Work Text:
Tommy was laughing as he jumped from the Pub’s ledge.
He loved this slow descent— the cool wind off the mountains, the perfect view he got of the valley he called home, the rush from the initial tip over the edge.
As an avian, he wouldn’t say he was exactly built for flight, but he was built for height. He breathed better up here where the air was thin, and when it came time to descend back to Earth, his wings carried him gently to the soft dirt.
Thanks to the protection of the mountains, the valley was rarely battered by harsh winds. They had the occasional storm or two, of course, but they were sheltered well from both the human world and the oft-unforgiving weather.
So the gust of wind came out of nowhere.
Like an ocean wave, it slammed into the underside of his wing and threw him sideways.
His wings folded awkwardly, the wind yanking them in all the wrong directions. He let out a breathless yelp, feeling for all the world like he’d just been sucker punched in the gut.
He panicked, twisting as he tried to gain traction.
“Help—”
A rush of air entered his lungs, forcing tears out of his burning eyes. He gasped, thrashing in midair as panic overtook him.
He was falling, more rapidly than he ever had before. The ground was approaching quickly and he couldn’t even wrangle his wings enough to guide himself in the direction he knew the lake lay. His wings ached, their muscles stretched all wrong.
The wind shrieked in his ears as he tumbled and he was struck with the faint memory of being tucked in his father’s arms, shrieking with delight as Phil swooped towards the ground before pulling them quickly upward. Tommy remembered that rush well, how he’d begged his father, Again! Do it again!
Oh, how he wished differently now.
He didn’t want to see the ground coming. He didn’t know much, but he knew this was going to hurt. So, with the last ounce of his strength, he managed to flip himself over, his back now hurtling towards the ground. With tears streaming down his face, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped beyond hope that it would be quick.
He’d never died before. Would the respawn process hurt? Would he come back all himself? Or would he be changed? He should have asked Wilbur, he thought vaguely, but he supposed it didn’t matter now; he was about to have all his questions answered.
“Tommy!”
Even against the rushing wind, Tommy forced his eyes open at his father’s stricken call. Through the burn of tears, he saw his father, black wings pinned tight to his back, diving like an arrow for Tommy.
Tommy reached up, laced with terror all over again. He could see the mountains in his periphery now and knew he only had a few more seconds. With his fingers outstretched, he clawed upwards one last time and closed his eyes.
A calloused hand enveloped his. All at once, Tommy was pressed to his father, cradled against his chest as they both fell.
Phil flung his wings out, braced against the pull of gravity. The sudden slow of their descent was jarring, but Phil had taken great care to slip his hand beneath Tommy’s head to cradle him and minimize the whiplash.
It seemed like an eternity before they touched down, but when they did, they landed softly, the dirt chuffing quietly under Phil’s feet. Gently, Phil lowered Tommy to his feet. Tommy’s knees were trembling beneath him, too weak with fear to hold him up. He was shaking in Phil’s arms, clawing at his father’s tunic in a desperate attempt to press himself closer.
Phil didn’t seem any more inclined to let him go either. He held Tommy tightly, pressing kisses to his feathered hair and whispering, over and over again, “Tommy, honey, darling. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I have you. You’re safe.” It seemed he was talking to himself as much as he was to Tommy, his own reminders a comfort as he clutched his son close.
Phil sank to his knees, never easing up on his grip for an instant. He wrapped his own wings around Tommy, cocooning him in darkness, the way he used to when Tommy was little and frightened for no real reason at all.
Now Tommy was gasping, tears falling as he blinked rapidly.
“Dad—” He shoved his face into his father’s shirt and held on. His wings were still beating frantically, their feathers skewed and ruffled. Phil caught them gently beneath his own wings, subduing them with his wings’ comforting weight. “Dad, I don’t know what happened, I—” Terror was eating him from the inside out.
“I know,” Phil murmured, running his hand over Tommy’s hair, his cheek, his head, as if checking for himself that Tommy was real and not some trick of the light or the altitude. “It's all right now. I have you, chick.”
He looked petrified in his own right, his face pale and his hands shaking as they felt over Tommy for injury.
“Dad—” Tommy’s throat seized and cut him off. He stumbled away just in time to vomit his guts up into a nearby bush. Phil let him go, but his hand stayed on Tommy’s back, steadying him with a firm hand between his wings.
