Chapter Text
All Tommy has ever known is the four corners of the room.
Not his room, the room. They have made it very clear that Tommy doesn’t own anything. Not even his own free will.
The room isn’t very big, only a few steps across each wall. There was a time when Tommy was able to fully stretch out his wings with some room to spare. Now the feathers bump into the rough walls, restricting his movements somewhat.
The room has no windows, the only source of light coming through the bottom of the door, locked of course. Tommy doesn’t remember the outside very well. He remembers the sky is blue, but he’s been in here so long Tommy doesn’t remember what blue looks like. What would it be like outside? Tommy doesn’t know. All he’s ever known is the room.
Tommy sometimes wonders how long he has been in here, in this room. He was smaller when they took him, that’s for sure. Tommy tried counting the days at some point, but he’s long since lost count. It doesn’t really matter anyway. Tommy is never going to leave this place.
Tommy would like to think he had parents, once. He doesn’t remember them, doesn’t know why they haven’t come for him, but he likes to believe he was once loved by someone. Loved for who he is, not for what he has.
He doesn’t interact with people very often, but when he does it’s unpleasant. There are guards outside who will slide food through a slot in the door around once a day, but the only people who actually enter the room are all faceless individuals, every one of them wearing some sort of veil that covers the entirety of their face. (And when was the last time he saw another face? Heck, Tommy doesn’t even know what he looks like. He can’t make out the exact colour of his hair because of the lighting, but he knows it's a light colour because of the way his curls dangle in his face. That’s about it though.) The only thing they come into the room for is to pull and poke Tommy’s wings. They never say a single word. Sometimes they’ll speak, but only to each other. Never to Tommy. They never talk to Tommy, never treat him like a person, only an object for them to inspect every once in a while. The sensation of foreign hands touching his wings and fingers running through his feathers is a disgusting, violating feeling. He spends probably hours after they leave preening himself to try and get rid of the revolting feeling , gagging every now and then. Despite that being the only human contact he ever has, Tommy dreads every visit.
Why was he born with wings? The faceless people don’t have wings, so why does he? Why did he have to be born this way? The people only like him for his wings, but he isn’t proud of his bright red plumage. If he didn’t have his wings, maybe he wouldn’t be here. Maybe he would have a normal life.
But there’s no use troubling himself with the what-ifs.
The only other person he’s heard of who has wings is the Angel of Death.
The guards keep talking about him, enough times that Tommy has a clear image of the being in his mind’s eye. With giant wings as black as night, he deals death to their enemies mercilessly. The masked people seem to view him as some sort of deity, which he most likely is. They also say that long ago, the Angel disappeared without a trace.
And they want to bring him back.
They’ve been talking about it a lot, especially recently. They’ve come into the room more often too, the visits that would happen once every month or so turning into almost every day. The masked people look over his wings more insistently too. Tommy hates it. He tried fighting back once, when everything became too much. It didn’t work, obviously, and he was quickly overpowered, earning himself a nasty punch to the face. They were even more touchy with his wings after that, making sure to cover every single inch. Every single feather. Tommy would be silently crying by the time they would leave, huddled by the corner in the dark, too busy trying to overcome his panic to start preening, leaving his skin crawling and his feathers tingling.
Tommy dry heaves just thinking about it.
But yeah, the people keep talking about the Angel’s return. Tommy’s heard them say it will require a sacrifice.
He doesn’t like to think of the implications of that.
Because surely this sacrifice they talk about is him. Why else would they want him, someone with wings similar to the Angel’s? Everything lines up too perfectly. Their intentions are clear.
It’s just a matter of how much time he has.
Tommy sometimes wonders what death is like. Well, he’s going to find that out soon, he supposes. Is it like this room? Dark, cold and lonely? Or is it warm, comforting, a relief to the misery that is Tommy’s life? He hopes death is nice, because Tommy is tired of living. He hasn’t lived long but he’s so so tired. He’s a bit saddened by the thought. He’s only young, but already he’s given up on life. He’s never going to see another face, never going to see the sky again. Maybe in another world Tommy could’ve had a better life. Maybe he could’ve had loving parents, he would’ve been able to play outside, maybe he could’ve been taught how to fly. What would it be like in the sky, where no one could reach you or hurt you? It’s a nice thought. Freedom. But Tommy will never be free.
He’ll die before he’ll ever get to experience it.
And you know what? Tommy has long since accepted that.
It’s a depressing thought, but as Tommy sits on the small cot in the room, hugging his knees to his chest, he convinces himself that death would be a much better fate than this life of darkness, loneliness, and silence.
Because maybe in death he would feel nothing at all.
