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The iris flower is soft on his fur as Tommy slowly wakes up to the daffodil sun. The silky purple flower moves with him as he stretches his little legs and arms outwards. Mouthing gaping open in a yawn, he rubs his eyes and slowly blinks them open.
He shifts his body weight forwards slightly, relaxing as the iris pitches forward, petals gently spilling out on the ground and allowing Tommy to stumble off of it languidly. The grass is dewy underneath his paws, and his nose burrows into the dirt as he sniffs the ground. Right in front of him is a white clover, and his mouth gracefully chomps on it.
Flavor bursts in his mouth, and Tommy can’t be more grateful that the goddess herself has graced him with food this early in the morning.
That is, until a calloused hand closes around him, and his tail whips around in distress. He chirps, loudly and rapidly in hope that the hand holding him randomly decides to put him down.
“Hey little guy,” is whispered as he’s brought to face the person’s large brown eyes. Wire glasses separate them—sadly, or else Tommy might’ve lunged for an eyeball—and Tommy can see his shaking form in the reflection. “Shhhh,” the person says, their other hand coming up to pet Tommy on the head. Tommy goes completely still. “I’m Wilbur. Who are you?”
He’s tucked into Wilbur’s chest, and his limbs are frozen. He’s not too sure how Wilbur wants Tommy to respond in vole form, but even if Tommy wanted to shift, he’s also not sure if his body would allow him. His whiskers are quivering, and it’s out of pure fear that he stops chirping.
Wilbur is holding him securely, and for some reason, they’re still talking. “You’re just a little guy, aren’t you? Hiding away in my garden.”
Tommy’s in a human’s garden? He’s fucked. Oh goddess, Wilbur is going to find out Tommy’s been eating Wilbur’s flowers and herbs and be mad. He’s going to get in trouble again.
The thought reinvigorates his attempts to escape and he kicks his legs out and squeaks harshly as he tries to escape. A desperate plea to let him go with each and every chirp as Wilbur holds him like a human babe.
“Wilbur,” comes a voice behind them, and Tommy’s spinning around with Wilbur to face a man with hair like long grass in the autumn and a cane in hand. The handle is carved into a crow’s head, and the little stupid voice in the back of Tommy’s brain tells him it’s a threat. He twitches his nose to dislodge the thought. “Put it down.”
“But Phil,” Wilbur whines, bringing Tommy up to their face and pressing it next to Tommy’s miniscule head. He freezes again. “He’s so cute.”
“He’s an animal, take him to the woods and let him go.”
Wait, no, Tommy doesn’t want to go back to the woods. He just came from there a few days ago. There’s too many predators out there for him to feel safe.
He’s being put back on the ground, and he looks up at Wilbur on the way down. “He can stay in the garden.”
Phil obviously disagrees, and Tommy’s feet scrabble a few centimeters off the ground when Wilbur halts just before putting him down. “It’s your garden, Wilbur. Do whatever you want. If it eats your herbs and flowers, that’s not my problem.”
Tommy’s finally placed on the ground, and he skitters over to some dusty white flowers that provide him enough coverage to safely watch Wilbur and Phil out of sight.
Wilbur is crouching in front of the flowers Tommy ran behind, so he sinks further into the leafage, only his whiskers barely out. His tail is curled around his paws protectively. “He ran into the Queen Anne’s Lace. It’s a good thing voles can eat that, I guess.”
“Good thing,” Phil agrees, leaning on his cane. “You don’t need another animal anyways. Techno would get jealous. Plus, you’re too young to have another familiar.”
“I’m literally fifty years old,” Wilbur says, eyeing Tommy’s flowers one more time before standing up and going to another section of the garden. “You’re old.”
Phil sighs, and it sounds too much like other humans, meaner ones, for Tommy to even consider venturing out again. “Just gather your herbs and come inside.”
“Okay dad,” Wilbur says, their hands plucking sage and basil from plants Tommy hadn’t even noticed with an expert ease. Phil goes back inside, and Wilbur talks to himself. “Why can’t I just play with a cute little animal I found? Who does he think he is? My father?” Wilbur’s hands come closer to Tommy’s hiding spot, and he slinks a bit to the right to get away. “Well he is, but still. I’m old enough.”
Wilbur seems to be done with plucking herbs, and their feet shuffle directly in front of Tommy. “I’ll be back later. With a treat,” they say, pausing like they expect a response. Tommy doesn’t even spare a squeak. “Bye, little guy.”
