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tommy had promised himself to be more honest.
he didn't want to, god, if he could spend the rest of his life just denying it, that'd be perfect, but, logically, he knew that was impossible.
the horns that had burst from his skull had grown too large to hide in one of wilburs beanies, sprouting from the base of his hairline and curling inwards. they were rougher than he thought they'd be, white spots warped by the ridged texture, rising a good few inches off of his head, with the sharp ends twisting inwards in a way that made it quite literally impossible for him to hide them under hats.
each mushroom that had blossomed from his veins, resting daintily upon his pale skin, they all just seemed to regrow, no matter how many nights he spent frantically tearing at the little fungi, not stopping until his body was left covered in little blood-red dots, remainders of what once were that he could easily pass off as acne. they seemed to regrow quicker on his forearms, and they had begun circling the horns on his head, red caps contrasting the white horns. those could be hidden under his hair, barely, but just enough that it was fine.
tommy could still remember wilbur holding his head in his hands, cold palms splayed across either side of his face, smiling gently as he noticed the white freckles dancing across his skin.
[he frowned, "what? what are you looking at? don't tell me i have more blood on my face."
wilbur only smiled gently, "you have white freckles," he pointed out, nodding towards the mirror as he scanned the pale flecks decorating tommys skin. "those are new, aren't they?"]
still, that didn't stop his hatred for the unnaturally coloured dots scattered across his skin, didn't stop him from frantically trying to scratch them off in a feeble attempt to have everything return to normal.
tommy fucking hated change- he always had, ever since he was young, and he'd even broken into tears when tubbo had first grown his wings. because things were changing, and everything was moving so fast that tommy felt as if he'd been winded, stood at the start line as everyone he knew raced ahead. he'd never liked change, no matter how small, or how big.
so finding out that the life he'd been living for seventeen years was bullshit was almost unbearable.
both of tommy's parents had been avians, to his knowledge, not that he remembered them well. they'd given him up when he was a toddler, handing him off to the first person willing to take him in, [that person had been phil, in the very, very beginnings of the land of the origins smp.] he'd grown in his wings when he was five, a blur of time where he could only remember agony, and sleeping through day after day. he'd called himself an avian ever since his baby teeth had grown through his gums and he could get words out.
it was painful, the day he'd felt a tingling in his hands and had noticed the mushrooms sprouting from his veins.
tommy's entire life had been a lie, and he didn't think he could bear having to tell everyone around him that he'd been lying to them the entire time. not that he knew, in his defense, he was just as clueless as them, but it hurt his chest to even think about looking phil in the eyes, phil, who had raised him since he'd been thrown out as no more than a baby, phil, who would sit at the edge of his bed and hold him as he cried about his weak, flightless wings, and having to tell him that all the shit phil had helped him with, all the times phil had to stroke his hair back from his head and wipe the tears from his eyes and promise him that he wasn't worthless just because of his origins, having to tell phil that it was all for nothing? god, it made him feel sick to even think of.
he couldn't do it.
not yet.
"tommy? are you in here?"
the door had creaked open without a single knock, wilbur letting himself in almost immediately, a practiced routine of surprise visits leaving both of them prepared for those very moments, the ones where wilbur would wrap a half-visible hand around a splintered doorknob and his scuffed up shoes would step onto even more scuffed up floorboards, and the sinking, leeching choruses of 'alone, alone, alone' in tommy's head would finally cease.
tommy's gaze didn't so much as move, continuing to stare half-heartedly at his reflection with an expression far too aged for someone so young.
"hello? good to see you too," wilbur teased familiarly, and yet, the hollowed out feeling clinging to tommy's chest remained unfaltering. he was clad in the ugliest sweater he'd ever seen, something with uneven stripes and eccentric patterns that made tommy's eyes physically hurt. the scarf wrapped around his translucent neck was matching, just as ugly, and just as perfect material for taking the absolute piss out of him with a toothy grin on his face and a friendly tone lingering in his mocking shouts, but tommy couldn't find it in himself to even part his lips.
something on wilbur's face shifted, and he sat down at tommy's side, legs crossed on the uncomfortably cold wooden floorboards, analysing him as if he was the most interesting of masterpieces hung upon a gallery wall, and not a scrawny teenager with far too much weight on his shoulders, staring at his reflection with a vengeance burning in his otherwise apathetic eyes.
he didn't even have the heart to comment on the déjà vu, the situation all too familiar to when wilbur had knelt at his side, running a damp washcloth across his face and scrubbing the crusted blood from his skin, the tiny horns a fraction behind his hairline having only just grown in..
