Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Right. So they think he’s a pet. A cat or a dog or a gerbil. Either they don’t know he’s sentient, or don’t care. Tommy doesn’t know, he just knows that he’s not happy about it.

“I am human,” Tommy enunciates to the fish-alien that is just smiling down at him. “I can speak. I’m not a pet, I don’t want to be adopted. I want to go home.”

Fish alien coos and then reaches to scratch Tommy’s head again. Tommy ducks away and glares at him mulishly. Fish-face doesn’t seem too upset, he just withdraws his hand with a little sigh and leans back onto the bed, watching Tommy.

Tommy gets the feeling that fish-face is giving him the opportunity to explore his room. The door is closed, but otherwise Tommy isn’t restrained. Fish-face's bed is high up against the wall, enough so that Tommy would have to climb to reach it. He looks at the bed on the floor, covered in lush blankets and pillows. The fabric is unlike anything Tommy has seen before, though; patches of it are longer than others, and it swirls in odd directions. He unsurely reaches forward to touch it.

It’s soft and warm. Warm like that one time Tommy got to have a heated blanket at one of his foster homes, curled up and toasty and so relaxed. It’s also firm in some places and squishy in others. As Tommy kneels down to explore it more, he starts to map out the different areas, squeezing the fabric to test it out. Here it feels like a marshmallow, here it’s like that golden retriever he got to pet once, here it’s like a sofa. He gets distracted, just padding around and poking at it.

A small squeal interrupts him, and Tommy looks up. Fish-face is practically glowing, his scales that shift from blue and yellow now almost all bright yellow, hands pressed against his large grinning mouth.

Tommy realizes he was just doing exactly what the alien wanted—exploring his stupid dog bed.

…Well. It’s not stupid. It’s actually really nice. Better than any bed Tommy has ever had in his life.

He doesn’t know if that makes him feel angry or just sad.

He feels his cheeks burn with humiliation, and the delighted squeal turns into a worried croon. He feels sharp, narrow talons reach gently forward towards his neck. Tommy freezes, panicking for a second, but the long, cool fingers only come to his chin and then gently guide his head up to look at fish face.

Fish-Face looks worried. There’s no other word for it; his eyes seem pinched in confusion and flecks of grass-green blow around his cheekbones. Tommy’s a bit entranced at watching the colors shift. Fish face’s other hand comes up and rest his thumb on Tommy’s cheek. It’s a bit of a firmer touch than when fish face was petting him, more like when Tommy’s foster parents try to harshly scrub the dirt off his face that always seems to inevitability get there, but gentler even than that.

Tommy realizes he’s worried about the color—how Tommy’s face has gone red. Tommy jerks his head out of fish face’s hand. He’s fine, thank you. At least in that regard. He’s more worried about being a pet.

Fish-face withdraws with a worried-sounding hum, leaving Tommy to explore again. Tommy guesses that his color is going down, which is part of the reason for Fish-Face backing off.

Alright. Alright. Tommy can come up with a solution for this. He’s escaped crappy foster families and dodged policemen who were looking for him, he can wrangle with these aliens. They actually seem pretty nice, and nice means gullible. He thinks they don’t know he’s intelligent, which is an advantage. Then they’ll underestimate him.

Oh, who is he kidding? He’s in space. He doesn’t know a thing about what’s going on. He could be lightyears away from earth. He never studied astronomy or Star Wars or any of that rubbish, he’s way of out his depth.

He tensely starts kneading at the bed, thinking his options over. Fish-Face seems to realize he’s upset because Tommy starts getting petted again, talons combing through his hair and little coos coming from that alien throat.

Maybe…maybe he can use them, instead of just escape from them. They seem nice, for all that they’ve kidnapped him and are treating him as a dog. (Because if Tommy has to be a pet, he will be a dog, for heaven’s sake, he’s not a cat). They’ve given him a nice bed. They haven’t hurt him. They’re paying attention to him instead of ignoring him, they’re gentle when touching him, they’re trying to help him settle. Honestly that’s better than some of his foster families have done.

He thinks that they don’t know he’s intelligent. With how kind they just seem to be, he doesn’t think they would do this to an actual person. So maybe he just needs to prove himself to them, and they’ll show him human—er, alien—decency.

Yeah. Ok. How hard can that be?

Tommy realizes that he’s been sitting with Fish-face’s hand petting his hair for some time, and he’s actually started pressing into it. It feels good, it’s soothing the stress-headache he’s got building up and…and even before he was abducted, no one had touched him like this in a long time.

He shakes his head and draws away awkwardly. There’s a small tut-sound from Fish-face, but he returns to the bed yet again.

Tommy looks around the room. There’s got to be something he can do to convince them that he’s intelligent. Writing, drawing, technology, whatever. Fish-face’s room is crammed with stuff, it’s actually a bit messy by human standards, and as colorful and bright as Fish-face is. Tommy realizes that parallel with a bit of a shock—the clashing colors are just like the alien’s scales, patches of bright shades, only they don’t change like he does.

Tommy shakes his head—focus. Like his teachers always try to drill into him. He sees what look like handles on the wall, like a cabinet. Ok, that’s a start. Dogs can’t open dressers. He goes over, Fish-face watching him, and tugs on the handle, hoping he doesn’t accidentally end up breaking into Fish-face’s underwear drawer or something.

It doesn’t budge. He frowns and tugs again. It’s completely still. He moves to the one above it, and nothing happens. Grunting in frustration, he tries again, and gets no result.

He growls and steps back, looking at it. He sees indentations in the wall, he’s pretty sure this is a dresser in the wall for clothes and stuff. But they won’t move.

What the heck? He can’t even open one alien dresser? He really is a dog!

Nope, nope, he’s not starting there. He turns back around; Fish-face is just watching him patiently, looking amused. Whatever. He moves on.

This proceeds for about thirty minutes. Tommy turns the room over from top to bottom, looking for things that he understands, that he can show them he understands. But there’s nothing. Pillows that change color when he squeezes them. An instrument sort of like a guitar but makes no noise when Tommy messes with it, before Fish-face plucks it out of his hands and puts it up high. Pictures and symbols he doesn’t know, random bits of fabric. He actually tries to climb up the wall with the handles of the cabinet-thing, but only ends up flopping back down. All the while, Fish-face just watches.

He’s pacing around the edges of the room in frustration when the door opens again. Tommy has no idea how that works, he doesn’t see a button or anything on it. The bird-alien walks in, eyes immediately falling on Tommy. Tommy stares defiantly back. Then the bird and Fish-face jabber at one another before finally Bird stands aside and Fish-face starts walking out. Tommy freezes up in panic that he’s about to be left behind when Fish-face pauses and coos back at him, gesturing forward.

Tommy doesn’t hesitate to follow. He’s already done with that room for a bit, thanks, and maybe he can find a better example of his intelligence elsewhere on the ship.

Fish-face and Bird lead him through the walls, eventually coming to a room that Tommy knows is a kitchen-dining room clash. Odd, swirling formations that look like abstract ovens and counters are up against one wall, a table with three seats is across from it, plus a bit of open space between. The three seats clearly accommodate the three aliens; one seat has an open back for wings, one is huge and sturdy for the pig-alien, and the third almost looks like a miniature tree, with a cluster of branches that form the seat.

The aliens are very different from each other and part of Tommy wonders how they ended up together. Are they from the same planet, or each from different ones? What’s the differences with their cultures? Fish-face and Bird don’t really wear clothes, but the pig-alien does. And they all wear the same bright green emerald on their ears. Fish-face and Bird’s are studs, while the pig-alien’s dangles on his floppy ears.

Speaking of the pig-alien, he’s here, waiting in the room as they all walk in. Tommy eyes him skeptically and holds back a bit while Bird grabs something from a twisted counter and then passes out the material to the other two aliens. Tommy watches this in confusion as Bird goes to one side of the room and caws to Fish-face. Now all three of the aliens are in their own separate corners. Tommy’s not sure where he’s supposed to go, so he stays by Fish-face.

Fish-face, who’s narrow and tall, sudden leans down a bit and holds out a little golden pellet to Tommy, the stuff that Bird had passed to him and Pig. Tommy peers at it suspiciously and doesn’t take it. Fish-face makes a point of lifting it to his mouth, not eating it, but humming a bit, before holding it out again.

Tommy starts to get the idea and takes it, sniffing it. It smells like food. He hadn’t actually eaten his meal earlier, the green fuzzy alien had just given him a bit of the not-chocolate treat. So he eats the pellet. It’s not bad, tastes like apples. Fish-face coos and scratches his head. Tommy reaches for Fish-face’s other hand, where he knows more pellets are. They aren’t big, and Tommy’s hungry. But Fish-face holds them out of reach.

A sharp chirp draws Tommy’s attention, and he turns to Bird. Bird is now holding out a pellet, cooing at him.

Well, alright. If Fish-face won’t feed him then Tommy will have a new favorite. He goes over to Bird and takes the pellet, getting more coos for his troubles.

Then there’s a growl. Tommy freezes, and looks unsurely over at Pig.

Whelp. Pig is holding a pellet.

Tommy’s heart sinks and he reaches for Bird’s other pellets, but Bird holds them back. Oh, he knows what they want. Tommy isn’t getting fed unless he goes over there. Oh boy.

He might not be bad, Tommy tries to tell himself. You shouldn’t judge others for their looks. He might be as gentle as the others, maybe even more so, how will you know without trying it?

Except Pig looks like he could kill Tommy far, far easier than Fish-face and Bird could. Still, though. Tommy creeps over. Pig holds out the pellet coaxingly, and Tommy has to admit, they do taste pretty good. Slowly, he takes it.

Pig makes an odd sound then—not a growl, but similar, and Tommy worries he might have done something wrong. It’s a deep sound, maybe a warning pre-growl. Tommy holds still, watching for some kind of punishment or direction.

Then Pig reaches for his head. Tommy ducks, but the hoofed-hand still sets down on his head and rubs gently at his scalp. Tommy can feel the vibration of the not-growl through it.

There’s a crooning sound, and Tommy looks back over at Fish-face, who holds out another pellet. Tommy takes the chance to get away, back to Fish-face. But then he’s led back to Bird, and Pig, and around again.

This goes on for a bit. After the third round, the aliens stop holding out the pellets and just making noises, only revealing the pellets after Tommy has come over. They also switch around the order once in a while. Tommy starts to realize that, although they make different sounds, there’s a specific sound they’re using when calling him:

“Thee-say-us.”

Are they name-training him? Or is that just the word for ‘come’? Either way, Tommy follows along because he gets food, and finally the three aliens run out. Fish-face at once approaches him, crooning, the sound “Thee-say-us” mixed in with his warbles. His hand descends on Tommy’s head, except this time, it’s joined by the second one that cups his cheek, rubbing circles by his ear. Tommy struggles out of it after a moment, but Fish-face still glows yellow with delight.

Seeming satisfied, the three aliens sit at the table and leave him be. Tommy watches as they start to eat their own food, looking over to him once in a while but overall letting him be. Tommy considers going to explore the rest of the ship, but…he’s a bit scared to. He doesn’t have a clue what kind of stuff is here. He can wait until they’re done eating, at least.

He pokes around the counters until they’re done, after which, Fish-face calls “Thee-say-us!” and leads him to a new room.

This is clearly the living room. More chairs are there but no table between them, a window looking out into space, and miscellaneous items speckled around. A metallic tree in the corner, a nest-like structure against the wall, a huge window looking out at the stars. For the next hour or so, Fish-face watches Tommy explore this room, and again Tommy finds nothing to show his intelligence. He doesn’t get this stuff. There’s no clear buttons or switches or any of that. Bird comes in and watches, too, but Tommy’s search is cut off when Fish-face does the call. Tommy huffs, but he’s getting tired, so he follows Fish-face out.

They go back to Fish-face’s room and Fish-face fiddles around for a bit, but they’re interrupted when Pig arrives.

With a giant cage in his arms.

Oh, Tommy does not like the looks of that. Fish-face frowns at it, too. Uh-oh. But Pig sets it down and shuts the door, cutting off Tommy’s escape.

Tommy has a sinking idea of what’s about to happen. Once, some friends of some of his foster parents talked about their new dog, and about crate-training him. About how, for the first few nights, they locked the dog up in a crate. It was for the best, they had explained—it made the anxious dog settle down for the night, made sure it wouldn’t mess with anything, and taught the dog where his space was.

That’s all well and good, except Tommy is not a dog.

Pig opens the crate door. Tommy can see inside; it’s just a few inches below his height so he’d have to bend down to get in it. There are blankets and pillows inside to make it comfortable. Most of the walls are solid, it’s more like a crate with little holes instead of bars for walls. Pig throws in a few golden pellets, and then turns to Tommy expectantly.

Tommy sets his jaw and doesn’t move a muscle.

Pig kneels down by the cage and holds out a pellet. “Thee-say-us,” he grunts out.

Tommy backs up a step, and Pig growls warningly. A few more calls and failed bribes later, Tommy is in the corner and Pig is clearly losing patience. Fish-face is watching from the bed again, this time looking disappointed, but Tommy can tell he’s not getting help from him. It’s up to Tommy.

Pig finally stands up and takes a step towards Tommy.

Tommy bolts. He can’t leave the room, but first he tries for his bed, sitting down in it like a good little puppy. He’ll stay right here, thanks, no bars or locks required.

Pig isn’t satisfied. He turns and reaches for Tommy again. Tommy growls, but Pig doesn’t even pause. At the last moment, when it’s clear Pig isn’t backing down, Tommy springs onto the bed with Fish-face, thinking fast. His options are limited. He has no way out of the room, no way to communicate, no way to tell them the cage isn’t necessary. Maybe he could just suck it up and just spend the night in the cage, trusting that they’ll let him out in the morning, but Tommy’s pride just can’t handle it. He doesn’t like closed-in spaces, and that cage is barely big enough to sleep in.

So as Pig turns again and reaches for Tommy, Tommy whirls around a plows into Fish-face, wrapping his arms around him, pushing them both down on the bed.

Fish-face squawks in alarm but Tommy is careful not to squeeze too tight or pin him down forcefully. Fish-face has been the most affectionate and attentive to Tommy. Tommy is spending the night in Fish-face’s room. So Tommy is pretty sure that he’s actually for Fish-face. So maybe if he can suck up enough, that little alien heart (or other organ?) will melt and stop Pig from locking him up.

Tommy can tell that both Pig and Fish-face have paused, surprised, as Tommy snuggles closer. Fish-face is actually surprisingly soft. Tommy had expected him to be slimy or scratching with scales, but Fish-face is actually more diverse. There are bare patches of skin that are more like leather, and the scales are smooth and beady. Once Tommy got to pet a snake at a zoo—totally pog—and he remembers how the scales were molded to the skin, practically polished in their evenness. Fish-face’s scales are like that.

Tommy pressed against him, not forcefully, but like a cat seeking attention. He waits, heart thumping against Fish-face’s chest in fear and flight-or-fight instincts, hoping that this gets through to him.

Fish-face lifts a hand and winds it in Tommy’s hair. The other comes to Tommy’s shoulder, rubbing circles into his skin and pulling him closer. Bits of pink, the color of the inside of a strawberry, bloom onto the scaly skin. Tommy’s hopes start to rise, and he rubs his cheek against Fish-face’s chest earnestly. He’ll be a pet, fine, just don’t put him in that cage, please.

Fish-face makes a musical croon to Pig, and Tommy clings, listening closely. Pig grunts something displeased, and there’s a distinct whining tone to Fish-face’s response. Tommy is held tighter, pressed closer to Fish-face’s chest.

It goes back and forth a bit, Tommy trying to interpret meaning from mere sounds. Fish-face’s touch is a small comfort, a reminder that someone cares, at least a little bit. But finally Pig lets out a loud snort and then giant hoofs wrap around Tommy’s armpits. Tommy yelps as he’s lifted out of Fish-face’s arms, and starts to struggle in the air. But he has no purchase, and then the cage is in front of him.

