Archive of Our Own

The shape of the horns felt damning beneath his fingers, small and sharp and spelling out his doom in the splatters of blood that patterned the floor between them. Tommy's breaths were laced with panic, small and stuttering as he stared into Tubbo's bluegreen eyes with all the desperation of a man on deathrow.

"Repeat it back to me, Tommy." His friend spoke quietly, the faint buzzing that overlaid each word more present than usual as Tubbo tightened his grip on Tommy’s shoulders, eyes blown wide as he fought off his own panic to try and help clean up Tommy's mess before their foster parents came home. Before Tommy was as good as dead on the cold streets outside. Before they found out Tommy wasn't human.

“You need to say it.” Tubbo repeated, growing more visibly stressed by the second. “If anyone sees this, tell them you fell, got it? Say it, Tommy!”

Tommy’s lungs were on fire as he struggled to pull enough air into them to breathe. Tears were pooling in his eyes now, sharp and salty and wet as they trailed down his face to mix with the blood soaking into his clothes. By some miracle, he managed to form enough words to give Tubbo an answer.

“I-If anyone asks,” he gasps, trembling from the force of it all, of the realization setting in just how incredibly fucked they would be if anyone found out- “I’ll tell them I fell.” His grip tightened around the sensitive horn, drawing a sharp wince from him that immediately drew Tubbo’s eye. He frowned, expression pinched as reached up to gently pry Tommy’s fingers away from the very new, very unwelcomed additions to his body.

“Okay.” Tubbo whispered, clutching Tommy’s hand like he could protect him from the world. Knowing Tubbo, Tommy didn’t doubt he’d do everything in his power to at least try. He trusted Tubbo with his life, and he knew the feeling was mutual. They’d been through too much together to feel any other way.

He watches as Tubbo takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to think. The hallway felt cold around them, sharp corners bathed in deep blue shadows looming like prison walls around the two as they sat on the hardwood floor. The scent of copper was thick in the air, and as Tommy waited, he realized he could recognize the bitter taste of it on sitting on his tongue as well. Distantly, just beyond the deafening roar of his heartbeat in his ears, Tommy could swear he heard the subtle buzzing of Tubbo’s wings from where they were hidden beneath his clothes.

“Okay, okay.” Tubbo inhales again, back straightening and eyes opening again as a new air of resolve settles over him. “Okay. We need hats and a lot of bandages. Can you clean yourself up while I take care of the room, or do you need help?”

Tommy feels about as stable as a house of cards on a windy day. Every part of him is shaking, including the hand still in Tubbo’s grasp, sticky with the same rapidly drying blood that was dripping from his hair. Despite this, Tommy grits his teeth and does his best to wrangle his breathing into something more normal, because he already knew the answer he needed to give. He had to say yes. There wasn’t enough time for anything else.

“Yeah, just- I just need a moment.” His head was still throbbing. The new weight to it, however minor, was making him feel even more unbalanced on top of the brain fog and the blood loss. He hated everything about this, hated everything that came with the idea of being a hybrid, and it hadn’t even been an hour.

From the way Tubbo’s frown deepened, Tommy knew he could tell he was lying through his teeth.

But there was no time.

Tubbo knew it, too.

“Alright, then I need you to get cleaned up while I take care of the room, okay? I know how to get the blood stains out of the rug, you just-” He paused, shifting to wrap Tommy’s arm around his shoulder and stand, pulling Tommy upright along with him. Tommy’s vision immediately turned to grey fuzz, and it was a good thing that Tubbo was supporting most of his weight, because all sense of gravity had left him. The pair take a moment to stumble around blindly- Tommy rams into something sharp with a hiss, followed by a strained ‘sorry’ from Tubbo -before Tubbo manages to get him leaning against a wall without falling over. Tommy’s vision has cleared enough now to catch how Tubbo’s hands hover over him before he steps away, betraying his hesitation to leave. His lips were pursed as he watched Tommy, wasting precious seconds steeling himself before he finally spoke. “Wash it up, bandage it. I’ll show you how to hide them after.”

There was a pause, then the echoing sound of rushed footsteps heading away from him as Tubbo raced to get the cleaning products from the laundry room downstairs. Leaving him alone. Horribly, painfully alone.

Tommy stared at the spot where Tubbo had been for a moment, vision still swimming, before he forced his eyes to the clock on the wall. The quiet ticking boomed like thunder in the fresh quiet of Tubbo’s absence. The delicate silver hands read 2:32pm. They had one hour before their foster father came home.

He needed to be ready before then.

Lungs still burning, heart still hammering, Tommy shoves himself away from the wall and stumbles toward the bathroom to start working the blood out of his hair.

People don’t really like to talk about the foster system. People liked to talk even less about how hybrids were treated in the foster system. The reason, however shameful, was because it was uncomfortable. The foster system was one of those dark and dusty crevices in society where no one escaped unscathed. It was a place where monsters lurked in human skin, preying on the weak to elevate or supplement their own lifestyles. The reality was that it was a broken system, but a system that couldn’t be easily replaced, so it remained as it was.

Tommy and Tubbo just happened to be one of the many that were trapped in that system. It wasn’t personal, it wasn’t fate- it was just life. It was life, and they happened to get the short end of the stick.

In the end, between Tubbo’s encyclopedic knowledge of chemicals and Tommy’s panicked showering- where he scrubbed his skin until it was beet red and raw -the two boys somehow ended up in a spotless room with two new, bloodred horns flawlessly hidden beneath several layers of white gauze and a loose beanie. Their foster parents came home and suspected nothing, but in the end it barely mattered. Some stray words, some random grievance, and Tommy still ended up with a mural of bruises and cuts painted across his skin. Tubbo, having tried to step in and defend him at some point, had also only gained a black eye and restricted food for his efforts.

Sometimes, during the quiet moments where pain radiates up his body and sleep refuses to take him, Tommy likes to imagine what life could be like if it was fair. He imagines him and Tubbo in one of those nice homes he sees in the movies, with caring parents and home-cooked meals and nights that they didn’t have to spend breaking into the medicine cabinet for a bottle of advil because their stash had run out two weeks ago and oh, it hurt, it hurt so bad.

He imagines Tubbo being able to freely show his bee traits, to live without having to check if their foster parents were dead asleep before he dared unbind his wings, to not have to constantly wear a hat lest someone notice his antenna, to stop having to buy gloves because the stingers on his wrists kept ripping through the cheap fabric of his old ones, and he might accidentally sting someone and reveal himself if he wasn’t careful about keeping them covered.

He imagines a world where manifesting hybrid traits doesn’t feel like a death sentence. Where guilt doesn’t eat at him for putting further stress on Tubbo. Where they can just exist as best friends, as family, as something close to brothers.

And then the screams of their foster parents filter in, the hunger pains begin to rise, the first blow of the night will knock him back into reality- and Tommy will tuck those fantasies away as an impossibility for another life.

“I stole some cash out of her wallet today.” Tubbo says, grinning from ear to ear like a cheshire cat and patting his jacket pocket conspiratorially. “Let’s buy something. I want honey drops.”

Tommy laughs gleefully, slinging an arm over Tubbo’s shoulder as they walk. It was a nice day out today, golden sunshine kissing their skin and warm air perfumed by the flowers as they passed by the park. Perfect for successful heists. Perfect for victory candy. “Fuck yeah, mate! Though, are you sure she won’t notice? The last time wasn’t too long ago.” He doesn’t want Tubbo to get hurt. Some pocket change wasn’t worth having to watch more bruises bloom and heal on his best friend’s skin.

