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wilbur’s been baking all night, eyeing the timer in his peripheral tiredly, watching it tick to zero, turning it off before it can make a sound.
the phantom grabs his oven mitts off the counter making sure they’re secured safely before reaching forwards towards the furnace and dragging the tin of bread from one of its racks.
niki had asked him to bake some bread for her, curious of the taste of it since she hadn’t been able to make some for herself due to her merlin features. he hoped she would find one she liked, baking as many versions that he could with the limited resource of wheat he had- since tommy had taken most of it for his vegan diet.
he sighed softly at the thought of him.
he hadn’t seen the avian all afternoon but earlier that morning he had a grin across his face as he exclaimed to the rest of their group that he’d be back before dusk.
wilbur mumbles a few quiet words to himself that even he can’t hear which triggers a voice behind him to manifest,
“what was that big dubs?”
the phantom nearily shrieks as he jumps and turns around, hiding the bread half way behind his body in a protective manner before his eyes land on the perpetrator of the break in.
tommy .
he’s sitting cross legged on the edge of wilbur’s kitchen table with a stupidly innocent look on his face.
“what the-” wilbur stumbles over his words, heart still pumping adrenaline, “what are you even doing here, wait how did you even get in?”
“you left the back door open, big man, very irresponsible of you may i add,” tommy pushes himself off the table and stands. “anyways i need help with my wings, the feathers are all fucked and i don’t think i can reach the bent ones this time-” tommy explains, far faster than wilbur can retain.
“ wings? ” he blinks, cutting him off confused, “what do you need?”
tommy shuffles on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the situation he’s shoved upon himself.
“i uh- had a bit more of a rough time than usual out gliding today and i think i bent a few more of my feathers than i can handle so i was wondering-” tommy speaks in an effort to re-explain, unaware to wilbur zoning out practically mid sentence to think.
an avian and the less common elytrians, like phil, rely on the act of preening to keep their wings healthy- preening, what wilbur deciphers, is what tommy is asking him to do.
however preening is such a gentle and delicate activity, a job of one's flock members, only left to those most deserving as a show of affection and care.
he’s only preened phil’s wings a couple times, most of the time phil can just reach past his coverts and unscramble the mess of his primaries and secondaries that he’s used to dealing with, having living by himself for so long, only coming to wilbur for the comfort when he needs it.
but tommy?
wilbur doesn’t think he’s ever caught or heard of anyone helping him with the task.
so it comes by a surprise that tommy would ask him , and not someone like phil, with wings who would be able to do a much better job than wilbur.
wilbur ignores the happy little buzz in his chest at the fact to instead study the avian previously perched on his kitchen table.
“your wings- are you asking me to help preen them?” he asks, cutting him off once again which brings out an annoyed sound from tommy.
he curses internally at the hope that’s clear in his voice.
tommy cringes slightly before he nods, from where wilbur is standing he can see some spare feather flicking upwards over tommy’s shoulders, he wonders how bad of a crash he must have had this time.
practically everyone knows at this point tommy’s been going out every week on his own in hopes that he’ll be able to take proper flight instead of his normal slow half-fall half-glide, thinking his time around everyone had influenced his inability.
he always comes home unsuccessful but his determination unwavering, and wilbur can’t help but believe in him for it.
“that’s alright, you can go sit on my bed if you’d like? it would probably be more comfortable than the couch.” wilbur adds.
tommy wordlessly turns around before turning his head watching wilbur moving around the kitchen and not following, “are you coming?”
