Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wings dusted along the damp and rotten through wood planks littered on the concrete. They lightly hitched as the owner gasped. Whole body contacting in pain as they dropped to the ground to writhe.

MONTHS EARLIER

Tommy’s fingers flit about with the hem of the loose black gradient cape. Its excessive size being the perfect fit to hide what he wished it to. The brittle and dirty wings that hung on his back were small and weak, with the little care, he took with them the constant clipping of his flight feathers to fight back the instincts to soar in the sky and therefore destroy his secrecy and absence of food fit for his species it was hardly surprising their original colour a distant memory, only a nearly black red dripped on the ends and the area above was a dark brown was the remaining colour. Avian focused food was harvested and sold at high prices to match high quality and with some exceptions solely to Avian customers, which meant, Tommy could afford none of it. Not because of price, but because he had little desire to be known as an Avian publicly.

He would be repeatedly questioned about whether he had family and apparently friends didn’t count. Tommy stood in his room, a mess of posters of his favourite music artists hung on his windowed wall. Art he had done of different people, landscapes, still life and more hung on the wall and on his wardrobe, furthest from his room light.

The darkest wall to conceal what he believed to be meaningless art despite what his teacher told him. The wall at the back had his bed in the middle, a rectangle bed because while he would love a circular one there were little made and only to Avians were they sold. It had blue hues splotched everywhere in a beautiful pattern. The carpet was a dark grey and the walls were only slightly lighter. Tommy slipped into his work clothes, a simple grey tight button shirt with custom holes for his wings made by Tommy, and sturdy black cargo pants. He chose black socks and his worn black sneakers and combed his fingers through his hair in front of his full body mirror in the window walls left corner, frowning when it made the curls puff.

He strode out of his room and beelined to the kitchen, the marble a chilling temperature as his arms caressed it reaching for the coffee grounds. He debated grabbing breakfast but fore went it when he remembered that he’d woken up late. Even it was only by half an hour. Coffee thermos in hand Tommy snagged his phone of the living room table and its vibrant red charger, his tawny brown wallet, his keys of the key rack next to the door and stepped into the hallway. Careful not to wake his dozing roommates.

The elevator moved slowly down, occasionally stopping to pick up another person and letting them all of at the ground floor. Tommy filed out quickly and made the thirty-minute walk to work. The street was quiet the early hour. Sector 4 was a decent place to live. Hotels, stores and homes all affordable if you had a stable and high enough income. Checking his watch Tommy read 5:20am. He would be on time luckily. Getting to the drab military grade building and reaching the testing area with the rising sun. No he was not being tested; he was doing the testing. The Hero Headquarters personal weapons testing facility for new gadgets and weapons confiscated to detail what they were.

The rooms were lined with obsidian. An extremely rare material that was completely resistant to all explosions. There were scraps sold in black markets for the highest price here and there but most of it was used for Tommy’s workplace and Pandora’s Vault. Tommy was always someone to boast about his strengths and testing dangerous weapons and learning all about them was something he was amazing at. He didn’t always like finding out about certain weapons for mass slaughter but he was glad he was able to safely transfer them to Pandora’s Vault once they were confiscated from villains. He didn’t like that the Hero Agency had such easy access if you were high enough on the chain.

He thought that the weapons ought to be destroyed and not in the hands of morally ambiguous heroes that held grudges. Okay, yes. Tommy was not a fan of heroes really. But his reason was valid. When he reached the guarded door, Tommy pulled out his ID. Stating he was an employee alongside some not very truthful information. Like him being 21. He was tall enough to pull it off with a small degree of difficulty. He just had to turn off his connection to emotions until he was home at 6pm. He climbed the many stone stairs and towards the testing room of his and a few others. The day progressed slowly, a number of small and common weapons coming in with the apprehensions of some first-time criminals and one vigilante who hadn’t even made it a week before he was caught.

Tommy filed paperwork and reports on the weapons he tested and any he was unable too without clearance for one of the obsidian rooms, while his wings ached and went back and forth between listless and contracting in on themselves. The days weapons consisted of small bombs made by 30-year-old’s who were angry at a government official, psychopaths and others of unknown origin. Guns, knives, and grappling hooks. A normal day in the city of Essempi. The day was beautiful and quiet so the higher ups were lax on testers. Allowing a longer break.

When the day finished Tommy passed through the routine security check for stolen weapons and headed outside to find a car waiting for him. A sleek black Sudan with tinted windows sat perfectly parked on the street. Feeling nothing good about getting in he decided fuck that and headed towards his apartment, the cold air wasn’t as bad as possible kidnapping. He cursed when the car followed him, a sudden sense of fear curling tightly in his stomach. He went faster but it kept pace, not moving more then a metre closer every time until Tommy whirled on it.

“Okay. Who the fuck is in there and why is your bitch ass following me.” His voice was above what you’d call an inside voice but below a shout. The car responded with inching closer. Tommy remained unmoving. The car moved until it was directly next to him and the window was rolled down. There in the driver’s seat was a familiar face.

“RANBOO YOU BITCH!” Tommy yelled. His roommate sat there, grinning ear to ear, glad that his plan to scare the shit out of Tommy worked. “I WILL STAB YOU BITCH!” He continued.

Ranboo laughed, his black and white hair puffy and lightly moving with his head. “Well can you that after I drop you home and I drop this car back to the hotel? I would like to not get fired.”

Tommy sighed. “Fine. Is Tubbo home yet?”

“Yeah, he got off early after one of his prototypes backfired.” Ranboo’s face was one of knowing and hoping that Tommy would understand what happened to their friend.

Tommy, of course, knew what the most likely possibility was. “Explosion?” Ranboo nodded and gestured for Tommy to get into the car. He rounded the car and jumped into the passenger seat and buckling in. The seats were leather and a light black colour, a good quality car. Tommy was suddenly very glad that Ranboo was old enough to have his licence. The ride back to the apartment was filled with the two loudly singing songs on the radio and banter, they arrived and Tommy dashed inside with a quick ‘see you later’ to Ranboo. He wanted to check in on Tubbo. The building on the outside bore no paint, just simple stone. The inside was much nicer. A red colour themed lobby and a nice receptionist, decent furnishings, white painted walls and no mould. Tommy deciding to not be lazy and that it was faster. Took the stairs, two at a time.

When Tommy opened the door, he immediately saw his brown haired and goat horned roommate Tubbo floundering around with foods from the fridge with bandaged hands. Tubbo didn’t even flinch when Tommy appeared behind him in an instant, taking hold of the ingredients and placing them on the counter, and closing the fridge door.

“You couldn’t have waited for Ranboo or I to get home Big Man?” Tommy asked, very sure that the answer would be no.

Tubbo whined. “I’ve been home for over an hour and I’m hungry” He complained. “I thought you’d be here later.”

“Ranboo gave me a lift back with the car he was valeting.” Tommy replied, cutting up some cheese and cucumber to put into three sandwiches. He handed one to Tubbo and received a thanks before Tubbo took up residence on the red couch with a soft blanket and the remote. “I’ve got to finish my assignment so let Ranboo know that there’s a sandwich for him on the bench.” Tubbo mumbled a sure around his food and turned the T.V on. A telling sign that Tubbo was tired was when he barely bossed Tommy around to eat, rest and actually practice self-care which Tommy would belligerently do before immediately going out for his night activities, so Tommy enclosed himself into his room and spent an hour finishing the first stage of his newest art piece. It was of Tubbo and Ranboo, in a sitting position with their heads resting against each other’s, dozing as Tommy hovered above in a protective fashion.

When he came out he found Tubbo and Ranboo in an identical position to the one he had drawing. Snoring lightly. Tommy grabbed their blanket and pulled it over them both more comfortably and watched as the two snuggled closer without waking. He sighed, knowing it meant that he’d have no-one in his ear or anyone for a quick way back home tonight. Despite that he still went to his closet and felt around the back until he felt a lump, a tiny button, when he pushed it down a click sounded. A now loose board coming free as Tommy carefully laid it down and pulled out his gear. A Spectra fibre cloak with a weighted hood to keep it covering his hair and half his face- which happened to have cost more than all of Tommy’s limbs, minus his wings- a Dyneema long sleeve close fitting shirt, a tactical vest made with the same fabric but slightly thicker- of relatively same value as the Spectra cloak. A military belt with dagger sheaths and pouches for small gadgets and a slot for his communicator. Spectra cargo pants with more pockets and sturdy military boots. A pair of gloves with holes in the tips for his retractable claws. Lastly a two-part mask that covered his entire face including his chin except his mouth. The second part was a light but high quality strong hard mask to cover his mouth that included a voice changer to deepen his voice to fit the age he wanted to be seen as.

All of his getup was black, meant to seamlessly blend with the night. The only thing that wasn’t was his golden locks which were covered by the hood and his wings which while their uncleanliness made them seem fairly dark in colour, they were still visible without his cloak, with could be attached to his wings with small lengths of fabric that made the cloak move with them.

Tommy was suddenly once again thankful for Tubbo’s ingenuity and access. A few fake orders for a fake person made anonymously to Las Nevadas paid in full including customization with a small diamond that Tommy had come across in his earliest years. Before…everything. There was still money left over and that went to the rest of the gadgets they had and a bank account that was an emergency pack up and go card. Virtually impenetrable. Slipping into the gear with practiced ease and making his way to the window, Tommy paused to determine whether or not to bring his communicator. Deciding the scolding he would surely receive without it he snagged it off his bed and latched it onto his belt. He double checked he had everything, a few ender pearls for a quick getaway, a few smoke bombs, a trio of daggers, a small vile of splash potion of weakness- which mighty fucking prime that was expensive, zip ties, and lastly. His wits. Pulling his hood up and slowly and ever so silently pulling the window up, Tommy slinks away into the night sky. He snatches up the rungs on the side of the building connected to the fire escape, he pulls himself up with ease due to his enhanced abilities and attributes and easily plops himself on the roof. Ears twitching for any sounds to indicate something for him to intervene. For Caelus to stop. Caelus was the name he chose for himself. It is the name of the roman god of the sky. He is a pog man Tommy decides. Just like him.

After a few minutes of nothing but car horns and rowdy teens Tommy sighs. “It’s fucking boring. Are the criminals taking a night off?” Usually he has Tubbo to fill him in on crimes he can do, things that no-one else is around to do or simply ignore. He stands and his cloak billows out, wings moving with it. “Guess I’m coming to crash the party bitches.” And starts off jumping from roof to roof, light on his feet and holding his cloak to make it seem like his cloak is making his fall slowly and or glide instead of the wings underneath. He is quickly rewarded for his patrol when a woman’s begging catches Tommy’s avian ears, and he wastes no time to reach her. He finds two men cornering a young woman, no more than twenty years old in a dirty and thin alley. She’s holding her car keys out like a weapon, the physical key a decent on the go weapon but no match for the two deadly knife the men hold. He floats down, not wanting to alert them and not wanting to break a bone by passing over stealth for speed.

“Give us all the money, pretty girl. And maybe you’ll enjoy what comes after…” The man- Tommy decided to name him Vermin One- left it hanging, but it was obvious what he was implying, and it made Tommy hold back a gag at the mere thought.

“That won’t harm us sweetheart…if you lower it, we’ll be gentle.” The second man- Vermin Two- cooed. It snapped Tommy’s desire to be stealthy in half and in half again. He pulled his wings back in and landed with a thud, a snarl on the edge of his tongue. The men immediately turn to face the new opponent, a mistake. Tommy gestures with his head to the women to run, she is quick to follow the instruction and while her movement startles the men to turn again Tommy is already upon them. A swift kick to the temple puts Vermin Two out for the count and using his momentum, Tommy launches at Vermin One and the impact he makes with the wall knocks him unconscious too. Tommy pulls a pair of zip ties from a belt pouch and ties the two men up. To check to see if she stuck around to call police, Tommy strolls out of the alley and looks both ways. His eyes meet the sobbing form of the woman across the road. Walking towards her, hands up when she notices him and tenses before immediately relaxing when she processes it’s him. Tommy kneels down to look at her closely for any signs of injury.

“You alright Miss?” His voice is deep, and unrecognizable to his civilian self. She opens her mouth but more sobs fall out. “Whoa whoa hey, I need you to breathe. In, and out. In for four, hold for eight, out for seven.” She follows his instructions and momentarily she’s coherent.

“Thank you.” Her voice shakes but it’s audible. “I- I” she begins to tremble again but Tommy pushes through with what he wants to say.

“It’s what I do Ma’am, now you need to call the police, tell them what happened.”

“Thank you, thank you. What’s your name?”

“Caelus.”

Tommy leaves the woman to call the cops and scales a fire escape on nimble limbs. The adrenaline the first rescue of the night has given him makes him giddily jump from rooftops, he’s turned on the police scanner, he prefers when Tubbo does it and filters out small things and give him the larger jobs. The police scanner gave a buzz and Tommy tuned in.

“Call in, call in. We got a 146 in progress. 73 L’Manberg street, sector 5. 13-year-old boy on the line, says there’s three men inside. They haven’t noticed anyone is home. He’s hiding in his room under his bed. Anyone in the area?” A series of ‘No’ came through the speaker and a single yes with the exception of being able to arrive cold in fifteen minutes, meaning no sirens no lights. Tommy took that as a go. He changed direction towards Sector 5, the building getting more run down as he passed. L’Manberg street was located on the border between sectors if Tommy was correct.

Man I wish Tubbo was awake. It’d take away all the guess work.

Motivated to help, Tommy made it in little under five minutes. Wings and all that. He dropped down and went to the window. He couldn’t go in guns blazing- not that he used guns, too dangerous- but it could get the kid killed. He turned off the scanner. Unwilling to be heard, he focused on hearing.

“Get the valuables. Hurry.” The voice was flat. And impatient.

“I’m hurrying.” Another voice replied.

“Stop you’re yabbering and just check the other rooms.” A third one interrupted.

Tommy very suddenly had a stupid idea. A very stupid idea. He walked up to the door. And knocked.

He sensed the immediate quiet in response. He knocked again.

“Who is it.” The third voice snapped.

Tommy smiled. “You’re worst nightmare.” Tommy kicked the door in and wasted no time in barrelling down the first man he saw. Who happened to be the furthest. He stood closest to a bedroom door with the name ‘Connor’ on it. The man goes down and immediately out of the fight, Tommy rolls over him, up again in an instant to watch the other two closing in. Tommy checks where he is positioned and sees he is directly between the boy’s room and the three burglars. Glad that he is a line of defence Tommy swiftly pulls out a dagger with his left hand. The moment he does, the two standing men pull guns.

“Perfect” Tommy muttered.

“You here to do much than give us a mosquito bite, Vigilante? I know you’re no hero. Not with that getup.” The man to Tommy’s right quips.

“I’m here to fuck you bitches up!” Tommy joyfully replies. He doesn’t let them give an insult back before he makes a move, moving his right arm to disrupt the aim of the man to his right Tommy shoves the gun away as the other man fires. It hits Tommy’s gut, making him grunt in pain as the bullet fall to the floor, unable to pierce Tommy’s suit. Tommy’s left hand tenses and claws slide out of his fingertips, deftly lodging into the first man’s side and he crumples to the ground, clutching at his wound. The second man fires again at Tommy’s chest but it does little more the indent in on itself and fall to the carpet like the first. Tommy’s chest and abdomen pound with pain but he ignores it and knocks the gun aside, gripping the man’s left wrist and pulling it across his body to free up the side for Tommy’s roundhouse kick. With all three men down Tommy zip ties them and removes all weaponry from their immediate vicinity. A creaking sound pulls Tommy’s attention to the boy’s door. There, through a crack, is a small face, tear streaked and terrified. Tommy nods to him and slips out the door to and climbs up the side of the building. Jumping from each wall and flapping his wings to keep momentum and interrupt gravity’s pull to the ground. He disappears into the night at a police car silently rolls up to the house. He doesn’t wait to see their reaction.

Tommy’s night resumes and he stops some muggings, a bank robbery, another burglary, and an attempted kidnapping. All in all a successful night. When he reaches his apartment building, Tommy slides into his room through the unlocked window, hoping that his roommates are still sleeping peacefully on the couch. He takes of his gear, glad to free his wings from restraint as he slips a t-shirt over his head, Tommy gets a good look at the large purpling splotches on chest and abdomen and grimaces. Wings slipping through the holes, and he pulls on a pair of track pants. When he has put all the equipment and gear away and clicked the board in place he strides into the living room to find his two friends sound asleep, holding each other close.

Safe-Friends-Safe

Tommy groans as his hindbrain pushes through the walls built around it. Prattling on about what he needs and safety and flocks. Like Tommy could make another avian appear out of thin air. Tommy’s groan must have been enough to wake Tubbo because he stirs, eyes blinking and arms untangling from the blanket and Ranboo’s arms accidentally waking the enderborn. Tubbo sits up and swivels his head to see where Tommy is but Tommy moves and sits on the armrest, Ranboo is rubbing his eyes, mismatched black and white skin dull under the limited light.

“Hey Toms” Tubbo croaks, voice still in the dredges of slumber.

“Hey Tommy” Ranboo says, already moving to pack away the blanket and head to his bedroom.

“I just got back from patrol. Figured you bitch boys were too tired.”

Tubbo’s face blanks for a moment before his eyes widen. “You went on patrol on your own!?”

“Calm down big man,” Tommy was fine wasn’t he? He may have been shot but it had just bruised him. And maybe broken a rib. He didn’t know. “I just stopped so disgusting people and stopped a few small crimes.”

Tubbo eyes Tommy. Unbelieving that Tommy was fine. “Lift up your shirt.”

“No!”

“If you’re fine then lift it up.”

“Tubbo I think Tommy can take care of himself.”

“Yeah! Thanks Ranboob!”

“…I take it back.”

“Noooooo!”

“Come here Tommy!” Tubbo launched himself at Tommy. Tommy who had no desire to find out whether or not he had a broken rib nimbly stepped to the side and caught Tubbo before he hit the ground.

“Fine. I may have a few bruises…they had guns, the suit can’t do much about that.”

“WERE YOU SHOT!?” Tubbo hollers.

“No the suit stopped the bullets.”

“YOU WERE SHOT MULTIPLE TIMES!?”

“Shot at. There’s a difference.”