Tommy waits a few long minutes to ensure that Phil or Wilbur (or even the Techno guy that they mentioned) wouldn’t come out again, and as the sun rises higher, Tommy slowly takes his first few steps from beneath the Queen Anne’s Lace.
He finds the iris he was sleeping in earlier and starts climbing up the side, waiting patiently as it bends to the ground. It’s an easy step into it as it flings upwards and stands tall upright. Tommy finally feels at ease, away from the grabbing fingers of Wilbur and griping sighs of Phil.
Safe and sound, Tommy falls into a restless sleep as he hides away from the world.
“Hey, buddy.” It’s Wilbur’s voice again, waking him up from his nap. The human—or maybe witch, since Phil said Wilbur had a familiar—is directly above Tommy. He blinks slowly, lost in the freckles on Wilbur’s cheekbones before realizing, shit, Wilbur has found him again. The sun is high in the sky, middle of the afternoon and blinding Tommy.
Tommy squeaks, tumbling out of the iris. He lands on his back, momentarily stunned, but confused when Wilbur doesn’t grab him again or anything. Or worse. Pet him again. Although the scratches did feel nice, especially behind his ears…
Something that looks like a small, tan rock drops in front of him, and Tommy creeps towards it, keeping one eye out for any movement from Wilbur. He sniffs it, and yep, it’s a rock. One of his paws pushes it around, and he backs up, staring up at Wilbur in boredom.
“Watch,” they say, hand swirling above the rock. A yellow light shines out of Wilbur’s fingertips, picking the rock up and twirling. Right in front of Tommy’s very eyes, the rock molds into a red strawberry, dropping to the ground when Wilbur pulls their hand back.
His mouth drops open, shocked, as he leans forwards and sniffs the strawberry again. He gingerly takes a nibble, and wow, is that the best tasting thing Tommy has ever had. He gobbles the rest of the strawberry down, flavor as delicious as a ruby red rose. Courage forming tenfold, Tommy skitters all the way up to where Wilbur is crouching, placing his first two paws on Wilbur’s knee.
He chirps, a high pitched noise asking for more of the delectable strawberries, and Wilbur laughs. They sit on their bottom instead of resting on their knees, patting their leg as an invitation. Tommy takes it, climbing up Wilbur’s leg—and only slipping once—and sitting with his face turned up expectantly.
Wilbur laughs again, and Tommy shrinks back. He’s not too sure why Wilbur is suddenly laughing at him, and his joints lock up, ready to bolt at the moment the air goes sour. His eyes shut close as a hand comes towards him, and one paw lifts up–
A strawberry drops on his head. The sickly sweet smell of the juices permeates the air, and he opens his eyes to another one placed in front of him. They’re perfectly ripe to the point that some of the juice is getting on Wilbur’s pants, so Tommy eats them as fast as he can. He likes Wilbur, but most of all, he likes the free strawberries more.
The courage is back, and he clambers further up Wilbur’s leg until he starts scaling Wilbur’s arm, making his way up to Wilbur’s shoulder. His chest is rising rapidly by the time he settles down, but he must get more strawberries, so he puts his front paws on both sides of Wilbur’s ear, and squeaks. Loudly.
“Ow. Shit,” Wilbur curses, jerking their head away. “Hey, don’t do that.”
Tommy chirps angrily. He really only wants more strawberries. Even though his heart had spiked when Wilbur had raised their voice, the barest lingering of strawberry resides in his mouth, and no amount of licking his lips satisfies him.
“Here,” Wilbur says, twirling their fingers again in front of them, and a pile of what has to be a million strawberries.
Tommy launches himself off of Wilbur’s shoulder, burrowing himself into the strawberries. He’s able to eat about three of them before his stomach feels uncomfortably large. He tucks his paws underneath his body, and rests there.
“Awwww,” Wilbur says, crooning. Tommy grumpily looks up at him. He is not cute. He’s about to retaliate by climbing back on Wilbur’s leg and biting them when a dark shadow comes over the both of them.
Tail suddenly tucked close to him and whiskers trembling, Tommy stares up at a hog with a scar running from its left eye to right tusk from Tommy’s point of view. The snout lowers all the way to Tommy, and he feels coarse hair brushing his head as its chin runs over him.
“Techno,” Wilbur scolds, a reprimand that would send Tommy escaping if it were directed towards him, “leave him alone.”