Tubbo snorts and rolls his eyes, leaning into Tommy’s side as they struggle to walk in pace with each other without falling off the sidewalk. “Nah, she won’t notice. I heard them arguing this morning about money, and it sounds like she’s convinced he’s the one stealing it for more lottery tickets.”

Tommy grimaces. Their foster father often raged over his more expensive gambling losses, and usually Tommy and Tubbo ended up being his convenient targets. Images of shattered glass and raised voices float through his mind, and he does his best to shove them back into their assigned Tommy Innes brand Trauma Box^TM where they belonged, thank you very much. At least it wasn’t beer; he was worse when he was drunk.

“At least it’s not beer this time.” He voices his thoughts, distracting himself from the remnants of bitter memories by taking a comedically large step to purposefully overbalance Tubbo.

“Yeah,” Tubbo was agreeing, nodding his head. “I know you still have cuts from- hey!” They toppled slightly and Tommy grinned ferally, struggling to suppress a laugh as Tubbo grunted and forcibly yanked Tommy back onto the sidewalk and away from the empty street. “Fuck you! What was that for? I’m sharing my spoils of war with you!”

“Spoils of war?” Tommy was leaning the other way now, just enough to start pushing Tubbo dangerously into shrub territory on the opposite side of the sidewalk. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well- Stop it!” Tubbo elbows Tommy sharply in the side with a friendly scowl, effectively breaking them apart and shoving Tommy away. The laugh Tommy was suppressing finally broke free, and he threw back his head from the force of it, shoulders shaking as Tubbo put a sudden, very healthy distance between them.

“Like I was saying, it kinda feels like a war, doesn’t it? The house is the battlefield, we’re the soldiers, and our foster parents are the opposing side.”

Tommy nods as he recovered from his laughing fit, only half listening as he immediately starts trying to edge back into Tubbo’s personal space, hoping to push him again. “What’s our cause, then? All the interesting wars have a good cause.”

Tubbo hums, taking a sharp and calculated step away to dodge Tommy’s advances. “I dunno. I was thinking survival, maybe? We’re at war so we can keep living every day?”

Tommy, not so easily thwarted, darts forward again to walk evenly at Tubbo’s side. Drifting slightly too far to the middle of the sidewalk, he looks pointedly away from Tubbo in hopes that his friend wouldn’t notice what he was doing, determined to force Tubbo to acquaint himself with some sticks and leaves. “S’pose that makes sense. Would that really be a war, though? Isn’t a war more like-”

“Tommy, I swear if you don’t stop, I’m going to throw you into the street.”

Tommy slips right back to his proper place. It wasn’t an empty threat.

-

They eventually decide to visit a quaint little candy store on the corner that they’d never been to before, drawn in by the delicate aroma of fresh cakes and spun sugar confectionaries. A tiny silver bell announces their entry with a pleasant chime as they push open the door, immediately greeted by the sight of a cozy interior painted in a soft green with pink and white accents. A row of cakes lined one wall, each a different flavor and with different styles of decorations. Tommy slips over to eye a bright lemon cake that looked like an art palate had sneezed on it while Tubbo makes his way to the front counter, gaze locked onto a pile of honey drops glittering enticingly from behind the glass display case.

“Just a moment!” Calles a voice, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps as someone rushed to the front of the store to help them.

“Sorry about that,” Apologized a kind looking man as he stepped out from a swinging door labeled ‘employees only’, working to quickly tie an apron around his waist. “it’s been a slow morning, so I was getting a few things sorted in the back. How can I help you today?”

Tubbo was strangely silent, which was… Odd. Tommy finally looks away from the lemon cake to get a better look at the guy behind the counter, hoping to get an idea of what was giving his friend pause, and… Oh.

Oh.

The man himself seemed kind on the surface, with bright golden hair that framed a soft face, bright blue eyes, and a smile that was gentle and warm to match the atmosphere of the shop. None of that was the issue. The issue were the two massive wings sprouting out of his back, glossy black feathers shining dully in the light as the man’s dark scaled, taloned hands tapped idly on the top of the display case.

Tommy’s eyes flicked to the man’s apron. The little white nametag pinned to his breast pocket read Phil in neat black handwriting.

A bird hybrid.

Looking unknowingly at an insect hybrid.

No wonder Tubbo had gone silent.

Phil seemed to sense that something was wrong as the silence stretched, because his smile dropped slightly, wings lowering as he took a closer look at the pair.

“Are you alright, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He asks Tubbo with a chuckle. The joke was met with more silence. Shit, shit, Tommy needed to do something right now-

“What a BEAUTIFUL SHOP you have here, um. Phil.” He slipped right to Tubbo’s side, drawing all attention to himself in an instant. It was something he’d always been good at, and at this particular moment he was glad for it. Tubbo likely needed time to sort himself, he’d always had issues around bird hybrids after-

“Oh, thank you mate. Although to be honest, I wasn’t the one that decorated it.” Phil was smiling warmly again. It seemed sincere enough, but it still made Tommy’s skin crawl as his friend remained frozen in place next to him. He was rare to trust adults after meeting many, many shitty ones during his time in the foster system. “My wife was actually the one to-”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great, can we have some honey drops please?” Tommy blindly reached over for Tubbo’s hand. Tubbo found it and gave it a squeeze. He was okay, then, he just needed a second, like Tommy had suspected. He squeezes back, a silent promise to provide.

“Oh.” Phil looked a little thrown, feathers ruffling slightly as he processed the words. “Sure thing, mate. How many do you want?”

“Um.” Tommy responded intelligently. Tubbo hadn’t actually mentioned the exact amount he’d been planning to get during their walk here. He also hadn’t mentioned exactly how much cash he’d manage to grab during his earlier heist, so Tommy couldn’t really guess, either. He decides to throw out the first number that comes to mine and work from there. “A hundred.”

Tubbo elbows him in the ribs, sharply, earning a little ow from Tommy as he turns to glare at him. Rude.

Tubbo glares back at him wordlessly and squeezes his hand again. Less.

“Right, I mean, not a hundred. That’s a stupid amount, couldn’t even be bothered with it.” He rushes to correct himself, eyes flicking back and forth from Tubbo to Phil for some kind of sign, the latter of which looking increasingly more and more perplexed at the interaction. “Fifty?” Another squeeze. “No, sorry, I meant forty.” Squeeze. “Except that I actually meant thirty. Sorry about that,” He cleared his throat, cheeks warm with light embarrassment. “It’s um. The dyslexia.” Tubbo didn’t squeeze again, which Tommy took as confirmation. “Thirty honey drops, please. In a box.” Squeeze. “In a bag, I mean.” No squeeze that time. It made sense; bags were easier to crumple up and hide.

“…Right.” Said Phil, looking between the two in front of him. “Of course. Just a second, please, I need to get them from the back. The ones we have here are just for display and aren’t as fresh.” Tommy nods as Phil dips out of the room again, footsteps echoing as he reenters the back of the shop to bag up the honey drops for them. Next to him, Tubbo let out a shaky breath.

And then immediately elbowed him in the ribs again.

“Ow!” Tommy cries, rubbing at his poor abused ribs. “What was that for?!”

Tubbo stares at him incredulously. “One hundred honey drops? Are you insane, Tommy? We don’t have nearly enough for that many!”

