Chapter Text
Tommy wanted to fly, that was for sure.
He was an Avian, though. His kind had wings (Well ones that someone could actually fly with, not the small ragged ones he had) and they flew. A long while ago. Big white wings or black wings. That's what Phil had told him. His wings though...
They were white and small. Not entirely tiny, but about the size of a very large crow's. Much too small to even lift him off the ground. They weren't even that nice. White feathers always lay bent or backwards, all of his feathers were never even. And they weren't like Phil's no. He had large black wings, large enough so they could easily carry him off the ground and into the sky. Tommy, he couldn't do that.
If he got to a high place, his wings could glide him down. And because of his Avian nature, he naturally fell slowly and elegantly down from high places. But flying? Other than gliding, he couldn't lift himself off the ground.
And he hated it. Matter of fact, he hated his wings. No, he despised them. Most of the time, anyways.
He mostly covered his wings when they weren't in use, not even caring that they were hurting because of the pressure of all the clothing he used. Wings. What was the point of having them if you can't fly? If they could even be called that. They were just extra limbs with ragged feathers on them.
Sometimes people called him a "chicken" and he hated that too. He knew his friends were joking around when they did that, but he still didn't like it. He doesn't even like the word chicken being uttered near him and certainly couldn't eat it. Of course since he's an Avian, he couldn't eat meat, but he avoided chicken much more than any other type of meat.
He wanted to actually fly. Soar through the air like Phil. No, like a bird. A carefree bird who's troubles all melted away as wind rushed through their feathers as they soared through the air. But he couldn't. Because he was born an Avian, not an Elytrian. Or even a small little carefree bird.
It was hard to imagine that Avians were once born with wings like Elytrians. Frankly, Tommy didn't fully believe it.
(The only reason he really hasn't it because he doesn't want to give up on the hope he'll might fly one day.)
Though it wasn't absolutely horrible, he guesses. He had Tubbo, a Shulk who has always hung around Tommy, trying his best to try and help with his gliding eventhough he didn't understand much about flying in general. He didn't even ask Tubbo to do it. He was still very grateful, nonetheless.
He had Phil, who was basically always there for him. When he was feeling happy, sorrowful, or whatever. Sometimes, he'd take Tommy out flying. Tommy got to get a glimpse of what flying really felt like. He was very grateful for Phil.
And Wilbur, Will was a Phantom. Having unique abilities that specialized in the invisibility and walking through walls departments, but didn't luck out so much in flying. (Supposedly hovering, though) Nonetheless, Will was there for him almost as much, if not more than Phil. The two always having dumb conversations and occasionally spooking and pranking people with his powers.
Tommy was very grateful for all the people in his life. Still, he couldn't still help but feel like he was missing something. And he knew what that was. The ability of flight.
Tommy shook his head, slumping down next to an oak tree a good distance away from the lake. Tommy certainly didn't dislike Niki, the Merling was very kind to him and he tried to help her out by gathering materials for her, but sometimes she could be a bit overbearing, always asking him if he wanted to go in her dome and chat or swim around for a while.
Tommy didn't blame her though, always having to stay in the water (apart from when it rained, of course) couldn't be too exciting. He was glad Will spent most of his days keeping her company since he couldn't be outside in the sun without being burned. Not unless he was invisible, but that took quite a bit of energy from him.
Tommy shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Trying to clear his head and push away the bad thoughts, he took several deep breaths. Breathe in, breathe, out. Breathe in, breathe out. He was fine. For now at least.
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Tommy huffed as he flapped his small wings as he jumped for the tenth time off a wooden platform he built. It was basically same as all the other times, he instead of flying slowly fluttered to the ground, half because of his natural Avian nature.
After getting up, he remembered with a jolt he had go and practice his gliding with Tubbo. He had ran to the little area where he practiced, Tubbo already waiting there so he apologized profusely for keeping him waiting, even though Tubbo had said he didn't mind.
Even though he didn't pay attention on how to preen, he tried his best to make his wings look a little presentable. He knew Tubbo would most likely question why his wings were so matted, and Tommy didn't want to answer those questions.
"Come on!" He complained as his feet finally touched the ground. He kicked a rock, it flying past Tubbo who was standing near a tree a few strides away. Tubbo walked closer, his gaze flickering to the wooden platform and back to Tommy.
"Have you tried flapping harder?" Tubbo questioned. Tommy snorted a half-amused half-humourless laugh. Tubbo didn't really understand anything about flying, but was happy to try and help Tommy do it.
"No, Tubbo, flying doesn't work that way." He groaned. He leaned against a tree, stretching his sore wings. He had been at this all day. Trying over and over and over again, nothing was working!
He blinked hard, the last thing he was willing to do was cry, especially in front someone, Tubbo, of all people. Crying means that he had given up, and the last thing he would ever do was give up. He couldn't give up.
He had to have some line of hope, no matter how thin. He would try to fly until the day he was dead. That was a promise. (Yeah, Tommy broke one promise once and only once to not being to reckless to Phil, but he apologized, and he would never ever break one ever again.)