The hog gruffs, giving Tommy a final look before opening its jaws in a silent threat. It doesn’t pass by Wilbur, who tells Techno off again, and Techno stomps around Tommy and over to Wilbur. He plops down next to Wilbur, his side pressed up against Wilbur’s leg in a show of possession, of ownership, no matter what the witch says. Hell, Wilbur even starts paying attention to Techno, rubbing his ears and everything,
The air has shifted, turning salty as Tommy slowly gets to his feet, backing up. He’s brushing against plants, rough leaves that scratch him but doesn’t stop him running down his back before Wilbur notices he’s started to disappear.
Wilbur scrambles to their hands and knees, reaching for Tommy and saying, “wait, come back!”
The threatening look that displays dominance in Techno’s eyes sends Tommy turning tail and running deep into the woods.
Tommy’s sitting in between two trees on soft mossy ground, absolutely covered by Queen Anne’s Lace and doing his best to resist going back to Wilbur’s little house garden. He’s nibbling on some of the flower’s seeds when he thinks, I haven’t shifted in a while.
He’s been able to stay away from Wilbur’s garden for a week now, and it’s been even longer since he’s shifted. He… actually can’t remember the last time he shed his fur and grew into his skin.
He abandons his seeds, folds his legs into his body, covers his eyes with his tail, and squeezes everything together.
Nothing happens.
He tries it again, flopping onto his back when it doesn’t work. Tommy doesn’t fucking remember how to shift, and that’s not fair since he’s literally supposed to be a shapeshifter. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to be more than a few inches tall; fuck, the last time he remembers even being a human he was seven years old. Tommy is ten now.
It’s well known that staying in one form for too long can lock you in that form. There’s ways to fix it, but Tommy was too young to learn how, and now he has nobody to tell him.
Tommy tries again, holding his breath, but it leaves him exhausted. His chest is fluttering rapidly, and if he were human, angry tears would certainly be flowing down his face. He doesn’t even remember what tears feel like.
It’s not fair. This isn’t fucking fair.
He’s content to lay vulnerable on the ground, surrounded by Queen Anne’s Lace, but decides it’s not worth it. He would like to not wallow and die, perhaps and he is a bit thirsty. Tommy slowly gets to his feet and ventures outwards, leaving the white petals similar to falling snow and sniffs the air for spring water.
There’s a trail of water lilies and running water coming from his left, so he bounds towards it, nose tilted towards the ground. He can smell the fresh water underneath the ground, can feel it in his whiskers. He’s close.
Yeah, he doesn’t need to be human in order to find water. If anything, it was easier as a vole. He can’t remember exactly, but he knows enough to know that his sense of smell is a million times better than his human smell.
The ground also smells delicious, like there’s some clover to his left–
A shadow falls over Tommy, so similar to when Techno had intimidated him a week ago, but this time, it’s Phil. His hat and robe (is it a robe? Tommy can’t tell) cast an unnatural shadow over him, and his flight or fight is non-existent. He freezes.
“Oh, it’s you,” Phil says, crouching down and picking Tommy up. What is with these strangers and picking wild animals up? Most people shoo him away. “Wilbur’s been worried about you, little shit. Stressing so much, they’re pulling their hair out.”
Tommy stops scrabbling at Phil’s hand, looking up into the man’s crystal blue eyes. Tommy thinks his human eyes were blue, but he doesn’t know if they were baby’s breath blue, fairy thimble blue, or somewhere in between. But they were blue.
“Awww,” Phil croons, the pad of his pointer finger brushing over Tommy’s head and gently running over his ears. Tommy flicks them angrily. He really wanted to find that spring, and maybe try to shift some more. “You are adorable. I can see why Techno got jealous.”
Jealous? Tommy squeaks, a question.
Phil laughs, sounding like bumbling buzzes from bees. Tommy likes it. “Yeah, he’s jealous. You’re threatening his territory: Wilbur.”
Tommy chirps, thinking, he could literally just step on me.
“True,” Phil says, like he heard Tommy’s thoughts.
Wait.
Can you hear me?
Phil smiles with teeth as bright as white morning glories, “yes I can.” Tommy casts a fearful glance up at Phil, wondering…
“I know you aren’t a wild animal,” Phil says nonchalantly, looking around and stepping around logs like he didn’t just say Tommy’s biggest secret.