Tommy braces his legs on the frame, not budging. The pig pauses, and then pulls back. Tommy’s gets hopeful, legs falling away from the frame, before Pig tries again. Tommy braces himself again, this time with his arms. It happens again, and Tommy hooks his own neck on the side of the cage to keep from getting put in there.

Fish-face lets out a song of laughter. Well at least someone’s amused. Pig growls in frustration and Tommy nearly wants to back down at that, but no. He’s a pet, he tells himself. They won’t hurt him.

Pig pushes again. Tommy uses his legs again. Pig tries again. And again. And Tommy resists again. And again. Tommy ends up in a lot of awkward positions but he owns them like a man, even if he might look somewhat like a ballerina in a couple of them. At one point, Tommy manages to slip an arm free and starts to scurry up Pig’s forearm, trying to slip away, but Pig snags him up and the process continues.

Tommy’s unfortunately reminded of the time a foster parent made him put their cat in a carrier to go to the vet. That cat hated him and he hated it, and that particular day just reenforced the feeling for both of them. The stupid animal just wouldn’t have it, wouldn’t go in. Every time Tommy shoved it to the carrier, it veered itself off. It twisted through his arms like a snake, scratching at his skin. He doesn’t have claws, but he’s half-tempted to bite Pig. But that has two possible results; he gets hurt in return, or put back in the alien-kennel to be adopted by someone else. So, his hope is to just exhaust Pig and make him give up. Pig seems pretty determined, but Tommy is more so.

He’s super annoyed of the fact that he’s behaving like a stupid cat, though.

Tommy will say this, he put up one heck of a fight. Pig has to practically shove each of his limbs individually in before finally snapping the door shut. It clicks solidly into place.

Tommy scrambles to weave his arms through the bars, reaching for the latch. He’s a human, he can pull a lever or hit a button. He scrabbles at it, but just like the handles on the wall, it does nothing. What the heck?!

He starts to feel that horrible familiar sensation of the walls closing in on him. One of his earlier foster families used to lock him up in a closet. Maybe for hours, maybe for days, he doesn’t know, just a long time. He presses himself into a corner, hoping that if he can make himself as small as possible, the cage will seem bigger.

Pig is watching him, and Fish-face pokes his head through the side too. There are bits of that worried-green on his face.

Tommy tries to focus on his breathing, hugging his knees. He’s fine. He’s fine. They’ll let him out in the morning. He won’t be in here forever. He hides his face in his hands.

Fish-face warbles something to Pig and Pig grunts something firmly back. Finally Pig leaves with one last frustrated growl.

Fish-face sighs and Tommy peeks through his arms to look at him. He watches as Fish-face reaches a hand through the bars at the door, holding it out for him. He calls, “Thee-say-us.” Tommy wants to go, wants that comfort. But he can’t move. Fish-face picks up one of the golden pellets to coax Tommy closer, but Tommy doesn’t touch it or any of the others scattered on the floor of the cage.

Fish-face sighs and retreats. The light is turned off.

A bit of time passes. Tommy tries to keep his breathing under control, but he knows its loud. He remembers that couple, talking about how their dog whined during crate-training. Will Tommy settle down too, just as that dog did? God he hopes so.

Tommy thinks an hour has passed when he hears movement.  He tenses, looking up in the dark, and there’s a small light outside as Fish-face comes to the door of the cage again. Tommy blinks at the change in lighting, Fish-face having some kind of…wiry thing around the gills of his ears, that provides illumination.

Softly, Fish-face presses at the door, and it unlatches. He creaks it open as quietly as possible. Tommy doesn’t move, unsure if this is some kind of dream, and if so, what kind. Maybe now Fish-face will dig those horrible sharp teeth into his flesh.

Fish-face reaches out a long-fingered hand, chittering just under his breath.

Tommy doesn’t care, he just wants out. He darts into Fish-face’s arms that are quick to wrap around him and press him close.

Again, Fish-face chitters softly, practically a whisper. Tommy realizes that the alien is releasing him from the cage behind the other’s backs. If they get caught, Pig will put him back in the crate. Maybe take him from Fish-face’s room.

Fish-face pulls away slightly, going for the high bed, and pulling Tommy along. When they reach the side, Fish-face pauses, and then taps the mattress.

Tommy has his own dog bed. He could sleep there, and Fish-face probably wouldn’t shove him back in the cage for it.

But…

As nice as it is, it’s still a dog-bed. And even if Tommy is being let up on Fish-face’s bed as an indulgence, at least this way he’s treated with just a bit more dignity.

He leaps up onto the bed.

Fish-face croons, delighted, and then crawls up after him. Tommy hesitates on all fours, unsure what to do or where to lay down, but soon Fish-face is reaching for him. Tommy lets him as Fish-face pulls him close, Tommy’s back up against his chest. The long, scaly legs curl up around Tommy like a mother cat curling around her kittens, taking up every point of contact possible. Fish-face’s long arms wrap around his stomach and then his face is pressed against the back of Tommy’s head. Those sharp, sharp teeth are right on Tommy’s neck.

…This is one clingy alien.

Tommy is still tense, and Fish-face seems to sense it. He unwinds on arm from Tommy’s stomach to start petting down Tommy’s arm. And suddenly, Tommy is exhausted. He’s been adopted by aliens. And he’s never, ever been held like this. And even if it’s meant for some pet, for some unconditionally loving animal, he wants it, at least right now. Tommy relaxes.

Fish-face lets out a happy sigh against Tommy’s head, burrowing closer. Part of Tommy wants to let Fish-face fall asleep before he lets himself drift off, but he finds his eyelids drooping. He’s more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life.

Chapter Text

When Tommy wakes up the next morning, Fish-face is already awake, but still curled around him. Tommy turns his head to look back up, the alien grinning and bright yellow, continuing to snuggle into Tommy. Tommy lets him. He’s not entirely sure about this contact, but he’s grateful Fish-face let him out of that cage last night. So he allows it. And…it’s nice. Nobody on earth ever held him like this.

There’s some noises outside and Fish-face sighs, pulling himself up and away from Tommy. Tommy sits up and watches as Fish-face fiddles about the room, preparing himself, before calling “Thee-say-us” and opening the door. Tommy follows, because he’s hungry, he can worry about proving his intelligence after breakfast.

They join the other two aliens back in the kitchen. Bird sets a bowel of golden pellets down for Tommy, and pats him on the head.

“Screw that,” Tommy says, and swipes up the bowel, popping them into his mouth like chips. He’s not eating off the floor. The aliens don’t seem to care either way.

Tommy eats and listens to the aliens’ nonsense language. He wonders if Fish-face is lying about Tommy settling down in the cage last night.

When that’s all wrapped up, Fish-face takes Tommy back to the living room. Then Tommy figures they do what’s called ‘playing.’ Fish-face gives him some odd materials, and Tommy inspects them before tossing them aside. Fish-face throws a ball. Tommy does not go after it. He tries to use the pellets to bribe Tommy into tricks, but Tommy hisses warningly when Fish-face tries to force him to sit or lay down.

Both of them aren’t too happy by the end of it. Bird comes in again and chitters at Fish-face, who sighs and gets up. Tommy watches him, but Fish-face doesn’t call him to follow, so Tommy decides to stay. Honestly, Tommy is kind of insulted after that ‘play’ session and could use some space. He doesn’t need to be coddled, or taught to perform tricks like some show poodle. He sits down on the ground and sulks.

That means he’s left with Bird. Bird comes over and scratches his head, and Tommy sighs and tolerates it.

He looks up at Bird. “How can I show you that I’m a person?” he asked Bird, knowing he won’t be understood. Bird just croons.

-

Bird is almost affectionate as Fish-face, but several hours later, Tommy slips away and heads back into the kitchen. This is the first time he’s totally alone on the ship, but oddly he doesn’t feel particularly victorious about it. Still, he keeps trudging forward, looking for something to prove his intelligence.

The oven makes no sense. It’s more in the shape of a giant metal squash and the buttons don’t respond to his touch. He thonks his hands against it and nothing happens. Same with the sink, what looks to be some sort of food-preserver, and maybe a microwave? All useless.

Eventually, Tommy gets to a counter and finds some sort of bowl on it. He has to climb the twisting structure a bit, but he inspects it and finds it filled with a black liquid. He tilts the bowl around; it moves easily.

Hm.

Tommy dips his hand in it, which maybe isn’t a great idea when dealing with an alien substance, but luckily there are no burns or electrocution. It’s just sticky, like syrup.

Ooooo wait.

Tommy gets an idea, and swipes the bowel up in one arm before leaping off the counter, careful not to spill it. He then rushes over to the wall.

Drawings.

Pets can’t draw. Only people can do that—well, and Tommy thinks aliens, too. Tommy can draw something to start to communicate with the aliens. He dunks his hand in the bowel again and pauses—what should he draw? Earth? Humans? His kidnappers?

Whatever, he just needs to get it done. He starts simple, with earth, which should be a circle with a few lines in it. That’s no problem.

Except…slight problem. Tommy’s not the greatest artist on the best of days, and this substance is hard to draw with. It’s slimy and sticky and drips everywhere. The lines aren’t solid, the shapes aren’t clear. He hisses in frustration, wiping his hand off on the wall before going for more and starting again. It tries to draw himself and Fish-face and Bird, but the proportions are way off and the substance keeps leaking from the lines he draws. It just looks like a mess now.

And that, of course, is when Bird comes in.

Tommy is made aware by the loud squawk coming from behind him, and the next thing he knows, he’s grabbed by the shoulder and swung around. Bird’s slitted eyes swing between Tommy’s hands, the bowl, and the wall, and Tommy hastily tries to explain.

“Wait—they’re pictures!” Tommy tries, but Bird has none of it. The bowl is swiped from Tommy’s hand and set aside before the talons wrap around his waist and lift him up. Tommy lets out his own squawk of alarm as he’s carried across the room with surprisingly strength. He’s always been lanky and light, but Bird is shorter than him, this isn’t fair.

He struggles, but he’s set down in front of the alien sink. Bird swipes a talon over the edge of it and it turns on—Tommy tried that and it didn’t work for him, what the heck—and then snatches Tommy’s hands and shoves them under the water. Tommy writhes and hisses, but Bird is strong and wipes away the black goo. It seems to come off pretty easily with water.

When finished, Bird whirls Tommy around again, lifts him up, and sets him down by one of the counters. He then points very firmly at Tommy and squawks.

Tommy gets the (apparently) universal message: Stay.

Tommy obeys sulkily as Bird swipes up what might be a towel but looks more like an infinity-scarf, and then approaches the wall of Tommy’s hard work. It looks even less like art now. It looks like an animal got dunked in black sludge and then rubbed its paws all over the wall.

…That’s exactly what this is to them.

Tommy’s heart sinks even more. He wants to kick himself. He can’t even use their freaking sink.

Bird has to make a few trips back and forth between the wall and the sink. Each time, he gives Tommy a firm, bug-eyed stink-eye that reenforces the command. Tommy kicks at the floor. This is just like back with all those stupid foster families, when Tommy got in trouble and they snapped at him, even the ones who were nice at first. “Look what you’ve done, Tommy,” “Can’t you stay out of trouble, Tommy?” “You’re so much work, Tommy!”

To think, Tommy kind of liked these aliens a bit, even with the cage and kidnapping at all. They were better than many of his foster families, which was a low bar, but they were still above it. Now, just like those few nice families, Tommy’s messed it up, and they’ll be annoyed with him.

Eventually, the mess is cleaned up, and Bird throws the scarf-towel in the sink before returning to Tommy. Tommy, who had been looking at the floor dejectedly, glances up. He sees disappointment in Bird’s eyes and that makes him feel worse.

There’s a long pause before Bird reaches out and takes Tommy’s chin and lifts his head up to meet those bug-eyes. When Tommy looks at them again, however, they’ve softened a bit. They look almost…fond.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do with that. This is the part where he’s punished.

Bird lets go of his chin and takes his hand. He leads Tommy out of the kitchen. Tommy wonders what will happen, thinking of his past punishments and trying to think of alien equivalents. They could lock him up. Maybe in that crate still in Fish-face’s room. Skip a meal, or a few meals. Make him pay them back through work or extra chores. Bird didn’t make him clean up the mess, but he could still make him clean something else.  And of course, there’s always pain.

Bird takes him to the living room again and then sits down on the sort-of couch, a large mesh of pillows on one side of the room that looks a bit like a bird’s nest. Tommy watches, waiting, before Bird pats the spot next to him. Tommy hesitates, but Bird pats it again, so Tommy climbs over to him.

Bird churs in satisfaction when Tommy settles, and then, to Tommy’s surprise, shifts one of his wings over Tommy. Tommy tenses, thinking for a moment that it will wrap completely around him, squeeze him, like a boa constrictor, when it stops only halfway. Like a blanket. The black feathers are smooth and neat, so perfect, the exact kind of thing Tommy wouldn’t be allowed near because he’d mess it up. But Bird doesn’t yank it away, just leaves it around Tommy, only just brushing his back.

Tommy holds perfectly, perfectly still and watches as Bird flicks a finger and brings up a screen. Tommy had seen his abductors use that; it seemed to be like an iPhone, being able to communicate and all that, despite just being a hologram. It has nothing physical about it that Tommy can see, but it hovers around the aliens like a moon in orbit. Which, so pog, a hologram, Tommy would love to mess with that but he’s been more focused on his abduction/adoption.

Speaking of, Bird seems to no longer be paying attention to him. They just sit together, Bird’s wing over him, as Bird reads something Tommy can’t interpret and just looks like a bunch of dots.

Minutes pass, and Tommy realizes that Bird isn’t going to do anything. He’s just reading on his screen, seeming pleased that Tommy is present with him. Tommy isn’t being punished.

Tommy sits with this information for a few more minutes, and then he scoots a bit closer. Bird doesn’t move. So he scoots just a little bit closer. There’s only a couple inches between them now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tommy leans over, and rests his head on Bird’s side. He doesn’t know how to communicate what he wants, but wills the gentle touch to say I’m sorry, and Thank you.

Bird trills through his chest and turns his head to nuzzle Tommy’s; It’s okay.

-

Fish-face returns and comes back to the living room, trying again to get Tommy to play. This time, though, Tommy decides to turn the tables. Maybe he’s not willing to learn a game from Fish-face right now, but Fish-face might could learn a game from him.

So Tommy takes Fish-face’s ball and walks over to the other side of the room. Fish-face makes a confused cluck, kind of like a dolphin, before Tommy sets down the ball (a little bigger than a baseball) and kicks it over to Fish-face.

Tommy’s never been one for sports, but if there was one he liked, it was football—or, soccer, according to the Americans. Whatever. This isn’t even that, this is just kicking the ball back and forth. He looks at Fish-face expectantly, who looks down at the ball in confusion. Tommy braces himself for when he catches on.

Finally, Fish-face nudges the ball and it rolls halfway across the room. Disappointing, but he’ll get it. Tommy retrieves it, returns to his side, and kicks it over again. Eventually, Fish-face catches on and his scales start to turn yellow as they kick the ball back and forth. It’s something. At least Tommy’s not chasing a laser.

They only stop when Pig comes in and grunts, calling them to the kitchen for another meal. Tommy sits in the corner and eats his pellets. The aliens are lucky these things taste so good, otherwise he would have gotten sick of them by now. Bird seems to be doing a good bit of the talking at the dinner table, occasionally mentioning Tommy’s alien-name and gesturing towards him and towards the wall.

Guess that story’s been shared, then.

They finish and Fish-face calls Tommy. All four of them spend some down-time in the living room before heading off to bed.

To the cage.

Pig arrives and looms ominously by the door, grunting at Fish-face. Fish-face, however, huff back and leads Tommy near the cage, but doesn’t put him in.

He gently squeezes Tommy’s arm. Just go in, Tommy knows he’s trying to say. You know I’ll let you out.

Tommy grimaces at the cage, but knows he’ll have to go in either way. He squeezes Fish-face back. You better.

Tommy makes a show of reluctance, Fish-face poking and prodding his every step. The cage snaps closed behind him. It’s still awful, but less so when Tommy knows he’s going to be let out soon. He holds onto that.