Tommy shuddered as he retched, his body repelling his insides like he could vomit his fear up itself. He gasped as he finished, falling back into his father.
Phil caught him easily, turning him once again to press him close to his chest.
His hands skated over the stems of Tommy’s wings. “Are you hurt?”
Tommy didn’t know. His wings ached something fierce, but that could have just been his skewed feathers. He didn’t say anything, instead nuzzling closer to Phil in a desperate search for comfort.
“Tommy?”
Phil began to pull away, his voice lilted with concern, but Tommy’s instincts were having none of it. He lunged after his father and plastered himself to his chest. Frantic peeps were escaping from his lips as he pressed himself as close to his father as possible.
“Oh,” Phil said softly. He sounded surprised. “Okay, honey. All right. Shall we get you up to the nest?”
Tommy nodded over and over again. He wasn’t planning on letting go of his father anytime soon and thankfully, Phil seemed to agree with him on that.
“I’m gonna lift you up now, sweetheart.”
Tommy was pliant as Phil lifted him into his arms, wrapping his legs around Phil’s waist and clinging to him as tightly as he could.
Phil cooed and Tommy melted into it, his whole body shuddering.
“It’s okay now,” he said, hitching Tommy a little closer and bending his knees for take-off. “I’m not gonna let you fall.”
Despite his father’s promise, fear took hold of Tommy’s heart once again as air rushed past them. He pressed his face into Phil’s neck, hiding himself from the sudden height. He could hardly hear his father’s cooed comfort as they soared, but he felt the vibrations of it in his throat and did his best to take comfort from it.
It seemed they were only in the air for a few seconds before Phil landed smoothly on the so-called “landing strip” of the Pub. This time, he made no attempt to set Tommy down, instead carrying him straight to the upper nest.
Tommy knew this nest as well as he knew anything. It was his home, where he’d grown up, where he’d gone to sleep every night tucked between his father and brothers in their younger years. Even now, they still shared it sometimes, though Technoblade and Wilbur had long since outgrown it, and Tommy was well on his way.
“All right, darling,” Phil said, settling them both in the nest. “Let’s get these wings sorted.”
Tommy wriggled in his hold, twisting to better press himself against his father’s chest. He mantled his sore wings as best he could and was rewarded with familiar, skilled hands passing through the crooked feathers.
He melted, his eyelids already drooping in response to the comforting sensation. He opened his mouth against the fabric of Phil’s shirt and emitted his most base noise of contentment.
It was a strange sound he’d picked up as a child, something between his natural chir, Wilbur’s crooning hiss of comfort, and Technoblade’s rumbling purr. In the beginning, his flock had found it hilarious— such an unnatural noise coming from such a small body— but now it meant only love.
A long time passed, during which every one of Tommy’s feathers was smoothed down with care. Tommy felt himself growing hazy, soothed by the steady beat of his father’s heart and gentle tugging of his hands.
“Dad?” Tommy’s eyes were crinkled as he lifted his head sleepily.
Phil smiled down down at him, his eyes soft. “What’s up, buttercup?”
Tommy wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but he didn’t fight it this time. Instead, he brought his hand up to find Phil’s, folding them both together against his father’s chest.
“Will you help me down from the Pub next time?”
Phil’s surprised laugh reverberated through his chest and into Tommy’s. “Of course,” he said, sliding his other hand into Tommy’s hair and tilting his head up to press a kiss to his crown. “We’ll get you gliding again in no time, little chick."
“Flying lessons?” Tommy asked hopefully. “Like we used to?” Some of his fondest memories were of those so-called lessons; it was playtime, really, Phil holding Tommy beneath him as he flew, Tommy’s wings spread to ride the air.
“Like we used to,” Phil promised. “Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not getting two feet off the ground without me for a while.”
Tommy shuddered just thinking about it. That freefall sensation was not one he was looking to replicate anywhere in his near future.
“Deal,” he said, lowering his head to rest it once again on Phil’s chest. “Nap now?”
“Nap,” Phil agreed, nosing Tommy’s head feathers until they fluffed up under his ministrations.
Tommy was too tired to fight it. Adrenaline had zapped every ounce of his strength and now he wanted nothing more than to curl up in the safety of his father’s wings and sleep.
So he did.