Tubbo looks ready to yell again and Ranboo looks ready to sleep for a month but neither says anything. Tubbo and Ranboo simply hug Tommy, careful of his injuries and the limp limbs on Tommy’s back. Tubbo reaches out and lets his finger trail along a broken feather, pulling back when it flutters lightly. “We could help with that you know.” He says quietly.

“My wings?” Tommy asks. Tubbo nods. “Sorry big man. No can do. I’ll fall back to relying on my instincts and that’s not an option.”

“Tommy…it’s not healthy…”

Ranboo steps back and looks the weary wings over. “Tommy…you could lose them if you don’t. Besides...it’s not like once will take away all your stubbornness.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I can’t. Too risky.”

Both of Tommy’s roommates look defeated but accept his refusal. They usher him to the kitchen where they gobble down some leftover pasta and drag their heels to bed. A goodnight echoing as they shut their doors, to sleep away the hours until the new day starts.

Chapter Text

Tommy wakes with a strangled gasp and bolts upright. Hands flying to his throat to dislodge what felt like hands gripping tightly. When he feels nothing but the smooth skin of his neck he slumps back down, wings twinging with the position but protest no further. His body aches with bruises and little else. For that Tommy is eternally grateful once more. He’d have much worse than a few purple and blue splotches without his best friends help. Tommy twists to see his alarm clock.

04:12

Time to get up. Tommy slips from bed and noses around the kitchen for his mug and sees it already filled to the brim with the wonderful warm brown liquid. Steam still rising. “Tubbo?”

The boy in question steps through his bedroom door, coffee of his own in hand. “Thought I’d help you get ready so you don’t overdo yourself while in my sight.” His mouth is a small frown, but his light blue eyes lit up with affection.

Tommy smiles, his own blue eyes crinkling, he was truly thankful for his friends, his mind screaming of flock-friend-flock and love-love. “Thanks Tubs, are you working today?” Tubbo’s hands were still burned but he did not need them to work really, unless he was building something another employee would write his ideas and designs down for him.

“Yeah, have a few ideas I need to get out before I loose ‘em.”

Tommy nods, sips his coffee, and goes to grab the oats but their missing. Or rather. Empty. “Do we have any spare money for some more oats?” Tommy quietly asks.

Tubbo gives an apologetic look, “No sorry, not unless we want to take a bit out of the saving check.”

Tommy shakes his head. Oats were some of the not specifically avian foods, but they were grain and that helped. “No problem big man. Just checking. I’ll munch on some bread.” Tommy went to grab the bread to find none. “When did we go shopping last big man?”

Tubbo thinks for a moment before answering. “I think it was two weeks ago.”

“Ah, that would explain it.” Tommy replies. He pulls his coffee off the bench and sips it, a slight wilt in his posture at the loss of a good breakfast that didn’t make him slightly sick.

Tubbo once again is apologetic. “I’m sure Ranboo will get some groceries.”

Tommy grimaces. “Tubs, you remember the last time he went alone. He had a panic attack and enderwalked back here.”

Tubbo shares his grimace and amends. “I’ll go with him after work.”

“Thanks.” Tommy spends the next half an hour getting ready and determining whether or not to let Tubbo and Ranboo look at his wings, and by look he means help Tommy preen them. None of them know how to properly preen wings, but they did some research, looking at books and websites to know anything about it. He decides against it for now, even when his hindbrain whines, No-preen! -wings-hurt! Tommy shakes his head. He couldn’t fall into instincts. His wings flap and flail without his permission. Taking on a sentience, moving to curl around him and in an attempt to hold them off Tommy combs through the damaged feathers lightly. His mind feels foggy as he tries to pull his wings tight against his back. He hates the feeling in his head of wrongness, that he shouldn’t ignore his wings and he hates it more because he knows it’s right. Tommy just flops down onto the ground, sitting with his legs tucked to his chest, his wings twitching sadly. The fog from his hind brain spreading over his mind.

“Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice comes from around the corner. “You there- oh…” From anyone else’s point of view Tommy is sitting on the floor randomly. To Tubbo, Tommy is having a rare instinct moment. “Toms?” Tommy lifts his head to look at Tubbo, his pupils were fully dilated, a small sound slipping out.

A chirp.

Tubbo’s head tilts to the side, he almost never sees this side of Tommy, it’s an extremely affectionate and…protective? Side. “Oh Toms…” Tommy responds with another chirp and his wings flap. Tubbo turns to grab Ranboo who is surely awake but too awkward to come out but the moment he moves to leave Tommy whines and stands on wobbly legs. “It’s alright Toms, I’m just getting Boo.” Tommy clings onto Tubbo’s arm tightly, fingers clenching. “Tommy it’s alright, stay here for a moment.” Tommy’s eyes widen before he reluctantly lets go. Tubbo knocks on Ranboo’s door, it opens promptly but slowly, and Ranboo takes one look at Tubbo’s expression his eyes soften.

“Where?”

“Come on.” Tubbo leads Ranboo to the living room to where Tommy stands, the moment the blondes eyes land on them he launches at them. Vice grip on both of them as he pulls them close and his wings struggle to enclose them. Tubbo and Ranboo lead the avian to the couch, Tommy pulls them both close and his wings try to encircle them like a member of a flock would do for another. The wings are weak, dirty and sore, and Tommy whines at the pain that flares. “Toms, do you want us to help preen your wings?” Tommy stills but then relaxes and gives a small nod. “Boo? Could you call Tommy’s work to let him know he’s taking a personal day?” Ranboo nods and has to reach with his ladder arms to grab his phone as Tommy would not let go. Chirping when they moved a little too far. The call lasted a few minutes and once it ended Tommy lets himself be facing away from his friends. Hindbrain pleased with him now that he was finally letting himself relax within his instincts. A sign of his feeling safe with his friends. Tubbo guides Tommy to sit on a blanket on the floor so both he and Ranboo can preen Tommy’s wings. When they move to start though, they realise Tommy’s refusal to care for his wings was much worse when their fingers come back with dirt crumbling to the floor.

Ranboo looks at the wings sadly. “Tommy, you’re going to have to have a shower and wash your wings.” Tommy is silent before his head turns and looks at them, eyes clear for a moment and full of protest before his pupils dilate again. He goes to the bathroom spends half an hour, barely aware of what he was doing, cleaning his wings, easing the soreness and dirt away. By the time he steps outs of the shower, the floor under the shower head is still draining of dirt and water. Tommy emerges from the bathroom to his friends chatting.

When they turn to him their eyes widen and all talking ceases. They stare with wide eyes and slack jaws. Before they rush forward and look him over. When Tommy’s confusion is noticed they rush him to the mirror where Tommy is shocked out of instincts- at least for a moment- because Tommy’s wings are clean. Their colour is clear. Or…colours. Tommy’s wings are beautiful. They are a vibrant red and the ends look like they were dipped in gleaming gold that blended into little speckles dotted on the red. They are still slightly matted and many still crooked but they look better. Not healthier. Cleaner but not healthier. That came with proper nutrition and trimming that cut only dead and damaged feathers, with low stress environment and avian parents to teach and nurture their child. Tommy doesn’t have that. He has high stress, trauma, fear and not the food meant for his species.

Tommy’s eyes dilate and a small trill escapes his clogging up throat and tumbles from his lips. Tubbo and Ranboo sit him down once more and begin to finally preen their friends almost new-looking wings. The comb their fingers through with extreme care and gentle tug the broken feathers out, they straighten the crooked ones with attention to detail and are rewarded with Tommy’s sleepy avian replies of chirps and trills. By the time the last feather is placed in the small pile Tommy has dozed off, content and safe. Tubbo and Ranboo pick Tommy up, mindful of his wings and place him on his bed. They finish getting ready for work, knowing their dallying time is up Tubbo leaves a note on the table for Tommy to read when he wakes along with a small vile of something. And they head off to another day of work. Though already eager for the day to end and get back home to their friend.

Tommy’s eyes refuse to open despite their constant fluttering. He brings a heavy hand to rub his eyes and glares when he sees his clock time.

09:37

Tommy bolts up, he is so going to be fired. His work doesn’t tolerate lateness without a killer excuse. One Tommy is sure he can conjure but it’s still a gamble. Tommy scrambles to pull his work clothes out when he notices something. Something missing. There is no twinge of pain. No grimacing. No whines in the back of his mind about preening and flocks. The voice is oddly quiet. Almost…sated. Tommy looks over his shoulder to see his wings. And they practically shine. Their straight, any and all previously broken feathers gone. He jolts as he remembers the early hours of his morning.

“Tommy? You there- oh”

“Boo, can you call Tommy’s work?”

Tommy- it’s alright- it’s just a shower, we’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“Toms! Your wings! Their so fuckin’ cool!”

“Aww Boo look- he’s falling asleep.”

“Didn’t he have coffee just earlier?”

“Yep, he’s been putting this off so long this is the result.”

Tommy throws his head in his hands and groans. He had tried so fucking hard not to fall into his instincts. To give in. He has ruined all his progress. Tommy will admit it feels incredible to have clean wings, to have the weight of the dirt and horrible feelings that came with it off of him, but he can’t do it again for some months. Keep the instincts away. Tommy’s fingers catch a less fluffy feather.

A flight feather.

He’ll have to cut it out. He wishes he could fly, to soar- no! He can’t let that pathetic wish break free of its treasure chest. Buried under the sands of his mind.

Barred from surfacing.

Years Prior

“Tommy, your flight feathers connect you to your inhumanness. To your animal side.”

“But- others can fly- others with wings fly and it’s fine-” He’s interrupted.

“They aren’t like you Tommy!”

“What am I like then?”

“A special little thing. A child. Tommy listen. If you fly like the others then you’ll be shot down immediately. And killed. Hybrids and humans alike despise what you are. You’ll put others and yourself in danger.”

“What am I?”

“If you’re lucky. You’ll never know.”

Tommy’s eyes refocus and he realises he’s holding a new set of flight feathers. Well. Previous new set. His blood darkens the feathers more and stains his hands. He is quick to shove the feathers in the bin under everything else. He learned a while ago that trying to burn them seemingly did nothing. The feathers were always untouched. Tommy’s eye flit around and he relocks that particular door in his head and turning the lights of its corridor off. He catches a small note and a vile of pinkish liquid. The note is scrawled in Tubbo’s neat script.

Tommy,

I know by the time you read this you’ll have remembered.
I’m sorry that you were so against this and that we
technically went behind your back on this. But I know you
know that it was unhealthy. We love you Toms, we want
to help. The vile is regen for your injuries. Forgive us?
Btw. I called in sick for you.

Your Tubbo.

Tommy frowns, of course Tubbo is right. He usually is with knowledge about hybrids, having the best education out of the trio. Tommy takes the vial in one go and settles into the couch. He had nothing to do but relax. So Tommy snatches a blanket from his room and the T.V. remote from the bench. He snuggles in and flicks through movies until one that seems decent comes along.

Guess I can sit here for a while. He thinks.

Tommy has watched two movies and cleaned the little mess of the apartment when he finds himself bored out of mind. His energy levels are very high and Tommy decides to the last job that could possibly be done. Shopping. He doesn’t do it usually because the thought of anyone accidently touching or seeing his wings under his cloak makes his throat shut and shut tight. He slows his breathing as his shaking hands pick up the list and the money next to it, puts on his cloak, plucks his keys from the bowl by the door and heads off.

The usual forty-minute walk- Ranboo usually uses a valet car which means ten-minute drive- to the upper district is cut in half. Not surprising considering Tommy basically runs there. Energy not waning for a moment. Tommy scans the isles and picks the items Tubbo has written down.

1. Milk
2. Bread
3. Cheese
4. Bacon
5. Butter
6. Spaghetti
7. Bolognese

Passing a short lady with brown hair and an avian with jet black wings and sandy blonde hair that makes Tommy’s instincts shout in both glee and fear, Tommy only briefly stops to look at the avian food products with slight longing before he briskly walks away after noticing the stare from the older avian. All in all the items equal around eighty dollars. All they can afford. Not awful. But still. As Tommy pays his wings twitch slightly, uncomfortable with the cloak weighing on his wings so heavily. Usually he’s jumping from roof to roof with this cloak on so the weight is lessened but right now he’s still and they don’t like it. He manages not to wince when they cramp and pay. He’s outside and taking a breath when something brushes his cloak. And more importantly. His wings underneath. The limbs crumple further with cramping. When Tommy whirls He finds the other avian beside him. A smile that shines brightly stark on his face. Eyes a brilliant sky. His a hair dirty blonde under the shade.

“Hey mate,” His voice is light and sincere. And welcoming. “you know any avians?” Tommy freezes, the man seems to notice and his smile falters slightly before brightening once more. “Well, I bought an extra of these by accident. I won’t eat it before it needs to be eaten. So might as well give it to someone who probably will.”

Tommy exhales. He knows the man likely saw what he was looking at and decided to be charitable. Tommy didn’t take charity but he couldn’t pass the chance to have real food that would fill him up. Besides, if it would go bad before he could eat it, why wouldn’t Tommy take it. Y’know. To not waste perfectly good food. “Uh, sure sir.” Tommy opens his bag and allows the man to drop a box of something with ‘Avian Based’ written on the corner.

The man’s smile somehow brightens, “please. Don’t call me sir, I’m not that old.”

“Sorry sir- man- uhh-” Tommy flushes as he flounders for what to call the avian. The winged man just chuckles heartedly.

“Please. Call me Phil.”

Tommy, feeling brave replies with, “Cool name for an old man.”

“Aye!” The man- Phil -squawks. But he laughs lightly, making Tommy’s constricting lungs relax and take in a breath.

“Anyway, gotta go. Bye sir- Phil!” Tommy sprints back towards his apartment. Ignoring as his hindbrain approaches with a question.

Friend?

Tommy was tricked. The box of avian food couldn’t go bad. It was made to be that way. The food simply had a non-existent expiration date. Tommy frowns but it has no real anger. He had gotten food that catered towards his diet with nothing but a conversation. Tommy spend the next few hours going between cooking up dinner for his friends and him and his latest art piece. When he finishes the last detail, he finds himself extremely happy with it. A brand-new feeling. Drawing Tommy is strong yet gentle, he is funny and protective. He is surrounded by his family. His flock. He is free. Unlike real Tommy. Real Tommy isn’t free. His wings would get him and his friends killed. Them for merely being his friends- his family. Him, for being a deadly monster. When Tubbo and Ranboo trek into the apartment Tommy has food out for them. And a framed art piece as a gift. He tells them that it means he will always be there. He vows with ferocity that he will look out for them and be theirs. Theirs to depend on. Theirs to call when everything hurts or goes to shit. Their brother and friend.

He doesn’t cry when they tearfully hug him and return the vow with equal promise.

He doesn’t snuggle close and lay his wings over their backs and tuck them close. He doesn’t promise one final thing when they lay slumbering next to him.

“I will never harm you. I will give my life to let you keep yours.”

When Ranboo and Tubbo wake a few hours later, Tommy is ready, in full gear, eager to be a help and a nuisance. Tubbo is in his chair, computer set up and running, Tommy is leaping from building to building, wings gliding weakly after the badly removed flight feathers moment. And Ranboo? Ranboo is fidgeting like if he stops moving the world ends. Ready to scoop Tommy out of danger at moment’s notice. Ranboo, while he is very socially awkward around new people, is not someone you want to anger- even though he doesn’t anger unless you push the only two buttons he has- hurting Tubbo and hurting Tommy. They were the first to accept his battered and broken self with no thoughts of repayment. Simply friendship. They were the first to guide him through his pain. To comfort him when he enderwalked. Gaining the alter self’s respect and dare he say, love. The two sides were very different. One was a social dumpster fire and the other was a creature of cold threats and death. The side that only emerged when Ranboo panicked bad enough, rising to protect. It gave him certain instincts that were hard to shove down. Instincts that helped him locate Tubbo or Tommy in any crowd. To snatch them away from danger. Tommy’s second job was worrying but it made him happy. Made him feel useful. Something he needed desperately. Tommy refused to talk about anything before his eleventh birthday. Saying things like “pfft- it was a boring time big man. Nothing interesting.” And “Don’t worry boob boy. Everything was good. I learned a lot.” Ranboo is unsettled with how little he truly knew about Tommy’s first eleven years of life but he would not pry. Tommy would tell them if they needed to know. That was a fact.

Tommy sits on the edge of one of the tallest buildings in Essempi. Tubbo and Ranboo have turned in, the last few hours enough to push their exhaustion into focus, even if at first Ranboo protested at Tommy not having a quick way home he relented. Tommy’s legs dangle over the edge. The height pumping his adrenaline. He knows he’d be fine if he fell. His wings would guide him down safely, but it’d also raise questions. Tommy scans the city, eyes falling on the layout of the upper district. District 1. Ever since Tommy learned the way the world worked he wanted to be a hero. To be called a hero. To save lives daily and make a difference. Life had other plans. And that was that. Some people have powers. Some aren’t all human. Some are both. Some are full blooded humans with no powers. He happens to have a power to add to his non-status. He could sense energies. Everywhere. All kinds. Even manipulate some. He could find someone anywhere in the city, the world if he was familiar enough with their energy signal. His power was an on and off switch. With it mostly turned off unless he was in his vigilante getup. Neither Ranboo nor Tubbo had powers but neither cared. They would say, “Powers are overrated. Except yours. Yours is pog.”

Heroes have powers. All of them. It is a requirement that they have a power to assist them. Most of them barely assist anyone. At least in the lower districts. No heroes bother. Except a few. Those are the ones that Tommy respects, they patrol the areas that really need it and help vigilantes- rarely- if a bigger villain arises.

Tommy is readying himself- mentally and physically- to leap from the building when a pulsing pushes on the right side of his head. Tommy turns to see a shadow heading directly towards the building. With a small yelp, Tommy dashes and hides behind a radio tower, his black gear hiding him from sight as the number one hero lands without making a sound, on the roof. The heroes outfit a garb of shining black armour, a plague mask and a long jacket that surely hold many weapons. But Tommy gazes upon the wings of ebony darkness the man has. From his spot behind he can see them with startling clarity. Sleek pristine feathers, wings twice the size of Tommy’s. A slight twinge of jealously sneaks up on him. This man can fly. He can fly and not worry about the death of those closest to him, without the fear of innocent blood on his hands. Zephyrus stands where Tommy was moments ago, he sighs as he seems to drink the city in from above it. When Zephyrus opens his wings again Tommy assumes he’s leaving. But all it does is reveal the tell-tale signs of Zephyrus’s power.

