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Tommy settled down criss-cross in his nest, full of blankets and various clothes he’d stolen gathered from his friends.
Phil rustled behind him, probably getting comfortable too.
Tommy carefully extended his wings, relaxing his muscles once they were spread out enough. The red and white feathers ruffled on instinct, then laid flat.
Breathing in slowly, he let the familiar warmth of the soft blankets and curtained light of the late sunset and scent of pine wrap around him.
Phil broke Tommy out of his trance, asking, “You alright with me touching your wings?”
“Yeah, Phil,” Tommy said. After a second, he added, “Thank you.” He knew from experience that by the end he’d likely be at least half asleep. Besides, they’d planned for Phil to stay the night to cuddle.
“No problem, Toms.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow at the nickname his caregiver usually used when he was little, but didn’t comment on it.
Phil murmured a warning that he was starting. Fingers lightly brushed over the entire span of his right wing, then moved to the smallest section of feathers, near his spine. Phil began the process of laying any bent feather straight and flicking any dust or dirt off.
The methodical movements washed over Tommy, interrupted only by the occasional broken feather being gently pulled out. A chirp came from Tommy’s throat at one particular feather pull, the relief flooding through him and relaxing him further.
(He wasn’t embarrassed—Phil did the same when Tommy preened his wings.)
A different, but familiar, sort of warmth pushed gently to the front of his mind. He let it happen; he was safe here.
As soon as the right wing was entirely preened and Phil’s touch disappeared, Tommy let out a whine.
“Hey Toms?”
Tommy wiggled in place, blinking over his shoulder to see Phil softly smiling.
“Are you feeling little?” he asked.
Tommy hesitated, grabbing some of the soft blanket in his lap with his hands. Then he nodded, watching Phil’s widening smile. “Keep going,” Tommy mumbled, lifting his left wing a bit. “Please.”
“Okay,” Phil said. “Tell me if you want to stop.” His fingers started the process again, this time on his left wing. Satisfied, Tommy faced forward.
“Still feeling tired?” Phil asked. Tommy’s yawn that followed answered the question well enough, but he nodded and rubbed his eye with a fist.
Phil hummed in acknowledgement. Tommy’s eyes drifted shut as more chirps fell past his lips, this time more high-pitched.
When Phil was all done, he told him so. Tommy shifted around, seeing Phil slide off the mattress-covered-nest. He pouted, making grabby hands in his direction.
“Just a second, bud,” Phil said, making sure to smile at him over his shoulder as he rummaged through a chest. “I’m getting comfy clothes for you.” Just like he promised, Phil was right back with soft red-colored clothes. His empty hand reached up to lightly card through Tommy’s hair, and he leaned into the touch.
Phil asked if he was big enough to dress himself, and he said yes. Phil left the room, and a couple minutes later knocked and entered.
“Do you want anything else before bedtime?” Phil asked.
Tommy shook his head side to side. Then he paused, eyebrows crinkling. “Cuddles? And- and Frosty too.”
“Okay.” Phil crossed the room, getting the polar bear stuffie from where it sat on the dresser. “One Mr. Frosty, coming right up.” He dramatically plopped it in Tommy’s lap, making him giggle.
Phil then got into the nest, lying on his back. Tommy was quick to snuggle into Phil’s chest and the blanket he’d pulled up, one arm holding the stuffie close to both of them. Phil draped one arm around him. Tommy’s drooping eyes barely caught how Phil’s wings rose, encasing them like a cocoon. He smiled.
Phil ran fingers through blond hair, prompted by Tommy’s wordless request when he pushed his head towards his hand. A few minutes passed, and Tommy sleepily spoke up. “Can you sing?”
“Sing?” Phil’s chest moved up and down in a silent, short laugh. “I suppose I can be a songbird tonight.”
“Mhm.”
Phil’s lullaby began with hums, low and melodic. It then slowly faded into soft, rough words that quite honestly made no sense.
By the end of the first song, Tommy was fast asleep.