Pig snorts in surprise and confusion, while Fish-face warbles happily, slipping a few gold pellets through the bars as a reward. Tommy takes one and nibbles at it. He watches through the bars as Pig sniffs skeptically, but after a short exchange with Fish-face, the lights turn out.

Tommy waits. He knows Fish-face can’t risk letting him out immediately. If they get caught, Tommy has to stay in the cage all night like he’s supposed to. But each second feels like its own hour, and his breathes are no less difficult than last night.

Maybe he misunderstood what Fish-face was communicating. Maybe Fish-face lied. Maybe he fell asleep and forgot Tommy—

Finally, the cage clicks, and Fish-face chitters softly for him again. Tommy rushes out of the cage again and into his arms, just so, so grateful. A long-fingered hand soothes down his hair and his back, cool skin against Tommy’s own. It’s not just petting him like when Fish-face first met him or throughout the day—this is comfort. Churs and coos are whispered into Tommy’s ear, senseless but gentle and soothing. And he doesn’t immediately press Tommy towards the bed, he just waits, letting Tommy calm down.

Tommy’s…never had this before. When he was finally let out after being locked up in a cramped space, usually he was ignored or immediately set to do a chore. It would take him hours to calm down, tense and afraid that he might be put back there. But right now, he’s already feeling much better.

Tommy eventually shifts a bit in Fish-face’s arms to let him know he’s calm now, and Fish-face draws away a bit, patting the bed again. Tommy climbs up and settles down where he was before, Fish-face immediately curling around him with a pleased coo.

Tommy relaxes much quicker this time, but he still stays awake long enough to hear—or feel—Fish-face’s breathing slow down. The alien’s probably not totally asleep yet, but getting there. Tommy wonders, if he waits long enough, if Fish-face will fall asleep and he can slip away. Tommy can’t leave the room, but with the alien vulnerable…

His mind churns with ideas like a nauseous stomach.

…Whatever. Not tonight, at least. Tommy just wants to calm down from the cage. He falls asleep.

-

The next day, Tommy and Fish-face both seem to have gotten tired of kicking the ball around, so Fish-face moves back to the other toys. One of those is a very long string, at least three times Tommy’s height, with a pink puff-ball at the end of it. Fish-face whirls it around like a lasso, swing it across the room, at Tommy, making it dance around. He keeps looking at Tommy expectantly, waiting for Tommy to chase it.

Tommy doesn’t budge.

Fish-face keeps trying, so finally Tommy gets impatient and starts doing something else; climbing. He crawls up onto the tallest area of the nest and perches himself there, before he remembers that there’s some sort of treelike-looking thing that’s taller, so he gets down and climbs that instead.

Despite Tommy ignoring him, Fish-face seems delighted with this turn of events, his scales flickering from slight-orange to yellow again, with a toothy smile. Tommy is starting to think that the colors are linked to Fish-face’s emotions, and that yellow means happiness, because Fish-face always seems to be smiling when yellow spreads over him. Green might be worry or something, because Tommy had only seen it when the alien looked concerned for him. He doesn’t have a clue what blue means, but there’s almost always a little bit of it on the alien. Tommy might should try to memorize the colors more to better understand him.

Anyway, Fish-face is happy now, and Tommy can’t understand why until the alien starts climbing up after him.

“Hey! Get your own tree!” Tommy shouts, but suddenly realizes that this is Fish-face’s tree—it’s just like his chair in the dining room, all branchy and curved. Fish-face must have some lizard in him, because his claws seem perfectly suited for climbing, and he makes it up to Tommy in no time.

Fish-face just settles down comfortably in the branch next to Tommy, and then reaches over to scratch at his head. Tommy scoffs, but whatever. He settles down and they just relax in the tree. At least Fish-face isn’t messing with that pink toy anymore.

They doze together for a while, Fish-face absently scratching at Tommy’s head, when Bird walks in and chirps some things at Fish-face. Tommy watches them exchange a few words, before Fish-face lets out a pleased cluck and heaves himself out of the tree and drops down to the ground. He then turns and calls Tommy’s alien-name, so Tommy slowly makes his way down, too.

As Fish-face and Bird talk some more, Tommy notices something in the side of the room. Outside the window that looks out into black space and speckled stars, there’s a small metal speck—gold and steel—that’s approaching their ship.

Chapter Text

What’s this? Tommy doesn’t like this. Space pirates? Raiders? Whatever the alien equivalent of dog-catchers are?

“Hey!” Tommy calls over worriedly. “There’s someone coming here, idiots!”

Fish-face and Bird stop talking, and the former approaches Tommy to see what Tommy is pointing at. Tommy finds himself slightly pleased that he’s being listened to, even if they can’t understand him. He watches Fish-face for a reaction as the alien looks at the incoming ship, watching his expression and scales. But Fish-face’s scales keep meshing in yellow and light blue, even as the ship comes up to theirs and docks itself on the side.

Fish-face croons at Tommy with a smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Tommy shakes off his hand, but Fish-face just twirls away, heading for the door and calling for Tommy to follow.

“There is a person—alien—THING—coming to our ship!” Tommy shouts, pointing out the viewport. “Do you not see that? Aren’t you worried? Who are they?” Tommy has barely started to settle in the routines of this ship, he’s not happy to have it disrupted.

Fish-face calls him again to come, and then starts walking down the hallway. Grudgingly, Tommy follows.

Tommy realizes after only a few steps that they’re heading towards where the ship has docked itself. And Fish-face doesn’t look worried at all.

Ok, well? What is this then?

They reach a door Tommy thinks is the one he first came through when he got on the ship. He’s surprised to find Pig here, too, waiting by the door. Pig doesn’t look very relaxed, but then again, he hasn’t in the entire time Tommy has known him.

The door slides open before Tommy is ready, and there’s a loud, high shriek. Tommy jumps and tries to duck behind Fish-face, but Fish-face is striding forward, towards the noise. So Tommy goes for the next best defense—Pig. He dives behind Pig and hopes he doesn’t get put in the crate for his trouble.

Pig snorts in surprise and half-turns to look at Tommy as Tommy clings to his leg anxiously. The shriek has stopped, but there’s still chirps and churrs and high sounds filling the room. One is definitely Fish-face, but the other…?

Tommy, after a few seconds, pokes his head out, just to see what’s happening. His eyes immediately lock on to a new alien. It looks sort of like Bird, with wings and feathers, perhaps the same species, or at least a related one. But this new creature has gold feathers that are shorter and messier, unlike the sleek surface of Bird’s wings. Some of them are even fluffy, like the fuzz on a baby chick. His beak on his face is rounded instead of sharp, but his eyes are still bug-like and he has little feathers over his face.

This new alien and Fish-face are dancing around each other in some sort of greeting, singing nonsense words and bumping elbows. Tommy ducks behind Pig again. This new alien doesn’t seem like a threat, but Tommy doesn’t know why he’s here. Is Fish-face selling him? Is Tommy being passed off? Was Bird upset about the drawings yesterday so they decided they didn’t want him?

For his unintentional kidnappers, Tommy finds himself upset at the idea of leaving them.

A hand touches his hair, too solid and dense to be Fish-face, and Tommy’s head snaps up. At first, he irrationally thinks it’s the new alien, but he’s met with Pig’s hoof-hand. It’s only three fingers; two nails and a thumb, but Pig uses it to smooth over Tommy’s head. Tommy blinks up at Pig, who watches him with a wrinkly face that Tommy can’t read. Pig isn’t smiling, and his eyes are too black for Tommy to understand. But…Pig lets Tommy stay behind him, hidden, and even edges over to stand between Tommy and the new alien. The huge presence is protective, watchful.

Tommy thinks this is the first time Pig has really pet him.

They’re interrupted by a warble from Fish-face, and Pig turns to look back at him. After a brief exchange, Pig starts to move to the side. Tommy tries to stay behind him, but Pig eventually maneuvers Tommy to be at least partially out in the open. Tommy is still ducked into Pig’s leg, but he pokes his head out a bit to look at Fish-face and the new alien.

Fish-face calls him. Tommy doesn’t go.

The new alien lets out more chirps, except they’re more nasally than Bird’s, they sound more like a duck than a robin or cardinal or something. Tommy decides to name him that—Duck. He kind of looks like a duck, too—a golden one.

Fish-face waves a hand at Duck and then approaches Tommy, his scales less yellow now and more of a light orange. Tommy doesn’t relax as Fish-face pets him, unsure of what’s going on and would rather this new alien leave right now and never come back, thank you very much.

New alien does not leave. Instead, he comes closer.

Duck is reaching for Tommy just as Fish-face does, but Tommy barks a warning. “You come any closer and I’ll bite you.”

Maybe Duck will taste like chicken.

Tommy’s never tasted duck before so he wouldn’t know if the new alien was similar.

Tommy gets a light thwonk upside the head for his frankly excellent job at communicating. He glares up at Fish-face, who is now much more orange, but to his surprise, Pig seems to come to his defense and huffs disapprovingly at Fish-face.

Ha, for once the pig is on Tommy’s side. Now if only he wouldn’t keep trying to put Tommy in that crate at night.

Duck doesn’t seem all that bothered, and then he and Fish-face start heading back down the hall. Tommy stays with Pig, but then Fish-face turns and calls for him. Tommy isn’t given another choice when Pig gently nudges Tommy towards them. Traitor. Tommy throws him a glare but trudges after the two aliens reluctantly.

To Tommy’s surprise, they don’t go to the living room, but to Fish-face’s bedroom.

Wait. Is Duck a new resident? Or pet? Is it going to be the three of them in here?

Fish-face immediately sits on his bed and then pats it, looking at Tommy expectantly. Tommy stiffly climbs on and sits on the far side, but Fish-face snags him and then pulls him closer, ignoring Tommy’s squirming. Tommy could fight more and probably get out of the hold, but his struggles are more to let Fish-face know his displeasure. When Tommy is finally tucked against Fish-face’s side, he decides to spoil the alien’s victory by poking him sharply in the chest.

Fish-face does a quick whistle of surprise, and then he pokes Tommy back. Well that doesn’t sort things out, so Tommy pokes him again, and soon it dissolves into a tickle fight. Tommy squirms and tries to get at Fish-face’s ear-fins, Fish-face letting out a sort of hiccupping-chirping sound that Tommy thinks is laughter. They push at each other and duck away from each other’s hands

Tommy is retreating fast when finally Fish-face pulls away, both of them breathless and grinning like madman—er, aliens. Tommy can’t seem to push his smile down. He’s roughhoused with other kids before, sure, but it often ended with some adult snapping at them to cut it off or someone taking it too far. He hadn’t done it in ages. Fish-face has turned almost completely yellow, flecks of gold and light pink swirling like pinwheels on his scales, beaming at Tommy.

There’s an odd sound that interrupts them—a mix between a clearing throat and a quack.

Oh right. Duck.

Both Tommy and Fish-face look over at the guest, who watches them with a mix of amusement and knowing. Tommy doesn’t know what that’s about, but he feels…calmer. He’s out of breath, and the tension tightening his limbs is gone.

Fish-face turns back to him, still smiling, and lifts an arm. An invitation. Not pulling Tommy in, letting Tommy chose to go or stay.

Tommy goes.

Fish-face churrs, pleased, and then rubs his hand up and down Tommy’s arm, the same way he does to soothe Tommy at night. A bit more of Tommy’s tension ebbs away.

Fish-face and Duck start talking, and Tommy just sits, listening to the nonsense. He starts to think up of other ideas as to why Duck might be here, less threatening ones. Fish-face and Duck seem to be friends, so maybe he’s just here for a visit. Maybe to check out the new ‘dog.’ Maybe Duck is actually a gangster, or a politician, or a gambler, or something else cool. Every once and a while he tries to reach out for Tommy again, but a glare and some harsh words get the message across, and he backs off. Tommy’s quite comfortable where he is, thanks.

Eventually, however, Duck tries something new. He draws out something shiny in his talons and waves it in front of Tommy’s face. Tommy’s eyes follow it in confusion, before it’s held out to him. Tommy takes it out of principle and peers at it. It looks just like a golden coin.

Duck chirps happily, flicking his wings with pleasure. Tommy looks back up, and he thinks that Duck is preening—metaphorically, that is. He definitely looks proud of himself. The gold alien throws a smug look at Fish-face, looking like a bird who’d just cleaned themselves in one of those stupid birdbaths, all overconfident and arrogant.

Fish-face huffs as Duck reaches for Tommy again, more confidently this time.

Tommy flicks the coin right at him, landing directly on his upper beak.

The squark of alarm makes it completely worth it.

Fish-face bursts out into hiccup-chirps and falls back on the bed. Tommy gives Duck a cheeky grin as Duck ruffles his feathers mulishly. Ha, ha. Tommy’s interrupted when Fish-face roughly ruffles his hair, and Tommy shoves him away. Duck grumble-chirps, but after that he seems to get the message that Tommy just doesn’t like him.

Duck stares at Tommy with narrowed eyes for a moment, and the shifts his wings around, eventually, somehow, pulling out three grey cups.

Tommy’s eyebrows crease together. “How the heck did you do that?”

Duck doesn’t answer, of course, and just sits down on the floor before the bed and sets the three cups out. Tommy has to lean over the edge and look down the drop to see what the alien is doing. Then, Duck holds up the not-chocolate between his feather-hands.

Tommy straightens up when he sees those.

Duck puts the not-chocolate under a cup and then starts to shift the cups around.

Oh, okay, Tommy knows how this works. He jumps down from the bed and sits down on the floor across from Duck and watches. Then Duck pauses and looks at Tommy expectantly.

Tommy picks the middle cup, but when Duck lifts it, it’s empty. Tommy frowns and reaches for another, but Duck waves him off with a wing. After showing the chocolate under the cup on the right, Duck rearranges the cups again. This time Tommy watches obsessively closely, and when Duck pauses, Tommy choses correctly.

“Yesssss!” Tommy snatches up the not-chocolate and gobbles it up.

The play some more. Tommy gets good at the game, eating his fill of not-chocolate. But then Duck doesn’t replace any under the cups. Tommy glares, but Duck spreads his wings in a shrug. All out.

Alright, fine, Tommy’s full anyway.

Tommy is about to climb back up onto the bed with Fish-face when Duck lets out a little warble, and when Tommy turns around, Duck is reaching out again.

Oh. Alright. Tommy stares at Duck as the alien slowly moves forward, until finally, he brushes against Tommy’s head. He churrs in happiness.

Tommy tolerates this for about ten seconds, and then he shrugs Duck off and climbs back onto the bed. Fish-face rubs the side of his arm in support, but doesn’t drag Tommy to snuggle. Then he and Duck go back to chatting.

A bit more time passes before finally, finally, the two aliens get up to leave. Tommy follows as they head back to the door that Duck first came through. Fantastic, he’s leaving.

Duck gives one last hopeful wave to Tommy, to which Tommy just narrows his eyes in response, before he turns and goes. Tommy hears the ship unlatch from their own, and part of him relaxes.

Great, so that’s done.

Dinner happens right after, and then it’s another day done on Tommy’s new kidnapped life. He goes into the crate just as reluctantly as last night, except this time Pig is looking at him funny—knowingly, almost. Tommy doesn’t like it. But there’s no disturbance that night when Fish-face lets him out and Tommy falls asleep in his arms yet again.

Chapter Text

The next day, after breakfast, Tommy tries a new way to show his intelligence. He grabs Fish-face’s hands and the alien indulgently lets him be pulled back to their room. Tommy stands in front of the bedroom door and thinks hard, remembering exactly where Wilbur pressed the side of it to slide it open this morning. He presses it. Nothing happens.

Upset, Tommy presses again, and all the areas around it, and on the other side, too.

“Ugh, this is dumb,” he groans, and looks back to Fish-face, who’s watching him, amused. Fish-face must understand what he wants, though, because the alien presses the spot—Tommy pressed that place, he knows he did—and the door slides open.