Shadow Whip.

The black inky substance crawling further up his arm as tendrils of night shoot for Tommy and he is quick to try and dodge. Key word. Try. The Tendrils snake around the teen’s body and lift him closer, while the pressure is excruciating for Tommy’s wings, Shadow Whip holds no nerves and doesn’t connect to Zephyrus’ nerves so it can’t alert Zephyrus of the appendages. Which he is glad.

Zephyrus turns to face the vigilante and Tommy goes cold at the sight of the plague mask up close.

Zephyrus croons. “Why hello…Caelus”

Tommy’s body is locked up tight, fear pouring into every muscle of his body as the he draws nearer to the hero. Despite Tommy’s respect for Zephyrus Tommy didn’t really want to see him up close while on patrol, not if he wanted to spend the rest of his life in the prison known as Pandora’s Vault.

With false bravado Tommy chokes out a “Why hello to you too.” Tommy winces when Shadow whip loosens and his wings flutter in attempt to be free. “Feel like letting me go?” He quips.

Zephyrus laughs, light and indulgent. Surprisingly though, Zephyrus complies with Tommy’s request and his grip disappears entirely. Not expecting the sudden release Tommy’s legs fly out behind him and he falls right to the ground with a faceplant.

“MOTHER FUCKER- WHY DID YOU DO THAT!?” Tommy screams over the barriers of concrete and his voice changer.

“You asked mate.” Zephyrus’s voice is amused. “You gonna get up?”

Tommy has half a mind to say ‘no’ and stay laying right where he is. But he decides it’s not a wise choice considering the number one hero is next to him and could very well bring him in. Muttering a few curses, Tommy rises to his feet and stares daggers at the man. Wings fighting his every ounce of restraint to break the straps holding them to the cloak, with the wings now clean they would be a bright mark amongst the dark sky. So Tommy has to keep them firmly tucked in.

“What do you want.” Tommy winces at his ‘not really a question’ tone.

Zephyrus sombers and looks closely at Tommy, he sighs, Tommy’s face is unreadable after all. “How can you see in that thing?”

Tommy is hesitant to answer anything the man asks. A single snippet of loose information could lead to his downfall and Tommy quite frankly, whether or not he could last under torture was not a skill he wanted to test.

Though I’m sure after eleven years of hell whatever they throw at me would be nothing. His bitter thoughts echo. What about Tubbo and Ranboo? If the heroes get to them?

Not an option. A small voice pipes up. It is a voice young but it has more fire then probably even Tommy could muster.

“Uh mate? I asked a question.” Tommy shakes his head and looks to see Zephyrus in a new stance. Arms crossed and surely a firm look under the mask.

“Not telling you.” Tommy’s mimics Zephyrus’s stance with a frown touching his lips. Not that the hero could see that.

“Why not?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business how you can see or it’s none of my business why you’re not telling me.”

“Both.” Tommy strides past the man, determined to flee the unwanted conversation. Zephyrus must think he wants to see the view because he steps aside with no comment. A mistake. When Tommy stands before the drop he pauses, with a hidden smirk he turns back to face Zephyrus. The man no one knows whether or not he has two powers or is an avian. “You know. I don’t know whether you’re an idiot or one of the good ones. And I dislike that quite a bit.” Tommy’s voice is matter of fact, and as much as he enjoys the incredible display of emotion the man can do with his face covered, Tommy has to leave. With a salute he offers one last comment.

“SEE YOU IN HELL BITCH!”

And falls backwards into the open air.

The winds whip and lash at Tommy but never hurt, they couldn’t hurt him. Tommy looks up to see Zephyrus at the edge of the roof. And Tommy’s glee is short lived when the man leaps after him, with a small grumble Tommy rolls his body so he is nose diving instead of falling back first. But he doesn’t stay that way for longer then a moment before his wings- and cloak- snap out, catching the wind and Tommy’s gliding faster then he ever has, zipping by buildings with unfathomable speed in his eyes. He lets out a whoop and shouts of joy at his Walmart flying. When he starts to slow, Tommy dips down, making arcs going from up and down to keep his decent safe. When he’s close enough to the ground his wings pull in and Tommy lands with practiced ease. He scans the area for any crimes he can stop on his way home and is relieved to find nothing. He slips through alleys and scales run down buildings to discourage any people of following him, when his own apartment building rears its slightly ugly self around a corner, Tommy sighs. He’s tired and he would like to collapse into his bed and just fucking crash.

Some god somewhere must be listening to Tommy and feeling particularly spiteful because the next movement Tommy made was not a step forward. But crashing into the sidewalk and staring into the eyeless mask of Zephyrus’s hero gear. Tommy’s head smacks the pavement and his wings for once, go completely limp. Tommy bites his tongue to cut off the scream when pain doesn’t just crawl up his body but stomps on every part of him. He’s pretty sure his shoulder is broken and his wing bones are cracked, which make Tommy’s eye water. Not at the pain but the lost use of his wings. Sure he never took care of them and sure he only used them as Caelus but they were always there. Always his one connection to the sky and his version of freedom.

Zephyrus’s body language is rigid and seemingly angry. So it’s no surprise when his next words are verging on snarls. “How did you do that. And do not fuck around with your answer.” His hands are around Tommy’s throat and his knee is in Tommy’s ribs, putting pressure on already damaged limbs.

Despite his body crying out at any movement, Tommy struggles under Zephyrus and with his fear, if he’s taken back he’ll be found out. They’ll kill him. And once they follow his life to Tubbo and Ranboo They’ll kill them too. “So you are an avian…” Tommy’s comment is confirmed when the man tenses subtly. So he continues. “I jumped. I didn’t fall. What old man, you blind?” Tommy quips. He regrets it slightly when the hands tighten.

“Don’t kid me around.”

Welp. Some good old irony is always nice.

“I know everyone is this city with powers related to flight and every avian in this city. You must be among them.” Zephyrus’s voice is accusatory.

Tommy grins. “Sorry you bitchy old man, but I ain’t telling you shit.” He knows that is must seem slightly strange for an ‘adult’ to speak the way he does but everyone is strange in some way so he can pass it off to that. Tommy can practically feel the questioning stare from under Zephyrus’s mask raking over his face for any exposed skin. Any indication of Tommy’s true age. Or missing adult avian features hidden under his gear and armour. When Zephyrus finds none he loosens his grip, before reluctantly removing his hold entirely, standing tense by Tommy’s side. Now usually Tommy would jump up and leave, leave the hero or villain without a possible prisoner or hostage. But Tommy is in immense pain at the current moment and therefore does not feel that sitting up immediately. After a few slow seconds, Tommy struggles into sitting position. Vision wavering briefly. When it clears Tommy sees a gloved hand in front of him, mentally yelling for his arm to obey his brains commands does nothing so Tommy simply ignores the hand. Only for said hand to snatch his upper arm and yank him upwards. Tommy cries out at the first lash of pain but lets out no more than that.

Zephyrus hums. “I thought you were more durable than that.” Tommy scowls beneath his mask but says nothing. Leaving the conversation before it can start. When he takes a step out of Zephyrus’s reach the avian just reaffirms his grip, unaffected by Tommy’s pained grunt. “You. Are not going anywhere until I get my answer.”

Well I’m not talking to an asshole hero who thinks he can boss me around. Tommy mentally quips.

But this time. When Tommy goes to break Zephyrus’s hold, the hero snarls at him. “What are you.” The voice is so guttural that Tommy balks. And with a surge of adrenaline he snatches his hand out of Zephyrus’s hold and bolts. Legs moving on autopilot to an abandoned building he can use to glide a round about way home. When he reaches it he wastes no time in leaping into warmer air. Wings flicking out to catch him. He snaps his gaze back constantly to check for being followed but finds no-one.

Tommy scales the side of the building and slips in through his window, he shrugs off his gear- half throwing it into the area behind the false wall- and collapses onto his bed. His eyes flutter open and shut for a brief time before falling halfway. His adrenaline and alertness interfering with his ability to relax and sleep. His eyes unfocus and everything objects distinct lines slip away.

Tommy’s door opens but with his vision blurred the figures are indistinguishable and his lagging mind has trouble processing as he’s poked and prodded. Voices unable to filter through to his thoughts to the recognition part of his brain and Tommy falls under into unconsciousness as the whirring and buzzing noises fade to nothing.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s eyes flicker open. Crusted sleep begging to be removed. His mind slowly catches up with what happened and he shudders. He was almost caught. Taking a moment to focus his sight Tommy finds his vision obscured, Tommy goes to rub his eyes only to find his limbs trapped by another set of limbs. He then realises that his head is someone’s shoulder and they are holding him in quite the grip. At first he thinks it’s Tubbo, but he dismisses that when a small ‘vroop’ echoes in his ear. Boob boy.

Tommy struggles his arms to free them from the hug but is growled at. So it’s this guy huh. Tommy knows that even if Ranboo was worried he’d let Tommy up, or at least out of his grip but this guy, his…alter self? Does not. He settles himself down for a forcible cuddle session when it’s clear he cannot escape. Tommy closes his eyes and lets himself drift off.

When Tommy’s consciousness bumps the surface again, it is to hushed conversation about him while a hand brushes through his hair.

“How is he?”

“Better. The numbing agent worked really well. So he shouldn’t feel it for a day or so. But he won’t be able to glide for a few weeks. How are we going to tell him?…”

“I don’t know. He might be ok or he might into panic mode.”

“My moneys on the latter.”

“We share money, that gives me nothing.”

“I know dumbass!”

Tommy, deciding that was enough eavesdropping, lifted his head to glare at Ranboo. Ranboo, not expecting him to be awake, was startled but regained his composure when Tommy tried to once again removed him from the near-death grip. Ranboo gently removed himself from Tommy’s side, allowing him to see a very distressed Tubbo. Tommy, being the big man he is, recognises when his friends needs a hug but when the blonde goes to stand Ranboo doesn’t let Tommy out of bed.

“Ranboo, my friend. Why.” He whines.

Ranboo gives Tommy a look. “You know why.”

Tommy grumbles but settles for a glare and lets himself relax in sitting position on the bed. “An explanation is in question I guess?” When they both nod Tommy launches into a detailed run down of what transpired. Both of his flock members expressions pass through a series of emotions, fear, worry, anger and finally settling on a mix of every single one.

Tubbo looks at Ranboo and they both nod before turning back to Tommy. “Tommy… we need to tell you something…”

“I know.”

“That’s impossible.” Ranboo whispers.

“You idiots were talking when I woke up. I heard.”

Tubbo looks quizzically at him. “And you’re not panicking?”

Tommy is confused for a moment before he realises that Tubbo is worried about the avian part of him being panicky about the loss of flight. His face softens even as he looks over the heavily bandaged wings, testing movement with surprisingly no pain. “Tubs, I rarely use them anyway. It just means Caelus will have to have a break from high-speed airway runaways from the criminals and heroes. It’s nothing, it also gives me a break to only have to worry about work. It’ll be nice honestly, before the self-hatred kicks in but we’ll put out that fire if we come across it.”

Tommy continues to babble so he doesn’t see Ranboo’s and Tubbo’s face’s fall. When he does he’s quite baffled at the looks he’s being given. “What’s up guys?”

Tubbo looks about ready to cry. “Tommy…you’re wings…”

Tommy’s even more confused. “I know.”

“Toms, they can’t be binded or tucked in for a while…”

Tommy freezes like he’s just been shot dead. He might be if Tubbo is telling the truth.

“What do you mean?” Tommy’s voice shakes slightly.

“Your wings…they have to heal properly and if you do what you’ve been doing while they are healing the bones will heal in a way where you won’t be able to open them. You’d have to break them again and heal them again which starts the whole process all over again.”

“Tubbo…if I can’t hide them…I- I can’t work.”

“Tommy…this might be a sign to stop hiding them.” Ranboo looks slightly pained when Tommy flinches, hard, but he continues on anyway. “I know how you feel about that but this way you live is not healthy and it’s hurts us to see you this way.”

It’s a slightly low blow to say that it hurts them to see him hurt, even when he half knows their right and half believes they are wrong.

“We can pick up extra shifts if you’re answer is still no.”

“No!” The word is said so sharply that the trio jolts. “You guys have enough shifts already. I- I don’t know…I-” Breathing becomes slightly difficult. “He always said no. What do I do? He always said no-”

Tubbo and Ranboo swiftly take places at Tommy’s side.

“Who Tommy? Who always said no?”

“I- he- always said I couldn’t or there’d be consequences.”

“Who Tommy. Who is he?” Ranboo repeats. “Because whoever he is shouldn’t have told you that. Living with your wings out in the open should be freeing not terrifying or come with consequences.”

Tommy looked slightly befuddled. “There shouldn’t?”

“There shouldn’t.” Tubbo affirms.

That. Was not in Tommy’s vocabulary of feelings related to his wings. “O-oh…maybe… then.”

“Ok… it’s a maybe. We can work on that.”

Tommy is glad they don’t press further about exactly who he was.

Tommy stands at the door to the hallway outside their apartment, cloak noticeably absent. His wings were in a splint to keep them from healing wrong and Tommy…well Tommy was a stiff as a board. It had taken three days of Tubbo’s encouragements and Ranboo’s soft reassurances-and a triad of panic attacks- for them to truly convince Tommy that keeping his wings hidden would only hurt more in the long run. That he was allowed to relish in the fact that he had wings and that they were a gift, not a reason for shame.

Even then it took Tommy making them agree to register Tommy as a late bloomer and that his wings were a power, and he wasn’t a hybrid. Too much attention was focused on Avian culture because it was so rare. Tommy knows that he’d just be taken from his flock to be studied.

Tommy glares disdainfully at the door, personally offended that at its existence.

“You’d think that door had made an awful joke with the way you’re staring at it.” Tubbo pipes up.

Tommy’s frown deepens. “I don’t like this.”

Ranboo comes up next to Tommy. “This will be good for you.” Ranboo looks critically at Tommy’s bruised and battered skin. “Don’t walk to work. I’ll drive you and pick you off, no swift movements either.” Tommy’s mouth opens to protest but Tubbo shushes him. “No arguments. Your ribs are cracked and a few are broken. They are healing with the regeneration but usually patients are on bedrest for a week.” Tommy makes a whining sound. “You’re lucky Zephyrus didn’t snap you in half. You’re bones aren’t fully developed.”

Tommy slumps but nods, nonetheless. Ranboo and Tommy say goodbye to Tubbo and make their way to work. Ranboo repeats Tommy’s instructions to not aggravate his injuries and drops him off. When Tommy steps in front of the door the two guards stop him.

“Who’re you?”

Tommy’s face morphs into a perfectly offended expression.

“It’s Thomas. Thomas Simons.” He holds up his ID card and they gesture to his wings, asking for explanation.

“I’m a late bloomer. Power wise not hybrid wise. They aren’t fully developed.” The guard to his left examines his ID, passes it back and opens the door.

The day passes quite slowly and Tommy’s wings prove quite difficult to ignore when they lash pain down every part of his back, but he pushes through and completes the paperwork that needs to be done. He’s packing up when his boss calls him in for a chat. Tommy knows what its about and he knows that it’s possible his boss won’t believe he isn’t a hybrid. Tommy follows his boss into the spacious office, he neglects to sit and stands patiently as the man moves behind his desk.

“Thomas I assume you know why you’re here.”

“I do.”

“Then I won’t have to ask.”

Tommy swallows but repeats the story he’s practiced a dozen times.

“I see. And what of the bandages.”

“My wings aren’t fully developed or grown, so the bandages are to prevent any bacteria and wrong growth.”

His boss hums thoughtfully. “Alright. You can go now. But let me know if you need time off.”

Tommy nods and leaves the office. Once he’s outside he sees Ranboo has already arrived and is waiting for him. They idly chat as Ranboo drops him off at the apartment and heads back to work. Tommy sighs and takes the elevator up to his floor. Tubbo is already in their apartment and taking out a few viles of regeneration and a singular vile of healing. Tommy immediately wants to protest that Tubbo shouldn’t be spending extra money on him. Especially something as expensive as potions.

“Don’t start big man. I didn’t buy this.”

“Then how?”

“Sam noticed the change in your registration and gave them to me for your wings, he knows an Avian and they said they growing wings was as painful as being ripped in half.”

“That sounds about right.”

Tubbo grimaces on Tommy’s behalf and hands Tommy a regen vile who downs it gratefully. Tubbo ushers Tommy to his room and sits him on the bed. Tubbo redoes Tommy’s bandages and splint and tells his to sleep and he’ll be woken when dinner is ready.

The next few weeks pass with little incident and many movie nights and cuddles. The family of three settling into a beautiful calm.

Too bad it can’t last.

In the Hero Agency

Philza Craft was in a speculative mood. His interaction with a certain vigilante had set him on a hyperfocus of trying to find out anything and everything about him. When and where he showed up, age, names of his allies and conspirators, his power, and if he was a hybrid or not. But the vigilante had not shown up in weeks. So far he has one answer.

Caelus showed up in Essempi a three years ago, with nothing more than a hoodie, cargo pants, a mask and cloak as his getup, but not a month later he had some of the best gear on the market. The vigilante was agile and quick, which suggested an ability related to speed but he couldn’t run any faster than a track kid in school. He was smart and could tell when someone was trying to surprise him, most of the time anyway. That would suggest super hearing or a location ability, but the vigilante had glided in his escape from Phil. He could have access to elemental power or he could be an avian. He’d have to test it.

“Dad~ Techno’s wondering if he could do my paperwork for me - OW! YOU DICK!” Phil’s youngest son Wilbur, shouts, his voice jumping an octave at the end.

“I said no such thing.” Comes the monotone sound of his oldest.

Phil lowers his head and decides to holler back, “Wilbur you gotta fill out the paperwork mate. What case is it?”

Wilbur comes around the corner to stand on the doorway to Phil’s study. “It’s that metal guy, you know the one who could control metal as long as it was touching his skin.”

Phil nods. That was certainly not a fun one, he strained his wing avoiding the metal spears being launched at him. The guy had stolen some old evidence from the police station relating to an old case. And until the now re-opened case was settled it had to go to the hero evidence locker.

“I’m guessing you have to drop it off and do the filing?”

