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Tubbo stood in the doorway, a bucket in one hand, a clean rag in the other. Nothing else registered but his best f- Tommy. Nothing but Tommy, sitting rigidly on the dirty floor, and his wings, twitchy, and wrong, and… And he had a job to do.
He crossed the room, feeling the ground against his feet, the air around him, head spinning. When he set down the bucket, he barely registered the water spilling over slightly. He slowly lowered himself to sit facing Tommy's back, and his gut felt hollow when he saw the boy's feathers fluff up in fear in response.
They…
God.
Tubbo sighed, bringing his hands up to scrub at his face, cover his eyes.
They really were messed up…
He already saw they were clipped, but as if that wasn't enough to make his blood boil and teeth grit, there were so many others things wrong with them.
Hesitantly, he opened his eyes again, slowly, he moved his hands from his face to Tommy's wings. Before he actually touched them, though, he hesitated. Quietly, he asked: “Can I touch them, Tommy?”
Tommy's response was a beat of silence and then a bark. “That's what you're here for, dumbass.” However, he seemed to quickly reel back, taking in a shaky breath. When he spoke again, it felt far too quiet. Too vulnerable. “Sorry, just… get it over with.”
The anger wasn't what hurt. What hurt was the fear, so clearly brimming underneath the surface. What hurt was knowing he was at fault.
He would do his best to take that fear away from Tommy. Tommy deserved to feel safe.
With careful and gentle fingers, he finally touched the messy feathers. A shiver ran through the whole of Tommy, and the boy curled even deeper into himself. With his heart aching, Tubbo patted them down, inspecting how sparce they were. His wings used to be so fluffy, so strong, so healthy… now, he could feel the way they couldn’t stop twitching, trembling. He could see how the color of them was dimmer. How they were even more unkempt.
At least they weren't too dirty. He made sure Tommy washed them before doing this.
As he continued taking feathers and preening them, making sure the barbs were interlocked, that the feathers weren't skewed or broken, he spared a glance at the back of Tommy's head. He still refused to turn his way.
Tubbo contemplated what to say. He wanted to fill the silence somewhat. He didn't like how oppressive it felt. It was strange how he had to try to fill it in the first place, actually – Tommy wasn't known for being silent. Tommy was the talkative one, always rambling, always joking, not being able to shut up even when he needed to. And when Tommy was silent, it was usually a comfortable silence. A moment of peace and calm. Of comfort. Now it felt… distressing. Tubbo had never felt a pressure like this.
He picked apart conversation topics, flipping between serious and distracting ones. He could just pick a random thought and go with it, rant about the tnt cannons he and Fundy and others had tried out, about his building plans, about what more they could add to Snowchester… or he could go straight to the point. Ask why his wings were so neglected. Why they were sparse in a way that clearly spoke of lacking nutrients, why they were clipped, why he seemed so scared, why…
They were torn.
Why were they torn.
He could see blood… flaky blood, inbetween feathers, and his hands shook when he heard Tommy suck in air subtly at his touch. He couldn't see it before – his wings were red. The blood was hidden. But now…
He made work to inspect them more throughly. As he ran his fingers through the feathers, carefully but not as delicately as before as he searched, he found more and more stains, more patches where feathers were missing, or spots were there were clearly very new feathers growing in. Some of them were growing in wrong, from how much he could tell. And as he found the spots, he could hear Tommy's breath hitch, until he heard the quietest of whimpers, so low he almost missed it. Feeling himself return to his body, to the present, eyes no longer glued to the hurt before him, he looked up. Tommy had curled in even further. He was shaking.
He felt himself shaking as well.
Carefully, oh so carefully, he slipped his arms underneath Tommy’s wings, pressed up against his back, and hugged him from behind. He could feel Tommy tense further. He buried his face in the crook of Tommy's neck and shoulder, his blonde hair tickling his cheek. Tommy's breathing grew faster. Why wasn't he relaxing…? Tommy usually liked his touch…
“S-sorry-"
Tubbo's eyes widened. “Tommy…?”
A hitch in breath. Silence.
He heard his heart beat in his skull. He felt Tommy's heart beat against his embrace. His heart hurt. “Tommy, what's wrong?”
He hated how Tommy seemed to struggle to breathe. “I- I… I'm- feel t-trapped-"
Oh.
Quickly, Tubbo untangled from the other, feeling sickly guilt rise in his throat. “Sorry, I'm so sorry, Tommy! I should have a-asked…”
His hands fumbled about as he watched his friend breathe, wanting to reach out so badly. He didn't. He kept his hands to himself. Tommy kept breathing.
Tubbo blinked, then rose from his spot and crawled around the twitching wings to face Tommy from the front. His throat clogged when he saw his expression – so full of panic, his hands clutching his shirt where Tubbo's arms had rested. He didn't even notice Tubbo at first, too caught up in his own mind. When he did, Tubbo could see in real time as his face blanked, the effort to hide the traces of distress… Tubbo willed his voice to be soft, to be gentle, as he murmured “please don't hide...”
Tommy stared at him, heaving still. Tubbo twisted the fabric of his shirt as he stared back.