Tommy kicks his feet, and in a last, rare motion of escape, he bites into the fleshy finger closest to him. He bites as hard as he can, but blood doesn’t even threaten to spill.
“Shhh,” Phil shushes, petting Tommy’s head. “I’m not going to tell Wilbur.” He freezes, nose twitching when Phil taps it. “It’s your secret not mine. When you want to shift, then you can tell Wilbur.”
Tommy glances mournfully at the ground, and Phil holds him in front of him so Tommy is facing Phil eye to eye. “It’s okay, you don’t have to anytime soon,” Phil comforts. And although Tommy appreciates it, Phil lowkey missed the mark there.
He lets out a sigh, wrapping his tail around one of Phil’s fingers, closing his eyes. Phil finding out he’s stuck as a vole is the height of his worries, and the only wait to not think about it is to fall asleep.
Tommy wakes up in something soft and warm, a different softness than the iris he tends to sleep in. His snout burrows into it, and he distantly recognizes it as fabric, but he’s so sleepy, and warm–
“Oh you’re awake!” Wilbur’s voice pierces through the cloudy haze in his mind, and Tommy tries to push his body further into the fabric. Wilbur’s pointer finger and thumb start rubbing one of his ears, and Tommy decides that he might as well give Wilbur some response.
His eyes crack open, and oh, he’s laying on Wilbur’s stomach, bundled up in the coat that Wilbur typically wears. He hadn’t known it was this soft to lay on. Tommy hadn’t known Wilbur was this soft to lay on.
Speaking of the witch, they’re splayed along a piece of furniture, the name lost to Tommy’s past. They don’t have their glasses on, and Tommy doesn’t think as he climbs up Wilbur’s chest and all the way to their chin. His front paws press against Wilbur’s mouth in a silent plea. I’m hungry.
“He’s hungry,” comes from the corner of the room. Phil’s in a chair that looks to be made of the same material as the furniture Wilbur is laying on, with his feet propped up and a book in hand. “Grab him something to eat.”
Instead, Wilbur calls, “Techno!”
Tommy’s confused, perched up on his back legs when footsteps come from another room. A pink haired man enters, square glasses on his nose and a mug in one hand. He doesn’t look particularly happy. Plus, Tommy didn’t know there was another human living in the house.
“Techno, grab him something to eat.” Wilbur showcases Tommy by picking him up, and Tommy curls his limbs into his body. The “human” is the hog. The one who dominated him and basically threatened to kill him if he ever returned to this territory.
“Seriously?” Fuck, Techno’s voice is deep as well. It feels like it could swallow him whole in one gigantic tsunami and take him out to sea. Tommy makes eye contact with Techno, and he chirps, quivering. He’s scared.
Phil clears his throat, and all attention is diverted to him. “Leave him alone Techno. Grab some clover or something from the garden outside.”
Techno gives a rumbling sigh, but he listens. Tommy relaxes into Wilbur’s hand, and even more when Wilbur sets him back down on their chest. As a further precaution for when Techno comes back inside, Tommy runs to Wilbur’s neck, diving into the dark space between Wilbur and the furniture, feeling instantly soothed by the darkness.
He can feel Wilbur laugh, vibrating like an avalanche against his side. He would be ignorant to say that it doesn’t feel safe next to Wilbur, but he would be lying. He stalls, unmoving so his claws—short and stubby claws—don’t poke Wilbur and cause the person who has been the nicest to him to decide they’ve had enough.
“Here,” Techno says, having entered the room without Tommy knowing. His nose twitches at the scent of clover, and he counts to fifteen before venturing out. Techno’s sitting on the floor, his legs crossed and gaze blank as he watches Tommy leave his haven.
He glances at Wilbur, who gives him an encouraging nod, and it’s then that Tommy sees that Techno didn’t just grab some clover. There’s Queen Anne’s Lace and a couple unidentifiable roots in front of him—and dirtying Wilbur’s shirt—and Tommy’s tail swings back and forth in joy.
The clover is delicious, the roots are tangy, and the Queen Anne’s Lace has a sweetness that leaves him yearning for him. Full, Tommy settles down right on the spot, but he doesn't close his eyes. There is still a predator present, and he is giving him a look he’s seen in the eyes of eagles before.