Wilbur bangs his head on the door frame and stops his way back to his room.

Phil shakes his head in amusement. He can’t do anymore research into Caelus until the guy resurfaces so Phil decides he’ll take a break and mess with his sons.

Hero Evidence Locker

Tommy has been in a dazzling mood since taking a break. The suspected self-hate never arriving, Tommy was too entrapped with the way his wings felt not being restrained. He felt a fraction of what gliding felt like but that was enough for him. He hadn’t even fallen back into his instincts! His friends (more like brothers/flock) were right. He was wrong.

So maybe He was wrong about other things.

Tommy’s mood throughout this particular day didn’t waver until just before the end of it.

When The Syndicate walked into the building. All sleek and powerful.

He had been perfectly fine until one of them noticed him. Until The Blade walked up to him and looked at him with such and scrutinizing gaze that a bob formed in his throat.

“Uh- um- how could- can! I help you today?”

The Blade looks carefully at Tommy, or more specifically, his wings. “What happened.”

Tommy knows he gesturing to the bandages on his right wing and lack there of on his left. Tubbo said the right needed more time since it took the brunt of Tommy’s weight and impact of the wall.

Summoning up bravado he did not feel Tommy puts on a face of ‘none of your fucking business’ and speaks. “New power Blade, one still needs time so I kept the bandages on.”

Blade looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Your lyin’.”

Tommy looks offended to cover up his fear. “I am not! Besides it’s none of your business!”

“What’s going on over here?” Tommy looks over to see Zephyrus and Coeus. Right, he forgot they names of Greek myths. Zephyrus freezes when he sees Tommy and his wings.

Tommy rolls his eyes and picks up his belongings, ready to shout and be annoying him but his boss looks on carefully from his office so Tommy must silence himself and speak with politeness he does not feel. “Look, I received my power recently, they were quite painful and have to grow and strengthen like normal wings, so they don’t look very good. I’d like to be left alone now.” He doesn’t wait for an answer and storms past them.

He waits until he sees Tubbo to panic.

With Dream

Dream steps lightly around litter to avoid making a sound. Schlatt had sent him to investigate reports of red vines and lights overtaking certain areas of the city, and told him to do it alone, even though Sapnap would have been much better against plant life with his fire power. Even if it was demonic plant life.

Dream follows the trail of overgrowth to a dimly lit warehouse. He feels dread and unease pool in his gut but he treads on. When he slips inside through a window, he immediately feels the tension in his shoulders rise, and an alarm blares in his chest. It’s a trap.

And he’s walked right into it.

Dream scrambles to the window but finds blood-soaked vines blocking his path.

Dream turns and what he sees drops his stomach to his feet.

“Oh fuck no.”

Chapter Text

Tommy’s heart is pounding. Sweat is pooling on his body. He can hear his heart in his ears, it’s thumping everywhere. His mind, throat, its fast thump thump thump is shaking his bones. Or is that something else? His feelings his very bones trembling so hard they might shatter. His eyes are unfocused and everything is doubled. His hearing is static and so, incredibly far away. A blurry figure is holding him tight, trying to stop the endless quaking. Tommy feels nausea crawl up his throat, clawing at the dryness of his mouth and he grips the arms holding his. Releasing and gripping to get the message he cannot speak across. They seem to haul Tommy to what is hopefully the toilet in time for him to violently retch into it.

The jitteriness doesn’t leave as he vomits out the wisps of food in his aching stomach, but it slows. His vision clears enough that he can catch a flash of a green sweater before emptying the last of his stomach contents. He collapses next to what he can see now is the toilet and shudders. Chills roll over his spine and he grips his arms so hard his growing talons pierce his shirt and threaten his skin with the same treatment. Tommy blinks harshly to clear the last of the fog from his vision and very weakly smiles at Tubbo’s grim face. His own lips a thin line.

Tommy can see the anger clearly, not directed at him. And he can also see the fear. If Tubbo hadn’t been there Tommy could have vomited in his mouth and choked on it and being unable to breathe, he would have died.

Tommy’s eyes crinkle with fondness for Tubbo. His friend through many obstacles, his brother through hardship. And yet he didn’t know everything. And that felt wrong. He wanted both his brothers to know. It would be easier, and they’d understand certain things.

“I’m alright now…” The lie is easy, said a million times before. Tommy’s voice is ruff, he manages to croak it out. He still feels sweat clinging to him, and he is still shaking. Hard.

Tubbo looks firmly at him. “It’s not that I don’t believe that, which believe me, I do not. But it’s the fact that it happened. Tommy these attacks are getting more frequent.”

Tommy looks down. Tubbo shifts to sit next to his friend and Tommy rests his head on Tubbo’s shoulder. Eyes drifting closed. He needs to tell them. Not just for him, but because they deserve to know. And be aware of the danger.

“Tubs.”

Tubbo makes a hum of acknowledgment.

“When Ranboo gets home I need to tell you guys some things.”

“Okay, Toms.”

Tubbo helps Tommy to the couch, mostly because Tommy’s head is still spinning but also because he can keep him close.

Ranboo opens the door to their apartment an hour or so later and upon seeing Tommy’s fitfully sleeping form, he beelines for Tubbo in the kitchen for an explanation. Tubbo gives him a rundown of what happened and asks him to gently wake Tommy to see if he can eat something light.

Soon the group of three are sitting on the couch, each snuggled with a bowl of Greek yogurt, berries, and oats. Munching away as an episode from their favourite YouTuber played on a phone, propped up on the table.

They pitter off into a tense silence, Tubbo and Ranboo waiting for Tommy to prompt the talk he wanted to have.

Tommy, feeling the palpable atmosphere, hums his signal he is ready to talk. Both his flock mates sit up straighter and turn to face Tommy, giving their full attention.

“I used to be an experiment…”

The warm air rises too high to be felt. Leaving cold silence and rigid bodies on either side of Tommy. With a sigh, he wraps his healing wings around the trio and continues.

“I don’t remember my birth family, only the smell of bleach, stone white walls, needles, ruff hands gripping my wings so hard I thought they’d snap…and Him. I never was told his name. I only called him Doctor or Sir. I never imprinted either, our relationship was that of subject and researcher. He gave me food that was wrong but edible and art supplies. The best that money could buy. I never ran out completely. Yet he never gave me more than a cot and a raggedy blanket to sleep on. I guess it was how he kept me quiet and pliant. It was how I kept my sanity.”

His pseudo brothers grip his arms with a gentle strength, eyes wide and conveying that he need not go further if he didn’t want too. But Tommy knew if he didn’t say it now then might not ever, just to bury it under his art and random triggers. Which, ironically, originated from there.

“I can heal really fast. It’s in my blood, so too keep me from that…magic? building, he’d…make the energy be spent healing. He’d never use his hands. Always an object to keep his hands clean, he would tear out feathers and take my blood for tests. I don’t know what was so useful about them but he always insisted they were. He also told me that I was a sub-Avian species that, when left unchecked. Could level cities.”

A sharp intake of breath and a static noise are all that shows of the shock Ranboo and Tubbo feel.

“Said that they had a special ritual that involved a first flight and that was how they unlocked such destructive powers. Even babies could send buildings crumbling if they didn’t have control. He knew that if he told me why I couldn’t fly I would listen. The species was thought to have died out. He never said what I was. I didn’t want to know so I never went looking. Still don’t really.”

“Toms- h-how long were you there?” Tubbo’s voice trembles, fearful of Tommy’s answer.

Tommy’s mouth tugs upward slightly. “Y’know the day I we met?”

Tubbo stills.

“I had only just escaped the day before.”

Tubbo’s head moves from side to side in very small movements, as if trying to find the day in his memory.

“Tommy,” Ranboo stumbles over the words. “That’s- that’s fucking 12 years-”

Tommy’s gives a ‘huh’, he never calculated it. Just thought of it as ‘A long fucking time.’ He guess’s it was that long.

“I never really spoke there, wasn’t allowed to unless to answer something…” He trails off, it explains why when they met he was so quiet at first.

Tubbo takes Tommy’s and Ranboo’s hands in a firm grip. Lips quivering slightly.

BACKSTORY

Tubbo’s mother had died during childbirth. Tubbo’s father, while he was distraught, never blamed Tubbo for his mother’s death, nor harmed Tubbo in any way. At least not at first. When Tubbo was thirteen, his father went out to work as normal but when he came back. He was…different.

He would yell and beat Tubbo at the smallest things. He was the complete opposite of what he had been. Like flipping a switch. He burnt Tubbo’s face, leaving jagged scars.

Still. He never blamed Tubbo for his mother’s death. Tubbo was sure that not even once did he even think it was Tubbo’s fault. Even when Tubbo believed it was.

Tubbo was put into a bad foster home on his own for a few months, an awful money hungry couple. A few months into that he met Tommy at a park, they’d always meet up and mess around in the trees. But one day, Tommy didn’t show up. Nor did he the next day. In fact Tommy didn’t show up for months. Until a day in late December when Tubbo’s social worker showed up at his doorstep.

Tommy on their arm.

Tommy had been in and out of foster homes. Bad ones and Tubbo’s social worker had been hoping that since Tubbo had been with that couple long enough they could take Tommy and they would have each other. His fosters had been happy for more money and labour so they gladly accepted, and it was just them for a while.

But before long a third kid was shoved into the family.

His name was Ranboo, a half enderman who came with in… ‘equipment’ to ‘protect’ others in the household from this…broken hostile mob. This included a necklace to make them look utterly human.

They were inseparable in mere weeks. Sticking together, standing up for each other and being each other’s rocks.

They didn’t stay in that system long. Escaping to a motel in the dead of night, using Ranboo’s insane height at his mere age of 13 to pretend to be their guardian to allow for a room using the money that had meant to be used to care for the three but had been put into a safe for hoarding. They had taken it as compensation and even a fair amount of money in the grands wasn’t enough for the pain they’d carry in their older years.

Ranboo was able to snag a café job within a week. Tubbo with looking the least like a hybrid was able to get a job second, with Sam as an assistant to handle calls. Tommy was smart and bound his wings to appear human. He’d long since abandoned his instincts and so he was able to grab an internship to the H.E.L., and so they were underway to independence.

NORMAL STORY

Tubbo pulls Ranboo and Tommy close into a tight hug. They don’t move for a while. Happy to be close.

A few weeks go by and Tommy is feeling better about himself then he has in a long while. Work doesn’t seem so gruelling and the air is fresher then before. It’s light caresses gently soothe his feathers ruffles. But that doesn’t compare to what Tommy’s been doing.

He’s gliding again. But it’s even better. His wings don’t buckle. They don’t feel the harsh speeds so brutally and he’s grappling the idea of flight much more with much less self-hate.

Tommy’s making his way to his cubicle, noticing small stares at his back. Before they look at his workspace. He follows their gaze and notices a box.

It’s wooden with smooth carvings of wings. A note taped to it.

Kid,

I don’t particularly want to overstep but I can’t

in good conscious, not give you something for your

new additions. They’ll be fragile for a while so don’t

overwork yourself. There are instructions for the

items inside.

-Zephyrus

Tommy jolts as he notes the signature. He never expected the hero to do something like this.

Inside is a few oils, and a two combs. One with thin and clumped bristles and another with thick and spaced-out teeth, and a small handbook called, ‘Avians and Their Needs- For familial needs’

This was caretaker behaviour if he ever saw it. Tommy pointedly ignores the part of him that beams that there’s a possible avian worried for him. Because why would Zephyrus not believe his was a power instead of being avian if his was power. But if Zephyrus could tell the difference then he would have to know an avian very well. And there were very few avians in Essempi. They were all heroes. Most avian species disappeared from the city decades ago.

Nevertheless Tommy replaces the items and closes the lid carefully. He goes throw his normal workday and does everything he can not to look at the box. When it’s time to go, Tommy goes to the roof. His box held tightly, it contained his phone and keys as well as the other items.

Tommy’s wings flex instinctively. He loves the way they seem to know what to expect. They seem almost sentient in nature. They have grown as well; they fold in and the bottom feathers still reach the back of his knees, the top of the limbs reach a couple inches above his shoulders. Tommy glances at the drop from the ledge. He told Tubbo and Ranboo how he was getting home.

He is going to fly. His wings are strong enough now. They have regrown their flight feathers. Mostly. They were hesitant but more then happy to see Tommy push past the mental barriers.

Tommy grips the box with his belongings, new and old, he steps onto the ledge. And from it into open air.

Wind lashes at him once again and Tommy freefalls for a few moments before his wings itch outwards. His heart races and his lips split into a grin. It doesn’t last.

Something crashes into Tommy’s right side. Tommy loses his coordination and the person latches onto him.

Tommy looks closely and sees the ebony wings.

Zephyrus.

Fuck.

The winged hero holds Tommy close, mindful of the wings which have tucked themselves close to Tommy’s back, and flies with an urgency back to the roof. Probably because Zephyrus thinks he can’t escape without being swiftly caught again. When Zephyrus lands he doesn’t let Tommy go, no no no. He fusses. Like an old mother hen.

“What in the name of Prime were you thinking!? Are you okay!? Why would you do that!?”

The questions are frantic and in quick succession. Tommy has to physically shove the hero off him and scream in his face.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE I’M FINE!”

Zephyrus’s puffed-up wings jolt and start twitching closer. He’s startled and stumbles over his next words.

“A-…Are you sure mate?”

Tommy takes a subtle step back but Zephyrus follows him and takes a step closer. “Fuckin’ hell. Yes. I’m fine.” Tommy takes a shaky breath. He’d finally found the courage to take that step and the universe sends a hero.

Well it was too fucking late. And now he’s pissed.

“What the hell man. I’d finally felt I could do it! Why’d you stop me!?”

Zephyrus make a choked noise. He sounds horrified. “Mate…dying isn’t…it’s not the answer.”

Oh. Oh. He thought that I…

Tommy takes a steading breath. “I wasn’t trying to…y’know. I was going to take my first crack at flying.”

Zephyrus’s wings stop their twitching, and the man stops moving. “Oh…Mate. You’ve had your wings for less than a few months. They physically cannot be ready to hold your weight. You have to be proficient in gliding before you attempt flight, you have to build that strength over a few years.”

Tommy almost bites back the. I have.

Because he has really. He’s been gliding sporadically for years.

Not enough

A voice hisses in his head. A new voice. He hasn’t heard this one. At least he doesn’t think he has.

He shakes his head. “They grew fast.”

Zephyrus tilts his head.

Tommy huffs. “Part of my power speeds up their growth and healing. They’re special.” A loose explanation. He doesn’t know exactly what was added to his blood those years ago. What he gained and lost. “The doctor said they had the strength already.”

“Which doctor.”

“What?”

“Which. Doctor.”

Tommy’s eye narrow. He can’t answer this question. “Why does it matter?”

“Because they were wrong.” Zephyrus sounds so sure that Tommy nearly tells him that there was no doctor. But Zephyrus continues. “You have to practice; you have to build.” There’s a pregnant pause.

“I could teach you.” Zephyrus says it and recoils, like he didn’t mean to say it.

Tommy is stiff as a board. He cannot be spending his time with the top hero for flight practice when he’s literally a vigilante in his spare time.

“No thank you.”

“Mate.”

“No. Goodbye” Tommy shoves passed the hero and goes to the ledge, the box is still held tightly. He steps onto the ledge again; he’ll glide home instead of flying. He’ll have to walk the distance once he lands. Before Tommy can jump, a chirp sounds behind him.

Stop.

It freezes Tommy’s feet and he hates how he turns. He refuses to be caught as a biological hybrid. He tries to make the turn seem as though he’s choosing to do so. “What the fuck? Why are you doing that?”

“Mate…are you avian…”

“No. I got theses from a late blooming power.” Tommy sneers. “If I was an avian I wouldn’t have my job. Too easy for villains to manipulate if you are a hybrid. Instincts and shit.”

“Mate, that’s not right.”

“Never said it was. But it’s life. Now I’m going.” Tommy once again turns but Zephyrus once again stops him, but this time with his power, Corruption.

“Let me fly you home. Please.”

Tommy is about to vehemently refuse but he realises that his brothers will be worried with how late he is. “…fine.”

Tommy is swiftly hugged to a warm chest and he mumbles where he lives. They launch into the air. It’s exhilarating.

The city sprawls beneath them, lights twinkling like scattered stars. The wind rushes past Tommy’s
face, and for a moment, he forgets everything else—the fear, the past, the complications. It’s just him and the open sky.

Zephyrus guides them smoothly, adjusting his flight for Tommy's comfort. There's a strange mix of tension and ease in the way he handles Tommy, as if torn between protecting him and giving him the freedom to soar. The hero’s movements are precise, calculated, yet there's a subtle grace to them, like he's danced with the air his whole life.

Tommy's mind races, torn between the awe of flight and the questions gnawing at him. Why is Zephyrus doing this? What does he want? He doesn't trust easily, especially not someone who’s part of the system—a hero, no less. But then, there's an odd sincerity in Zephyrus's actions, something that tugs at Tommy's guarded heart.

They land smoothly on the pavement in front of Tommy's apartment building. Zephyrus releases his hold, wings folding neatly against his back. Tommy stumbles back a bit, regaining his balance, and faces the hero with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion.

"Thanks," he mutters, eyes narrowing as he takes in Zephyrus's concerned expression.

"Anytime," Zephyrus replies, his tone unusually gentle. "But promise me, promise you won’t try flying until you're ready. Until you've learned."

Tommy rolls his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering sense of vulnerability. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." He turns to leave, then pauses, glancing back. "Hey, why did you even bother? You didn’t have to."

Zephyrus meets his gaze, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Because sometimes, people need someone to watch their back, even if they don't realize it."

With that cryptic statement hanging in the air, Tommy slips inside the building, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. He heads up to the apartment, finding Tubbo and Ranboo waiting anxiously.

"Where were you?" Tubbo rushes to him, eyes wide with concern.

Tommy waves him off, attempting nonchalance. "Just a detour. No big deal."

Ranboo eyes him sceptically but doesn’t press further. They settle into their usual routine, watching a show together, laughter easing the tension of the day. But Tommy can’t shake off the encounter with Zephyrus.

Days pass, and Tommy finds himself thinking about the hero more often than he’d like. The memory of flying, the rush of wind against his face—it lingers, haunting him. He can't ignore the longing to experience that freedom again.