"you know, there's a snowstorm outside."
finally, finally, tommy tore his eyes away from his reflection, from the slightly distorted vision of a gangly boy with downturned eyes and ugly splatters of white freckles and fucking horns engraved into his skull that he'd never wanted. and wilbur was right, because when was he not? there were snowflakes resting upon his curls, the tip of his nose tinted a pale red, horrific sweater dusted lightly with snow. he made no move to shift back as wilbur lifted the scarf from his own neck, and wrapped it lightly around tommy's. he could only hum questioningly.
"i know..." wilbur trailed off hesitantly, eyes darting up to meet tommy's, "i know the whole hybrid thing has been hard on you, tommy, but it's- it's not healthy to shut yourself away like this. you taught me that, remember?" a half-hearted smile crossed wilbur's face, though it was still tinged with sorrow, no matter how hard he tried to rid it of any dejection. "i know you don't want to face everyone right now, because you don't want to explain yourself, and i get it, i do! but-" he sighed gently, eyebrows knotted in concern, "tommy, this snowstorm is meant to be the worst weather we've experienced here, ever. you- you can't hide away. not during this."
tommy's mouth tasted dry.
wilbur only continued to stare, waiting, looking at him expectantly to answer, practically forcing tommy out of the solitary he'd buried himself within.
"wil," tommy began, words scratchy and hoarse, sounding a mere second away from breaking, betraying the stoic demeanour he tried to cling onto. "i can't. you- you don't understand," his voice wavered unwillingly, and he clenched his fists, nails leaving a scalding sensation of agony in his indented palms, "it's all going to be so different. everything's going to change. i don't-" tommy choked on his words, blinking away the tears, "i don't know if i can take that."
unsurprisingly, there was nothing but softness in wilbur's listening stare, the corners of his eyes crinkled with worry, but, yet, deep down, hidden beneath the slightly iridescent hue to his green irises, tommy could see the understanding, he could almost feel the similarity sitting heavily in wilbur's heart. "tommy," wilbur breathed, and yet, he sounded more rough than tommy had, emotions out on show, unapologetically vulnerable in a way that tommy knew he could never even dream to be. "listen to me, okay? you've gotta- just- just listen, yeah?"
swallowing back the tears, and silently thanking wilbur for not making him use his aching voice any longer, he nodded weakly.
"i did exactly what you're doing right now, toms. when i- when i died," wilbur forced out, the word sounding sour in his voice, "and i came back as this, i did exactly what you're doing. i shut myself away, and i didn't speak to anyone. not even phil. could you imagine that? me, not even speaking to phil," he huffed out a forced laugh, yet the smile died on his face once tommy's face remained unfaltering, "this is... i know you don't want to accept it, but this isn't healthy at all. this is slowly killing you, tommy. i completely understand why you're scared, i do, really, if i was you, i'd be terrified too, because that's a natural instinct, but- please. you can't keep hiding."
the chilly, stale air of tommy's home was silent as wilbur paused for breath.
"this snowstorm? it's bad. phil said it looks like it's going to be the worst one he's ever seen, and he's old, he's seen a lot," at that, tommy finally cracked a feeble smile, "if you hide from this, if you keep hiding in here, tommy, this snowstorm is going to kill you."
tommy only swallowed thickly, flicking his gaze back to the mirror he'd been sat in front of, back to the image of the frail boy who'd gotten far too skinny, with half-grown horns upon his pale forehead and white freckles against even whiter skin. he tried to imagine himself during the snowstorm, swaddled in flimsy blankets as his teeth chattered, turning blue. he tried to imagine the expressions of his friends, his family, as they came to check on him after the storm had passed, only to find a corpse, skin still tinged with frostbite.
