Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Y'know, Tommy," Dream said as he advanced on the injured fledgling, "there are around 57 species of flightless birds out there." The hunter unsheathed his sword from his hip.

Frozen with fear, the fledgling could do nothing but let out a strangled chirp, a vain attempt at alerting some nearby avian that he knew wasn't coming to help. Though one wing was bent unnaturally, the child wrapped his iridescent blue-green wings around himself as a feeble form of protection. He would have tried running, but the arrow piercing through his leg would have slowed him down significantly. 

"If I was to compare you to a bird, I'd probably say you look like a takahē. It's a decently large bird with feathers as colorful as a peacock," Dream continued his lecture casually as the fledgling trembled, already aware that he had won, "but one defining trait of this bird is that it's flightless."

"Such stunning feathers on a bird, and they're simply useless. So, little bird, why don't I put yours to good use?"

Chapter Text

Fine, the avian admits to himself, I'm definitely lost.

He could've sworn he hadn't strayed far from the tree he'd been living in this week. Yeah, maybe he got a bit sidetracked trying to follow a butterfly he thought was pretty, and maybe he was walking quite a while along a stream of water, and maybe-

Okay nevermind, he knows why he's lost now.

Well, in his defense, the butterfly was quite big, and the stream had really small fish he wanted to poke at. Lot of good that did though, seeing as the damn tree he'd slept in was nowhere in sight. Annoyed at himself and the forest around him, the young fledgling hugged his wings around himself and trudged his bare feet through the woods. It was mid-autumn so he was decently chilled, but not enough to be concerned. If anything, the annoying thing was trying to find food during this season.

Because food was so scarce, it wasn't like he was leaving anything important behind in his tree, except a few tree nuts he'd scavenged. Trying to find that one dumb tree was like looking for a needle in a haystack, so Tommy quickly gave up his search and instead began looking for food.

It would be great if he happened across a village. Not for the people or the shelter, but because he could slip in and take food. Avians were a rare hybrid breed and were still being hunted, so he couldn't show his wings even if he wanted to. However, he had his cape tied around his waist and his wings were still small enough to be covered, so keeping hidden was no issue.

Kneeling down to the stream of water, he cupped his hands together and greedily drank from the water, not bothering to wait for the sediment to wash from it. Sighing contentedly, Tommy stood and brushed some dirt off his knees.

Fluffing out his wings, which were still a bit covered in soft downy, he chose a random direction and began to walk. Every so often he would stop, distracted by something or other in the shrubbery around him. A few times he even spotted a chipmunk or a rabbit and tried to catch it - to no avail, of course.

Having started his walk mid-morning, it was now late afternoon and the autumn chill was, admittedly, getting to him. He had proudly scavenged a good amount of tree nuts, and a few wild berries that he hopes aren't poisonous, and decides he should find a new place to settle down.

He thought he found a good tree, but was then greeted by a very angry bee nest inside, and decided he would rather not disturb it (even though fresh honey would probably taste so good).

Finally, after giving up on finding another tree, he finds a decent growth of vegetation and figures he can definitely fix it into a cool nest. He pulls a large leaf off a tree and uses it to safely place his scavenged food while he makes his nest.

Gathering a pile of leaves, he fluffs them up into an oval, which is probably the right shape (how the hell was he supposed to know?) for a nest. In his defense, he had "taught" himself to make a nest, which was honestly just making some kind of shape that he can manage to sleep on.

Next, he made a really small circle of rocks just to have a place to roast the tree nuts on. He has eaten them raw before, when he didn't have a choice, but they definitely taste gross that way (in his superior opinion). After he places a decent amount of dry bark and sticks in the circle, he starts trying to light a spark. He had a small piece of iron he carried in his shorts pocket, just to start fires, so all he needed was something to strike against it.

After rooting around in the dirt and bushes like a fucking worm, he finally found something that resembled a shard of flint. Either that or it was a really weird looking stone. Regardless, it worked just fine to spark a fire after quite an embarrassing amount of tries.

With all the hard work finally done, and a new place to settle down, Tommy snacked on the berries and laid down in his nest for a short nap.

Just as his eyes began fluttering shut, he missed the crunch of leaves and the snapping of twigs, and someone approached him.

Chapter Text

Dream POV

According to the last village I had been at, they had just chased out an avian fledgling. For the past week, there has been talk at several neighboring villages of a fledgling stealing from food stands and bakeries, followed by them being chased out and lost in the woods. Every time I’ve gotten close to catching it, it turns out I’m just a second late. Not this time.

By asking around the village the avian was last sighted at, I had an exact location to search around, and FINALLY found it. The creature was currently laid in a pile of dried leaves, curled up and sleeping. I felt a smile grow on my face as I unsheathed my axe. The amount of potions just from one wing would pay immensely.

I was going to be rich.

3RD PERSON POV

Pain. Blinding pain.

The avian child awoke with a blood-curdling scream as he felt a cold material pierce his wing harshly. Opening his eyes in a panic, he locked eyes with what he knew was a hunter. He might only be 10 (he thinks), but he knew that insignia on his chestplate. An upside-down sword cutting off a snake’s head. He was alone for a reason, after all.

The hunter was a tall blonde man with a lime green hoodie on, a white mask covering his nose and mouth and leaving only his piercing green eyes to stare harshly down at Tommy. The weapon was yanked harshly from his left wing, causing the child to bite back another scream, leaving him whimpering helplessly. He watched as the man nonchalantly looked at his gory axe, covered in blood and a few fluffy feathers.