As Tommy navigates his daily life, Zephyrus appears sporadically, sometimes in the distance, patrolling the city, or caught in a news report about heroics. Each time, Tommy’s heart races a little faster, a mixture of annoyance and something else he can’t quite place.

It’s a cool evening when Tommy spots Zephyrus perched on a rooftop not too far from where he stands. Their eyes meet briefly before Zephyrus takes off, disappearing into the horizon.

Without really considering it, Tommy follows.

He's not sure what compels him—curiosity, the thrill of the chase, or a growing desire to understand this hero who seems determined to involve himself in Tommy’s life. The streets blur past as Tommy darts through alleys, keeping Zephyrus in sight.

They arrive at a park, Zephyrus landing gracefully near a secluded area. Tommy hides behind a tree, observing the hero. Zephyrus seems lost in thought, his wings folded against his back as he gazes up at the sky, a sense of weariness in his stance.

Tommy’s chest tightens at the vulnerability in that moment, a vulnerability he recognizes all too well. He hesitates, debating whether to approach or slip away unnoticed. But something within him urges him forward, a need to understand, to unravel the enigma that is Zephyrus.

He steps out from behind the tree, making his presence known. Zephyrus turns, surprise flickering in his eyes before he composes himself.

“What are you doing here?” Zephyrus’s voice is soft, tinged with a hint of wariness.

Tommy shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant despite the racing of his heart. “Just passing by. Thought I’d see what you’re up to.”

Zephyrus regards him for a moment before gesturing to a nearby bench. “Sit, if you want.”

Tommy hesitates before complying, the distance between them filled with an unspoken tension. They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the distant hum of the city.

Finally, Zephyrus breaks the quiet. “You shouldn’t have followed me. It’s dangerous.”

Tommy scoffs. “Please, I can handle myself.”

The next night Tommy is back to his usual nightly activities.

The night hangs heavy around Tommy as he watches the three robbers dash out of the bank, their faces exposed, too confident for his liking. He crouches behind the corner, heart pounding in anticipation of what’s about to unfold.

Tommy, known as Caelus in his vigilante get-up, moves quickly, darting into action as the trio saunter into view. They're lugging sacks filled with stolen goods, their raucous laughter slicing through the quiet night.

"Hey, stop right there!" Tommy's voice cuts through the night, firm and unwavering. The robbers freeze, startled, as he swiftly disarms and secures them before collecting the stolen loot. He’s got one eye on justice and the other on making things right.

But chaos descends when the police burst onto the scene, their urgency unsettling. Tommy hesitates, his mind racing. He's not a thief, but to them, he's Caelus, the hooded troublemaker.

The tied-up robbers, desperate and tied to their own lies, accuse Tommy of being the perpetrator. The cops, guns drawn, demand surrender. Panic clenches Tommy’s chest. He can’t get caught. They’ll find out who he is. They’ll tear apart his brothers lives. Then…he will find him. And he will not hesitate to use them against him. Fear seizes him, and an involuntary chirp—a distinctly avian sound—escapes his lips, freezing the officers in confusion.

Suddenly, like a lifeline, Ranboo materializes, his masked face a welcome sight. He grabs Tommy’s arm, and they vanish. As they materialize back in their apartment, Tommy’s relief is palpable, but it’s quickly overshadowed by a surge of frustration. He fixes Ranboo with a glare, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“What were you thinking, Ranboo? You can’t just teleport into a situation like that!” Tommy’s voice carries an edge, a rare display of anger.

Ranboo blinks, taken aback by Tommy’s sudden reprimand. “I—I was trying to help, Tommy. You were in trouble—”

“Yeah, but what if something went wrong? What if they caught you too?” Tommy’s voice rises, the fear he’d felt just before turning to frustration.

Ranboo hesitates. “I know, I just… I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Tommy runs a hand through his hair, frustration melting into concern. “I get it, but don’t do that again. We can’t afford to risk everyone for one person.”

Tubbo appears and tackles Tommy, not enough to make the two if them fall over, but enough to show his concern. “Toms! You aren’t just one person! You act like seven people with how much you do for us and the city. How do you think we’d do if you were caught. Wouldn’t you be lead back to us? Why wouldn’t we save you!? And NOT just for that fact. You are out brother. Remember. You save us. We save you. NO negotiations.”

Ranboo vehemently agrees with Tubbo and Tommy is forced to reluctantly agree that if another situation like that happens again. Ranboo will bail Tommy out.

Tubbo, Tommy notices. He looks heartbroken for a moment. A moment too long in Tommy’s firm opinion. “Tubs…”

“No Tommy. You protect people with no regard for your life. You sacrifice and sacrifice for us. And yet you don’t see how good you are. How kind-” Tubbo’s voice breaks, “you don’t see the affect you have on others. The good affect.” Tubbo then pulls out his phone and pulls up an incognito website.

It’s called /caelus/vigilante/feats.com

And on the website is hundreds of posts of victims of various crimes, attempted robbery, attempted assault, attempted…everything and anything…all attempted. Because they were crimes Tommy stopped. The people he helped and saved. People he sacrificed for and protected.

“We don’t- no one deserves you.” Tubbo finishes.

Tommy shakes his head and pulls his brothers into a hug with his wings. “No- no you both deserve more than what I give you. More than you think.”

Tubbo, sensing Tommy’s need for a lighter mood, says in an over dramatic voice, “nice Tommy? Oh my Prime it’s a fucking miracle.”

Tommy’s response is the equivalent of…this.

>:0

Then this.

>:[

Then he promptly starts swearing up a storm. And the family of three commence the most hilariously violent pillow fight you could imagine.

The familiar hum of the Hero Evidence Locker buzzes around Tommy as he goes about his duties, organizing and cataloging the items with precision. But today, something feels off. He can sense the weight of scrutiny bearing down on him, and it feels like every move he makes is being dissected under a microscope.

His boss, casts frequent glances in his direction, his gaze lingering longer than usual. Tommy’s brow furrows in confusion as he notices the subtle tension in the air, a palpable shift from the usual routine.

Tommy straightens a stack of files, his movements deliberate, yet there’s an unsettling feeling coiling in his stomach. He feels watched, analyzed, and it’s making his usually smooth workflow falter. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, an inexplicable sense that something’s amiss.

As Tommy proceeds with his tasks, a subtle tremor in his hand catches his attention. He tries to brush it off as fatigue, but his movements grow increasingly unsteady. He fumbles with the evidence, a file slipping from his grasp, and the clatter of the fallen item draws unwelcome attention.

His boss approaches, his expression a mix of concern and scrutiny. “Thomas, is everything alright?”

Tommy tries to hide the unease in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little off today.”

His boss studies him closely, the air thick with a sense of scrutiny. “You seem… different. Are you feeling unwell?”

Tommy’s heart races; he knows he can’t afford to reveal anything that might get him under ‘possible fire material’ list he knows is somewhere. “Just a bit tired, I guess. Long day, you know?”

The man nods slowly, but the scrutiny doesn’t wane. His eyes linger on Tommy’s workstation, and the feeling of being under a microscope intensifies.

Tommy’s mind races, trying to maintain composure despite the unsettling gaze fixed upon him. He attempts to resume his tasks, but the unnerving sensation of being watched so closely makes his every movement feel wrong, out of place.

The tension in the room is palpable, and Tommy can sense the weight of the unspoken suspicion hanging in the air. It feels as if his very actions are under scrutiny, as if any misstep might set off alarms.

Despite his efforts to maintain his usual efficiency, a sense of unease gnaws at him, each passing minute feeling longer than the last. The watchful gaze of his boss continues to linger, leaving Tommy feeling like a puzzle with missing pieces, the sense of something wrong lingering just out of reach.

The evening casts long shadows through the windows as Tommy arrives home, his shoulders tense from a particularly nerve-wracking day at work. His superiors had been eyeing him with an intensity that left him on edge, and the weight of their scrutiny clung to him like an unwelcome shroud.

Pushing open the door, Tommy’s brow furrows as he hears Tubbo and Ranboo’s excited chatter from the living room. They’re animatedly discussing something about an arcade, their voices filled with enthusiasm. Confusion knits Tommy’s brows together as he steps in, his workbag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Tommy asks, eyeing the pair with curiosity.

Tubbo beams at him, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Sam’s treating us to an arcade night!”

Tommy blinks, caught off guard by the unexpected news. “Arcade night? But I have work…”

Tubbo waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, Sam already talked to your boss. You’re covered. We’re all going to unwind and have fun!”

A mixture of surprise and relief washes over Tommy. So that’s why his bosses had been scrutinizing him so closely today—they were arranging this surprise outing. Despite his initial confusion, a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. It’s been ages since they’ve had a chance to do something carefree together.

“Seriously?” Tommy’s voice is laced with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

“Absolutely!” Tubbo grins, the excitement contagious as Ranboo nods eagerly in agreement.

The tension from the day's work gradually melts away, replaced by a sense of excitement at the prospect of an impromptu arcade adventure. Tommy can’t help but feel grateful for Sam’s gesture and Tubbo’s enthusiasm. After a tense day, the idea of unwinding with his friends brings a welcomed sense of relief.
In the serenity of his room, Tommy stands before the wall adorned with his artwork, a silent sanctuary that speaks volumes about his desires and yearnings. The vivid scenes on the canvas portray a world adorned with lush greenery—a haven of emerald forests and winding rivers.

At the center of the mural, Tommy has painted figures of himself, Ranboo, and Tubbo amidst the rich landscape. The trio, though not intricately detailed in facial features, radiates an essence of freedom and harmony, an idealized portrayal of their unbreakable bond.

Tommy's gaze lingers on the painted figures, their forms captured in perpetual flight, wings vibrant with shades of red and gold, untouched by scars or pain. They soar through the canvas, symbolizing an innate yearning for liberation and escape from the shackles of fear and anxiety.

The artwork is Tommy's refuge, a visual tapestry of his dreams and aspirations, a depiction of a life where he can soar without the constant weight of caution and vigilance.

As he stands there, enveloped in the tranquility of the painted forest, a sense of peace gently settles upon him. The familiar scenes offer a soothing balm to his restless soul, momentarily quieting the storm of thoughts that usually whirls within him.

With a contented sigh, Tommy settles onto his bed, his gaze still fixed on the mural. The images seem to breathe life into his room, creating an atmosphere that invites rest. Embracing the solace the artwork offers, he welcomes sleep with open arms, despite the lurking knowledge that the nightmares may resurface once more.

As he drifts off, the vibrant scenes from the artwork swirl through his mind, offering a fleeting glimpse of the freedom he craves, even as the looming shadows of his nightmares threaten to cast their dark veil over his slumber.

Chapter Text

The arcade buzzes with life as Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo, led by Sam, weave through the flashing lights and vibrant sounds. The trio dashes from one game to another, laughter trailing behind them as they compete in a frenzy of button mashing and joystick manoeuvres.

Tubbo, eyes alight with excitement, tackles a racing simulator, his shouts of triumph echoing through the arcade as he zooms past virtual opponents. Ranboo’s enthusiasm lands him in front of a giant claw machine, determined to snag a plush toy nearly twice his size. The absurdity of the situation doesn’t faze him, and his grin widens as the claw descends, missing the toy by inches.

Amidst the chaos, Tommy finds himself engaged in an intense air hockey match with Sam. Their competitive spirits fuel the game, the puck ricocheting off the table, evoking exclamations, and laughter. Sam, towering over Tommy, displays a playful grin, his enthusiasm contagious.

“Come on, Tommy, you’re not giving up that easily!” Sam chuckles, deftly defending his goal.

Tommy’s focus intensifies as he smacks the puck with determination. Their heated back-and-forth continues until Sam lands the winning goal, causing Tommy to groan in playful defeat.

“Well played, Sam!” Tommy grins, clapping Sam on the back.

Their arcade adventure whirls on, the hours slipping away in a whirlwind of games and joy. The trio moves from one attraction to the next, relishing the carefree moments without a hint of worry about budgets or time.

As the day nears its end, Sam pulls Tommy aside, his expression shifting to a more serious demeanour. “Hey, Tommy, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Tommy’s brows furrow in curiosity, nodding as they step away from the lively chaos of the arcade. He watches as Ranboo and Tubbo engage in a dance game, their laughter echoing in the background.

“Sure, what’s up?” Tommy asks, a hint of concern tugging at his voice.

Sam’s kind eyes hold a hint of gravity. “Remember when I mentioned someone who could help you with your wing care and flying?”

Tommy’s gaze flickers with uncertainty. “Yeah, but… I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I mean, I’ve been managing fine on my own, right?”

Sam nods, understanding crossing his features. “I get it, Tommy. But sometimes it’s okay to accept help, especially when it comes from someone experienced. He’s a friend, he knows a lot about wings and flying. Just a thought, no pressure.”

Tommy chews on his lip, torn between hesitation and curiosity. The prospect of learning more about his wings, of potentially unlocking their full potential, both terrifies and entices him.

Before he can respond, Ranboo and Tubbo join them, grinning from ear to ear. “Tommy, you gotta do this for yourself! You’ve been through so much, it might be good for you,” Tubbo urges, his eyes reflecting genuine concern.

Ranboo nods in agreement, a supportive smile on his face. “Yeah, Tommy. It might open up new possibilities for you.”

The weight of their encouragement sinks in, mingling with Tommy’s apprehension. He glances at Sam, then back at his friends, a hesitant smile touching his lips. “Okay, I’ll meet this guy. But I’m not making any promises.”

Sam nods, a reassuring smile gracing his features. “That’s all I ask, Tommy. Just keep an open mind.”

As the arcade echoes with the laughter and chatter of the trio, Tommy's mind swirls with conflicting emotions, a mix of uncertainty and a flicker of hope for what might come next. The day, filled with fun and camaraderie, ends with the possibility of a new path ahead—a path that might offer answers and a chance for Tommy to embrace the unknown.

Days passed, and Tommy couldn't shake the heightened attention he received at work. His routine became clouded by the intensity of scrutiny, every moment monitored under a magnifying glass in the confines of the Hero Evidence Locker.

Subtle shifts in behaviour from his superior didn't escape Tommy's notice—the lingering stares, the furrowed brow as he passed by, the occasional prolonged glances that held more than casual interest. It felt like walking on a tightrope, every action dissected, every decision analysed.

A week slipped by, tension thickening in the workplace. Tommy's mind was a carousel of anxious thoughts, a constant churn of worry about the reason behind the sudden focus on him.

One morning, a summons arrived- Tommy was to report to his boss's office. His heart raced with trepidation, thoughts racing through his mind as he walked the seemingly endless corridor.

Stepping into the office, Tommy took in the sterile, grey walls and ordered space. A spacious desk, an imposing laptop—everything oozed a stern, strict demeanour. He was gestured to a chair opposite the desk, nerves knotting in his stomach.

Seated behind the desk, his boss regards Tommy with an unreadable expression. “Tommy, do you know why I’ve called you in?”

Tommy swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. “I’m not entirely sure, sir.”

A nod from his boss signals an understanding. “I’ve noticed some inconsistencies in your work recently. Mistakes that don’t align with your usual precision. Is there something on your mind that's affecting your performance?”

Tommy’s pulse quickens. His thoughts raced as he tried to navigate this precarious situation without revealing too much. “I’ve been a bit distracted lately, sir, but I’m doing my best to stay focused.”

Tommy sits rigidly in the stark office, the cool air only adding to the chill running down his spine. His boss, a stern figure behind the desk, regards him with an air of severity.

“Tommy,” his boss begins, voice heavy with a weight Tommy can already feel pressing down on him, “I’m afraid I have to let you go.”

Tommy's heart leaps into his throat, a flurry of disbelief and confusion clouding his mind. “What? Why?”

His boss steeples his fingers, a somber expression etched across his face. “The recent… developments regarding your status as a hybrid—”

“I'm not a hybrid!” Tommy interjects vehemently, his voice rising with fervour.

His boss's gaze remains steady. “Tommy, the evidence is clear. Your wings—”

“They’re a late blooming power!” Tommy's denial slices through the air, desperation coating his words. “It’s not what you think!”

The boss leans forward, a mix of concern and sternness etched on his face. “People can manipulate instincts, Tommy. Villains, especially. They could force you to give them access to our vaults, our tools, our weapons…”

Tommy shakes his head, refusing to accept the reality his boss is painting. “I would never do that!”

His boss’s tone turns grave. “Your denial doesn’t erase the risks. Your compromised position poses a threat.”

“That's not fair!” Tommy's voice wavers with a mix of anger and fear. “I’m not a threat!”

“Your kind can be manipulated. Villains can exploit your instincts,” his boss counters, his tone unwavering.

Tommy's eyes narrow, a flicker of anger seeping through his confusion. “They could do that to anyone! Threaten to remove a limb and anyone would comply!”

“Tommy, this is for the safety of the Hero Evidence Locker,” his boss insists, his voice tinged with a hint of discomfort.

Tommy's breath catches at the implication. “You want me out because I’m different now,” he accuses, his voice thick with accusation.

His boss’s response is hesitant, almost evasive. “It’s not about that, Tommy.”

“But it is!” Tommy’s voice cracks with raw emotion. “I'm not human anymore. That's what you're afraid of.”

The silence that follows his accusation speaks volumes. In that moment, Tommy feels the weight of confirmation crashing down on him, solidifying his worst suspicions. The accusation hangs heavy in the air, tension crackling between Tommy and his boss like electricity. Tommy’s chest heaves with a mix of anger and disbelief. He stands, his voice a fierce retort, “You have some nerve using words like 'your kind,' being all racist towards hybrids and then acting like it’s about safety.”

His boss leans forward, his tone laced with a warning. “I suggest you watch your words, Tommy.”

“Or what?” Tommy’s voice drips with venom.

“Or you’ll find yourself looking like the underlayer of a water colour painting. Black and blue. And those horrid things on your back will hand on my wall.”

Tommy laughs with fear, disbelief, and darkness. His knees weaken slightly. “You’re threatening me now? Doesn’t this prove my point!?”

The office echoes with the sharpness of Tommy’s words, the tension reaching its peak. His boss’s face contorts with frustration. “Pack your things and leave, Tommy. Now!”

Tommy freezes, anger and defiance coursing through him, his heart pounding in protest. Losing this job, the highest paying one in his family, would be catastrophic. Yet, he gathers his dignity, grabbing his belongings and storming out, handing in his ID card with a resentful glare.