“Well, I fixed it, didn’t I?” Tommy defends sourly, still rubbing the sting out of his ribs. “’S not like you told me how much money you got, so I went with my first guess.”

“And your first guess was one hundred?”

“Fuck off, I never said it was a good guess!”

Footsteps were approaching again. Tubbo took a quick breath, in and out, to steady himself this time. “Well… Thanks, I guess. I just wasn’t expecting to see… A bird. Today. I wasn’t ready for it.”

The footsteps were louder now, so instead of answering Tommy just took Tubbo’s hand again and gave it another squeeze, shooting him a meaningful look. Always. Anything for Tubbo.

Phil enters with a neatly folded bag that rattles with candy, which he gently places down on the surface of the counter. “That’ll be fifteen dollars.” Phil says kindly, already working to ring them up on the register. “Will that be with cash or a card today?”

“Cash, please.” Tubbo answers, surprising Tommy, albeit he was still a bit quieter than usual. He pulls a wad of crumbled bills out of his pocket, counts out fifteen, and offers up the exact amount for Phil to take. Tommy watches Tubbo go stock still as Phil reaches out and accepts the money, a claw slightly grazing the fabric of Tubbo’s gloves in the process.

Tommy squeezes his hand again, focusing on the harsh sound of the register as it spat out their receipt. He was on the verge of ripping it away himself, grabbing the bag, and pulling Tubbo away from this place and never come back until…

He smelled something.

He smelled something good.

It was like his entire brain stalled in that half second, everything else escaping him as he focused completely on the scent of something drifting into the room from the back of the shop. ‘Food.’ Something small and gentle seemed to headbutt his rational thought away from him, filling the place it used to be and curling up contentedly. ‘There’s food in there.’ It crowded his mind with cotton, soft and fuzzy in the way it nudged him forward to get to whatever smelled so heavenly and eat it already.

“Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice filters in distantly, sounding like it was coming from underwater, or maybe a thousand miles away. Tommy realizes, vaguely, that he is halfway behind the counter now, peeking around the display case and earning a confused look from Phil that he barely paid any attention to as he continues to stumble forward.

“Are you alright, mate?” Phil tries talking to him next, moving to block the way and nudge him back toward the front with one of his massive wings, and Tommy felt some sort of sad, animalistic noise leave him. Something soul crushing and mournful that sounded remarkably like a kicked puppy if a kicked puppy were a cow and that cow was also a person. If he was in his right mind, Tommy would’ve been absolutely mortified over it, but as it stood all he knows in this moment is Near and Far and Food, and right now food was far and he was very upset about it.

Phil cracks immediately, wing falling away from Tommy’s path and letting him stumble towards the swinging door that lead to the back of the shop without further hinderance.

“Tommy, wait- Tommy!” Tubbo calls desperately, voice rising with panic as Tommy just left, probably while looking at least half as out of it as he felt.

“It’s alright, it’s just instincts, mate. Sometimes when…” Tommy couldn’t make out the rest, pushing through the door and shuffling down a short hallway until he entered a brightly lit kitchen where a new figure stood, watching him.

The kitchen was just as cozy as the shop, filled with warm sunlight streaming in through a massive window to his left, sitting just over a sink. Metal shelves lined with trays of fresh pastries had been placed near the doorway, filling the room with all sorts of delightful aromas that greet him as Tommy walks further inside. Several large, industrial-looking appliances stood to his right, patterned with flour and various utensils cluttering their surfaces. Near the center of the kitchen was a man- likely a piglin hybrid, because he had pink hair and tusks -wearing a very similar outfit to Phil, with a stained apron and a nametag reading Techno in big, blocky letters.

Tommy didn’t particularly care. He only had eyes for the bubbling pot on the stove next to Techno, where a particular smell- the same one that the little creature taking over his brain was begging him to eat -was coming from. He wanders closer to the counter, leaning heavily against the cool tile surface of it as he stared into a deep brown concoction that looked for all the world like a stew.

“Phil, why is there a child in the kitchen?” Techno calls, gaze never straying from Tommy. Any other day, Tommy probably would’ve been offended at being called a ‘child,’ but as it stood, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care very much. He assumes Techno got some sort of response, because the man suddenly slumps, using his free hand to massage his temples with a sigh as his eyes bore into Tommy like he’d just been given the worst news of his life. “Are you sure we can’t just kick ‘em out?” A pause. “He’s just starin’ at the stew on the stove. Has been since he came in here.”

“Did you try giving him some?” Oh, there was Phil, making his way into the room with a very fidgety looking Tubbo just behind him.

Techno glances up at them as they enter and blinks. “No, Phil. My first instinct at seeing a lost and confused kid wanderin’ into the kitchen, where he shouldn’t be, was not to give him a bowl of boiling hot mushroom stew to see if it magically solves all his problems.”

Phil laughs as he took in the scene, wings shaking from the force of it as Techno shot him a desperate look while gesturing to Tommy, who was still mostly just staring into the boiling pot like it would whisper to him the secrets of the universe.

“It might solve more than you think, mate. I say we give him a bowl and see what happens.” A moment passes before a gentle hand lands on Tommy’s shoulder, making him jump as he risked a proper look over to Phil.

“You might want to step away a bit,” The man said, smile never faltering in its gentleness. “We can’t really dish it up if you’re this close. You could burn yourself too easily.”

-

Tommy is coaxed into a chair next to a Tubbo who, at this point, is beyond stressed out and approaching oncoming heart attack territory with alarming speed. Four bowls of stew are dished up and served to each person present, words of awkward conversation floating by as Tommy does his best not to shove his face into the bowl and drink every last drop. It tasted amazing. It was better than any other food he’d ever eaten, and twice as satisfying as all of them combined. It warmed him straight to his core, leaving him feeling cozy, calm, and perfectly satisfied.

He isn’t sure how long he drifts like that, completely at ease and happy with the world, but at some point, he starts coming to while chewing idly on his wooden spoon.

It’s like someone had taken off a blindfold, or maybe a pair of ear-cancelling headphones. The world seems to sharpen and regain its vibrancy around him while he slowly stiffens, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. He turns his head to glance around and properly take in his surroundings for the first time in… How long has he been sitting here?

“Hold on.” He begins, an inkling of anxiety creeping up his spine as he realizes just how dire the situation could be right now. “Now hold on just a fuckin’ minute. Why are we- Why did I just-” He catches Tubbo’s gaze, the bee hybrid glowering with all the exhausted energy he can muster in the most ‘so now you fucking notice?!’ look Tommy has ever seen in his life.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid.” Techno grunts, head resting in one hand as he leaned against the table, half slouched over his own empty soup bowl. “You’ve been out of it for about an hour, now.”

Tommy tensed, blinking as he processes the word hour. It had felt like maybe fifteen minutes had passed while he was eating. “What the fuck… Happened, exactly?” He asks with a newfound caution, hyper aware of the fact that they were with strange people that now knew Tommy was a hybrid and no one knew where they were. This could turn very dangerous very quickly. They needed to be careful and get out of here, fast.

“It was your instincts, mate.” Phil seemed entirely unaware- or maybe just unconcerned -with Tommy’s gradual descent into panic. He was gathering up the empty dishes, a hand slowly reaching towards him to collect Tommy’s bowl. “You’re still only just manifesting, right?”