"i know you don't like it, tommy, and i know if it was up to you, you'd keep hiding. but i don't think you have a choice anymore."
that afternoon, for the first time in two months, tommy stepped foot outside of his house.
apparently, tommy's sudden self-imposed exile did not go unnoticed, as wide-eyed stares followed him all through the journey from his home to the pub.
he didn't really think they wouldn't notice, per say, more so that they would acknowledge it, and decide his missing presence would be for the better. that the leech boy who hadn't quite grown into his features yet, with heavy eyelids and jutted-out knees, and a voice uncomfortably loud, would be better off without them. that they'd be better off without him.
it was ridiculous, he knew that, especially since wilbur wouldn't stop echoing about how wrong he was to even consider that, repeating it as if he was some sort of broken vinyl, scratched at the edges, reverberating the mantra about how tommy was loved, so, so loved, and that wilbur doubted there was even a second in tommy's life where he wasn't unashamedly loved by everyone around him. if tommy had doubted it before, which he certainly had, he knew he couldn't doubt it much longer, not when wilbur looked at him as if he strung the stars in the sky, even when his hair was limp and faded, and his skin had gone ashen, and his skin seemed to cling to his bones.
still, that didn't stop the feeling of his skin prickling as he felt the eyes following him.
wilbur, thankfully, had taken pity, and allowed him to at least bring his beanie to hide the horns, and had let them quickly run to wilbur's house to drape the floor-length trenchcoat around tommy's shoulders to mask the tail that had emerged from his lower back. it wasn't much, sure, just a few things to hide the features of a hybrid species long-gone extinct, and he knew, logically, it would only be for a little longer, since he would be forced to admit it eventually, sometime soon, but tommy was clinging onto the last moments of living normally.
at least he knew they weren't staring because of his hybrid features, he supposed, but it didn't make the uncomfortable sensation of being watched any more pleasant.
niki, who he hadn't seen in god knows how long, was in her lake, as usual, though she seemed to be lifting her belongings from the depths of the clear water and onto the shoreline, where sneeg and tubbo sat waiting, apparently helping her transfer them to the pub. tommy had only glanced over as they passed, just for a split second, but at the sight of him, niki let out a surprised, recognised squeak, caught off guard by his sudden presence, though the noise startled the other two. both of whom whirled around, staring at tommy too, and tommy would've been a liar to pretend that the way tubbo's eyes widened didn't sting.
it hadn't been just him who'd noticed it, since wilbur had immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders, shifting the scarf around tommy's neck to obscure them from his view, blocked out by the ugly patterned wall of fabric, muttering quietly not to pay any attention to them.
"tommy?"
he swallowed thickly, the burning guilt pooling in his stomach only worsening once wilbur squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. it was only jack, he knew that, it was jack, the same man he'd found in the nether as a mere boy and had sworn to help escape, and yet, his stare felt as if it was actually burning holes through tommy's skin, which was almost ironic, considering his blazeborn roots. tommy had never felt so much dread before, and he'd only just stepped through the doors of the pub.
there was a loud crash, followed by, "did someone say tommy?"
realistically, he knew everyone meant well. he knew they had been worried, and they were startled by his sudden return, but tommy could've cried at the sound of the unbearable hope in phil's heartbroken voice.
"he's here!" jack called back, a relieved grin resting upon his familiar face, happy flickers of ash and ember encircling him as he looked upon the duo in the doorway. something in tommy's chest lifted at the pure joy in jack's expression. he'd never imagined someone could care for his presence that much. "christ, i'm glad you're back, tommy. i thought you'd done a runner and fucked off to another server. don't do that again, ya' hear me?" he threatened, accent thickening in that joking way that him and tommy loved to do, back when things had been much more simpler.
the familiarity stung.
wilbur smiled down at him at his side, nudging him forward, "go on," he whispered reassuringly.
tommy had no more time to focus on jack, though, as a blur of wings and blond hair swept through the doorway just as he stepped forwards, phil practically tripping over his own feet as he raced back into the main room of the pub, eyes all but glowing in excitement. the moment his gaze fell on tommy, he broke. he'd sworn to himself, once he'd finished sobbing in wilbur's arms and had vowed to return, that he would keep composed, that he'd done enough crying earlier and he should've been over it.
still, the second he met phil's eyes, and had seen the pure relief at having his second son back, tommy's composure had shattered, and he was back to being a kid again, crying his eyes out in his fathers arms unapologetically.
he was just glad that jack and wilbur had the decency to give the two a moment alone.