Then, suddenly, he only had a second to process Tommy's face breaking before his body had lunged forward, arms wrapping around Tubbo, a nose burying in his hair. His embrace was tight. The feathers he could feel, slowly, wrapping around his form and tickling his legs were gentle. Tubbo's arms hung by his sides, frozen.
He could feel Tommy's heart race against his ribs, could hear it, clearer than ever. His form shook around him. Tubbo didn't know what to do.
“…Can I hug you back, Tommy…?
Instead of replying to the question, however, Tommy just made a request. “Can you talk please…? About something e-else…”
Tubbo took a breath and nodded. “Of course.”
He took a moment to think. Then, he launched into a retelling of one childhood memory that was more vivid than most, more happy. Of him and Tommy, on a warm summer day, finding their past spot. They had planned to just explore, sneak around, as always, when they had wandered into a different direction that they usually did and found themselves surrounded by forests, and eventually, a wide, open field. The grass tall, the flowers plentiful, the wind light… they had played tag as they worked out the area, discovering a bee hive, a river further down the field, a very pretty nook of lilac bushes and cherry trees…
“The cherries weren’t the sweet ones, unfortunately, if you remember-“
“I do…”
Tubbo smiled. “Yeah. But the birds liked them, and we liked to watch them. It was funny when that one thrush got super territorial and started attacking you.”
Tommy groaned. His grip had loosened, and now he was kinda just, leaning on Tubbo for support, his head beneath Tubbo's chin. “It wasn't funny, it was annoying. And painful.”
Tubbo laughed. “It was funny watching it, tho.”
Tommy huffed. “Wow… no sympathy, huh.”
They both were smiling however, whether openly or underneath a mock scowl. But, if he let his thoughts wander… Tubbo frowned, running a hand through Tommy's hair, feeling Tommy melt even more against him. “…do you want me to finish preening the feathers, or are we leaving that to another day?” He asked, wary.
Tommy tensed. A long sigh escaped. Tubbo was about to try to move on, when he sensed Tommy nod against his collarbone. “Yeah… fine… you can, you can continue…”
Tubbo hummed. “You sure?”
“…I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
Gingerly, Tubbo detached from Tommy, having to steady the other for a moment to not have him just fall against him sleepily. Then, when he saw Tommy had steadied himself, he slid behind the other's wings, feeling relieved when the other didn't go rigid like before. Before he could actually do anything, however, he wanted to ask. “How should I go about this? Anything I should avoid as to not… trigger anything?”
Tommy shifted. “Um…” it seemed like he hadn't expected that. “Uh. I don't know, just… just.” He gulped. His next words were so quiet they were barely whispers, and Tubbo leaned in to hear. “go… g-gentle…? And… slow… and don't just, poke at the- wounds, or tug anything…”
Tubbo felt something churn in his chest. “Of course. I'll need to wash away the blood, though… can I do that? With the cloth and water and all…”
Tommy nodded. “That… should be fine, I think.”
“Alright.”
And with that, Tubbo set back to work. Going from feather to feather, cleaning out the spots where he saw blood, to which Tommy sometimes responded to by tensing or letting out a hiss, but thankfully nothing beyond that. The wings seemed to lower themselves further in relaxation as he went on.
“…You know, that field was also where you first learned to properly preen my feathers.”
Tubbo paused. He thought back, memories fading in. He grinned. “Oh, you're right! I didn't really know how to do it before then, huh?”
Tommy chuckled. “Yeah, before that, you just…” a pause. “Yeah.” Tubbo decided not to comment. “But after we found that spot with the lilacs, we kept returning to it, cause it was peaceful, and it, I don't know, I think we finally found a place where we could just… chill? Enough? To figure that stuff out calmly?”
Tubbo smiled, feeling nostalgic. “Yeah.”
Tommy nodded, taking a moment of silence as Tubbo flipped through a patch of downy feathers, melting a bit further. Tubbo felt his heart warm, so different to the anxiety before. Tommy hummed contentedly before continuing. “Yeah. So we did that, and you finally weren't being a dick to my wings,” Tubbo giggled, “so those times were… nice. And flying there was nice.”
“…There was that one time you pushed me in the river, though.”
Tommy laughed, taken aback. “Hey, yeah! Are you really still on about that?!”
“Mmmm, I don't know, it was pretty mean…I got river gunk all over me.”
Tommy cackled, loud and full of joy. “Tubbo, you dragged me in and then I was all wet, too.”
“Yeah, but who started it, huh?”
They continued bickering, grins hurting their cheeks and hearts feeling lighter than it felt like they had been in years. Eventually, however, the conversation pittered out, until they were left with only their slow breathing and gentle fingers running through healing feathers.
Somewhere along the line, Tubbo wasn't even preening them anymore. Instead, he was just… patting them, fluffing them one way then the other, getting used to running his fingers through them again, to their soft texture and the familiar motions. Tommy had long since practically melted into a puddle, eyes closed, and Tubbo was sure he would have huddled over, relaxing against the ground, if it weren't for the knees holding his sleepy head up. If his kind could purr, Tubbo was sure Tommy would. It made him happier than even he would admit. This made Tommy happier than he would ever admit. He had missed this, missed his friend, his Tubbo, so much.
“Tubbo?”
The boy looked at him. Patient and kind.
“Thank you.”
He smiled. To Tommy, it was sunshine. To Tommy, it was everything.
“Always.”