As he leaves the building, the weight of the situation hits him like a brick wall. He feels lost, standing on the precipice of an uncertain future. The loss of income, the sudden void of stability—everything feels like it's crumbling around him.

Angry tears sting his eyes as he makes his way home, his steps heavy with frustration and confusion. It's when he arrives that his phone buzzes, a text from an unknown number. His brother Tubbo had given his number to someone. It's Sam.

The text reads: Hey, Tubbo gave me your number. My friend wants to meet you in a few days. When are you free?

Tommy, still seething with frustration, replies curtly, Just tell me when and where. I’ll be there.

An “ok” is all he receives in response.

Tommy tosses his phone aside, a storm of emotions raging within him. The uncertainty of the future looms ominously, but amidst the chaos, there's a flicker of hope—a meeting with Sam's friend might offer a glimmer of opportunity in the darkness that now envelops him.

The screen of Tommy’s phone lights up again, displaying a message from Sam. He says Pogtopia Park. 6pm. Today. You'll be off work then, right?

Tommy’s heart sinks, the reminder of his recent unemployment causing a pang of resentment. He doesn’t correct Sam about his job status; instead, he replies with a terse, I'll be there.

Without wasting a moment, Tommy grabs his essentials—a wallet, keys, and his phone—and dashes out of the house. Jogging through the familiar streets, he makes his way to the park, each step fuelled by a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

As Tommy arrives at Pogtopia park, a familiar sense of nostalgia washes over him. This place holds memories, not all of them pleasant, but one specific memory stands out—a conversation with Zephyrus, the mysterious winged hero. He recalls their last discussion and how it had sparked something within him.

Climbing the tallest tree he can find, Tommy perches himself on the highest branch, legs dangling freely as his mind begins to drift. Thoughts of the past months flood his mind, recalling the persuasive conversations with Tubbo and Ranboo, their insistence on revealing his wings under the guise of them being a physical power rather than a sign of his hybridity. The harsh reality of the racism towards non-humans lingers heavily in his thoughts.

A sudden and unwelcome thought disrupts his train of thought, “They’ve been nothing but trouble. I should just cut them off and be done with it.” It’s an abrupt and unpleasant idea that startles him, its influence lingering despite his immediate rejection of it. Tommy weighs the pros and cons, and though the cons seem formidable, the pros of severing the limbs seem to outweigh them by a mile in his mind.

However, an inner conflict brews within him. Despite the potential troubles his wings have caused, Tommy has grown to appreciate them—their vibrant red and gold tipped downy feathers, their unwavering presence, the comfort, and protection they provide in hugs, and most importantly, the promise of freedom they represent.

He exhales deeply, contemplating the possibilities ahead, torn between the desire to rid himself of the complications and the newfound fondness he’s developed for the unique part of himself that these wings represent. The inner turmoil leaves him perched high above, lost in a swirl of conflicting emotions and contemplation.

Lost in his inner conflict, Tommy’s thoughts are interrupted by the distant sound of a familiar voice. “Tommy? Hey, Tommy!” It’s Sam, his tone filled with both concern and confusion.

Tommy startles, realizing he’s been in the park for longer than expected. He checks his phone, the screen displaying a glaring 6:00 PM. Panic hits him as he notices multiple missed calls and frantic messages from Tubbo and Ranboo. “I must have really zoned out to have missed the calls,” he mutters to himself.

Quickly composing a reassuring text to his brothers, letting them know he’s fine and meeting with Sam and his friend, Tommy pockets his phone. He knows he’s pressed for time as Sam calls out for him again.

Making a split-second decision, Tommy positions himself on the large tree limb, high above the ground. He feels a surge of determination coursing through him as he allows his wings to unfurl, the vibrant red and gold-tipped feathers catching the fading sunlight.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Tommy leaps off the branch, his wings instinctively spreading wide. He feels a rush of exhilaration as he begins to descend, the wind whistling past him. He can't fly yet, but he’s learned enough to glide pretty damn well.

For a moment, Tommy hangs in the air, suspended between the branches. The ground looms below him, and his heart races with a mix of fear and excitement. With a determined focus, he adjusts his wings, manoeuvring to glide smoothly towards the meeting spot where Sam awaits, a feeling of freedom washing over him.

Deciding to be the feral gremlin his brothers joke he is, Tommy dive bombs Sam. Grinning madly when the man lets out a high-toned shriek and they land in a puddle of wheezing curses and laughter. Tommy’s near tears with laughing fits as he pounds the ground with a clenched fist. Sam’s laughter bubbles up and soon he’s giggling like a schoolchild too.

The pair are jovial as they greet each other. They idly chat, however, as the moments pass, a strange sensation tingles down Tommy’s spine, and his instincts start to kick in. Someone is watching them; he can feel it in the way his wings puff up involuntarily.

“Sam,” Tommy murmurs, his voice cautious and low, alerting his companion to the unspoken presence nearby.

Suddenly, the air crackles with an unexpected presence as Zephyrus materializes, dropping down before them, masked and enigmatic. Tommy’s expression morphs into a mix of betrayal and disbelief, his gaze darting between the hero and Sam, who appears surprisingly calm.

Sam takes the initiative to explain, “He's a friend, Tommy. A good one.”

Tommy’s eyes narrow, his distrust evident as he stares at Zephyrus. “We've met before,” he admits begrudgingly, the memories of their encounters at the Hero Evidence Locker flooding back. In Tommy’s words, Zephyrus was a nosy bitch, prying into things that didn't concern him.

The tension in the air is palpable, Tommy’s unease evident as he tries to comprehend why Sam would bring him face-to-face with someone he clearly doesn’t trust. There’s a sense of foreboding, and Tommy braces himself for whatever comes next.

Tommy hesitates for a moment, then explains, “We talked right here in this park. Zephyrus made an offer...He wanted to teach me to fly…” His voice trails off, a mix of uncertainty and reservation colouring his words.

Zephyrus, still masked and inscrutable, nods in acknowledgment before turning his attention to Sam. “He attempted flight prematurely,” Zephyrus informs Sam, his tone grave.

Tommy's expression shifts, a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “I didn't ask for help,” he interjects, feeling a twinge of annoyance at Zephyrus revealing this detail.

Sam glances between the two, sensing the tension. He attempts to mediate, “Listen, I thought it would be best if you two could meet—”

Tommy cuts in sharply, “Why? So he could tell you how he thought I was going to-?”

Zephyrus remains stoic, his gaze fixed on Tommy, seemingly unaffected by the tension brewing between them. Sam tries to diffuse the situation, “Look, I trust him. He just wants to help.”

Tommy frowns, the atmosphere charged with distrust and unresolved conflict. His apprehension towards Zephyrus runs deep, but he tries to remain composed, the memory of his failed flight attempt serving as a stark reminder of his own limitations. And what he missed out on at that facility.

Zephyrus stood tall and imposing, his ebony wings folding gently behind him. Tommy sat on the grass, leaning forward with a mix of curiosity and suspicion etched across his face. The hero began to explain the intricacies of wing care, his voice a steady cadence that echoed through the tranquil park.

"The most crucial aspect is maintaining their cleanliness," Zephyrus explains, his tone resonating with authority. "Dirt, dust, or debris can impede your flight and cause discomfort. Regular grooming is essential."

Tommy nods attentively, absorbing every word. He listens intently as Zephyrus elaborated on the importance of proper hydration and the necessity of a balanced diet to support healthy wing growth.

"Your wings require moisture to maintain their strength," Zephyrus continued, his words precise and measured. "A light misting with water can keep them hydrated, especially in dry conditions."

Meanwhile, Sam worked quietly at the nearby picnic table, his attention focused on a small project, occasionally glancing over at the duo engrossed in their discussion.

Zephyrus delved into the intricacies of preening and stretching exercises, demonstrating a few techniques with his own wings to emphasize their importance. Tommy observed, his scepticism gradually giving way to a cautious interest.

As the hero concludes his explanation, Tommy glanced over at Sam, who gave him an encouraging nod. With a newfound determination, Tommy turns back to Zephyrus, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty in his eyes.

"Thanks," Tommy mutters, the word slightly strained but sincere.

Zephyrus nods in acknowledgment, his demeanour softening imperceptibly. "It's a lot to take in, but it's essential for your well-being, Tommy."

Tommy offers a hesitant smile, his mind swirling with newfound information about the care and maintenance of his wings.

Zephyrus takes a moment, his gaze shifting to the crimson and gold wings perched on Tommy's back, his expression thoughtful. "Flight theory for a human with avian wings is both complex and fascinating," he began, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. "Your wings have exceptional potential, but achieving flight is a process that demands patience and practice."

Tommy leans in, a mix of anticipation and scepticism dancing in his eyes. He’d dreamt of flight since the moment his wings unfurled, but the notion felt elusive, akin to a distant dream.

"The key lies in understanding aerodynamics," Zephyrus continues, gesturing toward Tommy's wings. "Your feathers, their positioning, and their manipulation determine lift and drag. You need to find that delicate balance."

Tommy nods, absorbing the information, though a sense of overwhelm lingers. Flying is a foreign concept, one that seems unattainable even with the expert guidance before him.

"Your body's positioning matters," Zephyrus explains, miming the movements in mid-air. "You must grasp the coordination between your wings and your body, almost like an intricate dance."

As Zephyrus delves deeper into the mechanics of flight, Sam approaches, a supportive presence beside Tommy. He glances at Tommy, offering a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Zephyrus's discourse.

With a shift in the conversation, Zephyrus moves from theory to practical demonstrations. He spread his wings wide, the glossy black feathers catching the fading sunlight, and leaps into the air effortlessly. Tommy watched in awe as Zephyrus maneuverers with grace, his movements calculated and fluid.

"Staying at the same height without constant flapping is a skill that requires finesse and understanding of your wings," Zephyrus calls down from above.

He glides effortlessly, executing subtle adjustments in the tilt of his wings, manipulating the air currents around him. With each smooth manoeuvre, Zephyrus maintains his altitude with minimal effort, a testament to his years of practice and meticulous care for his wings.

Tommy observes closely, trying to decipher the intricate techniques. He marvels at how Zephyrus remained aloft, seemingly weightless, using precise wing adjustments and subtle shifts in body posture to navigate the airspace.

Zephyrus descends gracefully, landing back on the ground with a gentle rustle of feathers. Tommy looks on, a mixture of admiration and determination flickering in his gaze.

Sam, who had been observing quietly, nods in encouragement. "It's all about control, Tommy," he adds, offering his insights.

Tommy takes a deep breath, his mind racing with the magnitude of what he had witnessed. The ease with which Zephyrus glided, the seamless movements he executed, it all seemed surreal yet attainable.

"Practice and perseverance," Zephyrus states firmly, looking directly at Tommy. "That's what will bring you closer to mastering flight."

Tommy nods, determination blazing in his eyes. He understands the depth of the commitment required, the endless hours of practice ahead. Yet, witnessing Zephyrus's skilful flight fills him with a newfound resolve.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the park, Tommy felt a spark of hope. He realized that with dedication and guidance, flight might become more than just a dream; it could become his reality.

He wanted to try. Immediately. He’d been gliding for years now.

Sam’s expression shifts, “I know that look. The answer is no Tommy.”

Zephyrus tilts his head.

“He wants to fly now. The impatient little shit.” Sam explains.

Zephyrus shakes his head. “Sam is right. Not yes. When I can no longer see downy feathers on your wings. Then I’ll let you try to do more than fly.” Tommy frowns but offhandedly agrees with a glint in his eye. He was due anyway.

They say a small goodbye and Tommy refuses a lift from both of them.

The sun sets low over the horizon as Tommy bids farewell to Sam and Zephyrus, refusing the offer of a flight home. He watches them depart, their silhouettes fading into the dusk-lit sky. With a sense of determination, Tommy turns and walks towards home.

Arriving home, Tommy finds a note on the kitchen table, scribbled with Tubbo's unmistakable handwriting. It reads, "Gone to the store, back soon! Love, Tubs."

Alone in the house, a sense of unease doesn't leave him. Tommy knows it's irrational, but the day's events have put him on edge. He decides to head to his room for a moment of solitude.

Once there, Tommy notices the modified pliers tucked away in a drawer. Without much thought, he retrieves them, the familiar weight bringing a mix of emotions. He sits on the edge of his bed, the room quiet except for the distant sounds from outside.

For a moment, he stares at the pliers in his hand, contemplating. But before he can think twice, Tommy leans over, grabbing the tool and sliding it into his pocket. He feels the heaviness of his wings behind him, a constant reminder of what he's been through.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy stands up, glancing around his room as if searching for something. He eventually sets his gaze upon the bathroom door. The day's tension seems to echo within the walls, pushing him to act.

He steps into the bathroom, the dim light casting elongated shadows across the tiled floor. Tommy's eyes fall on the sink, and he hesitates for a moment, almost reconsidering. But the memory of his childhood facility and their instructions compels him to move forward.

With resolute determination, Tommy grabs the modified pliers from his pocket. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, staring at his wings in the mirror's reflection. They're a mix of vibrant red and gold, a reminder of his hybrid status.

His right hand extends to his right wing, bending it into an unnatural angle. The pliers carefully grip the downy feathers, one by one, and Tommy begins to cut them off, methodically, but without any pain.

As he works, Tommy's face remains stoic, a mixture of concentration and a haunting calm. The downy feathers fall silently into the sink, accumulating into a small pile. He repeats the process with his left wing, removing the soft down, feather by feather.

Finally, he picks up the loose feathers, staring at them for a moment. His mind drifts back to the facility's instructions: to put the loose feathers under water until they disintegrated, as they claimed his wings would.

Tommy drops the feathers into the sink, watching them float for a moment before turning on the faucet. He lets the water run, soaking the feathers until they dissolve into a barely visible slurry. It's an odd sight, seeing the feathers disintegrate as if they were never there.

With a heavy sigh, Tommy turns off the tap, letting the remaining water swirl down the drain. The act leaves him feeling strangely empty, a mix of emotions clouding his mind. He's done this to prepare for flight, for freedom, but the reality of what he's lost weighs on him heavily.

Because when his flight feathers grew instead of downy feathers he would be ready. And to put the loose feathers under water until they disintegrated because his feathers did that apparently. Tommy does so and minutes later he's gotten rid of the feathers and ready for the next time he see's Zephyrus. Where he'll be able to start flying.

A few days later Tommy and his brothers are walking and Tommy feels extra…clingy he guesses. His wings throb with phantom pain that he thought he never had. Their lighter…but also not.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting a hazy glow over Pogtopia Park. Tubbo and Ranboo walk ahead, animatedly discussing the latest arcade game. Tommy follows closely, scanning the surroundings, his guard up. Public places always set off his protective instincts.

As they stroll, a hooded figure catches Tommy's eye, lingering in the shadows, watching them intensely. His protective stance tightens; subtly, he positions himself between Tubbo, Ranboo, and the mysterious onlooker.

"Hey, Toms, what's up?" Tubbo's voice interrupts his vigilance.

Tommy glances back at his friends, trying to appear nonchalant. "Nothing, just checking out the park, you know?"

Suspicion races through his mind. Why is this person watching them? Could they be a threat?

The figure maintains a steady distance as they continue, an ominous silhouette against the fading light. Tommy's scepticism flares. He's never been one to trust strangers, especially those fixated on their group.

"Guys, I think we should head back," Tommy suggests, trying to sound casual. "It's getting late."

As they make their way home, the unease Tommy felt in the park still lingers. They settle into their small kitchen, and Tubbo, with his usual enthusiasm, begins preparing dinner. Ranboo and Tommy help, but the meal—a mishmash of ingredients—fails to satisfy their different dietary needs. For Tommy, a grain and vegetarian-based diet, it's especially challenging.

As they sit around the table, Tommy fidgets with his food, his appetite faltering. The weight of his recent dismissal hangs heavy on his mind. Finally, unable to keep it to himself any longer, he clears his throat, breaking the silence that hangs over them.

"Guys, there's something I need to tell you," Tommy starts, his voice barely above a whisper. Tubbo and Ranboo turn their attention to him, concern etched on their faces.

"I... I got fired," he confesses, his gaze fixed on the half-eaten food on his plate. "It's because of, well, me being a hybrid."

Tubbo's eyes widen in surprise, while Ranboo's expression shifts to one of empathy. "But you're registered as a newly bloomed power not hybrid," Tubbo says, confused.

Tommy hesitates, grappling with how much to reveal. He takes a deep breath, knowing he needs to explain. “They think I'm a hybrid and said I'm too much of a risk," he explains, his tone tinged with frustration and sadness. "They believe villains might manipulate my instincts to gain access to the evidence locker."

Ranboo leans forward, his mismatched eyes reflecting concern. "That's unfair! Just because of your wings?"

Tommy basically wilts. His guilt pressing down.

His thoughts a rage of,

You were selfish for revealing your wings. Now look what you’ve done

You killed them. If you don’t provide you’re a fucking failure.

Stop venting to them. It’s doing nothing.

He knows they’re wrong. He knows it. But it still hurts to have his own mind turn on him.

Tubbo looks outraged. "That's ridiculous! You've been working so hard, and they just let you go like that?"

"Yeah," Tommy mutters, pushing his food around his plate. "It's like they were waiting for an excuse."

Ranboo places a comforting hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Tommy. Don’t blame yourself. Or the fact that you’re cooler then him. I mean. He can’t even get a chance to fly can he?"

Tommy nods, appreciating their support. "Thanks, guys. I’m going to get a better job! Away from that right asshole.”

The weight of unemployment bears down on Tommy, a sudden sense of uncertainty clouding his thoughts. As they finish their meal, the atmosphere in the room is heavy with concern and a shared feeling of injustice.

Tubbo and Ranboo exchange sympathetic glances, their concern palpable as they listen to Tommy recount the conversation with his boss.

"He told me that people can manipulate my instincts," Tommy explains, frustration evident in his voice. "Especially villains. They think I'd give them access to the evidence vaults just because of my... uh, nature."

"What the fuck!" Tubbo exclaims, his expression a mix of shock and anger.

Ranboo shakes his head in disbelief. "He can't just assume that because you're different, you'd do something like that."

"I know, right?" Tommy sighs, feeling a sense of validation from his friends' reactions. "And then he said villains could threaten me with removal of my wings. That I'd have no choice but to comply."