Techno sighs, standing up to his feet and striding over to Tommy. He towers over Tommy, and Tommy starts backing up towards Wilbur again. He looks around at Wilbur in panic, but Wilbur is only giving him a small smile. Why won’t Wilbur do anything, he’s obviously about to be eaten by Techno.
Tommy squeezes his entire body when Techno’s hand lowers over him, and he’s being picked up. Oh goddess, he’s about to be eaten, he just knows this. Why won’t Wilbur save him? They were supposed to mean safety, and sanctuary—
Oh. Tommy’s being held in one hand, with the other petting his entire back. He stops his high pitched chirping when Techno’s nail gets right in his sweet spot behind his ear.
“See, you’re fine,” Techno murmurs. “Not too sure what you are scared of in the first place.”
“Techno, he’s a baby vole, of course he’s going to be scared by a giant hog,” Wilbur says, relaxing their arms behind their head. They look ready to sleep.
“I’m not a hog right now,” Techno grumbles. Tommy squeaks.
Phil chuckles. “You were when you met him.”
“Well– now I’m not. So…”
Tommy squeaks, a high pitched fuck you.
He’s the only one who knows why Phil suddenly bursts into laughter.
He thinks it's been about a month into staying with Wilbur fully, barely leaving past the garden. Wilbur and Techno have gone out a few times, out to town or whatever, and Phil comes and goes as he pleases, but Tommy has stayed.
Mostly for the easy food, but also for the cuddles Wilbur gives him. Even Phil has let Tommy cuddle with him for an hour, and they spent it talking about nonsense. The elder being—one of the things they talked about was what Phil was, except Phil said he wasn’t going to outrightly tell Tommy—has been out for a few days, and Tommy misses having a conversation now more than ever.
Wilbur, Techno, and him are sitting in the garden while Wilbur practices a spell or something, and Tommy wishes he could ask Wilbur if they know how to unlock a shapeshifter's form. Instead he has to watch as Wilbur makes flowers grow unnaturally fast. Stupid. Techno’s just sleeping too, lazy pig who can’t be bothered to help with his witch’s spells.
“Did you see that, little guy,” Wilbur says, plucking the newly bloomed daffodil and setting it in front of Tommy. “It’s for you.”
Tommy sniffs it, before chomping down. A rancid, raw taste floods his mouth, and he spits out the petals. Daffodils are disgusting.
“You’re not supposed to eat it, dumbass,” Wilbur snorts, loud enough it causes Techno to crack an eye open for a second before closing it again. “Hmmm,” they hum, looking at their spellbook with a pensive face. “We should try out this spell.” Wilbur nudges Techno, but the hog doesn’t move.
“Techno,” Wilbur says, pushing a bit harder. Techno huffs, before rolling over. Tommy has to scurry out of the way to avoid being crushed. “Help me with this one.”
Techno stills, before getting to his feet and looking over Wilbur’s shoulder. Tommy, feeling left out, climbs up Wilbur’s side—chirping when they hiss in pain at his claws—and pretends to read the spellbook. He never actually learned to read, so it’s harder than expected.
“Please,” Wilbur says to Techno. Tommy chirps. He wants to know what spell they’re going to be doing. Techno grumbles, a sound meaning fine, and Wilbur grabs Tommy off their shoulder.
He’s placed on the dirt, a bit disoriented from the quick movement, when Wilbur holds their hand out in the way Tommy knows they’re about to perform a spell. Yellow light flutters from their fingertips, surrounding Tommy and rendering him unable to move. Techno shoves his head under Wilbur’s hand, focused on Tommy.
Stop! He squeaks, chirping extremely high in distress. Help me! Stop! Stop!
Wilbur gasps suddenly, pitching forward and supporting their weight under their elbows as they get only a few inches from Tommy’s floating form. He’s dropped moments later, limbs and tail splayed underneath like a daisy, as he glares up at Wilbur. Motherfucker. Die, bitch.
“I can hear you!” Wilbur says, hands reaching for Tommy, but Tommy flinches away, spooked. “Sorry, but,” Wilbur apologies briefly, but their hands don’t halt on their way to Tommy, and he finds himself being scooped up into Wilbur’s lap. Even Techno looks surprised, his eyebrows raised. “Say something. Er, think something.”
Dickhead.
Techno snorts, head bobbing up and down in amusement. Wilbur’s mouth drops open, and they just look offended. “Maybe this was a bad decision.”