Tommy glances over all the edges of the door, poking his head through the other side. Fish-face casually enters the room and then looks at Tommy expectantly. Tommy walks in, and the door automatically closes behind him without Fish-face touching.

Ok then. Tommy starts pressing on this side. He smooths his hand over the whole thing, even tries the same hand motion that Fish-face had, with only the two middle fingers pressed down. Nothing happens.

He glances back at Fish-face, trying to see if there is a clue or maybe Fish-face will guess what he wants and teach him how to open this stupid alien door. But apparently, Fish-face isn’t interested, because the colorful alien is reclined back on his bed, giant blotches of blue drifting across his body, staring at that screen-thing.

“Hey!” Tommy calls, and Fish-face glances up. “I’m trying to show you I’m a person, you rotting salmon! Least you could do is watch.” It’s not unlike those times that Tommy, when he was younger, approached his foster parents with something he was proud of, waiting for praise. Only they rarely paid attention, and even if they acknowledged him, would move on quickly.

Fish-face, however, doesn’t return to his screen. He slips off the bed on his long legs and comes up to Tommy, looking at him expectantly.

Tommy thumps his hand on the door.

Fish-face’s scales change from blue to bits of light orange, yellow, and a sort-of lavender color that Tommy hasn’t seen on him before. As Tommy desired, Fish-face touches the door—and Tommy touched it that exact way.

Fish-face walks out and Tommy immediately follows before whirling around just as the door closes. He then slams his hand down on the unmarked area, just the way Fish-face did.

Nothing.

Of course. Of course! Tommy might as well be a pet, unable to open stinking doors. He’s too stupid even for something as simple as that.

He looks at Fish-face beseechingly.

Fish-face is looking at him with a skeptical expression, that light-purple and yellow that solidly mix with the blue. It kind of looks like an ocean sunset, and while Tommy has only seen pictures, he still finds the colors vivid and pretty. He distracts himself by looking at them for a moment, watching them shift like ocean waves.

Fish-face just sighs and ruffles his hair, before heading down the hall, calling for him to follow. They go to the living room, where Fish-face tries to cheer him up by kicking the ball back and forth like Tommy taught him. Tommy participates, but isn’t that eager. Eventually Fish-face stops and points at Tommy to stay.

Tommy sits alone in the living room, sulking. Another plan down the drain. He wants to prove his intelligence, but the thing is, he doesn’t understand this alien technology. It’s not his fault they’re super advanced with everything, even with a stupid door. They’ve got to have something simple here, but complex enough that a regular dumb animal wouldn’t be able to do it.

Tommy wishes he could draw, but that didn’t get him anywhere last time and he hasn’t seen an opportunity since. What else can he do?

He’s distracted when Fish-face walks back in, carrying that guitar-like item that he’d taken from Tommy the first day Tommy was here. It looks like if you took a guitar, painted it dark blue, twisted and curved the handle so it somewhat would hook around a person’s neck, and then added enough overlapping strings to the lower part to make it look like one of those dreamcatcher-things—a very complex one.

Tommy’s a bit distracted watching the not-guitar, but Fish-face lets out a pleased croon. A hand pets his hair encouragingly, and Tommy guesses he’s being rewarded for staying. One of the golden pellets is held out to him and Tommy takes it, somewhat confused.

“I already know how to stay,” Tommy says grumpily, having not yet ate the pellet. “It’s not like I did a trick or something.” His eyes narrow as he watches Fish-face’s nonunderstanding smile, his yellow-and-royal-purple scales. “…You better not be proud of yourself for teaching me to stay.” Bird already had him do that earlier.

Fish-face nudges him encouragingly again, and Tommy grumpily eats the pellet.

Fish-face is, again, pleased, and goes over to the nest-couch, setting his not-guitar on one side and patting the other, looking at Tommy expectantly.

Tommy sighs and goes over, sitting down beside Fish-face, whose hands immediately reach to dote on him. They come for Tommy’s head, and to Tommy’s surprise, gently tug him down. Tommy lets this happen, and is pulled down until his head rests in Fish-face’s lap. Fish-face croons in delight and Tommy looks up at him, seeing the alien turn almost completely yellow with patches of gold, though still a few flecks of light-blue drifting through.

…Alright. Tommy will be a lapdog. But only because he wants a break after his last failure. He just lays there for a bit, his head in Fish-face’s lap, getting pet. Dogs have a wonderful life. Tommy shouldn’t be jealous, but why should dogs get all the love while he just gets crap in foster care?

After a while, Fish-face shifts around and pulls up the guitar-thing. The alien is tall enough that he can hold it without disturbing Tommy, and Tommy watches as the alien strums a few notes. They sound like a whale’s song. From his position, Tommy can see each skilled long finger strike the strands of the dreamcatcher part. After a while of watching, Tommy determines that the instrument doesn’t need to be directly pressed the same way for a note to be played—Fish-face plucks one string and then a whole backbeat starts up.

Right. Tommy had tried to mess with the thing a few days ago, and it hadn’t done anything. Just like with the doors.

He squashes down the shame and just listens to the pretty music, closing his eyes and leaning back, letting the sound wash over him. He can feel the instrument rumble above his head and around him. Or, actually—Fish-face is humming a bit. He seems to be repeating a song, sometimes particular parts. Tommy wonders if that’s just alien music, or if Fish-face is practicing it. Tommy starts humming, too, softly at first, but he gets louder as he learns the tune.

The music abruptly stops, and so does Tommy. He opens his eyes, confused, and looks back at Fish-face.

Fish-face is staring down at him, still mostly yellow and sky-blue, but now there’s lavender and that pale inside-of-an-orange color. The alien’s eyes are wide, and he chirps, putting a boney hand on Tommy’s cheek.

Tommy stares at him in confusion.

Fish-face chirps the tune. Dum-dum-da-da-dum.

Oh. Music. Music! Pets can’t do music!

Tommy almost jumps out of Fish-face’s lap, but he manages to stay still. He hums back the notes, louder this time, clearly, watching intently for the alien’s reaction.

Fish-face lets out a delighted shriek. God, it’s like when the girls at school see a baby or puppy. Tommy winces, but Fish-face has tossed his guitar aside and leaned down to press his face to Tommy’s, both hands on the sides of Tommy’s head now. Tommy jolts as Fish-face nuzzles their noses together—the alien’s nose an odd, curved, slitted thing against Tommy’s straighter, sharper one. Fish-face’s skin has always been cool, but now it’s right all over Tommy’s face, their foreheads pressing together.

Tommy squirms, more out of surprise than discomfort, and his own hands instinctively come up to shove Fish-face’s—well, face—away from him. Fish-face hiccup-laughs as he does, not bothered, still winding his long fingers in Tommy’s hair.

Tommy withdraws in hands quickly, scared to have them that close to Fish-face’s predatory teeth, even though he’s sure that the alien wouldn’t hurt him. The alien’s mouth is in a wide smile, perhaps wider than any other that Tommy has seen. His scales are rapidly spiraling in yellow-pink-gold—and is that a pinch of dark purple on his arms, too?

Still beaming, Fish-face leans back down towards Tommy. Tommy starts to lift his hands again, but Fish-face stops a little less than a foot above him.

Fish-face croons the song to him again.

Well, this is what Tommy wanted, even if he hadn’t quite expected that reaction. He sings the song back this time; “Dum-dum-da-da-dum.”

Another squeal, and Tommy prepares to ward off another face plant, but this time, Fish-face’s hands snake down from his head to his shoulders, weaving behind his back and then pulling him chest-to-chest in a squeezing hug. Fish-face’s head nuzzles against the side of Tommy’s this time, and Tommy is too shocked to stop him.

The alien is so happy. Overjoyed. There’s no other word for it. Tommy knows by now that yellow means happiness because Fish-face is often smiling when he’s colored that way. Gold might be just a stronger version of yellow. Pink also seems to show up with yellow, but Tommy doesn’t know what it means. Maybe just happiness again, or amusement or something.

Tommy…hasn’t been held like this. It’s different from when he’s let up into Fish-face’s bed to snuggle. That’s just an owner enjoying their pet. But now the alien is happy with him. Happy with something he can do.It’s different, it’s satisfying, it makes his heart feel like it’s about to burst and collapse at the same time.

Fish-face is chattering so fast behind his ear that Tommy doesn’t think he’d be able to understand him even if he could speak the language. He finds himself smiling. He sings the tune again, not because Fish-face did, but just to make him happy. And just like that, Fish-face shrieks with delight yet again. The high pitch doesn’t even bother Tommy anymore.

The alien leans back up, but pulls Tommy with him, snuggled into his arms. Tommy adjusts himself a bit to be more comfortable, but doesn’t try to leave the hold, leaning in a bit. Fish-face hums and Tommy hums back, leading to softer hiccup-laughs.

Fish-face leans back to look at him, arms still securely wrapped around Tommy. He hums a new tune, and Tommy copies it.

This goes on for a while, back and forth, and each time, each time Tommy copies, Fish-face laughs or squeals or hugs—or all three. The yellow, pink, gold, and deep purple on his scales spiral with delight. Tommy’s never been that much of a singer, he knows he’s not that good, but Fish-face looks at him like he’s brilliant, like he’s precious.

At one point, Tommy tries to teach Fish-face a song. “Jump in the Cadillac, I’m in the back—”

Fish-face tilts his head curiously, warbles the first few notes, but doesn’t totally catch on. Tommy shrugs his shoulders and goes back to singing the alien’s tunes.

Tommy’s not sure how much time passes, but at one point he decides to try Fish-face’s instrument. Maybe that’ll show that he’s more than some pet. He leans back and reaches for it, and Fish-face doesn’t stop him as he pulls it closer. Fish-face just watches as Tommy sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and tries to imitate what Fish-face did. But no sound comes out.

At this point, Tommy can’t say he’s surprised, but he’s still disappointed. Fish-face softly warble-chirps, kind of like his laugh, and gently lifts it away from Tommy, pulling Tommy around so his back is leaned up against the alien’s chest, the instrument baring Tommy in. Tommy watches, somewhat resigned, as the long fingers coax music out of the instrument. Fish-face doesn’t do much, just sets one of those back-beat things.

Tommy listens to it for a moment, and then he sings one of the melodies Fish-face taught him in time with the beat. He taps the air with his finger in time with the notes. Fish-face soon picks up on it and joins him, setting the instrument aside, somehow still playing by itself. The alien wraps its arms around Tommy, hugging him close from behind.

Tommy gets an idea suddenly, and he stops singing and squirms a bit. Fish-face cuts off, seeming surprised, and lets Tommy slip out of his lap. Tommy turns around immediately and takes Fish-face’s hands with his own, pulling at him.

Fish-face reaches for the instrument, probably to turn it off, but Tommy pulls more insistently. So the alien obediently gets up, his tall form over Tommy, watching him curiously, their hands still joined.

Tommy turns his shoulders and arms side to side with the beat, and starts singing the song again. His movements push and pull at Fish-face’s arms, and soon the alien is joining them in the rhythm.

They laugh and sing, spinning around and swaying to the beat. The alien occasionally reaches for him to spin him around or sway their arms together again. One time, just to mess with him, Tommy dodges the reaching hands and ducks through Fish-face’s long legs, laughing the whole time. Fish-face clucks in surprise, whirling, and Tommy immediately grabs his hands and spins him, hiccup-chirps soon joining his laughter.

It’s fun. And they probably look ridiculous, with Fish-face’s long limbs and Tommy hopping around, rarely having ever danced in his life, but he loves it. Fish-face’s scales seem to pulse with color in time with the rhythm, still yellow, pink, and purple, but the pink seems to grow each time he looks at Tommy. Tommy thinks that color is definitely amusement now, he’s got to be laughing at how Tommy looks. Tommy kind of feels pink too, in that case, because Fish-face’s dancing is downright ridiculous, with all kinds of swinging limbs and flexible jerks.

Tommy’s starting to get out of breath when he turns in a spin and pauses, seeing Bird standing in the door to the room, watching them.

Tommy can’t quite read Bird’s expression, but the feathered alien has a strange crinkle to his eyes, and chirps something at him.

Fish-face realizes the other alien is there, and immediately springs up to him, chattering quickly, taking the feathered hands in his own. Tommy watches, catching up on his breaths. The beat is still playing, but he’s satisfied with the dancing they did, content for the day. He probably would have stopped in another few minutes, if only out of sheer exhaustion, but he knows he would have done it until he fell over. Ah, well, he’s pretty sure Fish-face will be happy to dance again sometime.

But then Fish-face pulls Bird into the room, the same way Tommy had pulled him up from the nest-couch. Tommy sees Fish-face imitate the swaying arms just as he did, and wonders if the aliens had ever danced before, or Tommy just taught them something totally new.

That would be pog. He taught aliens dancing.

Fish-face starts singing, and soon Bird joins in. Bird’s voice isn’t a mix of aquatic calls like Fish-face’s, though they do have similarities. Croons and chirps, but Bird’s voice is higher.

Tommy watches this for only a few seconds before Fish-face reaches for him, singing his alien name—“Thee-say-us!” Tommy grins and goes over to take his hand, and then it’s the three of them, dancing in the spaceship’s living room. Bird takes Tommy’s other hand, and they spin around and sing.

And suddenly Tommy doesn’t care if this proves to them that he’s sentient or not. He likes this just as it is, pet or no pet.

And Tommy thinks, This is the happiest moment of my life.

Chapter Text

It’s been about a week into Tommy’s ‘adoption.’ He thinks. If his sleep schedule is reliable, to which, who knows. He and Fish-face have sung together every day since Tommy first copied those notes. Tommy’s starting to memorize whole songs, and he shows off his whistling skills, which again causes Fish-face to screech with amazement. Sometimes Bird joins them, letting out a form of chirping laughter, and wraps Tommy up in a feathery hug each time he leaves. Tommy decides he likes Bird.

Once Pig showed up to one of their dance-offs, and Fish-face immediately bounded over and tried to tug him in. Tommy is somewhat grateful that Pig stayed put, and Fish-face couldn’t make him move. Tommy would have been scared of accidentally being stepped on.

He’s still put in the crate each night, and he wonders if this will be a permeant thing. It hasn’t really gotten any easier. He still needs Fish-face to guide him in step-by-step, and Pig still shows up to make sure he does it. But each night, every night, Fish-face comes to set him free and then bring Tommy up to his bed to snuggle. Tommy wonders every time if it won’t happen—if Fish-face will skip a night, or fall asleep before he lets Tommy out—but so far, he’s been released without fail.

Fish-face and the others sometimes disappears off the ship for short periods, taking a smaller shuttle they have attached to go to planets their ship passes. The big house-ship doesn’t land, just goes into orbit. Every time Fish-face leaves, Tommy goes to the window in the living room to watch the shuttle go further and further away until it’s gone. When Tommy knows they’re back—by seeing the shuttle approach or hearing it dock—he always waits at the door, and hugs Fish-face when he comes in.

He just...misses him, when he’s gone.

When the aliens leave, it’s always either Pig and Bird or Pig and Fish-face who go, or at least so far. So when Fish-face is gone, Bird watches over Tommy, which is fine. Bird is just as happy to cuddle but not as clingy. He often lets Tommy be as he does some task in the same room, but always gives Tommy attention when Tommy comes over. Occasionally they sing together, just the two of them. Once, Tommy stole some sort of prod that Bird was working on, and then ran circles all around the ship with Bird chasing him, laughing all the way. Bird had eventually tackled him in a hug of feathers, ruffled his hair, and then tucked Tommy’s head under his chin, chirping contentedly. He didn’t even seem to care about the prod once he caught Tommy. It made Tommy feel wonderfully warm.

Tommy watches as Fish-face prepares to leave, seeing him put on that strange chain-mail cloak that always means he’s departing. Tommy follows him to the door that leads to the shuttle, and is unsurprised to see Bird and Pig already waiting there. Fish-face takes a minute to cup Tommy’s face in his hands, cooing alien words and nuzzling their noses together. Tommy presses his forehead up to Fish-face’s own in goodbye, and hums one of the tunes just to make him smile. Yellow blooms over Fish-face’s scales, and then the alien lets go and draws away. Still crooning at Tommy the whole way, he steps through the door.