"That's horrible," Ranboo mutters, a hint of anger in his voice.

“I told him that if you threaten anyone that you’d remove a limb they’d probably comply!” Tommy shouts. “He was fucking silent. Didn’t even really try to deny it was because he was a racist prick.”

The evening draws to a close after they finish cleaning up from dinner. Tubbo heads to his room, a cosy space adorned with an assortment of gadgets and vibrant paintings. Ranboo shuffles to his own room, dimly lit and organized with meticulous precision. Meanwhile, Tommy retreats to his bedroom, the walls adorned with sketches and artwork that evoke a sense of freedom.

As he settles in, the night weighs heavily on Tommy's mind. The events of the day, coupled with the haunting dream, leave him grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. He finds solace in the comfort of his room, surrounded by familiar sketches that reflect his longing for liberty and flight.

Despite his attempt to distract himself with his artwork, the memory of his boss's harsh words lingers. He replays the conversation in his head, the dismissal still raw and unsettling. He wonders if it's just the beginning of a new chapter of challenges he'll have to face as a hybrid.

Alone in his room, Tommy tries to shake off the weight of the day. He hopes the vivid nightmare won't return, yet the remnants of fear and discomfort linger, a constant reminder of the unresolved questions that haunt him.

He sits on the edge of his bed, tracing the faint outline of the feathers on his wings. A mix of determination and anxiety courses through him. He’s yearning for something he's never fully experienced yet terrified of the unknown.

The night stretches on, each tick of the clock amplifying the silence. Tommy's thoughts wander, the looming uncertainty about his future hangs heavy in the air. Despite his efforts to calm his mind, the tension refuses to dissipate. Until he mumbles and hums a familiar melody until he’s able to tune out to awfulness of his recent days.

Tommy lies in his bed, tossing and turning, caught in the clutches of a haunting nightmare. He's trapped in an endless corridor of darkness, a surreal expanse with doors that continuously shut as he approaches them. Each time he reaches for an opening, it vanishes, leaving him disoriented and trapped in the void.

Hours pass in this disconcerting chase until finally, a door emerges at the end of the hallway, promising escape. But as he runs towards it with determined hope, the scene shifts abruptly.

Suddenly, he's no longer in the dark corridor; instead, he's transported into a sterile, white room. His 9-year-old self stands there, broken and battered, his wings tattered and hanging from his fragile frame. A figure enters the room, their face obscured, casting an eerie shadow. They speak, their words a chilling echo in the silence, telling him he's 'good.'

In the dream, the figure's hand reaches for a syringe, and just as they're about to administer it, the nightmare shatters, leaving Tommy bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. The lingering sensation of fear hangs heavy in the room, sweat glistening on his forehead.

He sits there, trying to catch his breath, the vivid memory of the nightmare fresh in his mind. The dream feels like an unwelcome echo from his past, dredging up memories he'd rather forget. A mixture of dread and frustration settles in his chest, a reminder that even sleep doesn’t offer solace from the torment of his memories. With a heavy sigh, he leans back against his pillow, knowing that a restful night's sleep will evade him once again. 

Chapter Text

Feeling cooped up, Tommy decides to take a stroll outside, hoping the fresh air might clear his mind. As he walks, a creeping sensation settles in—someone's following him. He quickens his pace, glancing behind to confirm his suspicions. A figure in a black hood trails him, inciting a sense of alarm.

The chase begins, slow and methodical. Tommy manoeuvres through crowds, hoping to lose his pursuer. After 15 minutes of weaving through streets and alleyways, Tommy reaches a dead end. Without hesitation, he turns sharply and scales the side of a nearby building, his wings providing a burst of propulsion as he ascends.

Hidden on the rooftop, heart racing, Tommy peeks over the ledge. He spots the man with the hood, a flood of terrifying memories resurfacing as recognition strikes. This man was one of the scientists from the facility where Tommy was subjected to experimentation.

As the man frantically searches the dead-end alley, Tommy remains frozen in place, his breaths shallow and rapid. He waits, perched on the rooftop for what feels like an eternity, fear gripping him tightly.

When the man finally leaves, frustration etched across his face, Tommy waits another hour, petrified, before mustering the courage to move. With stealth and agility, he leaps across rooftops, darting through the dimming evening light, racing to return home.

Tommy's heart hammers against his ribcage, his chest constricting with every panicked breath. He stumbles into the apartment, his hands shaking violently. The walls seem to close in on him, the air thick with suffocating dread. His vision blurs, the world spinning around him.

He sinks to the floor, clutching at his chest as if trying to physically contain the chaos within. Tears streak down his cheeks, his body convulsing with each gasp for air. The fear of the recent chase, the haunting memories, and the sudden onslaught of helplessness engulf him in a suffocating grip.

Tubbo and Ranboo rush to his side, their voices a distant echo amid the whirlwind of panic. They try to soothe him, to ground him in the present, but the terror from the past refuses to release its grip.

His mind races, visions of the sterile white room and the blurred-faced man with the syringe replaying over and over. He struggles to speak, his voice caught in his throat, the weight of the panic attack too heavy to bear.

Tubbo holds Tommy's trembling hand, speaking softly, trying to guide him through breathing exercises. Ranboo fetches a glass of water, his concern palpable.

Minutes stretch into an eternity until Tommy's breaths begin to even out, his gasps slowly subsiding into shallow, ragged inhales. His body still trembles, but the panic loosens its vice-like grip, allowing a small sliver of calm to seep through the chaos.

Tubbo's voice cuts through the haze of fear. "Hey, Tommy, look at me. You're safe. You're here with us."

Ranboo nods, his gaze filled with concern. "Take deep breaths. In and out, Tommy. You're okay."

Tommy tries to focus on their words, their voices a lifeline in the overwhelming chaos swirling in his mind. He clutches Tubbo's hand tighter, his knuckles turning white.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers between shaky breaths. "I couldn't—couldn't breathe."

"It's alright," Tubbo reassures, squeezing his hand gently. "You're doing great, mate. Just keep breathing."

Ranboo offers the glass of water, and Tommy takes small sips, the cool liquid helping to ground him.

"I saw him," Tommy manages, his voice barely above a whisper. "That man… the one from the lab."

Tubbo's expression darkens. "What? Where?"

"On the streets. He was following me," Tommy explains, his voice trembling. "I hid, but it… it brought everything back."

Ranboo's concern deepens. "We'll keep you safe, Tommy. You're not alone in this."

Tommy nods weakly, tears still glistening in his eyes. "I know what he wants… why he's here."

"You…he wants you doesn’t he." Tubbo’s voice is wavering.

Tommy nods.

"He won’t get you Tommy. Not while we’re here.” Ranboo assures.

The apartment is a haven of soft light, the evening casting a warm glow over the cosy space. Tommy sits on the couch, his wings draped gently over the backrest, their vibrant feathers shimmering in the subdued light. He looks worn out, the tension still evident in his posture.

Tubbo and Ranboo flank him, their faces etched with concern. Without a word, Tubbo reaches out, his fingers lightly trailing over the edges of Tommy's wings. He notices the missing downy feathers but Tubbo shoves it aside as a problem for another day.

Ranboo mirrors Tubbo's action, his touch feather light as he runs his fingertips along the feathers, gentle and careful. Tommy's breath hitches slightly at the contact, his body slowly relaxing under their reassuring touch.

"It's okay, mate," Tubbo murmurs softly, his fingers continuing their soothing motion. "We're here for you."

Tommy lets out a shaky breath, his eyes closing briefly as he leans back into the couch. The rhythmic motions of Tubbo and Ranboo combing through his wings offer a strange comfort, a feeling of safety that he desperately craves.

Ranboo speaks up in his characteristic calm tone, "You're not alone in this, Tommy. We've got your back."

Their quiet reassurances and the gentle caress of their fingers through his wings weave a cocoon of comfort around Tommy. It's a silent language of solace, a way to convey support without needing words.

Slowly, Tommy's tense muscles begin to ease, the knots of anxiety loosening with each stroke. The familiar sensation of their touch grounds him, reminding him that he isn't facing his fears alone.

He opens his eyes, meeting the warm gazes of his friends. "Thank you," he whispers, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

Tubbo and Ranboo exchange a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They continue their tender ministrations, allowing Tommy the space and comfort he needs to navigate the storm raging within him.

It takes a few weeks for Tommy to leave the apartment, at least on his own. Zephyrus was busy with hero work according to Sam and he had no job. They were already feeling the effects of not having Tommy’s paycheck. There was much less food and the heating was choppy, inconsistently punching out worthless warm air to the point where they don’t use it at all to save money.

Being sick of feeling unsafe, Tommy goes out as Caelus. Needing the familiar weight of his disguise and the thrill of being a vigilante to make him feel safe. Finding a familiar vantage point within minutes.

In a dimly lit alley, Caelus perches on the edge of a neighbouring rooftop, scanning the area below. Recent burglaries have plagued this part of the city, and tonight, he's determined to catch the culprits red-handed.

Footsteps echo behind him.

"Quite a night for a stroll, isn't it?" a voice chimes from behind.

Caelus whirls around, his hand instinctively reaching for the bladed grappling hook at his side. "Dream," he responds, recognizing the familiar figure. "What brings you here?"

Dream, or Commander, steps forward, his porcelain mask concealing his features but not his friendly demeanour. "Just patrolling, keeping an eye out for any trouble."

A smirk tugs at Caelus's lips behind his own mask. "You? Patrolling? I hope they're ready for the hero with the persuasive smile."

Dream chuckles, mischief lacing his voice. "And I hope they're ready for the vigilante with the impeccable style," he quips, glancing at Caelus's black costume. Dream, to Tommy’s least bit of surprise. Is extremely confused as to his vigilante friend’s ‘new’ additions. His wings. Tommy’s explanation is practiced. Speaking answers without much thought and soon their usual idle chatter returns.

Their banter flows effortlessly, a natural rhythm developed from nights of crossing paths without conflict. Dream is one of the few heroes Caelus doesn't view as an adversary, an understanding that eases their interactions.

"So, Caelus, any leads on the current situation?" Dream inquires, their conversation shifting to a more serious tone as the noise from the alley below grows louder.

"A gang's been making rounds, targeting the warehouses," Caelus responds. "I've been tracking their movements. They should show up any moment now."

Dream nods, assessing the area. "Looks like we'll have quite the party soon."

Caelus smirks. "Oh, it's always a party when you're around."

Before Dream can retort, the sound of shattering glass erupts from the alley. Both heroes exchange glances, their unspoken agreement clear as they leap into action, descending into the chaos below.

In the heat of the moment, they're both heroes, unified in their goal to protect the city, each playing their part in the chaos. Together, they navigate the night, fighting on the side of justice, embracing the thrill of the chase in their own distinct ways.

Dream leaps onto the rooftop, his gaze fixed on the street below. "There's a mugging three blocks east," he announces.

Caelus nods. "Let's split up. I'll take the north, you take the south."

With practiced ease, they coordinate their movements. Caelus dives off the rooftop, gliding effortlessly toward the crime scene. Meanwhile, Dream manoeuvres through the alleys with silent grace, his eyes fixed on the looming threat.

At the mugging site, Caelus swoops in just as the assailants attempt to flee. His presence alone deters them from escaping. Dream emerges from the shadows, his commanding presence lending an air of authority that freezes the criminals in their tracks.

"Looks like the party's over, folks," Dream quips, his voice carrying an authoritative edge.

Caelus remains silent, his wings poised for action. Together, they apprehend the offenders, ensuring they're secure and safe from causing further harm.

As time ticks by, Tommy relaxes further into his role. Becoming his boisterous self. Swearing and throwing witty insults, with Dream throwing right back.

But something changes after the first hour of banter. Dream seems to go rigid at random intervals. Shaking his head frequently. Tommy’s keen senses take note and eventually he asks what’s wrong.

“Aye big D, what’s up with you? You shaking off your other personalities? They fighten to say hi to the biggest man Caelus?” Tommy laughs. He expects Dream to laugh, throw it back with equal humour, but the hero snarls.

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing.” Dream’s voice is a low growl. Almost…staticky.

Tommy gulps. “Prime. Sorry big man. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

Dream seems to shake his head. Looking closely at Tommy through his mask before profusely apologising.

“Shit- I’m so sorry, I’ve been really stressed lately. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“All good Big D.”

Dream huffs a laugh.

Their teamwork continues throughout the night as they tackle multiple incidents across the city. Caelus and Dream work in seamless coordination, their unique approaches blending into a cohesive force against crime.

They find themselves back on a rooftop, exchanging a nod of acknowledgment. Their alliance, forged through mutual respect and a shared goal, has made a tangible impact on the safety of the city tonight. With a nod and a strained smile beneath their masks, they part ways, each disappearing into the night.

The bustling city below begins to quieten as night settles in, and Tommy, exhausted from the day's events, finally returns home.

With Dream

Dream’s steps falter slightly as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop. His head pounding and muddy with various images and thoughts. It’s been like this since his last solo mission but he can’t figure out what went wrong. He hit his head and when he went to do a usual scout around the warehouse. He found himself wandering away instead of further inwards. And he was unable to make himself turn back. He gave Schlatt a false report that it was nothing. Because he is pretty damn sure he saw the weirdest and freakiest flora anyone ever saw but he couldn’t write it down no matter what he told himself.

His snap at Caelus was completely accidently. When the vigilante said something about…Prime he couldn’t even remember what he said but it set him off so violently and he swears his vision was red. He’ll have to check in with the hero medwing workers to see what the fuck is fucking with his head.

But not now. Maybe next week.

With Tommy

His steps echo faintly in the corridor as he trudges towards his apartment. The weight of the night's encounters hangs heavily on his shoulders.

As he enters, Tubbo and Ranboo, concerned looks etched on their faces, glance up from the living room couch. "You're back," Tubbo observes, his voice laced with worry.

Tommy nods silently, offering them a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm back."

Ranboo stands up, concern evident in his eyes. "Dinner's ready. You must be starving after today," he offers gently.

But Tommy waves off the offer, the fatigue visible in his stance. "Not hungry. Thanks, though." He gives them a reassuring pat on the shoulder before retreating into his room.

He changes into comfortable clothes, his mind restless from the day's events. Despite the exhaustion, sleep eludes him. He lies in bed, the shadows of the room flickering in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

The minutes crawl by, each passing second stretching into an eternity. Thoughts whirl through his mind, replaying the scenes of the night. The adrenaline fades, leaving a void of weariness and unease.

Restless, he tosses and turns, seeking a comfortable position, but his mind refuses to quieten. His thoughts drift aimlessly, hovering on the edge of sleep without ever truly crossing over.

Hours pass, the darkness outside gradually giving way to the soft hues of morning light filtering through the windows. Tommy, still in the same position, hasn't managed to find sleep. Weariness weighs heavily in his eyes, but the rest he longs for remains elusive.

With a resigned sigh, he finally admits defeat. He drags himself out of bed, feeling drained but determined to face another day.

The message notification chimes on Tommy's phone, breaking the morning silence. He reads the text from Sam, and a spark of anticipation flares in his chest. It's been a while since he's had a session with Zephyrus, and the thought of getting back into the practice of gliding and refining his skills excites him.

"I'm heading out," Tommy announces to Tubbo and Ranboo, who are prepping breakfast in the kitchen.

"Where to?" Tubbo asks, glancing up from the pan.

"Zephyrus wants to meet. Training stuff," Tommy replies casually, trying not to show the excitement bubbling within him. He’d filled his brothers on who’d be teaching him about his wings.

"You've been waiting for this!" Ranboo grins, understanding Tommy's enthusiasm for improving his flying skills.

"Take care, big man!" Tubbo waves as Tommy grabs his jacket and rushes out, slipping his wings through the cut-out holes to account for them.

The air outside feels crisp, and the day holds a promise of adventure. Tommy heads to the rendezvous point, a familiar spot within Pogtopia Park. As he approaches, he spots Zephyrus standing amidst the trees, his dark wings folded behind him.

Zephyrus goes to greet Tommy, he can hear the moment Zephyrus notices something that makes him still completely. Tommy barely has time to say a meek ‘hi’ before Zephyrus has pulled Tommy to stand in front of him with black whip.

“Hey! Motherfucker! Let me go!” Tommy hollers.

Zephyrus grips Tommy’s left wing. Stopping Tommy’s calm breathing. Zephyrus ignores Tommy going stiff and runs his fingers over Tommy’s missing feathers. Concerned chirps falling out of Zephyrus’s mouth. Tommy doesn’t answer, mind flashing with rough hands rough handling him until he can’t tell where he is. Until he can’t tell when he is. Zephyrus looks at Tommy’s other wing and when he finds Tommy missing feathers on both wings he seems to be fearful.

When Zephyrus looks at Tommy’s face he sees Tommy’s unseeing eyes. How he doesn’t move and obediently lets Zephyrus move him without resistance.

Tommy can’t see anything but sterile white wall and the face he saw a few weeks ago. Instead of ten-year-old Tommy in the facility. It’s current Tommy.

There’s people touching his wings, taking his feathers, and hurting him. He can’t say anything, he can’t. Not without them getting mad.

He’s sobbing, tears choking him as he breaks. He escaped. He thought he escaped now he’s back.

“Tommy!” A voice whispers to him. “Tommy!!!” It’s louder now. “TOMMY!!!” Tommy snaps back to himself violently. Not gently like his friends help coach him through flash backs.

Tommy’s vision is filled with a familiar black, plague mask. Hands on his shoulders, shaking him. He shoves the hands away, falling backward in a panic. Zephyrus takes a step towards him and Tommy…Tommy screams.

“No! Tommy it’s ok! Calm down, it’s me!” Zephyrus tries to reassure. But Tommy backs further away.

“No, I’m sorry- please, leave me be…where’s Tubbo- where’s Ranboo-”

Zephyrus pauses. “Who? Tommy what’s wrong?”

Tommy’s wings puff up reminding Zephyrus of the missing downy feathers. “Tommy…where are your feathers?”

Tommy, through sobs, because he has to answer or the punishments will be worse, says, “I- I wanted to fly…I- you’re supposed to cut them for your flight feathers aren’t you?” Tommy chokes on his words. “When flight feathers grow instead of downy feathers you’re ready to fly.”

Zephyrus gasps. Horror evident. He hastily takes his mask off and Tommy barely registers it. Barely registers the kind blue eyes like his own, the blonde hair.