Tommy shakes his head, sniffing the ground in case there are some spare Queen Anne’s Lace seeds. He eats the ones he finds, checking one last time for more, finding none, and scampering up Wilbur’s side again. He chirps, hi.
“Awww,” Wilbur says, “hi, little guy. This spell doesn’t last very long, so is there anything you want to tell us?”
Tommy hesitates, running over the consequences of telling Wilbur that he’s a shifter locked in place, before thinking, help me.
Wilbur’s eyebrows pinch and Techno tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” Wilbur asks slowly, grabbing Tommy and placing him on the ground to face the two of them. “Are you hurt?”
A momentary pause, and Tommy thinks, I’m a shapeshifter stuck like this. He delicately looks up at Wilbur, eyes flicking to Techno every so often when neither of their facial expressions change.
“What? Did you think something?” Wilbur asks, reaching forward and petting Tommy on the head. Techno nudges Wilbur’s arm, and they have a silent conversation that sends Tommy chirping.
Hello? Hello? Tommy chirps, jumping to his hind legs to be as big as possible. Wilbur shakes their head, and for a moment Tommy had felt visible to them. Now, it’s like he’s wispy cottontail seed. Hello? Wilbur?
Techno huffs, nudging the abandoned spellbook with his nose. Wilbur looks down at it with a sad look, before straightening and saying, “oh shit, we can just do it again then. Thanks Techno.” Wilbur rubs Techno’s head before picking up the spellbook and raising their hand towards Tommy again.
The yellow light shimmers, and Techno nudges their hand with whatever magic he possesses, when suddenly, Wilbur sneezes. The light shoots from his hand and hits Tommy, picking him up into the air and swirling around him like before. The main difference is that Techno looks concerned, shifting into his human form and getting on his hands and knees in front of Tommy.
His hands hover over him, but when Wilbur tries to grab Tommy, Techno smacks their hands away. “Don’t. You don’t want to fuck up the spell anymore.”
Wilbur scowls. “I didn’t fuck up the spell.”
“Yes, you did,” Techno says, gesturing at Tommy. He doesn’t remember being suspended in the air for this long last time. “I don’t know what’s goin’ to happen.” Wilbur reaches for him again, Techno shoves the hands away. “Leave him alone.”
With a plop, Tommy drops to the ground seconds later, and Techno picks him up gently. Hello? Are you there? Tommy thinks, but nothing shows on Techno’s face. He looks at Wilbur, and there’s no sign of recognition either.
“Can’t hear you bud,” Techno says. “We aren’t too sure what’s goin’ on.”
Wilbur takes him out of Techno’s hands, holding him up in the air. They’re inspecting him, holding him every which way when a slimy snake of nausea worms around in his stomach. The sickness came quickly, with no alarm, and black spots dance across Tommy’s face.
He kicks his legs out, begging to be set down so he can fall to the ground and hopefully stave off the nausea, when his limbs start to grow. Pain sparks, then explodes as his legs stretch further than they should.
As Tommy grows bigger and heavier, Wilbur is forced to drop him, and he falls haphazardly to the ground, hitting his head as his snout shrinks back. Hot, racing pain that feels like a thousand fire ants biting him without regard climbs up and down his body, until he’s left on his back, breathing through his human nose.
His human nose.
As much as he would like to jump to his real human feet with his real eight toes—or is it ten? He can’t remember—Tommy can’t move much further than sitting up. He stares in wonder at his hands and feet—it’s ten toes, by the way—wiggling them every which way.
“Little guy?” Wilbur says, uncertain. Tommy forgot they were there honestly. “Uh? Can you hear me?”
“I didn’t know he was a kid,” says Techno, distressed. “Like a little kid.”
He is not a fucking kid. His tongue worms around in his mouth, unnaturally big and teeth unnaturally blunt. That gets him next; Tommy wouldn’t be able to bite jack shit with these rundown teeth. How do humans survive?
Wilbur and Techno talk above him, hushed voices that Tommy doesn’t care to listen to. Instead, he takes one of his hands and hooks his fingers around his mouth pulling it open and using his other hand to feel the teeth and tongue. Words aren’t coming out, and he needs to tell Techno that he’s not a little kid.
“Ahhhh,” comes out, and Wilbur jumps. Techno takes a mild step back. “Shut up.” He leans forward, using his hands to wobble to his feet. He has to strain his head to look at Techno, and even more to look at Wilbur, but he’s so much taller than he was before. “Fuck you.” Goddess, is he so wise with his words.