Well, it would normally be silent, if it weren’t for the sound of crashing metal that filters through Tommy’s hearing.
Tommy jerks up at the noise, eyes wide. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when the sound began. There’s also shouting. It doesn’t sound like it will be stopping anytime soon. This is new, and new is scary. Tommy shuffles in his seat and curls his wings around himself, nervous. He doesn’t know what to make of this. There's not much he could do about it anyway.
So Tommy waits. He listens to the shouting and the clashing for what feels like hours.
Tommy’s wings are shaking beside him. He doesn’t know when that started.
The sounds continue, and at some point Tommy brings both hands over his ears to muffle the sounds. His wings form a weak attempt of a shield around him.
What feels like an eternity later, everything goes quiet.
Once he notices this Tommy unplugs his ears. He shifts his wings so he can peek out, eyeing the door.
There’s nothing. Everything is still.
Wary, Tommy creeps towards the door. He kneels on the floor and peeks underneath the door, trying to see something, at least the feet of the guards.
There’s no one there. Tommy’s breath hitches as he scans the area behind the door. The guards are always there, why aren’t they there?
That’s when he hears it. Voices.
Unfamiliar voices.
Tommy feels a frightened chirp escape his lips.
“-wait. You hear that?”
Tommy slaps a hand over his mouth, but the damage is already done.
“It sounds like it came from over here.”
Shit.
The sound of quick footsteps approaches. A shadow appears, blocking some of the light.
“In here.”
Shit shit shit shit shit.
Who are they? Why aren’t the guards there? What do these people want? What’s happening?
Tommy faintly notices his breathing is sporadic, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“It’s locked.”
“I can see that,” the first voice snaps.
“I’ll get it open,” the second voice grumbles.
Before Tommy can process the words there’s a rhythmic thumping against the door, as if someone is throwing their whole body weight against it. You know what, that’s probably exactly what it is. Each thump gets louder and louder, and the door starts to crack.
Tommy scrambles back to the corner of the room, letting out a few strangled, frightened chirps. They’re gonna break the door down. Tommy’s breathing speeds up, even more than it was before, and his heart hammers in his chest. They’re gonna break the door down, they’ve come for me.
There’s one loud, final crack! before the door bursts off its hinges.
Tommy makes a sound somewhere between a scream and a terrified screech. He throws his arms over his head and tucks his wings as tightly behind himself as he can (which doesn’t help much because of how big they are. But he doesn't want his attackers getting to his wings). Tommy whimpers. Please don’t hurt me.
“Holy shit.”
Tommy warily looks up from his spot on the floor. Two men stand in the doorway, one with brown hair and the other with longer, brighter coloured hair. He's forgotten the colour. Tommy’s slightly taken aback at the fact he can see their faces, eyes, nose, mouth, everything. This is very surreal, but his fear makes him stay put. Both men are staring at him with looks of horror.
“What the heck?” The brown haired man slowly walks into the room towards Tommy. Tommy attempts to scoot further back into the corner, bare feet scraping against the floor. He almost wills the wall to swallow him whole. Another chirp escapes him.
The man stops in his tracks, eyes widening. “Hey, no, it’s ok,” he says softly, holding out a hand. When Tommy shrinks back from the gesture the man’s hand falls. He slowly crouches down so that he’s eye level with Tommy. The man’s dark eyes flit over him, and Tommy squirms under his gaze.
“Techno,” the man whispers, voice slightly shaky. His eyes never leave Tommy. “What the hell?”
“I know,” the other breathes. “We have to tell Phil.”
Tommy doesn’t know who Phil is, but it can’t be anyone good.
The brown man nods imperceptibly before slowly turning around to face the other man. “Go get Phil,” he says quietly. “I’ll try to calm him down.”
The bright haired man frowns in determination, nodding. He turns on his heels and leaves a moment later. Tommy listens to the sounds of his footsteps retreating.
Now it’s just Tommy and the brown man.
The man turns back around, expression worried and thoughtful. Tommy takes a moment to study the man’s face. He has a few small freckles covering his nose, barely noticeable, and his lips are parted slightly. The man’s eyes are a dark brown, the same colour as his hair.
Tommy drinks in the sight. It’s been so long since he’s seen another face.
“Hello,” the man says softly, breaking the sort of trance Tommy was in. Tommy shrinks in on himself, wings wanting to curl around himself for comfort. He keeps them tucked behind his back.
The man’s eyes flick behind Tommy for just a second. Tommy knows he’s seen his wings.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Tommy whispers, voice rough and scratchy from disuse. He’s shaking again, he realises.