Tommy didn’t want Phil’s hand any closer to him than strictly necessary, thank you very much. He grabs his bowl before Phil can reach it and all but shoves it in the man’s direction, hoping he’d take it and get away already. Phil looks a little surprised but accepts the bowl without fuss, stacking it on top of the other three already balanced in his other arm. Tommy waits for him to take a few steps towards the sink before he answers, feeling slightly safer with the added distance between them.

“None of your fuckin’ business.” Tubbo elbows him hard. “Ow! Jesus, fine. Yes. It just started a few weeks ago. But this is the first time anything like… This, has ever happened.” He’s rubbing his ribs for the second time that day, glaring at Tubbo with barely hidden confusion. Didn’t they want to leave? Why was Tubbo making him spill even more information?

His friend’s expression is downcast and anxious, eyes flicking to different exit points in the kitchen like he was routing an escape in case things went south. Knowing Tubbo, that’s probably exactly what he was doing, but it still didn’t explain why he’d elbowed him.

“A few weeks?” Techno asks, frowning. “Manifestin’ usually takes a few days, max. Havin’ it drag out for this long isn’t normal, kid.”

Tommy was left a bit stunned at that news, blinking incredulously at Techno like he’d just told them the sky was green, or the ocean was bright red. Tubbo remains still in his seat next to him, uncharacteristically quiet. “It… Does?” Tommy asks cautiously after a stretch of silence, testing the waters. Trying to spot the lie.

Techno snorted humorlessly. “Isn’t this somethin’ covered in school? Once the process starts, a healthy hybrid will fully manifest in a few days; any longer than that puts a needless strain on the body. It’s common knowledge. Everyone knows this.”

Everyone except Tommy. Everyone except Tubbo. Tubbo is looking at Techno now, his expression one of barely disguised doubt and distrust, but the ground suddenly seems extremely interesting to Tommy. He takes great care to memorize every single one of the patterns he can find swirling in the dingy tile as another awkward silence settles between the three of them, all while Phil continues to busy himself a few feet away by making… Tea?

Neither Tubbo nor Tommy particularly wanted to pose the question, ‘and what about an unhealthy hybrid?’ Clearly, they already had the answer.

“…Well!” Tommy jolted as Tubbo clapped his hands. Loudly. “Thank you for your wonderful hospitality, but I really think we ought to be leaving now.” Tubbo declared, chair screeching as he pushed it back and abruptly stood. Tommy had half a second to register a hand wrapping around his arm before he was yanked up too, Tubbo obviously intending to drag Tommy out with him if he needed to. Not that Tommy was complaining, he wanted out of here, too.

“Right! Thank you, Phil and… What kind of name is Techno?” The obscurity of the name suddenly hit Tommy as he spoke, rounding on Techno with an incredulous look. Techno’s face only betrayed exhaustion as Phil let out a started bark of laughter from the kitchen.

“It’s mine. Any other questions you’re just dyin’ to ask, while we’re at it?” Techno’s tone was deadpan, sounding rather like he’d be having any other conversation anywhere else right about now. Tubbo was also stubbornly, firmly trying to pull Tommy back the way they’d come, but Tommy still nodded, one more lingering question floating to the forefront of his mind and, what the hell, he may as well ask it at this point.

“Do you know what kind of hybrid I am?”

“Tommy!” Tubbo hissed at him, squeezing his arm anxiously.

“What? You were the one that had me-”

“You don’t know?” The sudden soft, concerned tone from Phil silenced their bickering immediately, both boys staring at him like a pair of deer caught in headlights. Their silence must’ve been answer enough, because Phil’s face fell, something like understanding shining in his eyes as he looked over the two.

“Oh, mate-”

“Anywaysnicetomeetyoubye!” Tubbo said as he practically yanked Tommy out of the kitchen and ran back to the front of the store. As they passed by the counter, barely registering the alarmed cry from Phil behind them, Tommy caught sight of the bag of honeydrops. Snatching them up in one swift motion, he stuffed the bag into his pocket before chasing after Tubbo. They shoved through the door and raced away into the street, leaving the uncomfortable questions and weirdly concerned shop owners behind.

---

“Why did you elbow me, then? In the kitchen?” Tommy asks later, resting on the floor by the bed as Tubbo worked to hide the honeydrops beneath their ratty mattress. “I thought we didn’t want them to know shit about us, but you stopped me.”

Tubbo shoves the bag further against the slats of the bedframe, heaving a sigh as he lowers the mattress back down on top of it and takes a step back to examine his handiwork. It was perfect; the bag wasn’t visible at all unless you looked at it from the floor. Satisfied, Tubbo nods to himself and settles on the bed to rest.

“I wanted your opinion on how he sounded when he talked about the hybrid stuff.” Tubbo explains, chewing his lip in thought. “Do you think he was lying?”

Tommy’s face scrunches in confusion. “What, about the manifesting thing? Seems like a weird fuckin’ thing to lie about, if he was.” Tubbo hums, sniffling loudly as he scratches his nose with annoyance. Looks like the dust from the mattress was kicking in, then. Tubbo would probably be sneezing for the rest of the day.

“I thought maybe it was a plot to keep us around for longer, but the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. Which means,” His hand drops away from his face as he leans back against the wall with a huff. “those books I read on hybrids were outdated. We need to go back to the library soon and try and find something more… Written-in-this-decade.”

“Ugh, reading.” Tommy laments, throwing an arm over his face in his best impersonation of someone fainting dramatically, like in the old movies he’s watched while peeking around corners at the TV late at night. Tubbo rolls his eyes at the antics, but Tommy can tell he’s fighting a small smile.

“We also need to figure out what hybrid type you are.” Tommy sobers at that, arm falling away as the mirthful energy drains from him with the reminder. Tubbo shoots him a soft look, gentle even as he leaves no room for argument. “You’re gonna have to find out eventually, bossman. I say it’s better to do it sooner than later.”

“And I say it’s better to not do it at all.” Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from Tubbo to glare a hole into the floor. He’d meant it as a joke, but he can’t manage to keep the sharp edge out of his tone.

Accepting he was a hybrid was still… Hard for him. Especially now that he had instincts that would just… Randomly make him wander into stranger’s kitchens without fear because they had soup. The memory of that soft, fuzzy feeling now makes his stomach twist with anxiety. What if that happened again, one day, and the people he ran into weren’t as nice? What if next time, he didn’t make it out alive?

It was an idea that was eating at him.

Another point of guilt. Another thing for him and Tubbo to deal with that was his fault.

Tubbo doesn’t answer, eyes sad as he watches Tommy from the bed.

Eventually, after a tense silence, Tommy does agree. He agrees, because Tubbo is right, and as much as he wants to, this isn’t something he can run from forever. He’d be just as well off trying to run from his own two feet.

“We should go tomorrow.” He says, and Tubbo nods.

Tomorrow, they’ll get the answers they need.

Tommy can only hope that they’re answers he can live with.

---

Fate must have been smiling on Tubbo and Tommy the next day, because they are blessed with their foster father taking an extra shift to appease his wife after the lottery ticket argument. Their foster mother, in turn, leaves for her weekly salon appointment, and it's laughably easy to sneak out of the house and get to the library from there.

If Tommy liked reading, the library would probably be his favorite place in the city. It's a tall, grand building that looked to be made of carved white marble, with high arching roofs and multiple open floors curving around a massive, open center. Each floor was jam-packed with tastefully matching dark wooden tables, chairs, and large shelves messily stacked with books of all different shapes, colors, and sizes.