“Oh my goddess, it speaks,” Techno says, voice high pitched, well as high pitched as Techno’s voice can go. He has a dagger in his hand somehow, and in a fit, Tommy lurches for it.
“Fucker,” he says when Techno raises his hand as high as it can go. Even jumping Tommy can’t reach it. “Give.”
“Say please,” Wilbur says with a sly grin.
“Wilbur,” Techno says.
“Techno,” Wilbur taunts.
“Give it to me.” Tommy ignores them. He opts to kick Techno in the knee, and when the man forgoes holding the knife to attend to the shock, Tommy jumps up and snatches the hilt from Techno’s fingers.
He gives a shout of triumph, before dropping to the ground and using the knife to hack at the ends of his pant legs. While his body grew during the three years he was a vole, his clothes didn’t, and the ends of his pants are too tight now.
“Fuck, Techno, you gave him a knife.”
“You distracted me.”
Tommy throws the knife back right in front of Techno’s feet, except his aim is slightly off, so it bounces a bit closer than safely. He giggles when Techno glares at him.
“Why haven’t you shifted before,” Wilbur asks, sitting down next to Tommy. “This is a safe place.”
Tommy eyes the Queen Anne’s Lace, pondering before answering, “couldn’t.”
Wilbur quirks their head to the side, “why?”
“Wilbur,” Techno interrupts, “he was locked in that form. We must’ve accidentally used the spell to unlock him.”
“Well then,” Wilbur says, “I’m glad I sneezed. How old are you, kid?”
“Ten,” Tommy answers, reaching up and ruffling Wilbur’s hand. He’s wanted to do that for a long time. “I’m Tommy.”
Wilbur nods their head, “nice. Nice. Well then, you’re practically already in the family, so…”
“A vole I can do,” Techno says, “a kid?”
Wilbur smacks Techno’s leg, before swirling their hand and sending a gust of wind pushing Techno to the ground. “Shut up. We like him as a vole, and we like him as a kid. Right, Tommy?”
“Right,” Tommy agrees. He places a hand on his stomach, hungry. Deciding against standing up and maybe falling over, he crawls over to some of the Queen Anne’s Lace, takes the top of the flower, and pops it in his mouth. Delicious.
Techno’s mouth is gaping open when Tommy turns around, and apparently chooses to not say what is on his mind, because he shifts into the hog, gruffly huffing and relaxing next to Wilbur. He shakes his head, closes his eyes, and slows his breathing. It seems like he’s had enough of Tommy’s shit.
“Where’s Phil,” Tommy asks, chewing on some more Queen Anne’s Lace. Wilbur is nicer than Techno and doesn’t even make a face.
“Right here.” Phil walks into the garden with perfect Tommy. “Great timing.” Tommy doesn’t believe his bullshit. Phil’s “magical” as he said so himself, and he was probably like, invisible or something. Tommy’s not too well versed on magical abilities. He’s lucky he knows how to count.
“So, Tommy’s a shapeshifter,” Wilbur starts, but Phil raises a hand, a sharp smile on his face.
“I know,” he says, nodding. Tommy finds himself nodding along.
Wilbur’s mouth cracks open. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Phil shrugs. “It was his secret to tell, not mine. However, I didn’t know you were stuck as a shapeshifter.” He pins his stone cold stare on Tommy, and Tommy wilts.
“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, looking down at the stems of Queen Anne’s Lace in his hands. He didn’t mean to make Phil upset. Tears unwillingly sting at his eyes, and when Wilbur notices, they pull Tommy into their arms.
“It’s okay, Tommy. You’re forgiven,” Wilbur says. He squeezes Tommy before wiping Tommy’s tears. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Tommy says through the tears, heart swelling. He looks up at Phil expectantly.
Phil sighs, crouching to his and Wilbur's level. “It’s okay.” Phil ruffles Tommy’s long mane for hair, and Tommy scrunches his nose in retaliation. “We need to fix your hair.”
Techno snorts next to them, apparently not asleep, and it causes Phil and Wilbur to chuckle. Tommy looks around for answers.
Wilbur supplies them. “Techno likes doing people’s hair. He’ll probably do yours.” They put a hand on Tommy’s back, a promise to never let go.
Tommy tucks his head into the area between Wilbur’s neck and shoulder, eyes connecting with the Queen Anne’s Lace lining the garden. He’s safe and sound here.