“i’m coming, just give me a moment will you?” he laughs, “interrupted me mid-bake, just go wait i’ll only be a moment.”
wilbur’s turns to wash his hands in the sink, hearing the pitter patter of tommy’s feet moving their way to his bedroom as he finishes cleaning up as fast as he can, leaving the bread on the kitchen mat near the furnace to cool.
moments later wilbur exits the kitchen and makes his way over to his room, finding tommy rearranging the materials around him, seemingly making a nest on wilbur’s bed without giving two thoughts about it.
wilbur knows the kid must be out of it because he knows the young avian would never let wilbur find him in a situation like this.
he knocks on the frame of his door, signifying his arrival before hanging his cape over the coat rack in the corner of his room, moving to sit behind tommy as he looks over his wings.
he must have fallen off a cliff or something because he swears he’s never seen wings this wrecked after one day. some of his secondaries are scraping and bent awkwardly against his coverts and primaries; his wings are shaking under his gaze clearly from over overexertion, though he figures it could be from the anxiety he can practically feel radiating off of tommy.
this causes a pause in wilbur’s current actions, and instantly he pulls the good older brother card.
“hey you know if you’re uncomfortable with this i can always get phil?”
though that must have been the wrong thing to say as tommy chirps worriedly without realizing, and as wilbur tries to backtrack he speaks, “i’m fine dickhead just get on with it.”
wilbur swallows before bringing his hands up to tommy’s down, his wings twitch into his touch for a moment as tommy sucks in a sharp breath and curls his fingers into the bedsheets.
the fingers of his right hand filter through tommy's secondaries and primaries with uttermost care. wilbur tugs on a mangled feather, far from saving, with an unspoken question, another chance for tommy to flee in case he’s changed his mind over the ordeal.
to his surprise tommy only nods quietly and tilts his head forwards, bracing himself. he would never admit it to anyone but he's never had someone else preen his wings before, and wilbur's touch is so much more careful than he could have ever imagined- it's almost incredibly overwhelming.
wilbur tugs the feather from its place amongst the others and rubs softly on the sensitive down soothingly.
“was that alright?” he speaks, barley above a whisper to not disturb the quiet environment.
tommy responds in a quiet whimper, his wings twitching for a slight moment before they slump limply against him as he speaks, “yeah- go ahead you can keep going.”
a smile finds its way across wilbur’s lips as his fingers unbend a few of his darker secondary feathers. they’re an off-whitish red, more grey than anything, but they’re covered in the same almost unnoticeable, inconsistent spotting as the normal off white of his coverts.
this process continues for a few minutes, unbending feathers, carefully tugging out the unfixable ones and occasionally when his fingers cramp for a moment, he’ll reach his hand up and stroke the end of tommy’s hair where it meets his neck.
tommy’s long overdue for a haircut, even if the length suits him in wilbur’s opinion, he sees the way tommy bats it out of his eyes with aggravation when he thinks nobody else is watching.
he wonders if tommy would allow him to cut his hair as well. wilbur doesn’t know why the thought seems so appealing, making him impossibly soft.
wilbur brings his hand back towards tommy’s wings for a moment before he redirects his attention and strokes the feathers of his scapulars, analyzing them for damage where he can reach them through the openings of tommy’s shirt.
a noise makes its way up tommy's throat without his consent, sounding suspiciously like a coo. his head lolls back onto wilbur's shoulder before he can question him teasingly. it makes him pause mid action as it tugs a deep rumble from wilbur's chest, causing a pleasant buzz in the back of tommy's consciousness.
his brain mumbles a consistent stream of, flock, flock, safe with flock.
he can't help himself when he smiles, the dopamine rush making him more loopy and content than he's ever been.
the phantom smiles in full force, his cheeks flushing slightly in awe of the moment. he wraps his arms around the younger in a brief hug before retracting his arms and returning to his task at hand, absentmindedly responding to tommy’s fledgling-like coos and chirps with noises of his own that resonate deep in his sternum as it vibrates; his brain stores the euphony they’ve made, never wanting to let go of this moment.
he wants to lock this moment away forever, remember it whenever he can’t find the motivation to get out of bed and spend the day outside his house, even if he has to stay hidden to avoid his skin burning, he never wants to forget this.
he never once thought when this kid had first scrambled up towards him all those years ago one night that this is where he’d find himself. so comfortable and warm in bed without it haunting him, cuddled up with a kid who seems like a brother, said kid dropping his guard in such an unlikely moment of trust for someone he never thought would.
it feels like home.
tommy is home, his brain clarifies for him without any uncertainty.
lost in his own spiral of thoughts, wilbur is brought back to the scene before him when tommy turns around without prompting. his arms find their way around wilbur’s torso as he tackles him down into the blankets and pillows of his bed, squishing wilbur’s own arms awkwardly between their bodies.