Stepping into the building, Tommy immediately felt some of the tension loosen in his shoulders as the quiet atmosphere and air-conditioned interior welcomed them in from the hot morning sun. It wasn’t particularly crowded today- just a few groups sitting together and the occasional stray person picking their way through the rows of shelves.

"Do you want to split up, or search together?" Tubbo whispers from beside him, his friend looking him up and down with a critical eye.

"You know me, Tubso." Tommy was careful to keep his voice low as they walked deeper into the building, tone light even as a vague dread settled in his gut. A few people reading at a table eyed them with annoyance as they passed by. "Never been a huge fan of books, so let’s go together."

Tubbo gave a firm nod, promptly seized his hand, and began guiding them to one of the sparser populated sections, where every shelf Tommy looked at seemed to be packed with more and more old, boring, dusty textbooks on anatomy and hybrids than the last.

"I'll bet the reference section is probably the best place to start looking, so let's set up camp- here." Tubbo stopped at a relatively out-of-the-way table tucked into a cozy alcove of bookshelves. It was a spot that kept them relatively covered in the otherwise open area, which made it feel… Nice. Safe feeling. Tommy didn't argue as he plopped into one of the chairs and left Tubbo to start gathered the books by himself.

It wasn't that Tommy exactly hated reading, it was just that the whole dyslexia schtick kinda ruined it for him. It only took so many people relentlessly correcting your spelling, pronunciation, grammar, and letting you know that you were stupid the whole time, for the activity to lose a lot of its appeal.

Tubbo had never let that stop him, though. Always seemingly starved for knowledge, every biting comment from teachers, foster parents, and bullies alike only seemed to fuel him further. He would often devour books at frightening speed and promptly pester Tommy with a bunch of new and exciting facts that he’d learned. It could be a little annoying when Tubbo would sometimes poke him awake just to tell him about bird ears or plane assembly or something, but in all honesty, Tommy wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was something Tommy admired about him. Maybe he should tell him that more often.

"Alright!" Tubbo startled him out of his thoughts, depositing a massive stack of the longest and most boring looking books imaginable on the table next to Tommy. They both decidedly ignored the hissed shushing noise that followed from the shelves behind them. Whoever was there could shove it. "I'll take one half, and you can look through the other, that way we can cover ground more quickly."

Oh, great. Looking through textbooks. Full of boring information.

Yay.

Tommy slumps, practically melting off his chair as he groaned. He'd literally just had an entire internal monologue about this. Did no one respect internal monologues these days? "Tubbo, do I have to? Can't you just do it while I sit here?"

"Nope!" Tubbo didn't seem put off by his whining in the least. Rude. He remained obnoxiously chipper as he divvied up the pile of books, sliding the smaller stack to Tommy. "I know you, and I know that if you just sit here you'll eventually get bored and start complaining. This way, you'll at least be complaining and productive!" Tubbo flashed him an obnoxiously gleeful grin with far too many teeth.

Tommy takes everything back that he'd said earlier. Tubbo was a horrible friend that deserved no kind words and admiration whatsoever. None.

Fuckin' whatever. He scowls as Tubbo laughs, sliding the first- and smallest -book towards himself with dread.

This was going to be a long day.

---

Honestly, Tommy is shocked it took this long for someone to complain. He's skimming through the fourth book on his pile, a budding headache already prickling at his temples as the words seem to swim on the page in front of him. He's complaining (loudly, at this point) to a Tubbo that has long since started ignoring him, when someone steps up and quietly clears their throat from behind them.

Tommy, eager for any kind of distraction from this specially crafted hell, turns to see who had decided to bother them-

And promptly comes face to face with who had to be the tallest bitch on the planet.

It was an enderman hybrid, with a pattered black and white face nearly split down the middle that was currently twisted into an anxious expression. Their eyes- mismatched, one red and one green -flicked about anxiously beneath Tommy's direct stare, a black and white hand wringing nervously in front of them while their tail flicked behind them.

He was wearing some kind of uniform- a crisp white shirt and dull brown pants. A lanyard rested around his neck with a card reading 'STAFF' in obnoxiously huge letters, and a tiny, cursive scrawl beneath it that said 'Ranboo.'

"Excuse me, but, uh-" Ranboo spoke, voice barely above a murmur. "-you can't shout. In the library, I mean. If you're too loud, I'm going to have to... Escort you outside?" Ranboo's shrank back with the words, tone lilting up like it was a question.

Jeez, and Tommy used to think he had it bad with anxiety.

He flashed Ranboo a brilliant smile, and immediately felt Tubbo- who had also looked up at some point -pull around to shoot him a look. A look that very distinctly said if-you-get-us-banned-from-another-public-space-I-will-literally-never-forgive-you. A look with just a touch of murder behind it.

Tommy ignored this look because, quite frankly, the last time had been an accident and the time before that had been Tubbo's fault.

"Sorry about that Ranboo- can I call you Ranboo?"

"I mean, that literally is my name-" Ranboo barely spoke, completely baffled, before Tommy cut him off again.

"Right, Ranboo, I'm gonna be honest with you. We really need to find information on, um-"

"Hybrids with red horns, especially ones that get weird around soup." Tubbo helpfully supplied, watching with more interest as he caught on to where Tommy was going with this.

"Right! Horns and soup. And, I'll tell you what, if you can maybe help us find anything like that, we'll be quiet and mice and out of your hair before you can say 'cheese.'"

Ranboo blinked, still looking extremely confused as Tommy promptly jutted out a hand towards him to shake on it. "So? what do you say?"

Ranboo was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I mean, that's kind of already my job? So if you'll be quiet, then... Sure?"

"Fantastic!" Tommy seized Ranboo's hand, shaking it like a madman as he grinned. "Lead the way then, Boob boy. Show us where the goods are."

"Okay, um... Boob boy?" The last part was whispered as Ranboo pulled his hand back, clutching it to his chest as he wandered away from them to scour the shelves. Behind him, Tubbo snorted.

"I think we could've just asked him, you know."

"What? You wanted me to deprive him of my expert bargaining skills?"

Tubbo declined to answer, instead rolling his eyes and returning to skimming his book.

It didn't take long for Ranboo to return, carrying a shocking amount of exactly two books in his arms, which he takes great care to settle onto the emptiest corner of their table.

"This one has a list of most hybrid types from A to Z with brief overviews," He explained quietly, gesturing to the first book. "and this one covers hybrids by trait, though it's a little outdated... Sorry." He gestured to the second one, then stepped away, looking stiff as Tubbo immediately began examining the two new additions to their book pile.

"How did you find these so quickly?" He asked, seemingly amazing as he eyed the index of the first with interest.

"Oh, um. It just comes with the territory, I guess." Ranboo answered simply, offering a tiny smile. "I've spent a lot of time in this section so I, um, know my way around it pretty well."

"Why?" Tubbo questioned bluntly, glancing up at Ranboo with raw curiosity. Tommy just watched, keeping quiet. He was content to listen as the other two conversed.

"When I was manifesting..." Ranboo trailed off, lifting their white-furred hand and eyeing it with a pinched expression. "There aren't a lot of white enderman hybrids, so..."

"Oh." Tubbo immediately seemed to pick up on what Ranboo meant. "Right. I can imagine."

"Yeah." Ranboo dropped their hand, smile sadder. "It was rough, but. I got through it! Anyways, um. That book-" He nodded to the book in Tubbo's hands. "It has a lot of the rarer hybrid typed listed in it, so... I'd just flip through it a bit, see if anything sticks out. That's what I used to do."