The man’s expression falls at that. “No, no I won’t, I promise,” he says earnestly. Tommy doesn’t believe him.
“I’m Wilbur,” the man says, placing a hand on his chest. “What’s your name?”
“Tommy,” Tommy answers quickly. He doesn’t want to possibly anger the man- Wilbur- by not answering. He said he’s not going to hurt him, but what if he changes his mind.
Wilbur offers him a small smile. “Hello, Tommy,” he says, and why is his face so gentle? It makes Tommy feel all weird. “Are you hurt at all?”
Tommy frowns at the unexpected question. He doesn’t know how to answer that. Does he want Tommy to be hurt? He decides to be honest. “No,” he says, shifting slightly so he’s more comfortable. He isn’t hurt physically, but he is hungry and cold. Not anything he isn’t used to. Besides, Wilbur probably wouldn't care.
Wilbur nods. “Ok, that’s good,” he says. He pauses for a moment, thinking, before continuing. “That other guy who was in here, that was Techno,” Wilbur says. “He’s just gone to get my dad, Phil.”
Tommy grimaces. So there’s three of them.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Wilbur says, noticing Tommy’s worry. “We want to get you out.”
Tommy perks up the slightest at that. Out? As in outside? He quickly stamps the thought down. No, these guys will most likely shove him in another dark room. As much as he hates the thought of getting a glimpse of freedom only to have it cruelly stripped away, there’s not much he can do about it.
“Ok,” he says simply. He’s not about to get his hopes up.
Confusion flashes across Wilbur’s face for a second before it's quickly replaced with concern. “How… long have you been here?” he asks with a frown.”
Tommy shuffles his wings, uncomfortable. “A while,” he mutters.
Wilbur looks sad. “How old are you?”
Tommy pauses at that, scrunching up his face in thought. He’s not entirely sure. He thinks he was maybe five when they took him. Or was it six? Either way, he’s been here for a long time.
“I dunno,” he says. “Twelve?” That’s the biggest number he knows. He doesn’t think about his age very much.
Wilbur’s expression looks both heartbroken and deeply worried, but there’s also a hint of confusion. “You look older than twelve,” he mutters, seemingly to himself.
Tommy’s about to say something else, an insult or something that would surely get him in trouble, when the sound of footsteps comes from the corridor.
It’s the Techno guy. And someone else. Most likely whoever Phil is.
Tommy watches with wide eyes as Techno comes into view, another man behind him. He has light hair that reaches his shoulders and a funny looking hat. His eyes are a dark colour as they look at Tommy, but not like Wilbur’s, more colourful. Brighter, in a similar way to Techno’s hair but not quite.
This must be Phil.
Wilbur turns around as the two men approach. “He said he’s twelve,” he tells them, the worry palpable in his voice.
Maybe-Phil has a look of concern as he turns his gaze to Wilbur.
“He didn’t exactly specify how long he’s been kept in here,” Wilbur continues. “I don’t think he actually knows.”
Here we go, people talking about him as if he’s not there. Tommy's gaze trails to the ground. He’s used to this.
“I’ll take it from here, thanks mate,” a new voice says, and Phil steps forward as Wilbur stands. Phil kneels down in front of Tommy, taking Wilbur’s position. Tommy’s eyes stay trained on the floor.
“Hey, mate,” Phil says gently. Tommy refuses eye contact. “Bit of a situation you’re in.”
Yeah, like Tommy wanted any of this. Still, he stays silent.
It's quiet for a few seconds before Phil speaks again. “Would you like to come out?” he asks, tone still gentle. “It can’t be comfortable in here.”
It isn’t. Tommy’s cold, the cot is just as hard as the floor, he’s constantly hungry, it’s dark, and most of all he’s lonely. He really wants out.
A weird sound comes from the man, something Tommy’s bird brain screams at. “Aw, mate,” Phil says. “It’s ok.”
Tommy feels something wet land on his arm. He sniffles. Oh, he’s crying.
No, he can not cry in front of these guys.
Phil makes another one of those cooing sounds, because that’s what that sound is, and Tommy finally looks up. Phil is smiling sadly at him, arms spread on either side of him. “Would you like a hug?”
Tommy sniffles again, tears blurring his vision. “I don’t like it here,” he whispers, half hoping Phil doesn’t hear him.
But of course, Phil does. He has a sympathetic look. Or maybe it’s pity. Tommy really doesn’t need that right now. “I can only imagine,” Phil says. “You didn’t deserve whatever they did to you.”
And it’s true, isn’t it? Tommy truly never deserved any of this. He should have been living a normal life, doing whatever normal kids do. But these wings have cursed him to a life of darkness and loneliness, and his childhood was ripped away from him.
