eat. I.. I don't know much about food, but Phil let me help make it." he said, managing a small smile.

Tommy turned his attention to the food on his brother's lap, and Wilbur carefully moved it to Tommy's, making sure not to spill it. It wasn't steaming anymore, but it was still warm, thankfully.

"You didn't poison it or something, did you bee-boy?" Tommy joked half-heartedly.

"Be nice to Tubbo, Tommy." Phil scolded, Tubbo letting go of his hand and opting to cross his arms. Tommy only shook his head, picking up the spoon carefully, finding that his hands were still a bit shaky.

Only managing to spill a few drops, he manages a bite, and finds that he enjoys the way it warms his throat, and it tastes amazing. He feels relief that it doesn't make him nauseous, and he takes another bite. After only a couple, he can already feel the way the food settles into him, his senses becoming more sharp with each bite and causing him to feel slightly more awake.

"Thank you." Tommy says, looking up at Phil, then his friend. Wilbur runs his fingers softly through Tommy's hair as he eats, and it's lovely; all of it, especially his family.

When he finishes almost the entire bowl, he chugs the water and Phil has to tell him to slow down.

Phil takes the tray soon after, and as another night sets in, Tubbo and Wilbur hang out with Tommy in his room, keeping him company. They know how restless Tommy can be, and as the days go on, resolved to giving him distractions so he wouldn't run around the SMP with his broken wing and sprained ankle. Because the Gods only know the kid would do it, had he not had people to metaphorically hold him down so he could give himself the chance to heal.

Wilbur and Tommy would play Sticks with their fingers, and silently, the older supposes that if he let his little brother win more often than him, the kid didn't have to know.

Tubbo would let Tommy weave little braids into his hair since it had grown out so much, and in turn, Tubbo would try to do some for Tommy's own blonde locks, and the two would laugh when they were almost always done incorrectly, causing them to fall apart back into messy curls.

Tommy knew it would take a while for himself to heal. He especially dreaded the time until his wing was fully healed, and he'd be able to take to the sky again. It was only day three of him being ground-ridden, and he was only going slightly insane.

But he'd be patient. And his friends would tell him how much they appreciated him, and they'd help him stretch his wing and switch out the bandages of his ankle. Phil would give him potions for the pain, and make him his favorite dinners from when he was little and he felt sad.

Against all odds, he'd be patient. And he'd never overwork himself again— he vowed to be more careful from then on, and to not try to do things he knew he wouldn't be able to. He'd know his limits.

It would take a while, but maybe, he'd try to learn to be okay with himself and who he really was and what abilities he held. Maybe he wasn't the best, or nearly close at all to being anything near amazing. Maybe he couldn't go through walls, or soar through the sky like an eagle or be able to ingest flowers for regeneration. Maybe he wouldn't ever be the most interesting, or fascinating or even remotely "cool", for that matter.

But he would be himself, he'd learn how to accept who he was because there was no real way to change that.

And maybe to himself, at some point, it would be enough.