"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness." Phil, had told him that once. Once when he saw how messy Tommy's feathers were and had actually shown him how to fix them. He used the word preen? Tommy didn't really didn't preen his feathers, maybe because he didn't pay attention on how to. But, he spoke with Phil, and had a deep conversation. Well it was deep to him. Tommy didn't really do serious, so it was weird for him to just actually be a hundred percent sincere.
Tubbo came up and sat down by the tree he was leaning on and started to pluck cornflowers from earth, arranging them in a semi-neat pile of dark colbat blue and green stems. "Sorry I can't really help with the whole flying thing. Trust me, I would if I could." He said.
"Thanks, Tubbo. I know you would." Tommy murmured, sliding down the trunk so he came to sit on the ground by Tubbo, the two sitting in comfortable silence as Tubbo started to gather twigs and long pieces of grass along with his flowers.
Although he said the words were entirely sincere, he still had a bitter taste on his tounge because of his failed attempts. He didn't blame Tubbo, of course. That would be stupid to pile his bitterness onto someone else, especially someone who wanted to help him. But, he still felt bitter, and he couldn't control his feelings.
He felt the poke of shulker scales on his skin and turned his head to see a blue flowercrown is his face. He started and at it surprised for a moment before taking it out of Tubbo's hands and examining it. He stared at the expectantly weaved cornflowers among grass, twigs, and bramble. A smile started to make way onto his face.
"A flowercrown! For you! Ranboo and I sometimes make them," Tubbo said, noting his Enderian friend who Tommy didn't talk much too but still enjoyed his company. "I thought you would like one."
Tommy carefully placed it on his head, careful to move the small wings on his head from getting snagged in any brambles. "It's a nice crown. Not better than anything I could do." He joked. No amount of plants could ease the feeling in his chest, but it was nice. Nice having a friend that tried to make him feel better.
Tommy really wasn't prepared for Tubbo's question.
"What's having wings like, Tommy?" Tubbo's purple eyes were lit with curiosity.
Tommy's throat tightened. Just the tiniest bit. So tiny that Tommy thought he had imagined the feeling. But no, he hadn't. When the topic of wings, especially his wings came up, he started to feel a bit dizzy. Lightheaded.
He wanted to change the topic. Quickly.
"Heh." He let out a nervous laugh, his bird-like hands needing the grass below him, roughly tugging out patches of it. "That's a question better suited toward Phil, eh?" His eyes moved around nervously.
Tubbo shrugged. "I was just kinda curious. And Phil isn't here right now, so I'm just asking you."
Why wasn't the topic changing? He hated talking too much about the logistics of his wings. He didn't want to talk about them now. Or ever. He just wanted to fly, not talk about the flightless wings on his back.
His purple eyes flickered to Tommy a bit worriedly, probably noticing his clouding blue eyes. "Unless you don't want to answe-"
Tommy stopped listening to Tubbo. He stopped listening to everything around him. The occasional rustle of the leaves in the trees, the wind blowing a small breeze in the area they were sitting in. The chirp of birds. The chirping of birds. Birdsong. A nice little melody that the birds sung.
Pigeons, Robins, Ravens, Doves, Crows, Jays. Birds.
Envy. The chirping of birds he wished so much he could be like. Wings actually able to get him off the ground. Birds could fly easily, their wings large enough to get them off the ground. HS wings were too small. He couldn't fly, lift himself off the ground. It wasn't fair.
This wasn't fair to Tubbo, either. He had only wanted to ask a question. A simple question he thought, only out of pure curiosity. He didn't know the effect it had on Tommy. He wasn't a mind reader. Just a nice little Shulk.
"Okay, Tubbo! You want to now what having wings is like!? It's horrible! Having wings that can't lift you off the ground. Having wings that are a constant reminder of what you can't do. Do you know how much it hurts when I see birds hovering in sky? Or Phil joining them, laughing as he soars around. And Wilbur floating around, not even really flying but still being able to lift himself off the ground! It hurts! Badly! I fucking hate it!" Tommy practically snarled the last part out.
Only seconds later, Tommy flinched back. It should be Tubbo who was flinching. The Shulk's eyes were filled with shock, and the shock slowly ebbed away into hurt, and a was that a bit of guilt?
Tommy didn't wait to see. He ran. His feet barely touched the ground, once actually thankful for being a Avian because of his swiftness. Why? What the fuck was wrong with him? Tubbo had asked a simply question, and he snapped at him. He wasn't supposed to do that. That was the one thing he didn't want to do. Pile his bitterness on someone. But he had. To his best friend. He's an idiot. Idiot was probably an understatement.
If Tubbo hated him, he'd have very good reason to. Tommy wouldn't blame him.
You're fucking stupid.
I am. He agreed.
Running. He needed to run. He didn't want to see Tubbo's face. His eyes filled with hurt. But when he blinked it seemed all he could ever see was glaring purple. He couldn't seem to get Tubbo's hurt expression out of his head.
Purple. Tubbo's eyes were usually cadmium violet. They had turned into a dull violet.
His lungs burned. Badly. They seemed to burn brighter than the fire in his heart. Brighter than the afternoon sun. But as he said he couldn't stop. Only when his feet turned to ash he would stop. Why had he done that!?
You're really fucking stupid.
Don't you think I know that already?