“Please…” Tommy whispered, in some vain attempt to plead for his life with a hunter that would probably just sell him for parts. Trembling, he scooted away a few inches even though searing pain ran through his entire body by just breathing. The hunter lowered his axe as he heard Tommy’s voice, and his eyes crinkled as if he were smiling.

Eyes widening in horror, Tommy watched as the man raised his axe again as if to strike him, and he hurriedly rolled out of the way, no longer concerned with the blood pouring from his bent wing. Quickly getting to his feet, the man pulled his axe from where it had connected with the ground, right where Tommy’s legs had been just seconds ago.

Backing away in fear and letting out a series of frightened chirps, Tommy didn’t know if he could push himself to run. He wanted - no, needed - to get out of there, but he didn’t want to turn his back to this man for even a second.

“Oh, so you have at least some kind of brain in your head,” the man said with a smile audible in his tone, “I was almost convinced you would curl on your back like an obedient dog and accept your death, but it seems I’ll get to have some fun today.”

Tommy continued to back away as he watched the man place his axe back in its sheath and replace it with a bow and arrow. He immediately ran. This was a sick game and he didn’t want to die today.

As he made his way around the trees, pushing through the pain in his wing, he occasionally heard the horrifying sound of an arrow whizzing by him. At one point, the shot got so close it cut his arm and made him stumble with a cry of shock.

Just as he was about to get back to his feet, another shot was heard, but this one didn’t fly past him. Shaking, Tommy looked down to his leg and whimpered, an arrow shooting straight through it.

“A bit sad, isn’t it?” he heard the voice of the hunter in the trees around him, “I thought this chase would last at least a bit longer, but it seems I expected too much from a little flightless bird. So, before I decide what to do with you, does the little bird have a name?”

Immediately, he replied “T-Tomm-my,” the pain clear in his voice. He didn’t want to even risk the chance of angering this man.

“Alright then, little bird, my name is Dream, though that should hardly matter anymore to you.”

"Y'know, Tommy," Dream continued as he advanced on the injured fledgling, "there are around 57 species of flightless birds out there." The hunter unsheathed his sword from his hip.

Frozen with fear, the fledgling could do nothing but let out a strangled chirp, a vain attempt at alerting some nearby avian that he knew wasn't coming to help. Though one wing was bent unnaturally, the child wrapped his iridescent blue-green wings around himself as a feeble form of protection. He would have tried running again, but the arrow piercing through his leg would have slowed him down significantly.

"If I was to compare you to a bird, I'd probably say you look like a takahē. It's a decently large bird with feathers as colorful as a peacock," Dream continued his lecture casually as the fledgling trembled, already aware that he had won, "but one defining trait of this bird is that it's flightless.

"Such stunning feathers on a bird, and they're simply useless. So, little bird, why don't I put yours to good use?"

Chapter Text

3 years later...

Tommy laid limply in his cage, hugging his thin frame, his only relief being the sound of the door shutting and footsteps receding. Dream had come in to take more feathers from his ratty wings, likely going to sell them as they are or make them into potions. 

The avian had, of course, tried resisting again. The feeling of feathers being plucked wasn’t incredibly painful, almost like being pricked by a needle. He would do anything to rid himself of the possibility of ever having to feel it ever again. Regardless of his emotion, though, he had angered Dream and he had faced the consequences. 

He could never just act good, could he? He always had to complain. He always had to mess things up. 

The door to his holding cell opened with a rusty creak, making Tommy flinch violently. Dream strode in confidently, the sound of his steel-toed boots echoing against the stone walls. He made his way over to the corner where Tommy had tried fruitlessly to hide.

“Get up and turn around,” Dream commanded, arms crossed and no room for playing in his tone. Still sore from the previous day, Tommy tried getting up, lifting himself with bony arms, but immediately buckled and fell with a pained chirp escaping his lips.

“I said get up, Tommy. I can hold you up myself, but I don’t think you would like that, little bird.” Dream threatened.

"S-s-sor-sorry, sir." Tommy stuttered, biting back a remark he knew would only cause more problems. Somehow, he shakily managed to bring himself to his feet, his wings trembling in his back as he turned to face away from Dream. 

"Don't make me wait again, Tommy. You won't like what happens." Dream said, harshly tugging a clump of feathers out, causing Tommy to cry out in pain. 

"Motherfucker," Tommy muttered under his breath.

A pause. "What was that?" Dream asked, though it was clear he had heard Tommy clear as day. 

"Sorry!  I'm sorry, I'll never say it again sir. It was my mistake, I misspoke. Please, I'm sorry," Tommy pleaded, immediately cowering in fear. 

"Yeah, you will be sorry." Dream raised a fist.

He needed to escape. This was hell and Tommy knew it was, but what could he even do? He was only 13 and Dream was twice that, armed, and stronger. 

Maybe it would be better to die, honestly. Dream would lose his money supply and Tommy would be free. But not even that is easy. If he tries starving himself, Dream just hits him and forces him to eat.

The gods must hate him. Death herself won't even grant him mercy like she did his parents. 

Laying on the cold stone, Tommy let tears fall from his eyes for the first time in a while. Dream always got upset when he cried, but what does it even matter anymore. Maybe if he breaks enough rules Dream will just let him die.

But suddenly something was different today. Distantly in the complex, Tommy heard a loud crash, making his tears and sniffling pause with a violent flinch. Dream hated noise, so that couldn't have been him. Has someone broken in?