Well, it won’t be long, not even half the day, so Tommy tries not to feel disappointed. Tommy likes spending time with Bird, they have fun—

And then Bird goes through the door, too.

Tommy’s head swings around in confusion as the door closes, looking at the only other being in the room, in the ship.

Pig. Pig, who locks Tommy in a change each night. Pig, who ignores him for the most part. Pig, who’s more like a bear and who grunts, snorts, snarls, and growls. Tommy hasn’t heard any other kind of sound from him, nothing that doesn’t sound at least a bit aggressive, no sound that doesn’t make him tense.

Pig stares back at him, the alien’s beady eyes unreadable.

Whelp.

Tommy feels the thump through the ship as the shuttle unlatches, meaning that Fish-face and Bird are departing. No one to stand between Tommy and Pig.

Tommy pins his whirling mind down. Even if Pig has never done anything fun with him, the alien still hasn’t hurt him, none of them have. So, this really will just be Tommy being alone for a bit. That’s fine. So long as Tommy doesn’t do anything bad, Pig won’t put him in the crate.

Pig is still staring at him.

Tommy takes a little step back, and nothing happens. So he takes another, and another, until he’s just by the end of the hall, and then he turns and speed-walks to the living room. This is the second-best location on the ship, the first being Fish-face’s room, but Fish-face’s door will be closed, and it’s already been established that Tommy can’t open it.

Tommy flops down on the nest in the room, fully prepared just to lie there until Fish-face gets back. He can see the window from here, and he watches the shuttle become a speck against the orange-yellow planet they’re orbiting. He gets himself comfortable against the plush material, and dozes a bit.

About five minutes later, Tommy is suddenly cold. He doesn’t really understand why, but goosebumps prickle along his skin and shivers shake him awake. This doesn’t make sense; the ship has always been a warm temperature. It’s not painfully cold, but definitely the kind of chill Tommy would wear a sweater for. Except he doesn’t have any other clothes than the ones he was captured in; a red-and-white short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. He lost his shoes while at the space-kennel. He’s been wearing those clothes all week, through playing and sleeping and everything. They’re definitely not in great shape, but it’s not like the aliens were kind enough to take his wardrobe, too. Tommy doesn’t mind all that much; he’s had to wear outfits for long periods while running from foster care. But when he does that, he’s always sure to bring some kind of jacket.

Tommy buries himself under the pillows and blankets of the nest and that helps a bit. But it’s still just cold enough that he can’t relax. He huffs frustratedly.

Another few minutes later, Pig walks in. Tommy glares at the alien, fairly certain this is somehow his fault. Pig pauses to stare back, and Tommy gets the sneaking suspicion that he’s being judged for being under all the pillows like this. He glares fiercer.

Pig grunts an acknowledgement—or maybe something else, how’s Tommy to know—and then goes over to the other side of the nest. Tommy bristles for a second, thinking that Pig is coming towards him, but Pig flops down several feet away and just reclines.

At least Pig seems to understand that Tommy isn’t the biggest fan of him. Pig’s eyes are closed like he’s dozing, like Tommy was trying to do. The giant pink alien doesn’t seem bothered at all by the cold. Tommy eyes up that thick skin and the tuffs of fur; yeah, that alien looks like he can handle cold climates. He actually looks quite warm.

As Tommy sits there, watching him, he gets a stronger and stronger feeling of curiosity. Tommy’s been up close with Fish-face and Bird plenty, but not this alien. The only time Pig has touched him is when he’s putting Tommy in the cage, and Tommy is a bit distracted when that happens. And Pig looks…warm.

Tommy hears Pig’s heavy breaths, and they’re slow and steady. Tommy tries to imitate them a bit, but finds he can’t quite get to that length of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe Pig is totally asleep.

Slowly, Tommy creeps out from under his pillows.

Step by step, he crawls towards Pig, getting closer and closer. At one point, Pig’s hand twitches, and Tommy hastily backs up two steps, but after that Pig doesn’t move. Besides the alien’s incredibly huge chest going slowly up and down, he’s is still as a corpse. His head is facing away from Tommy, but Tommy guesses that his eyes are closed.

Eventually, Tommy reaches Pig’s side, and is struck again by just how huge Pig is. He can pick up Tommy with ease. Even when Tommy slowly gets to his feet, Pig’s sideways chest is about up to Tommy’s hip. He leans over Pig’s stomach, careful not to touch, trying to get a look at his face. He manages to catch a corner of Pig’s eyes, which are closed. Tommy slowly leans back.

Pig is warm. Without even touching, Tommy feels the heat radiating off the alien, like an oven, but not quite as musty or burning. Fish-face and Bird aren’t like this. Fish-face is usually cool to the touch, and Bird isn’t much warmer. Once Tommy is snuggled up to Bird, though, the feathers insolate a bit of heat.

Still, though. This is better.

Tommy gets back down on his knees and then lays down next to Pig on his stomach. They aren’t touching, but it’s close enough that Tommy is warm. He relaxes.

A huge hand lightly touches his back. Tommy freezes, opening his eyes and looking up at Pig. Pig is still looking away, but his hand has come up to rest on his back, rubbing little circles his shoulders.

“Faker,” Tommy huffs. “You scared of me, Pig?” he says, mostly because he knows Pig can’t understand.

Pig slowly starts turning his huge head towards Tommy, more like a sloth than a swine. That giant snout, beady eyes, and little tusks coming out of the ends of his mouth, eventually stop when they face Tommy. When Tommy doesn’t move away, the hand on his back rubs more firmly.

Ok, then. Tommy peers at Pig, but sees no aggression. This is about as placid as Tommy’s ever seen him. And he feels like hostility would be pretty easy to read on this alien; bared fangs, sharpened claws, narrowed black eyes. But right now, those droopy eyes and floppy ears…it kind of looks adorable.

Well, if Tommy’s tolerating getting closer to Pig, he might as well get his money’s worth. He closes the distance of a couple inches between them, leaning against Pig’s side. That’s much warmer. At one of Tommy’s foster homes, he would curl up right next to the heating vent in the kitchen during the winter. Sometimes with a blanket—that made him toasty. When the foster parents there found him like that, they immediately gave him chores and told him to stop being lazy.

Pets don’t have to do chores, suckers. Even if Tommy still hopes to eventually get out of this, there’s no problem with enjoying the perks.

Pig’s hand on his back pauses when Tommy moves closer, and Tommy can tell the alien is surprised at the contact. He feels the muscles on his side tense slightly, but then slowly relax. The hand returns.

Tommy’s pretty close to drifting off when a sound pulls him back up. It’s like a motor—the ship’s engine? Tommy’s heard the engine of the ship sometimes in the hall, a light hum, but he’s never been able to hear it in the living room. And now he can feel the vibration on his side. What…?

Oh. It’s Pig. Pig is—purring?!

Tommy lifts his head and looks at Pig’s chest. He pokes it, and the purrs stutter with a few cough-noises—maybe a laugh? Tommy looks up at Pig and blinks.

The purr continues, Pig’s hoofed-hand running up and down Tommy’s back. Tommy hadn’t realized how affectionate Pig could be. Even with Fish-face and Bird, Tommy hadn’t seen Pig cuddling with them, at most an occasional hug. Maybe Pig has some kind of rough-and-tough reputation, and he can only be soft now that the other two aliens are gone.

Tommy feels a smile slip onto his mouth at that idea. Little does Pig know that Tommy is intelligent, and one day Tommy will tell everyone he can about how the big scary boar-alien is just a big softie.

“Who’s the cat now, bastard?” Tommy snarks. Pig just keeps purring and petting him.

Well, now Tommy has to go all the way. He pushes himself up, and the purring stops with a little mournful whine.

“Hold your horses, you needy space-hog,” Tommy tells him, and then crawls on his hands and knees, right up onto Pig’s chest.

Tommy can feel Pig’s breath hitch under his knees as he rockily settles himself down on Pig’s chest. He props himself up on his elbows for a moment to look right at Pig’s face.

Tommy reaches forward and boops Pig’s snout.

Pig blinks.

Tommy smirks.

Slowly, apparently still in sloth-mode, Pig reaches up his hand…and then gently presses the black nail of his hoof to Tommy’s own nose.

Tommy wrinkles his booped-nose at him, but fine, that’s acceptable. He settles down and grins up at Pig, ready to sleep, waiting to see if Pig will shove him off or let him stay. Tommy’s pretty confident which one it will be. He crosses his ankles and doesn’t have to wait long.

Pig melts like butter. Tommy can feel it underneath him, can feel that strength be soothed away, turned into jelly. Tommy’s smirk is starting to become so wide it kind of hurts, but he doesn’t bother to change it.

Both of Pig’s hands come up and wrap around Tommy. Tommy realizes this is a hug—he’s being hugged by Pig, and it’s gentle and soft and so, so warm. He can hear a steady, slow heartbeat under his ear along with the purrs. So Tommy nestles in, surrounded by a pleasant heaviness and loose strength, the sound of the purr starting up around him again. He smiles.

It’s an odd sense of power, to have something so big and strong be so obviously affectionate with him. No one would mess with Tommy with Pig over his shoulder, and Tommy feels that he now has the huge alien wrapped around his little finger.

It’s easy to fall asleep.

-

Tommy’s eventually woken up by a crooning sound above his head. He opens his eyes and looks up, seeing Fish-face’s eyes peering down at him. This is pretty regular when Tommy wakes up nowadays, but what’s different is the bits of fur tickling Tommy’s nose. Tommy shifts a bit and looks up.

Pig’s half-lidded eyes look down at him contentedly, and Tommy remembers what happened. He’s still wrapped up on Pig’s chest, and he’s so comfortable. It’s soft and sturdy and wonderfully warm. Tommy snuggles closer. He doesn’t want to leave.

Fish-face’s coos and then cool fingers are on his face, smoothing back his hair. They start to shift to Tommy’s shoulders as if to pull Tommy out. Tommy starts to frown, but then one of Pig’s arms shifts and bats Fish-face’s hands away. Tommy can hear Fish-face squawk in upset, and then Pig pulls Tommy closer and up, bringing Tommy’s head under his giant chin.

Oh, this is nice. Tommy is happy. He cracks an eye open at Fish-face, who looks rather frustrated at being ignored, the scales on his arms reddish-orange, his long fingers in tight fists at his sides. Tommy doesn’t want to upset him, but he also just doesn’t want to move.

He belatedly realizes that Fish-face has witnessed Pig being all soft and doesn’t seem that surprised, so that means Tommy’s amazing discovery isn’t actually that cool. Shame.

Fish-face calls Tommy’s alien name, “Thee-say-us,” but Tommy doesn’t move. Nope, he wants to stay. More bits of orange grow onto the scales on Fish-face’s forehead. Pig does that coughing-laugh again.

Fish-face reaches for Tommy again, when a wonderfully wicked idea springs into Tommy’s head. As Fish-face gets closer, before Pig can wave him away again, Tommy lurches forward and grabs onto Fish-face’s hands. He then jerks back, pulling Fish-face down with him onto Pig’s chest.

Fish-face squawks again and Pig grunts at the impact, and for a moment they’re a bit tangled as Fish-face struggles to get his bearings. Tommy gets a scaled elbow in his face and retaliates by licking its pebbly surface, making Fish-face shriek in alarm. Tommy laughs as Pig uses his giant hands to stabilize them—a large heavy hand on Tommy’s back, keeping him secure—and then they’re both on Pig’s chest.

Tommy beams. Mission accomplished.

In the pause after they settle, Tommy can see Pig and Fish-face realize that this was his master plan all along. They can see the unapologetic grin right on Tommy’s face. Fish-face responds by hooking an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and yanking him close, ruffling Tommy’s hair with his free hand. Tommy squirms as he hears Pig chuckle.

Fish-face settles down easily—Tommy knew he would, once he felt Pig’s incredible warmth. Tommy snuggles into Fish-face’s arms as Pig’s own arms wrap around the pair of them. Tommy sighs contently, and Pig’s purr starts up yet again.

Bird walks in on the scene, and Tommy can hear him chirp with delight. Tommy tries to come up with plans to draw Bird in, but turns out they’re unneeded—Bird flops right onto the pile and tries to wrap everyone in his wings, despite being the smallest of all of them, even slightly smaller than Tommy.

Eventually, Fish-face starts singing, and manages to coax Tommy into it as well. Bird joins quickly, and then even Pig starts chanting the back-beat. All four of their voices mix together, different sounds and different languages, but all in one song.

Hours later, Tommy is curled up in Fish-face’s bedroom, waiting for Pig to arrive and make sure that Fish-face puts him in the crate. Pig does come, and Tommy and Fish-face start to get up, before Pig walks over and picks up the crate itself.

Tommy freezes, and watches with some trepidation as Pig leaves the room with it, setting it down in the hallway. Did Tommy do too good a job today with all that cuddling? Does Pig want Tommy to sleep in his room? In and of itself, that’s not necessarily bad, except that he would almost certainly have to stay in the crate.

Pig steps back inside and reaches for Tommy, and Tommy watches warily. But Pig just ruffles his hair, and then walks out. Tommy watches him pick the crate back up and then carry it down the hall.

The door closes.

Fish-face croons and pulls Tommy into his arms, and it slowly dawns on Tommy. He smiles. No more crate.

Chapter Text

Tommy and Fish-face are playing in the living room, kicking the ball back and forth, singing, dancing, wrestling, and the like. They settle down for a minute, draped over each other in the nest, when Fish-face starts poking at Tommy. Tommy looks up, annoyed, when Fish-face points at the low table at the edge of the nest. Tommy looks over.

…Huh. There’s a golden pellet there. The table is mostly bare, except for the one twisty flower-vase-thing in the center, and now the pellet on one end. That’s a bit odd. Fish-face didn’t come in with any pellets, and Tommy didn’t hear Bird or Pig enter.

…Okay?

Tommy looks back at Fish-face suspiciously, who’s swirling with yellow and sky-blue. The alien nudges Tommy eagerly, so Tommy rolls off of him. Alright then, it’s fairly close to dinner then, anyway. He walks over to the table and reaches for the pellet.

It vanishes.

Tommy stills, hand half-overstretched, staring at the spot in mind-stalled confusion. His brain feels like rusty gears. There was a pellet there, right? Tommy’s just not seeing things? Going crazy after so long in space? Tommy turns to Fish-face; the alien saw it too, right?

Fish-face seems a bit more yellow when Tommy turns around. Tommy tilts his head, but Fish-face just points a long finger towards the table. Tommy looks over, and he sees the pellet on the floor a few feet away from where it had been before.

…Okay then. Maybe it rolled off the table…without Tommy seeing that happen. Tommy goes to pick it up.

It vanishes again.

This is trippy. Maybe Tommy’s finally gone mad. He’s been with these wacky aliens for about nine days, and captured for who-knows-how-long before that. Being treated like a pet might make anyone go crazy.

Tommy growls in frustration, about to swing back around at Fish-face, but his eye catches on gold. There’s the pellet, yet again, only a few feet away.

Tommy can’t be hallucinating, he tells himself, because Fish-face can clearly see the pellet. So he stalks over and swipes at the pellet again.

Gone. Vanished. Poof’ed out of existence.

Tommy whirls around, expecting the pellet to be somewhere in the room now. And there it is. He lunges for it, gets so close, but it blips out of his fingertips.

This goes on for longer than Tommy would like to admit. He can get really stubborn sometimes, and his focus seems to latch onto this. Finally he pauses for breath long enough to hear Fish-face’s hiccupping sound, and whirls around to see Fish-face tapping away at his hologram-screen thing.

Hologram-screen thing.

Tommy stalks over to Fish-face, glaring. Fish-face is practically all yellow, smiling happily up at Tommy, as if oblivious to Tommy’s frustration. Fish-face clucks at Tommy and points, giving a quick tap to his screen, and Tommy turns just in time to see the pellet disappear in time with the tap.

It’s a bloody hologram. Fish-face had Tommy chasing that thing around like a cat chases a red light! That little--!