Tubbo was already doing just that, the soft sound of paper fluttering breaking the gentle silence between them. "Thank you. This helps us."

Ranboo smiled again, stepping away. It looks as though they were ready to take their leave, but suddenly Tommy had a burning question as he pondered their predicament. It sounded shockingly similar to the one he found himself in now, and he wondered if-

"Did you ever figure it out?" He burst, stopping Ranboo in their steps and Tubbo in his page-turning. "The hybrid thing." Tommy clarified, feeling a bit silly with beneath the heavy gaze of the other two. "You figured it out, yeah? It worked out for you?"

Ranboo's gaze was heavy, an understanding dawning on his face that Tommy resolutely ignored.

"Yeah." They said after a moment of thought. "It took a while, but yeah. I did."

Ranboo left after that. Tubbo asked him if he was okay once they were gone, but Tommy had suddenly gained a new appreciation for reading and magically found himself too invested in the books to hear him. Tubbo dropped it after a while.

In the end, they did eventually find the information they needed. Red horns and a soup obsession only really matched one hybrid- a Mooshroom hybrid.

Tommy stared down at the pages of the book, feeling strangely numb. A mooshroom hybrid was one of the rarer manifestations, usually caused by some kind of recessive gene bullshit that he barely paid any mind to. The important part was that he should be due to manifest a tail soon, and would need a lot of mushrooms in his diet.

Like, a lot of mushrooms.

There was no way he was going to be able to get that many.

The mood was sober for the rest of the day, neither of them wanting to broach the topic and the impossibility of handling it.

As it turns out though, it would become a pressing issue a lot sooner than either of them expected.

---

Tommy wakes up feeling fuzzy and sore, with a rapidly growing pain in his spine. Confused, he shifts, blankets falling away with the moment before.

Ow. Ow. Tommy immediately and deeply regretted his choice to get up.

Pain races like a lightning bolt up his spine, hot and sharp and impossible to ignore. Tommy clenches his jaw shut, gritting his teeth as he chokes back a high keen of... Something. Something new and unfamiliar, the same blinding force that had steered him to get soup back at the sweets shop. It was pushing him again now, soft and gentle like a newborn calf as it nudges him forward to curl up at Tubbo's side. It was weird. He hated it. It was so...

So... Inhuman.

His spine gave another sharp, painful twinge, and- oh. Oh. He knows what's happening now. Agony radiates up his back, and he swallows down another cry, blinking back the tears that prick at his eyes. He can't scream right now. He can't make a fucking sound without risking waking up their foster parents. Tommy knew far too well that if they found him manifesting, he would be dead.

Still, the something in the back of his mind was strong, and the harder he resists, the more it fights him, kicking and bucking like a wild thing at his psyche until it started to crack at the edges and give under the something’s pressure. Before long Tommy can feel his mind fuzzing at the edges, vision swimming as he struggles in vain to hold back the manifestation by force and sheer willpower alone.

Still, the something kicks him again, and another noise works its way up his throat, one that he's too slow to stop this time. A short whine echoes impossibly loud through the room, and Tommy can see the exact moment Tubbo stills, eyes snapping open to stare at him sleepily, mind working overtime to assess the situation. Tommy curls inwards as another wave of white-hot agony washes over him, hands fisting the blankets underneath him as he hisses from the force of it. Tubbo's eyes blow wide, arms reaching for him, but-

For Tommy, it happens in slow motion.

One second, he’s perched precariously on the edge of the bed, practically curled up in the fetal position as he fights back noises and urges that are foreign to him alongside renewed sobs of pain. The next, the movement from Tubbo causes the mattress below him to shift and he finds himself overbalancing, slowly tipping to the edge- closer, closer, far too close -before he slips off entirely, losing his grip on the blankets as he drops off the bed with a loud bang.

He'd landed right on his back. Right on his spine. His mouth rips open and he screams.

Hands are on him in an instant, Tubbo dropping to the floor next to him and scrambling to clamp his hands over Tommy’s mouth, willing to suffocate the screams by force if needed. Tubbo's eyes are wide with panic, and Tommy can tell that he's not much better off, breathing coming in short, sporadic gasps as tears stream down his cheeks. His back feels like it’s on fire, pain worse than any he's ever known before searing through him like a wildfire as he's forced to grit his teeth and just bear it.

The worst part, though, above all else, was the fact he could feel something moving just above his tailbone, pressing and poking insistently at the skin that covered it until-

A wet tearing noise. The scent of copper assaulting his nose. Something sloughing disgustingly away as a new limb forcefully bursts out of Tommy's back in a spray of red, wet and twitching and entirely his. Not even Tubbo's hands holding his mouth shut can silence the scream that rips out of Tommy then, high and animalistic as he sobs. Tubbo is at a complete loss, hissing soft words of comfort mixed with desperate pleas to be quieter before-

He suddenly falls silent, stock still as an expression of horror twists his features. Tommy knows exactly why, too- his ears perk, hearing strangely sensitive as he pinpoints the exact moment the door to their foster parent's room opens, hinges squealing like a herald to announce their doom. Steps loud as thunder stalk down the hallway towards their room as they sit, frozen in fear. A furious voice mumbles expletives as the light flicks on in the hallway, glowing light seeping through the crack beneath the door and illuminating the small pool of blood that surrounded Tommy.

That was it, then.

It was over.

Tommy gets a strange sense of déjà vu, sitting with Tubbo on the floor surrounded by his own blood. It reminds him a lot of that day not too long ago, when he first got his horns. The cold horror that he’d seen on Tubbo’s face then is the exact same expression he sees on his best friend’s face now as the door is ripped open, exposing them to the world. Exposing Tommy’s horrible, wretched secret to the world.

There’s a moment, crystal clear and fragile as their foster father’s silhouette eclipses the overhead lights from the hall, eyes widening as he takes in the gruesome scene before him. Two children, one an obviously manifesting hybrid, sitting on the floor surrounded by blood. One shaking from pain and blood loss while the other subtly shifts to better defend.

He stands, perfectly still in the doorway. It’s as if the entire world holds its breath, everything falling silent as all eyes and ears turn to witness this horrible, wretched moment. The moment before disaster. The beginning of a tragedy.

Then the yelling starts.

Tommy barely registers the words ‘scum’ and ‘hybrid’ before the words ‘filthy’ and ‘liars’ follow them. He watches as their foster father, face contorted in fury, takes a step forward, looming further into the room. His eyes fixate on the way the man’s knuckles clench around the doorframe until they turn white, and how the spray of spittle from his lips glitters in the light.  

He’s so tired. Hazy from blood loss, pain, and fresh instincts now roaming freely around his mind, Tommy is tempted to close his eyes and just accept his fate. Roll over and bare his neck and wait for it to be over. It’s alright. He’s lived a good life. He’s done enough. He can rest now, surely, right?

His eyelids flutter shut, and he slumps into the warm figure next to him. There’s a panicked shout from his side, but Tommy isn’t listening anymore. He doesn’t want to be here; he just wants to go away. Somewhere quieter. Safer. Free of the heavy burden that came with all of… Everything.

Something wraps around his arm and yanks him upright.

Tommy’s eyes fly back open immediately, heart performing an impressive staccato in his chest as he flings his head upright, expecting to stare into the ugly, contorted face of a man with an endless hatred for everything Tommy now represented. Instead, much to his confusion and relief, he meets the cool glint of determination in Tubbo’s bluegreen eyes as he pulls Tommy towards the window in a rush. Before Tommy can even begin to process what Tubbo is doing, the window is thrown open and Tubbo sheds his jacket, exposing his beautiful, shimmering, iridescent bee wings for the world to see.