“No, Tommy, no…that’s not how it happens. Your feathers have to naturally come out. They fall out when you’re old enough and you’re flight feathers can come in. Cutting feathers lengthens the time before you’re ready to start flying.” Zephyrus seems…devastated. Utterly so.

Tommy is confused. “B-but that’s what they told me. I thought-”

“Who Tommy!? Who told you that!?”

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just jumps up and runs. Ignoring the shouts behind him. He doesn’t stop running until he recognises his building. He doesn’t hesitate to dart to his apartment and hide, leaning against his door inside.

His vision blurs, his breathing quickens and everything is heightened and blocked out all at once. Tommy holds his wings close to him. Desperate for something familiar and comforting.

He sits there for hours. Waiting, his brothers return and immediately try to calm him down. At first Tommy flinches from their touches, they don’t snap though, they sit close, allowing him to see they won’t touch him until he’s ready. Eventually, he relaxes around them and stumbles over his words to explain to them what happened. And what Zephyrus told him.

“It’s- not what supposed to happen. He lied. Of course he lied.” Tommy sobs.

Tubbo softly pats Tommy’s head. Running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. He doesn’t know what to say. He and Ranboo hold Tommy close until the boy falls asleep. Snoring softly.

Tommy’s dreams are filled with a mixture of things. One is old memories surfacing, people and not so friendly faces, and another was a face. One Tommy didn’t think he recognises.

Until, at dinner, when he’s munching on a nutbar, he realises where he’s seen the face.

The next-door neighbours jump when someone screams.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF FUCKING PRIME!?”

Meaning while. In the Hero Headquarters.

“YOU DID WHAT!?” Wilbur’s voice is shrill. And quite justifiably so, his father, just showed a traumatized child his face. And said child could most definitely leak it and therefore his father’s identity.

His twin, Techno, to outsiders would seem completely unbothered. To his close companions, would seem both flabbergasted and furious. His tone a similar situation. “Phil.” Phil internally shrinks. When his eldest son calls him by his name. He knows that he is not happy in the slightest. Even though Phil is supposed to be the parent, he’s subject to lectures all the same when he does something his sons deem idiotic or self-sacrificing.

“You’re telling us, that you showed your face to a child because you felt bad.”

Phil frowns. Yes he removed his mask but it was not because he felt bad, but because Tommy needed a face to see. Not a plague mask. And it worked! Tommy had calmed down enough to run off.

“Techno. He’s an avian. You know how rare avians are to this day. How many were killed and used before laws were passed. And he’s an avian kid. A hatchling. Who, from by the looks of it has no flock, or at least no avian flock members or he wouldn’t’ve…”

Wilbur pauses his next berating word and Techno’s face relaxes slightly. “He wouldn’t’ve what dad?”

Phil, breathes, the sight of Tommy’s wings still startlingly fresh. The missing- no, cut downy feathers causing bile to rise in his throat. “He cut his downy feathers off…”

Twin sharp inhalations meet his words. Both of the twins know how precious avian young years and feathers are supposed to be.

Techno's gaze hardens, the gravity of Phil's revelation sinking in. "He did what?"

Phil nods, his expression grim. "Tommy believed cutting downy feathers was necessary for flight feathers to grow. He thought it was part of the process. Someone must have misled him."

Wilbur's frustration morphs into concern. "Who would do that to a kid?"

Phil shakes his head, a mix of regret and dismay evident in his features. "I don't know, but it explains a lot about his behaviour. His panic attacks, his fears... It's tied to his past, to something he's been through."

Techno's mind races, contemplating the implications. "He's been through something that made him believe this. That's why he reacted the way he did.”

“No, he’s been told that.” Wilbur interjects. “Which means he might have seen someone pretending to be a doctor.” Wilbur’s eyes widen and he rushes out of the room. Returning moments later with a thick stack of files.

“This was a case years ago of a people setting up fake avian clinics to collect feathers and wings of all avian kinds. They set up appointments and when people went to see them they either returned without their wings or not at all. But none of them wanted to testify or release statements because there were no laws because of the way people were back then.”

Phil nods his head. “I heard of this case, apparently it was the one to turn the tide with protests for laws to protect all hybrids.”

Wilbur nods. “Yeah, the clinics were said to be where you were sent to ‘be fixed’ in order to work.  The corporations, they never disclosed if they knew the horrors that went on in that place. It was said, the rarer the avian. The less likely you were to return.”

“Do you know what type of avian Tommy is?” Techno asks.

Phil hums thoughtfully. “No. But he must be a rare one with those colours he has. And he always seems to bask in the sunlight but that might not be anything.”

Techno thinks for a moment before going to the bookshelf and pulling out a thick book of avian types. He flicks through the pages, glancing over the images mostly. “You said he has red feathers?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, it’s the most vibrant red on the top of his wings and they darken the further you go down. He also had golden tips and highlights on the edges.”

Techno stills. “Are you sure? It’s not the light that makes it look like that?”

“Yeah.”

Techno hurriedly flips through to the last dozen or so pages. “He could be a fire type. They are known to love heat and have higher resistance to fire although they can still be burned. They have warm toned feathers only and spend a lot of time outside. They tend to have ‘fiery’ personalities.”

Phil hums. “He doesn’t seem to be ‘fiery’. Reluctant to trust and guarded.”

“But that could be a mask. We know he’s got some trauma so that could be his way of protecting himself. If we gain his trust he might let that guard down.” Wilbur adds.

Phil’s eyebrow raises. “You make it sound really diabolical.”

Wilbur shrugs his shoulders, grinning. “I make everything seem diabolical.”

Techno hums. “It does seem to fit, but this says in the earlier pages that only light based avians can have gold on their feathers. Their colours are only that of gold and white. Nothing else.”

“So could he be a mix?”

“I don’t think it’s possible. Avians as far as I know can only have such a strong connection to one element. They can have a connection to multiple but they can only utilise to the strongest level their birth element.” Phil interjects.

“Then what is he?” Techno mumbles. He continues to look through the pages until he stills on one page. The last one.

“What is it Tech?” Phil inquires.

“There’s a single kind of avian that can have gold and red feathers. They’re their own kind of category. A whole new level of…power.”

“What is it Techno?” Wilbur asks with frustration.

Technoblade turns the book around for them to see and nods when they gasp with disbelief.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure?”

Phil sighed. His hand running over his face and through his hair, a sign of his stress and he slumps into his desk chair. “As I said the last thirty times you’ve asked that fucking question. Yes.”

“Are there any other avians that he could be Techno?” Wilbur’s voice is an in-between of resignation and fear. He’s in the middle of his brother and father. The middle of the room, flicking through the book for the fifth time. Like one would open the fridge, find nothing they like, close fridge, and open it again hoping for a different result.

“Unless he’s undocumented. Then no.” Technoblade, ever the monotone seemingly unfeeling of the family, replies. He is leaning against the doorframe, arms menacingly crossed as his own mind grapples with the ramifications of the new information. He wondered why they didn’t try and figure out this before things went to shit.

Wilbur’s eyes spark. “He could be undocumented, he could be a parrot for all we know!”

Techno’s eyes narrow. “A parrot doesn’t have gold on their wings you fucking moron.”

Phil interjects, “Now that’s enough Techno. He’s right on the fact that we can’t jump to conclusions. We have to see what else there is. He might be a fire type but have something from a light type. We need evidence before- before….”

“Before what Phil.” Techno’s voice is low and threatening. He never used his dads name unless he was deadly serious. “Before we turn him over to HQ where he’ll only be shoved headfirst into a life that no one deserves. They’ll find any weakness they can then slaughter him like cattle. Then you know what they’ll do to his wings.”

Phil swallows uncomfortably. He knows very well the views of society on this particular species. Tommy’s species.

It’s Wilbur who answers. “They’ll hang them in a museum somewhere.”

“Or as personal trophies in an office.” Techno finishes.

Wilbur grips the book tightly in one hand, then hurls it the wall. “I’ve fucking met this kid once and it still pisses me off to no end and worries my mind out of logic that he could go through that. That he could have already been through something close to it.”

Phil looks at the both of them. “The only question now is if he knows.”

Phil ponders Tommy’s conversations with him. “I don’t think he knows. He barely knows the basics of avianism. I doubt he knows there are more than the basic types of avians.” He throws his hands in the air. “Where do we even start with something like this! ‘Hey Tommy, guess what you’re one of the most deadly and powerful creatures alive and we have no idea whether or not if you’ll survive puberty because the heroes who are meant to protect you might very well kill you with no remorse!’ Fuck that.” Phil snarls.

Techno’s only note of surprise is the swift blink before he’s neutral again, but he’s never seen his father so unable to think rationally. So… unable to plan what to do next. “Dad, calm down. We all concerned. But we can’t keep a life changing secret like this from him. It won’t save his life. That book that Wilbur threw across the room- thank you for that it was two thousand dollars and supposed to be a gift for dad - it may be one of a kind but if Tommy comes across the wrong person he’ll be outed without knowing what for.”

Phil and Wilbur cast a worried look at each other, then nod. Phil continues, “We’ll need to make sure before we do anything though and keep him from going to too many places but we can’t tell him why nor can we let him think he’s in any danger or we might very well scare him away.” Phil sighs and places his hands on his desk, leaning over. He spots the files Wilbur had brought in. “Wil. Are any of the suspects in the clinics still alive?”

Wilbur looks at him with a hard look. “Are you sure you want to know dad?”

Phil returns the hard look until Wilbur blows out a breath and picks a peace of paper out of the file without a second glance. He knows the files well then. Wilbur slides the paper over to his father and waits for him to skim over the information.

“One escaped?!”

Technoblade immediately straightens and drops his arms. “What?!”

Wilbur nods solemnly. “He wasn’t the main boss but he was a large player in finding the avians and bringing them to the clinics, whether by willingness or force we can only guess. We only know this name, but we have no idea how many alias’s he has.”

Tommy POV

“I don’t know why I never tried to get his name. Stupid. I know.” Tommy says as he flops onto the couch and squishes both his brothers, Tubbo squawks like he’s the bird hybrid and Ranboo playfully smacks Tommy, but he’s still mindful of his wings.

Tubbo scoffs. “No. Not stupid, you were, still are, a-”

Tommy whips his head to Tubbo. “If you say child I will punt you so far not even aliens will find the pieces of you.”

“A young human being-?” Tubbo—wisely—corrects. “Who was scared for his life and didn’t want to do anything that would bring more harm than good. Not stupid. Just scared.”

Tommy mumbles something under his breath.

“Sorry Toms I didn’t get that.”

“…still am.”

Tubbo and Ranboo both sit up much to Tommy’s chagrin. Their faces the form of empathy. “And that’s okay Tommy. You can be scared. You can be terrified and that doesn’t make you weak. It means you don’t want to suffer anymore.”

Ranboo’s voice is knowing. “If I came to you and said I was scared because I saw someone who I had horrible memories associated with. Would you call me weak?”

Tommy’s whips his head so fast it cracks. “First off, they’d be dead before they got within eyesight of you. Second of all. No. Of course not. They were a wrongun to you. They don’t get Ranboo privileges.”

Ranboo’s eyes light up with mirth. “I’m a privilege?” He’s laughing.

Tommy scowls with much venom, “no, you’re a wrongun too. I take back everything nice I’ve ever said about you boob boy.”

Tubbo’s laughing now too and Tommy can’t help but fall to laughter with them.

The trio cuddle on the couch and with a shitty movie playing on the old tv, they fall asleep there, comfortable and feeling safe.

The next morning is fast and flies by their eyes. Tubbo and Ranboo head of to their respecting jobs while Tommy wanders around the city, it’s decently cold, turning winter in a few weeks so he has his cloak on, covering his wings and muting the anxiety being outside without his wings bound in civilian disguise. He’s got no plans until the afternoon. Zephyrus or- the blonde haired blue eyed old man Tommy met at the grocery store- had an urgent meeting until then and stressed importance of meeting Tommy as soon as possible. Old man probably felt inferior with his plain- okay they were actually very cool- black wings compared to Tommy’s fiery red, blood red and gold wings even though still looked a little sickly with the minimal food Tommy had. He wasn’t even allowed to fly if he was to listen everyone around him, if he was to believe that they knew better.

He’s done that once before hasn’t he, has allowed someone to make those decisions for him and in turn, they’d instilled such a deep-rooted fear that Tommy isn’t sure he could ignore that terror long enough if he were to need to escape them once more. Tommy’s blue eyes follow his crappy shoes as they meekly kick a crushed can down the path, ignoring the dulled grey eyed sky dipping below the horizon of buildings. He hopes he can find another job soon, they might not last too long without his paycheck and who knows how long it will be until Tommy finds work that pays just as well. He clenches his fingers in his thin jacket pocket, its old patches failing to keep all the chills from assaulting his frame.

An hour drags by, and Tommy feels like it’s trying to show all of the snail species who’s the slowest, the sky is dark and oppressing, its lights barely twinkling. He finds himself at Pogtopia park, where an inviting bench welcomes his collapse with frozen wood arms. Tommy rests his elbows on his knees, his hands and head hanging low. He’s just so tired.

He can feel the pooling water as everything hits him like a golf ball to the face. He’s jobless, the fact that he’s showing his wings means that getting another good one will be near impossible, and he’s failing at looking after Ranboo and Tubbo. His brothers in every way but blood.

So Tommy lets the tears fall, let’s the weights consume him and the ugliness of life pin him down until it’s crushing his lungs and he can no longer breathe. Tommy’s sharpening nails come to his hair and dig into his scalp, anything to stop his thoughts from racing with every wrongdoing he’s ever witnessed, everything he and his family have experienced. It’s too damn much and Tommy…he breaks. He’s kicking every loose stone in sight, sending the projectiles into trash cans, trees and larger rocks.

Tommy's voice is a raw, fractured thing—half a scream, half a sob, ripping straight from his chest like it is tearing him apart. It wavers between fury and despair, cracking under the weight of too much pain, too much of…everything. Why couldn’t they have a stable life?! Why couldn’t he and his brothers live without looking over their shoulders?! Where was their freedom?! Tommy can’t take it, his knees give out and they smack the concrete as he barely saves his face from becoming a meat pancake with his arms, his wings fluttering, then falling still. He’s openly sobbing and the winter cold is leaching all his fight, blurring everything around him until it’s just his thoughts, and the icy, screaming wind bleeding into nothingness.

Tommy is late. Sure that wouldn’t be unusual if his vigilante outfit was gone, but it hasn’t been touched, it still remains hidden where Tommy keeps all his gear. It’s worrying to say the least, especially with Tommy’s tormentor possibly hanging around the city. Tubbo and Ranboo can’t exactly go out alone this late, neither of them can really defend themselves, Tubbo has a mean punch because of his natural strength and the small muscle he’s built working on things in Sam’s workshop, but Ranboo doesn’t have either of those, teleporting would reveal just how much enderman blood Ranboo has, and neither of them would win against a bullet or a knife. So Tubbo sits at the table with Ranboo, and calls Sam.

He picks up after 5 rings, Tubbo knows because he counts.

“Uugh.…Tubbo. ’s 12 in the morning,” Sam’s voice is groggy, low, and has a slight sharpness, “This is the first time I’ve been able to go to bed early. Please tell me this is an emergency and not an ‘I’ve had too much caffeine and I have too many urgent ideas’ phone call.”

Tubbo swallows harshly. Unable to voice the fact that Tommy is gone. He can hear the rustle of sheets and Sam sitting up.

“Tubbo. What happened?” Sam’s much more alert now, he’s not asking, he’s demanding.

Ranboo takes an obvious deep breath, prompting Tubbo to copy.

“It’s Tommy. We don’t know where he is, he hasn’t come home, and his phone rings for a bit then goes to voicemail.”

“I’m on my way.”

‘I’m on my way’ apparently meant ‘I’m bolting out of bed and out the door, barely stopping to change my clothes’. Because Sam shows up at the apartment just 10 minutes later, still sporting a t-shirt, loose fitting tracksuit pants and fluffy green socks with white dogs on them that poke out above his boots. His green hair is also a mess, and his eyes have generous bags underneath. Tubbo and Ranboo would snicker and tease him if they weren’t so worried about Tommy.

Sam puts a hand on each of their shoulders, his smile reassuring as he says, “Tommy’s a smart kid, he’s a survivor, I doubt a little late night will change that, but never the less, I have Zephyrus, Blade and Coeus all looking for him.”

Tubbo and Ranboo look at each other with a pause, they know something Sam doesn’t. That someone Tommy knows from his past might be in the city, that Tommy might have been found. He could be out there, terrified and alone, taken somewhere. Tommy might not forgive them if they tell someone he hasn’t trusted with his story himself, so they keep their mouths shut and pray Sam is right.

“Blade! Find him yet?” Phil shouts down at his son. He’s currently hovering above, hoping that a birds eye view will help them find this kid faster.

Technoblade looks up to his father, his head shaking despite the encompassing dark ensuring it can’t be seen. “Not yet, it would help if we knew this kids hang outs!”

Phil pauses, thinking to all he’s been told and knows about Tommy, “Let’s try Pogtopia Park, he’s there a lot!”

Techno nods, “I’ll radio Wil to circle the less favourable parts of the city!”

“Names, Blade.” Phil says as he changes course.

Techno rolls his eyes, “If anyone but you were within hearing distance, I’d know. Zephyrus.”

But Phil is already out of hearing distance himself.

Phil’s wings snap at the icy winds, he’s too low to be able to stay this altitude with warm air to help him glide, but he can go higher without losing vital detailed visual on the ground below. The few minutes it takes for Phil to be hovering over Pogtopia Park are way too long for his liking, he’s worried about Tommy, this avian kid who seems to be in vehement denial about everything.

Phil flaps his wings, preparing to turn around but something catches his eyes. A silhouette on the ground.

A body.

Shit.

Phil’s in a nose dive before he can properly register if he’s just seeing things, and he throws the notion out of the window when he sees messy, dirty blonde hair and those beautiful gold tipped wings.

Tommy’s skin is pale and his body is cold, too cold for his too thin frame. The moment Phil scoops him into his arms, ebony wings wrapping around them to trap any warmth in the air, he sighs. Tommy’s breathing at least.

Phil holds Tommy close, this cannot happen again.

It’s time for a change.