“YOU BASTARD!” Tommy shouts, and lunges for Fish-face.

Fish-face squawks in alarm as the tumble across the nest, rolling around. It’s play-fighting, they both know—Tommy is careful not to actually hurt the alien—but it’s a fierce struggle. Tommy tries to pin Fish-face down, wrestling him, and the gangly alien squirms and laughs, pushing back. Bright yellow, gold, and pink flash across his scales in an almost dizzying way.

Suddenly Fish-face manages to roll them over and get on top of Tommy, and Tommy claws at his arms in fury, wriggling to get out of his hold as Fish-face snags up a blanket.

Tommy freezes.

“Don’t you dare,” he says, knowing, knowing, that the gist of his words are understood.

Fish-face smirks mercilessly down at him.

Tommy’s struggles return tenfold, thrashing like a fish caught in a net, kicking and twisting and, at some points, almost getting loose. But Fish-face snags him back and wrestles him down, wrapping the blanket around him.

“No! No, no! NO!” Tommy screams, while Fish-face only laughs and sparks with more gold.

Tommy manages to undo a good amount of Fish-face’s work, but Fish-face only re-does it, and the fact is, Tommy is rapidly tiring. Panting hard but still fighting with everything he’s got, he goes down kicking and screaming—literally. But slowly, eventually, the great battle ebbs away at his strength.

Fish-face finally tightens the final bit, and then coos.

Tommy has been thoroughly burrito’d.

“I hate you,” Tommy says, panting hard. God, it almost hurts how tired he is. “You are…” he pants, “a horrible human being…except…you’re an alien…but still…a real wrong’n.”

Fish-face just croons, looking far too admiring for Tommy’s taste. Well, Tommy should be admired, but not for this.

Then the bastard has the audacity to take his screen-thing out and snap a picture.

Tommy will destroy that screen-thing, never mind that is literally made of light and cannot be destroyed. He’ll find a way. He cannot handle this slander.

Toy tries to squirm but Fish-face has the blanket tight around him, and is holding the ends of it together with one hand. Tommy doesn’t have the energy to escape.

So.

He throws his head back and screams.

For a minute it’s just straight-up screaming, pausing occasionally for breath. Fish-face just smiles down at him, amused.

Finally, Tommy determines that he needs help.

“BIRD!” he shouts. “BIRD HELP ME! COME SAVE ME FROM THIS WRONG’N! BIIIIIIIIRD!”

No one comes for a minute, so he switches. “PIG!”

Tommy somewhat realizes that the aliens can’t understand him, and those actually aren’t even their names, just the names Tommy has given them. But he doesn’t care, they should just help him.

And then—Bird does walk into the room, looking confused.

“BIRD!” Tommy shouts, “Help me, please! He’s a madman!”

Tommy sees the moment Bird sees his position. The feather alien freezes mid-step, beak falling open.

Tommy wriggles determinedly. “Free me!”

Bird slowly walks up to Fish-face’s side, who doesn’t seem worried at all. Tommy thrashes with frustration, looking at Bird beseechingly.

Then Bird chuckles.

“YOU TRAITOR!” Tommy cries, and then just starts screaming all the insults he can think of. “YOU EAT WORMS, YOU HAVE TO POO EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES—” he learned that at a zoo once, “—YOUR SINGING ISN’T THAT GOOD, YOU HAVE NO WIVES, YOUR MOM LAYS EGGS—”

Bird then nudges Fish-face, and Fish face sighs before letting go of the edges of the blanket.

Tommy springs up, gets tangled, and almost falls over. He wrestles free and then kicks the blanket for good measure, before snatching it up and hurling it at Fish-face, who still looks delighted.

“You are my mortal enemy,” Tommy says, pointing to Fish-face. “And you—” he added to Bird, pausing for a moment, “…are somewhat forgiven. But I will remember this, space-bird.”

Bird comes up and ruffles Tommy’s hair and Tommy lets him, but then Bird walks out of the room. Tommy watches him go, wondering if maybe he should follow him for protection.

Fish-face reaches for Tommy, but Tommy ducks out of the way. He glares at the scaled alien, who looks at him in confusion. Tommy bristles and bares his teeth—he’s not going to cuddle after what just happened.

Fish-face seems to understand and scoffs, exasperated. Oh, Tommy is so sympathetic, how annoying that must be. Tommy holds his ground as he watches Fish-face flop down onto the nest, apparently ready to go back to relaxing for a bit. He holds out an arm for Tommy, but Tommy doesn’t go. So Fish-face lets it fall to the ground.

Tommy paces around the room for a little bit. He’s not okay with being burrito’d but doesn’t know how to communicate that. Tommy is a pet and they are his ‘owners,’ meaning they can burrito him whenever they want. Tommy still hates cats, but he feels a wave of sympathy for them.

Wait. What do cats do when they’re upset?

Tommy stops pacing, a little grin spreading over his face. Oh, he can use this.

He goes up to the low table and steps up onto it. He’s sure to bang his feet down to make noise, and as expected, Fish-face looks up curiously. Tommy sits, staring at him intensely.

Light purple spreads over Fish-faces scales slowly, like a slimy egg yolk cracked over his skin. Tommy has learned in the last couple of days that lavender-purple means confusion—he’s pretty certain. Good. Let the alien be confused.

Without breaking eye contact with Fish-face, Tommy reaches out a hand towards the vase in the center of the table. He feels his fingers brush up against the smooth surface, and pushes it back a few inches.

Fish-face straightens up immediately with a loud clinking noise, light orange spreading around his scales, replacing the lavender—brilliant. Tommy fights to keep his smile off from his face. He stops pushing.

Fish-face’s clicks cut off and he croons, low and quick, like he’s trying to talk Tommy down. Tommy watches like he’s listening, like he understands, even though he doesn’t comprehend a word of it.

When this has gone on long enough for Tommy, he starts pushing again. Fish-face squeals and scrambles up, but freezes when Tommy pauses. Tommy is pretty sure the vase is at the edge of the table now. It’s not a huge fall, but he can feel some kind of liquid inside of it that will spread all over if spilled.

Fish-face croons again, faster and more desperate. Tommy may not speak the language, but he knows the alien is pleading with him, begging him not to—

Whoopsies.

Tommy finally lets himself laugh as he dives out of the way as Fish-face lunges for the vase right as it falls to the ground. A black substance pours from it—Tommy may have no idea what that is, but he thinks it’ll stain the carpet—covering an impressive distance. Tommy is quick to make his escape. He runs from the room, his laughter ringing in the hallways, before skidding to a halt in the kitchen.

Bird and Pig are there, seeming to be preparing dinner, and they turn in surprise at his entrance. Tommy immediately tries to look casual as he struts into the room. Bird is looking at him suspiciously, so Tommy goes right up to him and hugs him. Bird’s wings wrap around Tommy immediately, almost instinctively, and Tommy smiles into the feathers. Ha.

He slips out of the embrace and then goes to hug Pig, or at least his leg since that’s about all Tommy can manage. Pig snorts above him, sounding pleased, and the giant hoof-hands soon smooth over his hair.

It’s at that point that Fish-face scurries into the room, looking frazzled with shades of light orange and a more reddish-orange, plus a few flecks of grass-green. When his eyes latch onto Tommy, he becomes notably more orange and jumps for Tommy. Pig immediately waves him away.

“Ha!” Tommy shouts, hugging Pig more. “Take that, sucker!”

Fish-face starts chirping and whistling rapidly, gesturing with his long hands. Pig’s hand is still kept on Tommy’s back, a heavy, protective weight, but Tommy starts to wonder how long it will last with a sinking in his heart. How long until Fish-face blames him for tipping the vase. Like it wasn’t justice. But Tommy doesn’t have a voice to explain his side, to tell them about the hologram. Bird knows about the burrito-blanket but Tommy doubts he’ll connect the dots.

This is just like foster care, except Tommy can’t actually speak. There, at least he could be understood but not listened to. Here, he thinks they would listen, but they can’t understand. That’s a different twist to the knife. He’s not sure which is worse. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

 Tommy watches, already resigning himself, as Fish-face, Bird, and Pig go back and forth in a conversation about him that he can’t be included in. He wonders what the punishment will be. Maybe this wasn’t worth it.

Bird finally lets out a higher-pitched chirp and goes to a high cupboard, having to climb up on another one to reach it. Bird pulls out a teal-colored infinity-scarf towel and presents it to Fish-face, who glares at him, and then at Tommy. His scales are less pale-orange and more straight-orange. Being so tall and thin, he kind of looks like a carrot, although there are some bits of blue back on him now.

Fish-face whirls and storms out in a huff, heading back towards the living room.

Tommy watches him go, and then looks up at Pig unsurely. Pig is watching him with those droopy black eyes, and cups Tommy’s cheek in his hand for a moment. Tommy leans into it before it drops away, and then Pig returns to the counter with Bird.

Tommy waits, but the pair appear to be done with him. He’s not confident around Fish-face right now, so he stays for a bit, watching the two of them cook. They’re working as a team, Bird peeling some kind of huge blue banana-things to reveal pink rocks in the same shape, which he then hands to Pig, who crushes them with his bare hands. It’s neat to watch, but Tommy’s mind keeps trailing back to Fish-face, and he looks back towards where the scaled alien left.

…Is he still mad?

Pig notices him lingering and grunts, jerking a head after Fish-face. Well. Tommy isn’t sure what else to do, so he creeps after the angry alien.

Tommy finds Fish-face pressing the towel down onto the black splotches on the carpet, bits of orange and red running around his scales sluggishly like dull lava. He doesn’t hear Tommy come in, so Tommy creeps closer.

Finally, Tommy speaks. “Fish-face?”

Fish-face glances up at him, then makes a puffing sound when he sees him. The alien turns his attention back to the towel.

Tommy crawls up onto the table, folding his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He wonders if the vase or flower were important. Or maybe the carpet. He looks at the towel, and he sees that it’s absorbing the black as Fish-face presses on it, but there’s still shadows of it left behind. Ah. It will stain, then.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, even if he knows Fish-face can’t understand.

There’s a pause, and then Fish-face warbles something under his breath. Tommy has no clue what it means.

Tommy slips off the table back onto the carpet and sidles over to Fish-face. Fish-face looks up, but Tommy comes near and then presses down on the towel like the alien had done, helping absorb the black stuff.

As they sit there, shoulder-to-shoulder but not touching, Tommy wishes they could speak. They’re gotten fairly good at understanding one another, but then there are moments like these. Tommy can’t apologize properly, can’t explain himself, can’t tell Fish-face why he was mad, can’t fully understand how mad the alien is, or even fully understand the extent of his own wrongdoing.

He wants them to understand. Wants them to know that he’s a person.

Fish-face warbles something again, and Tommy hesitates, and then repeats the noise. The alien looks up immediately, and Tommy holds his gaze, willing him to understand.

Fish-fish makes the same noise, and Tommy imitates it. Surely alien words are different from music notes, right? Fish-face will hear it and realize that Tommy can learn a language, copy the words. And then he’ll know that Tommy is smarter than a pet.

Fish-face makes a long croon and then a cluck. Tommy imitates it, but he’s not quite sure he gets the cluck right. His tongue just can’t quite make it sound as dry.

Fish-face stares at him and he stares back, willing the alien to understand. The seconds tick by, and neither of them moves.

“You getting me, big man?” Tommy finally asks.

And Fish-face responds by imitating him. It sounded like someone had taken the words, put them through a meat grinder, and then translated them into Whale. And not as fluently as Dory would have done it. Tommy couldn’t make the weird sounds back if he tried, it wouldn’t be recognizable as English to anyone who didn’t hear Tommy speak first.

A startled laugh makes its way out of Tommy. “What?” he says, “Are you copying me?”

Some bits of yellow come on to Fish-faces scales as he repeats the noise in his own garbled attempt, down to the laugh. And Tommy grins at him, because it sounds ridiculous. The consonants are replaced with clucks, the vowels are drawn out like music.

Fish-face sees his amusement and then straightens a bit, still on his knees, and then wraps his arms around Tommy. Tommy returns the embrace, wrapped in the alien’s long, boney arms, his heart heavy.

Fish-face’s attempts to copy Tommy’s words were barely decipherable, and Tommy has a sinking feeling in his gut that the same is true for his own attempt. Meaning that Fish-face sees him as an adorable little mimic, a parrot, still a pet. Tommy’s throat isn’t capable of truly imitating the alien words. He can’t learn their language.

But…Tommy is also being hugged. He’s been forgiven. And he nestles into Fish-faces arms and sighs.

Chapter Text

Tommy was laying with Fish-face in the nest when Bird came in and called him. This isn’t unusual; after two weeks, Bird and Pig have started stealing him away from Fish-face sometimes for their own playtime. For Bird it can be anything that Fish-face likes to do—playing, singing, dancing, snuggling—but for Pig it’s usually just snuggling. Once, Pig just sat on the ground and just let Tommy climb on him, and Tommy took full advantage of it. He got all the way to Pig’s shoulders and then poked his nose again. Pig poked back.

 Anyway, Tommy gets up and follows Bird to the kitchen, leaving Fish-face snoozing in the living room. Tommy likes watching Bird cook once in a while—Bird and Pig are the ones who prepare the meals (Bird more often), while Fish-face never touches the kitchen. Tommy has sat and watched Bird prepare unfamiliar alien dishes a few times already. He’s watched Bird casually squeeze jelly out of the tentacles of a twenty-limbed octopus, crack open a flower bud like an egg, pop giant brussels sprouts as if they were pimples, sizzle a glowing substance that looked like lava. It’s gross, but also cool. Tommy hasn’t seen how his pellets are prepared, and he’s not sure he wants too. They’re apples, as far as he’s concerned.

So he watches with interest as Bird turns on the faucet to the huge sink. It’s ginormous, big enough to be a tub. Pig wouldn’t be able to fit in, but Bird and Fish-face definitely could, at the same time, probably. Bird plugs the bottom and fills the sink about three-quarters of the way, running his feather-hand through the water. Tommy wonders if he’s about to see the alien take a bird bath.

Oh how wrong he is.

Bird turns and calls him over, and Tommy goes, innocently trusting. How foolish. He walks forward without any thought.

And then Bird grabs him around the armpits, lifts him up with surprising strength, and plops him down into the tub.

Tommy immediately starts screaming and cursing, waving his arms wildly and trying to find his footing. Once he does—the water comes up to a little over his belly-button—he tries to heave himself out, but Bird puts a feathery hand on his shoulder and presses him back.

“BIRD!” Tommy shouts. “LET ME OUT! STOP!”

Bird firmly but gently pushes Tommy back down into the water.

“BIIIIIIIRD!”

Tommy slips a bit and falls to one knee, trying to duck away from Bird’s hands now to understand what is happening. The water is warm, pleasant even, and the tub is plenty big enough for him. And Tommy realizes—this is a bath. They’re giving him a bath like he’s a dog.

Yet again, Tommy is reminded that they think of him like a pet.

He probably desperately needed a bath. It has been two weeks. Tommy has gone longer without one before, but still. It’s not like there’s dirt on a spaceship, although Tommy can get dirty wherever he goes, it’s a law of the universe. He’s still in his same clothes he got abducted in.

Bird suddenly snags Tommy’s arm and pulls him back close, and Tommy struggles in the water. He flinches when Bird scoops up a bit of water and pours it over his head, getting his hair wet. Tommy shakes his head—very un-like a dog, thank you—and struggles more. His shirt and jeans are all wet and bunching around him uncomfortably.

Bird starts with Tommy’s arm, rubbing a towel with soapy purple bubbles over his skin. They spread to the water. Tommy tries to get loose the whole time, but Bird never lets up his grip. The alien switches to the other arm without giving Tommy a single opportunity to escape.

“Biiiiiird,” Tommy whines, flopping around. He tries going limp. That doesn’t work. He tries bracing against the edge of the tub and pulling away. That doesn’t work. He tries splashing at Bird. That doesn’t work.