Their foster father roars behind them, but it didn’t matter anymore. Tubbo is wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist, a gentle but secure hold, as he hauls them both over the sill and out the window.

First, there is a moment of strong, freezing cold wind whipping around them as they plummet from the top of a two-story building, the dark asphalt of the street yawning closer to welcome them into an untimely demise. Tommy opens his mouth to scream, but only manages a croak, voice cracking and broken from shouting earlier.

But then, Tubbo grits his teeth and pulls open his wings, and suddenly, they were shooting higher in an updraft, drifting up, up, up into the sky.

They were flying.

Tommy remembers Tubbo describing what flying felt like to him, once. It was back when they were still getting to know each other, exchanging wary glances across a dingy, shared room not entirely unlike the one they had just left behind. Tommy had discovered Tubbo was a bee hybrid by accident, walking in on the other boy while he had been in the middle of cleaning his stingers. They had fought, Tubbo threatening him every which way until Sunday with a fiery passion that almost could’ve fooled Tommy if he hadn’t recognized the fearful shake in his voice.

Things calmed down. They worked it out, Tommy swearing his undying secrecy in all the stupidest ways he could think of just to make Tubbo laugh. They weren’t friends yet, but maybe something on the cusp of it. Something familiar enough that made Tommy comfortable with asking Tubbo questions about his hybrid traits. Tubbo was wary- understandably so, honestly -but starved for conversation about the secret he’d been hiding for so, so long that he’d accepted.

"Flying is a bit like swimming in the ocean, actually.” Tubbo had explained then, cleaning one of his large, shimmering wings by the window. He had been tilting it every which way, using the dim light of the moon to check for dirt and debris. His movements cast tiny prisms across the floor that Tommy had watched with rapt interest, taking great enjoyment in trying to keep the larger ones cupped in his hands as Tubbo moved around. “It’s just you, using your wings to move through a lot of empty space. Usually it’s cold, and sometimes the drop below you can feel like a lot. One wrong move and-” Tubbo mimed something dropping with his fist with a small whistling noise before abruptly slapping his hand against the window sill. “Splat. Bit terrifying, really, but there’s also a thrill that comes with it.”

Tommy can still perfectly envision the way Tubbo’s grin had stretched his face, feral and just a little bit frightening in its clear love and enthusiasm.

“There’s nothing freer than flying, bossman. Just you, drifting completely untethered from anything else, entirely by your own power.” Tubbo turned, gazing longingly out at the sky where the moon rested and the stars glittered, beaming down at them. “High above the world, there’s nothing that can really hurt you. No one that can do anything to you. It’s kind of addicting, honestly.”

Floating through the air, Tubbo’s wings buzzing furiously behind them as the boy struggles to support both his and Tommy’s weight in the sky, Tommy thinks he can vaguely understand what Tubbo had meant. Here, he feels suddenly and inexplicably safe, hyper aware of the fact that their foster father couldn’t reach them anymore. He wouldn’t be able to hurt them, way up here.

However, he also thinks Tubbo might’ve been a little bit insane, because the height is fucking dizzying and they keep having to narrowly swerve and dip out of the way of trees. If Tommy’s head had been clearer and he had been in maybe half as much pain, he definitely would be complaining more right now. As it is, however, his tongue feels heavy as a stone, dry and difficult to move in his mouth. That didn’t mean Tommy wasn’t still trying, though.

"Tubbo, watch out for the- I SAID WATCH OUT FOR THE STREET LAMP- Ngh." Tommy cuts himself off with a grunt and a hiss, his tail flinging out to whip painfully against his leg with the sharp turn.

“Sorry!” Tubbo calls out over the wind, wings working double time as he zipped them down the street, crossing out of the neighborhood and racing towards the city edge with frightening speed. “It’s hard trying to fly like this! You’re heavy!”

Tommy tries to respond, managing a surprisingly clear “It’s because of my huge, massive-” before being cut off by another sharp turn, grimacing as his wet, blood-soaked pajama shirt promptly plastered itself to his back and sent another wave of pain radiating up his spine. He trembles from the shock of it, new tail twitching out of his control as Tubbo continues to bring them… Somewhere. Where, exactly, Tommy has no fucking idea. They didn’t have many safe spots they could hole up in for a long period of time, especially with Tommy in his current bloody, half-conscious, and freshly manifested condition.

In short, they were fucked unless Tubbo has a really, really good idea.

---

“This is a horrible idea.”

“I don’t want to hear it unless you have anything better in mind.”

They were in an alleyway. Tubbo had brought them to a dirty, dingy alleyway full of bins, boxed in on almost all sides by high, rising buildings. Tommy slumps as Tubbo deposits him on the ground, face twisting in pain as his new tail is half crushed beneath his own body weight.

Stupid fucking thing.

Tubbo is saying something, but the longer Tommy sits, the more exhausted he realizes he feels. Tubbo’s voice turns high and worried before long, his friend kneeling desperately beside him to try and keep him awake. Still, with heavy eyelids and a concerned Tubbo shaking his shoulder, Tommy can't help it any longer- he slowly drifts into a deep, fitful sleep.

---

Tommy isn't sure how long he's been out when his eyes flicker open, but it had apparently been long enough for the sun to rise. Delicate beams flitted between the cracks of the buildings, dancing warmly over his slumped form and heavy limbs. He admires them before his eyes flutter shut again.

It feels like barely a second passes, but then next time Tommy drifts back into awareness, it's to hot, high noon sun and the sounds of lunchtime traffic in the street just outside of their alleyway. Tubbo is awake, upright and pacing back and forth as he mutters frantically to himself. He's shed most of the clothing that hides his hybrid traits- probably because he left his jacket back at the house, so there was really no point anymore. His wings are on proud display, buzzing occasionally with anxious energy as Tubbo walks. His stingers glint menacingly in the light, half as deadly as any knife and surely twice as painful. His antenna flick above his forehead, freed from their usual beanie prison.

It's nice. Tommy feels a gentle feeling of pride and joy curling at the edges of his mind at his friend so proudly displaying his hybrid traits in public, bold and unafraid.

His eyes drift shut again.

The next time they open, Tommy is slightly more aware, able to make out words and shapes with more clarity as he glances up, surprised to see Ranboo of all people standing at the mouth of the alleyway, clutching a black trash bag filled fit to bursting and looking rather anxious and unsure.

One glance towards the hazy shape of Tubbo immediately gives Tommy the reason why.

Tubbo looks terrifying. He's standing tall, legs spread and arms up to display his sharp, black stingers in an obvious brawling position. He's leveling a glare at Ranboo that could make grown men flinch. Tommy is honestly surprised Ranboo hadn't turned tail and run.

"Is he okay?" The question is soft, shaky. The amount of concern lacing Ranboo's voice is surprising to Tommy, considering they'd only met the other boy once before at the library.

...Actually, come to think of it, what was Ranboo doing here?

"Leave." Tubbo's words are cold and menacing, the subtle buzz that overlaid them very reminiscent to a hive of angry bees. "Leave and don't come back."

"I-" Ranboo takes a step back, looking conflicted. "I would but, um. This is my second job, and- is that blood?" Ranboo's eyes blow wide, stretching tall to see better over the trashcan Tommy was slumped beside.

