Chapter Text
Tommy begins running.
It isn't slow; not the kind of half-arsed brisk walk that you do when you're trying to avoid doing a second lap in Phys Ed.
This is a fearing-for-my-life, God-can-no-longer-save-me type of run.
He'd said they were going for a stroll in the park.
He wished the man would have answered more of his questions. He really would have liked to know where they were going, and why. A name would have been nice too. At least then Tommy would know who to curse out.
The man had led him into the woods, the faerie woods, knowing full well what could become of them. Tommy knew not of the tense ground they walked, and it was all the more dangerous.
He founded no fear in the fae. He called them folklore, a tale told to young children to get them to behave. He knew they were real , of course, but he knew that they couldn't get him, not unless he breached their territory. The matrons at the orphanage had used it as a scare tactic.
"If you don't eat all of your vegetables, I shall get one of the fae to gobble you right up!" One of the particularly nasty ones would threaten. Tommy, of course, was too old for those stupid lies. Those old hags had no power over the creatures and he knew that. If they tried to 'get a fae', they'd surely die.
He wished he'd listened when they told him what the fae would do if they caught him. Maybe then he'd have a chance against the monster currently chasing him through the woods. Their feet slapped the ground one after the other in quick succession; not quick enough. No matter how fast he and the man ran, no speed could ever be enough to outrun the beast behind them.
"You bastard!" He hisses at the guy. "Why the fuck would you do that?"
"The council decided that you're too dangerous to have around," The man huffs back, trying to keep up. "The fae would have ravaged the town and whose fault would that have been?"
"Sure as fuck not mine!" Tommy shouts at him, speeding up just to spite him.
"The council says otherwise," the man says, matching Tommy. "I'm sorry."
"For what ? For being a bitch? For taking me out here? For trying to fucking- sacrifice me?"
"For this."
The man's leg shoots out, entangling itself in Tommy's. He tumbles to the ground, bark cutting into his cheek and tears filling his eyes.
The man removes himself from Tommy and runs on, quickly drawing his feet back to the floor.
"Good luck!" He yells over his shoulder as he dissapears from view.
Tommy scrambles to get up, scraping his palm on a sharp stick in his panic. He gets to one foot, and steps onto the other one and, "FUCK!"
White-hot pain lights up his left leg. He wastes precious seconds of getaway time staring at it; an ugly wound that used to be his ankle, the skin warped and bloody. His foot is angled slightly to one side and throbbing painfully. It's definitely broken, horribly sprained at the very least.
It is decidedly the least of his worries right now.
He begins hopping.
Anything is better than letting that thing get him. He isn't sure what it is, but he knows it's fae. He can hear it now, scuttling behind the trees, rustling the bushes and snapping twigs.
It's playing with him. Making itself known, letting Tommy get frantic and then pulling away for a minute, making him think he has a chance of escape but nope, there's that sound again.
It is predator. He is prey.
Tommy gives up on his one-legged race with the monster. He puts his injured foot on the ground and starts running again, though it's more of a weak jog. With every step comes another bout of searing pain, only easing when he makes use of his good foot. It's still faster than the hopping, and Tommy is forced to come to a crossroad.
Would he rather fuck up his leg and live, or surrender to die at the hands of a fae?
The decision is made for him when his foot snags on an outstretched vine on the ground and he faceplants. This time, getting up is not an option.
He figures out pretty damn quick that the placement of the vine was not an accident. It begins to coil around his good foot, wrapping around his ankle and gripping tightly. He turns over and sits up, frantically reaching forward to try and pry the shrubbery from his leg. It doesn't get him far - the second he gets a finger underneath the coarse fibre, it shoots up his wrist as well, winding around his hand until he can't move anything .
Instinctively, his other hand goes to help, and that too becomes entangled. Through his hand, the vines creep up his arm, dangerously close to his neck. He panics, struggling against his bindings, which do nothing but tighten.