Tommy realizes that Fish-face is now in the room, watching over Bird’s shoulder. For a moment, the scaled alien looks worried, grass-green at Tommy’s shouts, but then he sees what’s actually happening. Bright yellow comes onto his face—and an entertained smile.

“Jerk,” Tommy says bitterly. “Some help you are.”

Fish-face just croons.

Tommy returns his attention to Bird. “I can bathe myself,” he enunciates to the alien. “Let me go and give me the towel. I’ll clean myself, I promise.”

But the words fall on non-understanding ears, as Bird cleans out his hair. Tommy is forced to close his eyes as Bird rubs firm circles on his face. Tommy washes it away with water the moment he can.

“Can I at least take off my shirt?” he asks.

Bird starts rubbing at his shirt as if it’s just another part of Tommy. Tommy supposes it needs a wash, too, but this is a bit uncomfortable.

So, with his free hand, Tommy grabs the end of his shirt and tugs it up. It’s wet and sticks to him and gets caught on his chin, so he’s blind for a second, and because of Bird’s hand on his other arm, he just has to bunch it around that shoulder.

That’s when Tommy realizes the scrubbing has stopped. He looks up at Bird, who’s staring at him, frozen. Behind him, Fish-face is also unnervingly still, his scales lavender and orange.

What—?

A loud shriek from Fish-face interrupts any thought Tommy might have had. The scaled alien at once lunges for him and scoops him up, setting him dripping wet onto the kitchen floor before Tommy knows what’s happening, and immediately crowds into his space. Tommy draws away only to bump into Bird on his other side, who starts running his taloned-hands over Tommy’s bare stomach. On his other side, Fish-face is doing the same thing, long fingers smoothing over Tommy’s neck to check his pulse. Tommy realizes that Fish-face has turned a color pattern Tommy hasn’t seen before—streaks of grass-green over large patches of paler, almost-white green. A few thin lines of pale orange are on him too.

Grass-green is for concern and pale orange is surprise, but Tommy doesn’t know what pale green means. He’s never seen it on Fish-face before.

Bird is letting out a call through the ship as Fish-face nudges the wadded-up shirt still on Tommy’s arm.

“Hey—stop!” Tommy’s trying to push them off, his escape now blocked by Bird’s wing cupping around his back, when Pig struts into the room, presumably responding to Bird’s call.

Surely clothing can’t be that unfamiliar to them—Fish-face and Bird only ever wear their emerald jewels and occasionally vests of chain mail. Still, they sometimes wear something. Pig wears a loose tunic around himself all the time. But Tommy can’t help feeling a sense of dread that the giant alien is about to flip out as well, and then Tommy will have three aliens invading (ha) his person space.

He freezes as Pig looks at him, meeting those droopy black eyes.

He stares.

Pig stares back.

…And then Pig huffs calmly.

Tommy feels the relief course through him like he was dunked back in the bath.

Pig grunts some things, and Fish-face and Bird pause. Fish-face lets out a worried warble, a bit of pale green turning just a shade darker. Bird leans over Tommy to get a better look at Tommy’s shirt.

“Thank you, Pig, for explaining it to these idiots,” Tommy calls over to the one sane alien.

Bird suddenly chirps sharply, cupping Tommy’s head in one talon and peering closely at him with bug-like eyes.

“I’m fiiiiine,” Tommy tries to tell him.

Pig snorts at the end of the room, and then walks out.

“Great, we done here?” Tommy asks, twisting in the hold to show he wants out.

They cannot understand, but the two aliens respond by going from kneeling to sitting right down on the ground with Tommy. They’re each clutching one of Tommy’s arms, keeping him firmly in place. Tommy sighs.

An idea comes into his head—maybe there’s an easy way to solve this. He shifts a bit and manages to briefly slip out of Bird’s grip and immediately goes for his shirt, still on his arm, before the feathered alien can grab it back. He then wrestles the wet bunched-up fabric over his head, which blinds him for a moment. After he’s gotten it down, he looks back up at the alien pair.

They stare at him almost blankly. Uneased, but not flipping out anymore. Some lavender has crawled onto Fish-face’s scales, mixing with the grass-green. He kind of looks like a plant.

…Tommy lifts his shirt up again.

The two aliens both screech and reach for him, and Tommy swiftly puts it back down, putting their panic to a halt. They’re still poised, but at least they’re not screaming.

Tommy starts to smile. He lifts his shirt. They screech in alarm. He puts it back down. And they’re calm.

Alright, that’s hilarious, but Tommy probably shouldn’t be playing with it or they might hold him down to stop him.

He’s distracted when the ship gives a lurch, and Tommy looks up at the ceiling, confused. That’s odd. He’s only felt the ship lurch when the shuttle was coming and going. Is Pig leaving? And Fish-face and Bird aren’t bidding him goodbye?

“What’s going on?” Tommy asks absently to the aliens, knowing they won’t respond. Fish-face reaches up with his free hand to smooth over Tommy’s wet hair, crooning gently. His hand moves down to rub Tommy’s arm, the way he does when trying to put Tommy at ease.

Tommy looks at him skeptically. “I’m fine,” Tommy tries to tell him. “You guys are the ones that are flipping out. Didn’t Pig explain clothes to you?”

Fish-face just croons, moving his hand back up to cup Tommy’s face. Tommy sighs and leans into it—just to encourage the alien that he’s fine, not for any other reason.

They sit like that for a while, Tommy’s not sure how long. They don’t let them up, and Tommy stops fighting them. He’s never seen Fish-face look this green. Every other time Tommy has seen green on Fish-face, they had been little stripes, like someone had sprinkled blades of grass over the alien. They’re still thin lines, but there are a lot of them, and some are so long that go from Fish-face’s wrist to his chin. There’s also that pale-green—maybe it’s like gold, which is just a higher version of happiness? Pale green is a higher version of concern? Either way, there’s lots of that on the scaled alien, too, so Tommy’s a bit concerned himself. So he stays still and lets them pet him worriedly.

Some time later—less than an hour, Tommy thinks, maybe thirty minutes?—the ship lurches again. Tommy looks down the hall, wondering if Pig will come lumbering back. Bird chirps something to Fish-face, and then Fish-face gently knocks his head against Tommy’s. Tommy watches, confused, as the scaled alien goes down the hall, leaving Bird to watch over Tommy.

Another moment where Tommy wishes so fiercely he could speak to them.

Pig returns—but oddly, not through the hall that he would use if he’d come from the shuttle. What? Then why did the ship lurch?

Fish-face is right behind him, and approaches Tommy with—

Is that the leash?

Tommy hasn’t seen that thing since the day he got adopted. He is not happy at it’s return, with how Fish-face is sorting the rope and approaching Tommy.

“Don’t put that on me,” Tommy growls. Fish-face doesn’t stop. Tommy lurches back, trying to get away, but Bird’s talons wrap around his own as Fish-Face presses the leash to his chest and it wraps around his torso. There’s a soft warble of apology.

Tommy does not like this. He flops forward and faceplants on the ground the moment Bird lets him go. Forget this. This is dumb. He’s not cooperating so long as this is on him. They’ll have to drag his body along.

There is an ear-ripping screech from Fish-face and Tommy flinches as he suddenly feels crowded in on by the scaled alien. Tommy sticks his head up, face scrunched up in confusion, feeling Fish-face’s long cool hands brushing over his arms, his back, his neck, a gentle, careful, frantic touch, feather-light.

Fish-face is twittering out a sound that is vaguely like Tommy’s alien name—“Thee-say-us, Thee-say-us”—but not as clear this time. And every scale on Fish-face has become pale green.

Tommy squirms a bit, trying to roll back to get away from the insistent hands that check over his skin and joints and pulse.

“Stooooop,” he whines, but this only seems to agitate Fish-face more.

The alien peers into Tommy’s face, his eyes wide and fins fluttering, before there’s a dark, low grunt that causes Fish-face to look away.

Pig does the grunt again, and finally Fish-face backs off. Tommy is about to stand up when he’s scooped—scooped—by Pig, just swooped up into those ginormous arms.

Tommy goes rigid on instinct. Pig is certainly big enough to easily pick Tommy up, practically engulf Tommy in his huge arms. Tommy feels as though he’s in an odd hammock with how he’s bundled up against Pig’s chest. He’s tucked against Pig’s arm and can’t quite see what’s going on, but he’s shaken with each heavy step.

“Hey—hey!” Tommy calls, trying to push himself up. He gets jostled again and falls back down into the embrace.

Okay, Tommy doesn’t like being shaken like this. He knows Pig can walk slower, not bounce him around like this, but apparently Pig isn’t paying attention this time. So Tommy just grabs onto Pig’s arm to try and stabilize himself and goes quiet, focusing on that. Thankfully Tommy’s never really had a problem with motion sickness, but he’s more worried that he might accidentally slip out of Pig’s hands and fall. So. He holds on tight.

He loses his sense of time, but occasionally he manages to shift and look around. First, they’re in the shuttle—the very first time Tommy’s been in it since he arrived in the house-ship. Next, they seem to be in…some sort of tube? It reminded Tommy of a subway tunnel, but way brighter and shinier. Tommy thinks he sees a window and a shadow of sunlight, but then as he twists to look at it, he loses his balance and flops unsteadily against Pig’s chest. Pig grunts in concern.

Fish-Face occasionally hops up to look at Tommy, his scales varying shades of pale and spring green, releasing worried coos and clucks. At one point he latches his arms onto Pig’s and tries to climb up into Tommy’s little hubble but Pig grunts and shakes him off. Fish-face croons disappointedly but doesn’t try again.

Tommy’s…starting to get worried. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked in a meek voice.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to do, too, because Fish-face lets out another long whine  in response and Pig lets out a deep rumble. Bird chirps softly, peeking over Pig’s arms to peer nervously at Tommy. At this point, Tommy decides to keep his mouth shut until they’ve calmed down.

He still doesn’t know where they’re going.

Then, finally, Pig stops. His big black eyes look down at Tommy worriedly, and Tommy just looks back, equally concerned.

Tommy realizes there are noises around him. Now that they’re stopped, it can climb a bit better, so he pushes himself up in Pig’s arm.

They’re in a very odd room. The walls and floor are stainlessly metallic, and it’s divided up into sections like a giant pizza, if a pizza had different toppings on each slice. One corner is filled with green plants, trees and grass, winding up towards the ceiling. Next to it is a tank with bright bubbling water, and a tube across the ceiling connects it to the exits in the room. An odd fish-creature with light pink hair (hair on a fish? What?) around its head drifts lazily inside. Other slices include some kind of smoke-slice, a shadowy side, a larger slice that had a bunch of soft pillows, and then one end that had a large triangular desk. A multi-legged golden shark-puppy-thing sits there, tap dancing on a keyboard cheerfully. It’s barely a foot tall but doesn’t look the least bit threatened by the bigger beings.

Pig, Fish-face, and Bird all immediately go to the tap-dancing shark.

Bird squawks a lot at the new alien, gesturing to Tommy repeatedly. Tommy ducks his head into Pig’s arm, feeling miserable and unsure. Pig rumbles again and Fish-face rubs at his own arms like he’s trying to change the color of his pale green scales.

Finally, the shark-thing chirps something and a whole new alien steps into the room.

This alien is small, a bit smaller than Bird, but not as small as the shark-alien. Tommy thinks she’s a girl—she’s covered in thick, white wooly fur but there’s something gentle about her, in the trot of her hooves, the sparkle of her black eyes, the dip of her snout. She has horns, thick curved ones on the side of her head, some kind of gold bracelet-earring on one. She skips up to Bird and Tommy is surprised that her voice sounds like bubbles popping. It’s weird.

Finally, she gives a sharp jerk of her head, whirls around, and trots away.

And then they follow her to the new room, leaving the pizza-room behind.

This new room is also circular, though uniform, and much smaller. Pig has to duck his head to get through the door, and even inside, his ears brush the ceiling. He doesn’t seem to care though, as he gently sets Tommy down on a round table in the center of the room. Tommy sits unsurely, leaning back, looking between Pig, Bird, and Fish-face for any clues as to what this place is. But Pig just steps back away from him, and then the three start backing up.

Tommy tenses. He’s in a totally new alien location, and the three aliens he’s completely sure won’t harm him and would probably protect him from harm are going away.

“Wait, wait!” Tommy calls, and at once, Fish-face returns, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy grasps it with his own hand, looking at Fish-face pleadingly. Fish-face warbles sympathetically, still varying shades of green, and then turns and chirps at the sheep alien—Sheep, Tommy decides to name her.

Sheep alien smiles with her funny snout with a few popping noises, and then pulls a long rope down from the ceiling.

Tommy eyes it warily, but Fish-face croons gently at him and Tommy knows they want him to stay still. But there’s a gentle sucking sound coming from the end of the rope. It reminds Tommy of the time one of his foster mothers took him to a self-car wash, and one of the tools there was a giant, heavy vacuum cleaner. The woman had Tommy clean the car while she scrolled through her phone. It had been a horribly hot day, but every time Tommy complained or said he was done, she marched over and pointed to spots he’d missed. It took over an hour to get it done.

This vacuum doesn’t suck nearly as powerfully, but Tommy can still feel the shifting air as Sheep lifts it towards him. He leans away, not wanting to be vacuumed like a dirty car, but Sheep doesn’t put it too close. Keeping it about a foot away from his skin, she waves it around a bit before letting it go, and it automatically slides back up into the ceiling. Tommy watches it suspiciously, wondering what other weird things are residing in the flat surface, as Sheep pulls up a hologram and—

Is that his skeleton?

Well it certainly doesn’t look like any of the other alien’s. Not tall enough to be Fish-face, not big enough to be Pig, and no wings for Bird. No horns either. Tommy runs his hands up and down his arms uneasily, he’s not sure about being X-rayed. He must be at some form of doctor’s office. Or vet’s, actually.

Will the alien technology be able to tell that he’s intelligent?

Sheep waves a hand, and then the skeleton disappears in favor of muscles. It’s a human shape as if the skin had been torn off, and Tommy grimaces. Gross. Finally, it turns into a mini-Tommy, staring blankly ahead. Again, it freaks Tommy out a little to see a tiny him. But then the hologram turns back into a skeleton, and Tommy resigns himself to waiting.

Sheep spends a couple minutes checking over the forms, zooming in on limbs once in a while, particularly his chest. Occasionally she makes popping sounds. Tommy starts drumming his fingers on his leg.

Finally, Sheep puts the hologram away and makes several popping noises. Fish-face and Bird occasionally respond, and Pig huffs once or twice, but they all seem to have calmed down. Sheep comes over and fiddles with the edge of Tommy’s shirt. He lets her, but slaps her hands away when she reaches for his pants. He gets a sharp chirp from Bird for doing that, but Sheep just pops and leaves Tommy be. Then Fish-face gently pinches the edge of Tommy’s shirt, watching Tommy’s expression as if expecting Tommy to whine in pain. Tommy just stares at Fish-face, unimpressed.

Something flickers in Fish-face’s expression as the green fades away into a pale blue, but there’s something else there. Tommy squints at the scaled alien as the alien looks back at him with…curiosity? Confusion? Like he’s seeing Tommy for the first time.

 They’re distracted by Sheep chapping her hooves together. Sheep pops back up to them, before lifting her hooved-hand up and a little white pellet drops from the ceiling. She holds it out to Fish-face.

Unsurely, Fish-face reaches into his chain-mail jacket and pulls out one of Tommy’s golden food pellets. Tommy brightens, and then he sees Fish-face stuff the little white thing into the pellet before holding it out to Tommy.

Tommy stares at Fish-face. “Are you kidding me?” he says. “I literally saw you put the pill into the food. What are you giving me?”

Fish-face whines and holds out the pellet closer to Tommy.

“Are you giving me drugs?” Tommy asks curiously, before hesitantly taking the pellet. He looks down at it thoughtfully. He could just take out the pill. He doesn’t know what it does, it could kill him. But Fish-face would probably be more distraught if Tommy were dying. And the alien doctor probably knows what she’s doing. So Tommy swallows the pellet. He’s rewarded with Fish-face running a hand through his hair as he chews.