“tommy?” wilbur groans in fake annoyance, a smile still tugging on his lips. when he receives no audible response he lifts himself upwards into a half assed attempt at sitting, it’s practically impossible for him to do with tommy’s weight all over him anyway, even if the kid’s still light.
“you can still,” tommy murmurs, his body tensing before continuing, “you can still preen 'em from here yeah?” he sounds hesitant, scared like he did when originally asking for wilbur’s help, worried that he’s done something wrong.
however his hesitance seems to evaporate from his body when wilbur combs his nails across his scalp, smile clear in his voice,
“of course gremlin.”
before tommy can make a retort wilbur tugs on one of his feathers, somehow completely flipped and left sideways (wilbur idly wonders how uncomforting the drag of the feather was against the others) and promptly tugs it out, another coo escaping his tratoring lips as his shoves his face further up wilbur’s chest, practically his shoulder.
wilbur rests his head overtop tommy’s finishing the last of his preening for the night. he thinks just from tommy’s reaction he’ll be back the next time he gets into another accident like today, at least he hopes.
his fingers stroke the down softly once more before he checks over his work.
tommy’s feathers are more neat and tidy than he thinks he’s ever seen them. he sighs, content and satisfied with his work before noticing the ache in his back from his position.
he’s still sitting with no support as tommy lays, practically deadweight in his arms and he grumbles out a few noises in his throat he didn’t know he could make which somehow translates in tommy’s brain as sit up a little my back feels as though it’ll break in half if i lay like this for any longer.
because sooner than wilbur can say any actual words tommy is up and off of him as he rolls over onto his side, his eyes half lidded, tired and expression vulnerable, obviously too tired to speak as he reaches up to wilbur and makes a grabbing motion.
wilbur’s brain halts, confused before tommy makes an irritated chirp.
“come ‘ere dickhead i wasn’t done cuddlin,” his accent is thick and rolls off his tongue lazily.
did he fall asleep while i was still preening?
“what- what the fucks with your face-” he practically squawks defensively, suddenly sounding much more awake, and wilbur laughs.
“tommy,” he drags out the ‘y’ much to the avian's embarrassment, “you’re so cute.”
tommy groans at the older’s teasing, his cheeks reddening as he slaps him across the arm before burrowing his face in the blankets, hearing wilbur laugh afterwards draining some of his remaining tension.
the bed creaks and tommy can feel the mattress shift next to him as wilbur presumably lays down.
when tommy finally turns his head and peeks at the phantom beside him, confirming his previous thoughts, he studies his face, and wilbur obviously does the same. a fond but tired crinkle to his eye found it’s way on wilbur’s face as he smiles, recreating the same hand gesture as tommy, who just managed to notice the comforting yellow turtleneck he was wearing, a gift tommy had sewed for him.
much to wilbur’s delight tommy shuffled into his arms once again, snuggling his face into the crook of wilbur’s neck as he gripped the sides of his shirt, wilbur encasing him in a hug as their limbs tangle together, tommy throwing a wing protectively over the older out of instinct.
wilbur makes a low phantom croon to the avian, giving a similar effect of a mother bird trying to sing their fledglings to rest, who responds by cooing back sleepily while shoving himself impossibly closer, the warmth radiating off of him slipping wilbur further sleep.
in a last moment of consciousness wilbur remembers the rest of their friends and wonders to himself if they’re aware of tommy being at wilbur’s. they’ll be worried in the morning if they stumble to his room only to find him not there, knowing he always sleeps in after going out.
wilbur decides that’s an issue for the pair of brothers to deal with in the waking hours, enjoying the time he’s spending now before he falls asleep alongside tommy’s soft snores.
and much to future wilbur’s delight, tommy will in fact always come back to his house whenever he needs a preening.