Chapter Text
He drifted back to consciousness slowly. The haze clouding his mind faded away as he came to, and he almost let out a whine as he chased after it, craving the sweet oblivion.
Dimly, he registered the fact that he was lying down on something nice and soft, frowning a bit at the quiet murmur he could hear through his muffled hearing. His whiskers and ears twitched in irritation, and his tail flicked back and forth agitatedly. He grumbled, hoping whatever it was would somehow get the message and shut up so he could rest.
The noise cut off abruptly and the corners of his mouth curved upwards as he smiled sleepily, glad that they understood what he wanted as he snuggled closer to the warm surface, a content dook slipping out from his mouth.
Suddenly, a loud and resounding ‘smack’ was heard, and he frowned at the sound before the sharp sting blossoming across his face jerked him awake and into an upright position, his mind finally processing the pain as he rubbed his cheek, glaring around at whoever had dared to slap him, sharp teeth bared and a hiss building up in his throat.
“Finally awake, bald man?” a voice snickered. His glare faded away as he looked around him, confusion welling up within him and replacing the righteous anger he had previously felt. No one was there. Just who was talking to him? And, assuming they were the culprit, why the hell would they slap him?
“I‘m right here, you idiot, or are you blind as well? What's your age? You're acting like an old man, you know,” the voice continued, spewing out insults in a quickfire manner. He finally looked down. There hovering just a few inches above his knee was a tiny little boy, with a fly swatter held in his grasp, probably just a few years older than his son. He was a small creature, roughly the size of Wilbur’s palm, with moth-like white wings tinged with red sprouting from his back.
He squinted at the boy, grabbing the little guy by the scruff of his shirt, careful to not scratch him with his claws. He felt his wings beat furiously against his fingers as he gingerly brought the tiny thing up close to his face, whiskers twitching in curiosity.
"You're so tiny!" He cooed, earning a scowl from the small blonde. "I'm not tiny, I'm a big man, bitch!" The child squeaked indignantly, an angered look on his face. Wilbur laughed at him, humoring him with an amused "Of course you are, my mistake."
He'd never seen a moth hybrid before, but he remembered hearing stories from Dad as a kit. He thought back fondly about the childish innocence he had had in the past, when life was much simpler.
Meeting a moth hybrid had been one of his greatest wishes, the idea of one intriguing his younger self greatly, though he couldn't remember why. Who would have thought that he'd meet one by chance so many years later!
He paused his train of thought and narrowed his eyes. Especially one so daring as to slap him awake...He liked the kid's energy.
Still, Wilbur was petty and he wasn't going to let the boy off. He would get his revenge! (Cue evil villain laughter) Honestly, he wasn't planning on doing anything bad to the moth hybrid, maybe just wind him up a little with some friendly teasing...It wouldn't hurt him.
Mind made up, Wilbur schooled his expression so he wouldn't give the game away. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing ever!” Wilbur gushed as he let the tiny moth child rest on his hand.
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, I’M NOT CUTE. I’M VERY MANLY, THE MANLIEST MAN YOU'LL EVER MEET,” the child screamed, falling for it immediately, face turning red as he started stomping on Wilbur’s hand, as if hoping that would hurt Wilbur in some way and make him take back his words.
However, it did the exact opposite, making Wilbur crack and laugh as feather-like stomps tickled his palm, causing him to try and hold in his chuckles just so he wouldn’t drop the little moth.
“Aww, is the little baby throwing a temper tantrum?” Wilbur cooed in a baby voice, a wide grin spread across his face. This was just too fun, the boy reacting in an indignant manner.
“Oh, hey, we haven’t even introduced ourselves to each other! I’m Wilbur, what's your name?" The sudden change in subject caused the poor boy to stop in his stomping, looking at Wilbur in confusion, stuck between choosing to continue his raging at this very rude person who had called him a baby (WHICH HE WAS NOT for the record) or being polite like his mother had taught him to be.
Making his decision, he waved the swatter threateningly in Wilbur's face, almost smacking one of his whiskers. “Listen to me bitch, I’m only saying my name once and you better remember it. I’m Tommy fucking Innit, the biggest man ever and the greatest wife haver," He declared, before adding as an afterthought. "Also, you are a bitch.”
Wilbur chuckled, pointedly ignoring Tommy's last statement. “Colour me impressed then. So, what's a moth hybrid like you doing here? Aren't you guys more reclusive and hidden away?"
Tommy's chest puffed up in pride."Hmph, I'm glad you know how much more superior I am compared to everyone else." He gloated, not answering Wilbur's question. He then continued to feed his own ego by recounting definitely made-up tales of women falling for him.
Sighing, Wilbur tuned the moth hybrid out, taking a good look around himself instead. He paused, doing a double take. Hold up, that was a bit...weird. Why was he in a hospital? Shouldn't he be at home?
"Hey, Tommy, do you know why I'm here?" he asked, interrupting the boy. He looked at Wilbur confused. “You mean..you don’t remember?” the boy questioned, a nervous tinge to his voice.
“Of course I don’t remember, why else would I be asking you?” Wilbur shot back. Tommy flinched back, hurt filling his eyes, not expecting such a response. “Oh shit, I-erm, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to phrase it that way. Please don’t cry, I’m sorry for being rude and hurting your feelings. Just, please don't start crying.” Wilbur started to panic, apologising to the teary-eyed boy.
“I-I’m not crying, bitch. You’re the one who is getting all mopey and shit considering you’re the one who got mugged!” Tommy spoke, voice quavering as he plastered a smirk on his face.
“Mugged? Is that why I’m in the hospital?” Wilbur asked, flashes of dark alleys and a knife suddenly pushing themselves to the forefront of his mind. He grimaced, an annoyed hiss slipping out. “Well, shit. There goes the grocery money.” he mumbled to himself before being pulled out from his thoughts by Tommy’s chattering.
“No shit, dumbass, I literally just said that you were mugged and you don’t believe me? I’m hurt!” Tommy exclaimed, having recovered and flopping onto the hospital bed, a hand placed dramatically over his chest.
Wilbur smiled at his antics before realisation dawned on him. “Oh shit, fuck, how long have I been out? I need to go back home, Fundy needs me!" Wilbur frantically got out of the bed, intent on getting out of the hospital, oblivious to Tommy’s attempts to stop him. He smothered a worried bark, hurrying over to his trench coat that was draped over a chair, concern for his kit welling up within him.
“Wait, wait, hold on old man, I haven’t finished talking yet! HEY! WILBUR!” Tommy tried to gain his attention, fluttering around him and tugging on his shirt to no avail.
"Tell me later, Tommy. I've got to go. Are you coming with?" Wilbur asked, brushing the moth hybrid off. “Fine, yeah, whatever. Dickhead.” Tommy grumbled, following after Wilbur. It would be fine. He'd tell him later. They had plenty of time.