Fortunately, the vine passes his neck by. Unfortunately, it wraps around his head, covering his eyes and filling his mouth. Left immobile, blinded and muted, Tommy panics silently in wait of the monster honing in, taking its prey.
There's no mistaking the snaps now. It's everywhere, all around him, sound bouncing loudly off the trees, echoing over his head. He is completely at its mercy.
"Lovely weather we're having," the predator says mockingly, circling him. There's a scuffle, the fae's feet brushing against the debris of the forest floor.
"You're so little," the monster notes, its voice too close. Tommy hates to think of where it could be.
"Would you like to go home?" It asks, and something compels Tommy to answer. He nods fearfully, anxiety digging its terrible claws into him.
"I can make that happen," the fae purrs. A clawed finger traces his cheek, and Tommy screws his eyes shut under the vines. He doesn't want to accidentally see the creature touching him through the gaps.
He whimpers.
"Aww," the predator coos, kindness swirling in his voice. Is it fake?
A bony hand seizes his wrist, and he can't hold back the muffled scream he lets out.
"Oh," the fae exclaims, and its grip on Tommy loosens some. "You're scared."
Tommy, again, nods tearfully.
Before the monster can speak again, the wind picks up around them, swirling in a circle. It disturbs the leaves around Tommy, he can feel them flying into him.
"Wil," a new voice says lowly, scolding. Another fae, Tommy realises, and any hope of survival leaves his body. He could have outsmarted one monster, but two. Two! He's going to die, now, he's sure of it. He sends a prayer the way of Prime, a silent plea for a peaceful afterlife.
"Phil," the first fae - Wil? Is that really its name? - replies, its voice growing distant from its former placement.
"What have I told you about playing with your food?" The new fae - Phil? Phil isn't a very fae name - tells it off.
"But Phiiiiiil," Wil-fae whines, and majority of his fear leaves Tommy. The big bad fae is whinging like a lapdog at the Phil-fae's feet. He'd be laughing hysterically if the vines weren't constricting around his chest.
"Look at him," Wil-fae says, and its hand leaves Tommy's arm. "He's so tiny. Like a piglin runt."
Tommy doesn't know what a piglin is, and he doesn't think he wants to.
"You can't be attached," Phil-fae says. It sounds disappointed.
"He's so much younger than the others the village sends. It wouldn't be fair," Wil-fae says, and suddenly there's a weight over his chest and he's moving. It shunts his ankle and the wind is knocked out of him. It hurts horribly, now caught up in the vines as well, digging into his already ruined flesh.
He's pressed to something hard and he can't help but get the sinking feeling that it's the Wil-fae. For the sake of ease, Tommy is going to assume his gender.
"Food is food, Wil," the Phil-fae says, his voice plunging into a lake of urging. Tommy can feel more hands on his body, this time the fingers brush through his hair. Wil-fae turns away from the hand, and it doesn't move with him.
"I don't want to eat him," Wil-fae pouts. "He's too cute."
"That's what you said about the redhead, and what happened to her?"
"That's different!" Wil-fae growls, and the part of the him that Tommy is resting on heats slightly. He's really quite whiney - like a child who didn't get a toy they wanted. Not scary at all, not like the stories.
"It's not different at all," Phil-fae tells him, tone sharp enough to cut the flesh right off of his bones. "We're not keeping the human. End of story."
The wind picks up again, and Tommy deduces by the huge sigh Wil-fae gives that Phil-fae is gone.
The fae snaps his fingers and the vines tighten painfully around his face. Almost as quickly as the grip came, it's gone, and so is the shrubbery. Finally, Tommy can see and speak again.
His eyes shoot open to find his vision still darkened, though there are scraps of light peeking through from where he's tucked into Wil-fae's side.
"Hello, little human," the fae's chest rumbles as he says, pulling him away from his body so that he can see him. His face looks almost… normal. He's decidedly male, with curly brown hair and full lips. The only fae thing about him at first glance is the splattering of what looks to be fish scales peeking out from underneath his dress shirt. The longer Tommy looks at him, the more he notices.