"Leave!" Tubbo spits, voice taking on a desperate edge. His wings buzz louder, faster, turning into little more than an iridescent blur behind him. Tommy tries to speak, tries to move, tries to do anything, but... He's can't. His body may as well have been made of stone for all the good his effort does.

He hates it. Hates how helpless he feels, now. He just wants to make Tubbo feel better. To tell him he was okay. To get up and squeeze his hand and say he would be alright.

He hates the fact that he's the reason Tubbo looks so scared.

Just another thing to burden his best friend with.

Tommy closes his eyes again just as Ranboo says something else, the words swimming through his mind until the void of a dreamless sleep swallows them whole.

---

It's night the next time Tommy wakes up, jolting sharply at the sound of Tubbo yelling.

He opens his eyes to the sight of Tubbo standing over him, wings spread out to cover Tommy from view of... Someone. Someone standing at the mouth of the alleyway, vaguely illuminated by the light streaming through an open door in the wall that lead to the back of a shop. A sweet scent drifting through the air, familiar even as it mingled with the foul smell of rotting garbage.

Tommy makes an attempt at peering around Tubbo to see who was there, speaking in a voice that was low and careful and difficult for him to decipher through the layers of fog clouding his mind. He got as far as tipping his head to the side before his entire body shifted and fell with it, landing with a dull rustle against the dirty side of the green bid beside him. Tommy grimaces at the feeling of the dirt-caked, cold metal pressing into his cheek. Eugh.

When does the 'constantly passing out all the time' part of the manifestation process fucking end?

"And why should I trust you?" Tubbo is shouting, voice shaking with emotion. "Why should I the word of a bird? You hate insects! All birds do!" Tubbo bites out, hands balled into tight fists at his sides as he glared at the person- probably Phil, Tommy's mind provides -with a mixture of fear and fury.

The silhouette shifts, the distinct shape of massive wings drooping at the silhouette's side. The person shifts, better illuminating the twisted features and wide eyes of the sweets shopkeeper.

Tommy recognizes the stupid hat he wore just as well as he recognizes the look on the man's face.

Phil looked heartbroken.

"Who taught you that?" His words are low, horrified. Pained at the realization of everything the world has thrown at them.

"People." Tubbo spat. "Plenty of people. You want a list? I can start reciting names if you need me to!"

"Sure. Do it." Techno interjected, poking his head out the door to join in on the conversation. His eyes glittered with something dark in the artificial light even as his face remained impassive. "I'd like to have a nice talk with each and every one of them. Birds don't hate insects, kid. Stuff like that doesn't really happen outside of old legends and fairytales. The worst you can get in the real world is clashing behavioral instincts."

Tubbo recoiled slightly at that, form twitching as if the words had physically struck him, and Tommy could perfectly picture what was going through his head. Years of hatred, of abuse, of claws digging into skin and animalistic screeching following him as he ran desperately away from danger. Of teachers telling them it's "just the way things were" and "it can't be helped." Of days filled with suffering, all of it suddenly being recontextualized as senseless.

Tommy and Tubbo were well acquainted with violence for the sake of violence, but this... This was something that had impacted Tubbo for years.

"Why should I believe you?" Tubbo challenged, but his voice was shaking, some of it's edge dulled and gone. Tommy would bet anything that Tubbo was fighting off tears right now, and he wished so desperately that his head wasn't full of fog and his limbs didn't feel like lead so he could stand by his friend's side and help him.

But, as it stood, Tommy was barely clinging to consciousness as it was.

"What would make you believe me?" Came the sound of Phil's voice as Tommy's eyes closed against his will once more, mind already starting to drift.

"...I don't know." Was the last thing he heard, in a voice that was so fragile he wanted it to be anyone other than Tubbo's.

'Don't worry, Tubs. I'll be there soon.'

---

Tommy finally, blessedly, enters into full awareness with a pounding headache. He blinks, then squints, rapidly shielding his eyes with a hand as the light streaming in from the window all but blinds him.

...Wait.

Light. Window. Hand.

He could move. Holy shit, he can move. He can think. And he's inside!

Wait, how is he inside right now?

His eyes blow wide again, dealing with the pain by force as he takes in the room around it.

It's small. Cozy. He's laying on an aged, dark green futon in a small room that looked remarkably like a rapidly repurposed office space. Cream walls were lined with dark, half-filled bookshelves. Lamps were angled towards a desk- or where a desk would have been, had it not been hastily shoved into the far back corner of the room. Swathes of papers littered the ground, most of which had either been kicked away to make a path or crumpled by uncaring footsteps. A small table sat by Tommy's head, surface cluttered by a hodgepodge assortment of ointments, bandages, potions, painkillers, mushrooms, soup-

Tommy's eyes lock onto the cold, half-finished bowl immediately, stomach growling audibly as he struggles to sit up, because... Holy shit. Soup.

His arms shake with the effort of supporting his weight, and pain prickles uncomfortably along his back and limbs. Tommy winces, ear flicking- flicking? -with the movement, but he presses on anyways, trembling hand stretching forward to brush hasty fingertips along the bowl's edge. Almost there... He nearly has it...

The door slams open, startling Tommy badly enough that he squeaks as his supporting arm gives out beneath him, sending him crashing back into the cushions and soft blankets with a small oof as he stares wide-eyed at the intruder, feeling weirdly similar to a cat caught stealing cream, or a dog snitching scraps from the kitchen table.

But when his eyes fall onto Tubbo, bee traits proudly displayed and mirroring Tommy's expression of shock with one of his own, he immediately feels safe.

His best friend, his brother, his herd was here. He would be okay now. Everything would be alright, as long as they were together.

...Wait, herd?

His nose scrunches in distaste, momentarily distracted from all else as he examines the thought carefully. Tubbo, however, didn't get the memo, instead snatching Tommy's attention back by force as he all but crashes into the room, dashing to his side with the franticness of a dying man to snatch up Tommy's hand and squeeze it gently.

"Tommy!" Tubbo's eyes are filling with tears. "Jesus Christ, man, I thought you were dying. For the love of everything in this world, don't ever do something like that again."

“I’m sorry.” Tommy apologizes immediately, flinging his arms around Tubbo and squeezing him tightly. “I promise I won’t do that ever again.”

The two sit, speaking softly for a while. Tubbo explains that Techno and Phil had taken them in, and apparently Ranboo had been one of their employees the whole time. Tommy had apparently been in an awful state and would’ve died without their help, so the first thing Tommy does when they walk through the door is say,

"Thank you."

Phil has crow feet by his eyes, Tommy realizes, watching as the man smiles warmly at him.

“Don’t mention it, mate.”

They talk for hours, smoothing ruffled feathers and coming to the conclusion that Tommy should stay off his feet for a while as he recovers. The pair assures them that they won’t be turning them back into the foster system, and given Tommy’s condition, they decide to blindly trust them.

They stay for a week, then another. Another week passes, and then another after that. Finally, a full moth has passed, and Tommy and Tubbo have to admit to themselves that they’re not going anywhere.

Life with Techno and Phil is… Warm. Kind. Safe in a way that Tommy and Tubbo have never been before, and they’re loathe to part from it, so they don’t.

They stay.

They make fast friends with Ranboo. They learn to accept and proudly display their hybrid traits in public. They learn to laugh and live in a home that doesn’t constantly feel on the cusp of horrible danger.

They stay, warmed and content with the home they’ve stumbled into.