"you're back?" phil questioned lightly, as if he didn't quite believe it was real, running a gentle thumb across his sons cheek, over the splattered white freckles, over the reddened scratches that laid atop them. he didn't seem to mind the tear tracks that left his thumb glistening with tears as he brushed over them, disbelief evident in his voice.
tommy couldn't deny how rough his voice sounded as he smiled back at his dad, "i'm back," he confirmed weakly, and, for a split second, he was five again, returning from his first (and last) time running away from home, having returned after a week with sticks in his hair and mud on his skin, burying himself in his fathers eyes and swearing to never, never do that again.
he hadn't ran, not for a second, and yet, he'd never felt more like a liar.
the moment soured, though, once tommy noticed the way his father's eyes scanned across his face, unsaid questions evident in the curiosity hidden in his pale blue eyes. he was suddenly all too aware of the horns poking uncomfortably at the beanie, and the heavy fabric of wilbur's trenchcoat against his tail, and the way the mushrooms spanning all up his arms seemed to be crushed underneath the weighted sleeves.
"what... what happened, tommy?" phil questioned softly, yet his gaze didn't move away from the white freckles that certainly hadn't been there the last time he'd seen his son. "where did you go?"
now or never, a quiet voice reminded him. he hated the way it sounded like wilbur.
with a trembling hand, tommy lifted the beanie from his head, uncaring for the way his golden curls had gone dim, sticking up awkwardly. immediately, he watched as phil's eyes lifted to the horns on his head, and his entire face shifted. in that split second, searching through his fathers eyes for any signs of anger, any signals that he needed to get the fuck out, tommy had never felt more terrified.
phil's breath audibly hitched, tearing his gaze away and back towards his son, "i'm going to need words, tommy," he prompted gently, though there was nothing remotely angry in his voice, only raw, unfiltered concern. "you need to explain, mate, i can't read your mind," he smiled softly, and tommy couldn't help but let his lips lift slightly in response. not quite a smile, but he considered it damn good progress considering his track record for the past few months.
"i'm not an avian," tommy confessed, voice dropped low as if he was atoning to sins in front of a preacher, sat in a confession booth with hands clasped around a rosary, and oh fuck, it felt horrible to admit out loud. his eyes burned as he forced the words out. "i- i was hiding, like a coward," he spat, cursing his past self and simultaneously wishing he could go back to hiding behind closed doors and long sleeves and pretending to sleep through the knocks at his door. "i couldn't- i couldn't face anyone after i found out," he breathed, unable to stop the words pouring from his mouth after far too long alone. "wilbur told me about the storm. he... he said i couldn't keep hiding."
there were no words exchanged as phil wrapped his arms around tommy, holding him close as if it was the last time they'd ever see one another, and, all at once, tommy unravelled.
"i don't know what i am anymore," tommy sobbed, hands knotted in the fabric of the back of his fathers shirt, tears dampening a patch around phil's shoulder, voice wavering and breath hitching as cries tore their way from his throat, clutching his father as if he was a lifeline, as if he could solve everything with a hug. "i don't know."
without hesitation, phil tightened his hold, voice breaking in a way that, had it been any other situation, tommy would've laughed at, "you're my son," he promised, and god, if that didn't break tommy. he was glad he was already in ruins, since his tears seemed to only stream down his cheeks faster at that. it wasn't a gentle promise, not once that sounded like hot chocolate and movie nights and blankets, no, it was a promise that tommy knew phil would die to keep, one that he would tear down nations for, one that phil would fight tooth-and-nail to keep. all for him. "you'll always be my son."
"in everything but blood," tommy finished off, a mantra he'd heard time and time before, one he could probably finish in his sleep, a smile tugging at his face despite the way his body was still wracked with sobs, clutching his father close.
maybe things were going to be okay.