The fae's nose; long and pinched, like Pinocchio's estranged cousin. The fae's ears; pulled into a point at the tip, elvish in nature. The fae's teeth; human-like, but too sharp to be anything but supernatural.
The fae's eyes; an unsettlingly cold grey, storms roaring inside where the light shines. The fae's pupils; split into two sectors, a regular, human black circle with a very fae-looking white dot in the middle of it.
"What's your name?"
Tommy remembers that there's something about names that you're not supposed to do with fae, but he can't place exactly what it is.
"Tommy," he says. He doesn't think this fae is untrustworthy, and he goes by Tommy anyway.
"Tommy," the fae breathes, and something inside of him shifts. It feels like a breath, but one he didn't take.
He's sure it's nothing…
"How old are you?" Wil-fae asks, tilting his head to one side.
"Thirteen," Tommy replies. Teeeeeechnically he's only twelve, but his birthday is in a month's time. He can afford to lie just a little bit.
"So small," Wil murmurs, his hands moving to cup Tommy's face. "You said you wanted to go home, no?"
Tommy nods. He does want to go home, purely so that he can shove the fact that he survived up the council's ass.
"Would you like to come home with me ?"
Um, no. No fucking thank you. I'd rather stick needles in my eyes. Fuck that. Fuck you.
Instead of speaking his mind, Tommy shakes his head. He doesn't think he'll be able to hold his tongue if he lets his mouth fall open, so he keeps it firmly shut.
"That's too bad, Tommy," Wil says, as if speaking to a child, which is actually quite rude considering that Tommy is nearly a teenager. He's about to give the fae a piece of it when another weird breath strikes him.
Maybe it is something…
"You're hurt," the fae notices, now alarmed, letting go of Tommy's face to brush over his bad ankle. He hisses in pain, trying his best to keep the monster's hands away from his not-so-metaphorical Achilles' Heel.
"Does it hurt very badly?" Wil-fae asks sympathetically. He gently moves Tommy so that no weight is bore on the injury. "I can fix it for you, if you'd like."
"Please," Tommy rasps. He knows the risk of having fae magic inside his body. It could turn him into one of these monsters, should they decide not to bless him with the release of death, but he can't bring himself to care. The pain is bridging on unbearable.
"You can trust me," the fae purrs. "Can I trust you?"
Tommy frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Wil waves him off. "Show me your foot."
He obeys. The fae cringes at the sight of it, and Tommy doesn't blame him. It's not pretty.
Wil brings his hand to Tommy's ankle and he watches as the fae's fingertips begin to glow with heat. It doesn't burn him, though. It does, however, begin to move Tommy's bones .
Logically Wil is just being kind, fixing the break and healing the skin around it, but the feeling is foreign and awful. It doesn't hurt, but the sensation it brings makes Tommy want to claw his way out of the fae's arms and crawl what could be presumed as safety. For example, two feet to the left.
"I know, I know," Wil murmurs reassuringly, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, leaving his hand on Tommy's cheek. "You're doing so well, just hold on a minute longer."
Tommy does, though it makes him squirm and pant in discomfort.
Wil moves to speak lowly into his ear. "Those nasty humans brought you out here because they thought we'd kill you, didn't they?"
Well, that was the assumption, Tommy would say if he wasn't so caught up in trying not to cry.
"Well, they thought wrong. I could never hurt you," Wil tells him, putting a hand on his back to press him closer to his chest in a weird, possessive hug. Two hands; finally, the healing is over. Tentatively, Tommy wiggles his foot. There's no pain and no resistance. Wil is good.
Wil. Wil, all on its own, without the identifier tacked on the end. When did Tommy start recognizing Wil as anything other than fae? He isn't a person, but the charity the fae has shown him is more humane than the vast majority of the village could ever be.
"You're so sweet," Wil says, bringing a finger to Tommy's chin, tilting it upward into the light. "Father said I wasn't to bring you home, but you can keep a secret, right?"
Tommy doesn't like where this is going.