Tommy chokes on a sob, squeezing his eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears roll down his cheeks.
Phil coos sadly. “Oh, mate,” he says softly. “Come here.”
Tommy does as told, crawling the short distance over to Phil. Once he’s close enough Phil gathers him into his arms, avoiding his wings thank goodness. Tommy’s a bit big to fit in Phil’s hold, but he shoves his head underneath the man’s chin, hands gripping his cloak tightly . A shadow falls around him, as if to shield him from the world, but Tommy doesn’t bother to see what it is, focusing on the affection that he's been deprived of for so many years.
Tommy knows he’s acting like a child right now, but he doesn’t care. His cries become louder, years of loneliness and suffering spilling out. He lets out a few devastated chirps in between sobs, and he hears Phil coo in response.
“I’ve gotcha, mate,” he hears the man say. “Everything’s gonna be ok now.”
Tommy knows that isn’t true, but he lets himself believe it for now.
He continues to wail and sob into Phil’s chest, his sounds slightly muffled by his cloak. He’s no doubt getting snot and tears all over the man’s clothes. He will probably get punished for it, but Tommy can’t bring himself to care. He’ll take whatever punishment they decide to give him.
After an indiscernible amount of time Tommy calms down a little bit. Phil has yet to pull away from the hug, and for that Tommy is grateful. He’s sure if he pulled away right now Tommy would burst into tears all over again. Plus, Phil is warm, and safe. Tommy is surprised at the thought. He can’t bring himself to think about what that means. He's a little tired after his little crying session.
Tommy hears someone approaching and looks up. Techno stands over him, gaze piercing. He has red eyes, same as Tommy’s wings. The man undoes the clasp of his cape and takes it off. He then leans down and gingerly drapes the cloth over Tommy’s shoulders, covering his wings. His wings twitch at the initial contact, but the fabric feels nice against his feathers. Tommy takes the material in his hand. The outer edges are white and fluffy, and the rest of the cape, which is a rich red colour, is nice and soft. A pleased trill escapes him, and Tommy looks back up at Techno, who looks a bit awkward.
“Thanks,” Tommy says quietly, a note of reverence in his tone. No one’s ever given Tommy anything before, besides food.
Techno makes a weird chuffing sound. “Don’ mention it,” he says, turning to leave. “I have another at home.”
Something moves in Tommy’s vision, and it’s then that he remembers the black shapes on either side of him. Upon closer inspection, he notices they surround both him and Phil, and they are made up of…feathers.
He takes a small intake of air, eyes widening as he realises what they are.
Wings.
Phil has wings. Like him.
Tommy stares at the glossy black feathers, which almost blend in with the room. He reaches out a hand, wanting to touch but knowing he shouldn’t.
“You can touch ‘em, mate,” Phil says with a smile. One of the wings edges closer, as if to emphasise his words.
Tommy looks to Phil uncertainly. At Phil’s encouraging nod Tommy reaches out and gently grasps one of Phil’s primaries in his hand. The feather is smooth, sturdy, built for flight. And it’s definitely better kept than Tommy’s useless wings.
Tommy is hit with a sudden wave of safety, and any tension he has leaks from his shoulders. He rests his head against Phil’s chest, eyes drooping.
Phil coos again, a hand gently stroking the back of his head. Tommy sighs.
Tommy feels Phil shifting around, before strong arms lift him up. Tommy’s eyes open in surprise. Phil’s hold remains gentle but firm, one arm supporting Tommy’s knees and the other holding up his torso. The cape stays put around Tommy's shoulders.
“You’re alright, mate,” Phil says, patting Tommy’s shoulder in reassurance. “We’re getting you out of here.”
Out?
Sure enough, Tommy watches as Phil carries him through the door and out of the room.
He- he's out.
He’s actually out of that room.
Tommy watches, with his head resting against Phil’s shoulder, as the door gets further and further away as they walk through the hall, Wilbur and Techno following.
Tommy thought he would never get out of there.
He shakily exhales, trying to process what's happening.
These guys came here and brought Tommy out. He’s finally out of that room! But there’s a chance they want him for something. After all no one just lets him out of the room for no reason (and until now there hadn’t been a reason). They’ll most likely bring Tommy to whatever base they live in and shove him in another dark room. As much as Tommy dreads the idea, there’s nothing he can do about it. Yeah, he can try to run, but he probably wouldn’t get far, his legs weak from staying in that room. Tommy is just going to deal with whatever they do to him. Besides, maybe if he behaves, they’ll still be gentle with him.
He can deal with that later. For now, Tommy is goning to bask in the gentleness that is so foreign to him.