The rest of the vet visit goes pretty easily. The aliens talk to each other for a bit longer before Tommy’s aliens make to leave. This time, Tommy gets to walk. It’s the first time he’s been off the ship since he first boarded it, so he looks around, but decides not to stress Fish-face and Bird out more by trying to run off.

He picks up on what just happened pretty clearly. They thought he was sick or injured, so they took him to the vet. A bit of Tommy is incredibly amazed that they actually care enough about him to take him here and make sure he was alright. On earth, people usually just told him to tough it out.

It’s nice.

-

The aliens keep an extra close eye on him for the rest of that day. When Tommy wakes up, he finds Bird and Pig getting ready to leave. They say their goodbyes to him like usual and Tommy is left with Fish-face. The scaled alien watches him just as closely as yesterday, and Tommy sticks his tongue out at him. Fish-face tilts his head and returns the motion with a blank expression, making Tommy giggle a bit.

They end up back in the living room, and Tommy lounges comfortably on Fish-face’s lap. Yesterday was a bit eventful, especially considering he’s been lazing around recently. He’s looking forward to returning to his lazy schedule, at least for a bit, before he decides to cause some chaos.

Except Fish-face keeps looking at him. And it’s not that curious look, or fond one, or playful one. Tommy hasn’t seen it before, and he’s not sure how to read it. He can’t be sure about a lot of things regarding these aliens, but this is new, and it makes him feel like he’s back at square one.

After that eight-hundredth time Tommy gets stared at in the last hour, he snaps. “What?” Tommy pushes himself up on his elbows. “Have you realized how much more handsome I am than you?”

Fish-face doesn’t react, of course, just stares at him, scrutinizing him. Tommy shuffles uncomfortably. He tries to read Fish-face’s mood through his scales, but they’re shifting around sluggishly. Spots of lavender—okay, confusion then. A few thin lines of grass green, so he’s a bit concerned about something. Then mushes of dark green, brown, and just a few polka-dots of pink. Happiness and concern? Tommy’s lost.

Suddenly, Fish-face shifts Tommy off of his lap and gets up. Tommy groans in protest, but Fish-face calls him after him—“Thee-say-us.”

With a small grumpy glare, Tommy pushes himself up and lumbers after the alien. He follows Fish-face down the hall until Fish-face suddenly brushes a hand up against the wall.

A door opens. Tommy stops in his tracks. He didn’t even know that door existed. Stupid aliens and their weird doors. Tommy peeks in, but it actually isn’t a room—more of a broom closet, or the alien equivalent. There’s not enough space to walk in; just some shelves with unfamiliar items on them. Wires and emerald-things and glowing armor that looks like it’d fit Pig. Tommy huffs frustratedly and puts his hands on his hips. “What’s this about?”

Fish-face rummages through the items and Tommy waits impatiently, until finally Fish-face emerges with one of those emerald thingys. The ones that each of the aliens share—the only things that Fish-face and Bird wear. Tommy tilts his head, wondering if it’s some sign of family between them.

Fish-face holds it up and then looks at Tommy in that way again. Tommy raises an eyebrow. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised at the prospect of getting a collar; honestly, they should have given him at the beginning.

Fish-face is staring at him strangely, holding the necklace between his hands. Tommy doesn’t like it. It’s like Fish-face has never seen him before, never looked at him quite this closely. Fish-face has looked at Tommy with affection, with amusement, with outrage, with concern, and dozens of other emotions. But this expression…it’s different.

Tommy has a twisting feeling in his gut. But he trusts the alien.

Fish-face leans forward and puts the emerald around Tommy’s neck.

They stare at each other, and Tommy waits. Fish-face still has that weird expression, his scales getting noticeably more green.

Tommy looks down at the emerald for a second, then back up. “What, was I supposed to explode or something?” he asks.

Fish-face’s mouth falls open, and his scales change so fast, so bright, it gives Tommy a headache—pale orange, brown, electric blue, dark green, they clash together sickeningly. Tommy almost starts to look away.

But what Fish-face does next draws all of Tommy’s attention.

“Oh my stars,” Fish-face whispers. “You can talk.”

Chapter Text

They both start screaming.

At some points they shout words at each other, rapidly shooting questions and asking more before they could possibly be answered, and then they’re just screaming again.

“YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ME?” Tommy shouts. “YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ME!”

“YOU CAN TALK?” Fish-face repeats. “This whole time—YOU CAN TALK?”

“YES I CAN, IDIOT, YOU KIDNAPPED ME—”

“YOU’VE JUST BEEN LIVING WITH US AND THIS WHOLE TIME—”

“YOU TREATED ME LIKE A STUPID CAT—”

“WE JUST FOUND YOU IN SPACE—THE KENNEL DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING—”

“YOU BURRTIO’D ME!”

They dissolve into screams again.

“Okay, okay, hold—stop—STOP!” Fish-face suddenly shouts, and Tommy cuts himself off.

They stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Say something again,” Fish-face blurts, like he still can’t believe it, like Tommy wasn’t just screaming totally understandable words for the past three minutes.

“I can talk, idiot,” Tommy snaps. “I’m intelligent, or sentient, or whatever you want to call it.”

Fish-face’s scales are still changing rapidly, but they have slowed down. Now they’re twisting in dark greens, browns, and blues. “You are,” he says softly.

Tommy looks down at the necklace, reaching up and stretching it out a bit so he can look at it. “You’ve had this the whole time?”

Fish-face’s scales become more covered by clouds of dark green, like moss is growing over him. “I—yeah, we did. It’s a universal translator. Any two aliens who each have one can understand each other, so long as they’re intelligent enough to have complex communication.”

Tommy lifts his hands to his face for a moment. To be honest…part of him had given up. He’d accepted that the aliens who’d taken care of him, who he’d come to care about so deeply, would simply never understand him. He didn’t know what to do now that he could actually talk to one.

“Meteors and moons,” muttered Fish-face. “Why didn’t you—well, you couldn’t have told us, but—I don’t know, why didn’t you do something?”

Tommy lowered his hands to glare. “I tried,” he said. “I painted pictures on the walls, I sang your music, I copied your words, I tried to get through your stupid doors on my own, but none of it worked.” Fish-face bit his lip with his needle-teeth. “Each time, something happened. Bird just thought I was making a mess on the walls—”

“Wait, wait, wait a second,” Fish-face interrupted. “’Bird’? Do you mean Phil?”

“Who the heck is Phil?” Tommy said, though he already connected the dots. “That’s a dumb name. A completely normal name. Please tell me that’s not Bird’s actual name.”

“Well, his actual name is a series of chirp-noises that neither of us would be able to understand or speak, so the translators,” Fish-face gestured to the one on his ear, “just turn them into something else.”

Tommy was mildly appeased by that, but not a lot. It still meant he would have to call an alien Phil.

“Did you nickname all of us?” Fish-face asked, tilting his head. “What did you name us?”

“Well the giant pink guy is Pig—”

“Pig and Bird,” Fish-face said dully. “…You’re not very good at naming things, are you?”

Tommy felt his cheeks get warm. “I AM GOOD AT NAMING THINGS, YOU STUPID LIZARD-IDIOT!”

A grin spread across Fish-face’s face, and just a few spots of yellow poked through the darker colors, like sunlight brightening up the dark clouds. “Is that me? Lizard? Or Chameleon? Salmon?”

Tommy felt his cheeks heat more. “…Fish-face.”

“’Fish-face’?!” the alien repeated. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“You have a fish-face!” Tommy defended.

“What, was Lizard-limbs taken?” the alien snarked. “It’s Wilbur, by the way.”

Wilbur. A name to the alien Tommy had spent so much time with, gotten so attached to. He took a small pause of quiet to savor it, to lock it into his mind and his heart, to link it to all the memories he had of the alien for the past few weeks.

And then he decided to insult him.

“That’s a dumb name, even dumber than ‘Phil,’” Tommy said, just out of principle.

“Oi!” the alien—Wilbur—shouted. “I’ll have you know we gave you a perfectly respectable name.”

Tommy already decided that he would make fun of it. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Wilbur paused, as if rethinking his argument. Tommy’s curiosity peeked. “…Theseus.”

“’Theseus’?!?” Tommy repeated, outraged. “On what planet is the name Theseus respectable?! That’s so old!”

“I needed to get Techno on board!” Wilbur defended. “He was the most reluctant about getting a pet, so I warmed him up to the idea by saying I would name you after one of his history models—some Art of War general from centuries ago.”

Tommy’s eyebrows creased. “Wait—isn’t that a Greek name? How do you guys know about Greece?”

Wilbur blinked. “The translator is probably connecting the name to something you’ve heard before that’s similar. I have no idea what planet you’re from, or even what system.” Guilt crossed over Wilbur’s expression, his scales turning even more dark green. “How did you even end up in the kennel?”

Tommy scowled at the floor. “I was minding my own business on my planet when I got beamed up,” he grit out. “Then I was passed from ship to ship, alien to alien, until I ended up with you. Humans don’t even know aliens exist.”

“Your planet’s Untouched?” Wilbur said, a bit of the green on him becoming slightly lighter, to the grassy green of concern. “Stars. That’s not good.”

“Yeah, it was really stressful,” Tommy said, crossing his arms.

Wilbur’s face became sympathetic. It was so weird how much easier it was to read his expressions now that Tommy knew the context of his words. A long-fingered hand reached for him before jerking back. “…I imagine so. And I bet we didn’t help,” he added bitterly, fisting his hands and becoming almost completely pine-green, like a sad tree in the winter, wishing for spring.

Tommy shuffled awkwardly. “It wasn’t so bad,” he said. “It was…alright. Many of the other aliens were worse.” Most of the other alien races Tommy had been with just stuffed him in a room and left him there until they tossed him to someone else. Not unlike foster parents.

Wilbur and the others were better than alright, though. They were wonderful. Tommy had some of his happiest moments on this ship, with these creatures.

Tommy thought for a moment. “Wait—what did you say Pig’s name was?”

“Technoblade,” Wilbur supplied. “Techno for short.”

“See, that’s an alien name,” Tommy said. “Still a stupid name, but it sounds like an alien name. Good grief, at the rate you were at, you might have named him Dave or something.”

Wilbur shook his head. “You expect us to have otherworldly names, but the translator is giving you names as relative to our species. On Phil and I’s planets, our names are fairly common. So the translator is giving you names common on your planet. Techno’s name is just a little more unique amongst his kind, or it might have an exact-word translation for you.”

Tommy absorbed that for a moment.

“So—” Wilbur paused and cleared his throat, an odd coughing-croon noise. “So then—what’s your name?”

Oh. Tommy hadn’t said.

“Tommy.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur repeated. “…I like it. Nice to meet you, Tommy.” He smiled nervously.

Tommy smiled back.

Wilbur ran a hand over his own face and let out a shaky laugh. “I think—I think maybe we should go sit down?”

Tommy realized that his legs felt stiff, like they were made of blocks. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run a mile to get out the nervous energy, or just collapse. “Sure. Sure, that sounds good.” He lets Wilbur take his hand and lead him back to the living room. There, they both sit in the nest, staring out the window at the stars of space.

In the silence, Tommy wonders about the planets. They’re just little dots from here, but Tommy knows that they’re millions of miles apart from one another. He wonders how far Earth is from Wilbur’s home planet.

“…We put you in cage,” Wilbur says finally, like he’s been running over the last few weeks in his head, adding Tommy’s sentience to the equation.

“Ah—yeah,” Tommy says awkwardly. “I didn’t like that. Do aliens have claustrophobia?”

Wilbur looks over, that sympathetic and pitying look on his face again. “Oh Tommy, are you scared of small spaces?”

Tommy shakily scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Thanks for letting me out at night, by the way.”

“If I had known—” Wilbur stuttered, “Stars, I’m so sorry—I wouldn’t have let it happen. It broke my heart to hear your whines, but Techno said you’d get used to it, that it would be good for you to have your own space. We all thought…” he trailed off.

Tommy didn’t like how green Wilbur was. He hadn’t seen the color until today, but he guessed it meant guilt or shame or something. “Hey,” Tommy butted Wilbur’s shoulder with his own. “You let me out. I wasn’t in there for long, there’s that at least.”

Wilbur hesitantly takes Tommy’s hand in his own and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Tommy looks at their joined hands, and realizes that before this whole thing, Fish-face—Wilbur—would have wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Tommy knows how touchy Wilbur is, but now the alien seems to be holding back. Tommy’s not sure how to address it. Tommy’s not clingy, he just wants to know why the alien changed. Tommy himself is perfectly fine, but, you know, he wonders.

Tommy’s cheeks heat up with how stupid he feels, wanting a hug from an alien who saw him as a pet. Suddenly all their cuddles of the past become twinged with embarrassment.

A cool finger brushes his face in time with a low croon, and Tommy’s head shoots up to look at Wilbur—has the translator broken already? Does Fish-face understand?—but Wilbur immediately draws away.

“Sorry,” Wilbur says, so the translator’s not broken, “I just—your face turned red. It kept worrying me when you did that. The vet didn’t have an answer for it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah—yeah,” Tommy grunts out. “It’s fine. It’s a normal thing, completely harmless.”

“So you’re not in pain?” Wilbur says, tilting his head. “Or angry? You don’t have color-changing scales like me. Why does your skin do that? How does it do that?”

Tommy’s not a medical person, but he knows the basics, so he tries to explain it simply. “I have red blood, and it’s close to my skin,” Tommy says, lifting his arm to show Wilbur. “So when something happens to make it pump more—like exercise or stress or—“ he coughs, “embarrassment, I guess—it turns my skin red. It doesn’t hurt.”

Tommy watches, unsurprised, as Wilbur turns a bit greener. “Prime, you must be so stressed out. I can’t imagine.”

That’s not the reason for Tommy’s skin currently turning red, but he doesn’t particularly want to explain the fine details. So he changes the subject instead. “What about your scales? They change with your emotions, right?”

It works, and Wilbur grins. “Yeah, yeah they do.” The alien leans forward, propping his elbow on his knee and then resting his head on his hand. “How many colors have you figured out, Sunshine?” A bit of yellow comes onto his scales.

Tommy blinks. “’Sunshine’?” he repeats.

Wilbur’s amused expression falters, and then a darker pink color blooms around his neck. “Ah—right. Sorry. That was my nickname for you when—well.” He looks away, getting noticeably more pink.

Tommy feels a grin spread across his face. He hasn’t seen this shade of pink before, but he already has a strong guess.

“Is this color for embarrassment?” Tommy says, reaching over and poking Wilbur’s neck. “Are you embarrassed, Wilbur?”

“Stooooop,” Wilbur groans, pushing Tommy’s hand away. “No, it’s not, shut up.”

“Ooooo, I think it is,” Tommy sings. “Wilbur’s embarrassed, Wilbur’s embarrassed!”

Tommy beams as more razzberry-pink comes through Wilbur’s scales, Wilbur trying to ineffectively cover them with his arms. They replace the browns and greens, and that’s what matters to Tommy.

“What other names did you have for me, Fish-face?” Tommy teases, wheedling the alien further.

“Gremlin was one, and it suits you now,” Wilbur shoots back.

Tommy snorts and crosses his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Wilbur says, a spark of playfulness in his eyes. “You absolutely tipped over our vase on purpose. You looked me in the eyes as you did it. Phil and Techno said you were just a pet and didn’t know what you were doing, but I knew.” Wilbur paused, his lightheartedness flickering like a flame going out, and then wrapped his long arms around his legs. “I didn’t think it meant you were fully intelligent though,” he said, somewhat bitterly.

Tommy wondered if that tone meant that Wilbur was resentful that Tommy was intelligent, and wished for Tommy just to be a stupid animal again.

He pushed off the thought because he didn’t know how to deal with it. Instead, he crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “You deserved that for burrito-ing me.”

Wilbur shifted uneasily, a bit more dark pink spreading onto his scales. “…It was cute. I was just messing with you. And you were certainly a chaotic pet. Why did you keep wanting to go in and out of rooms?”

“I was trying to figure out how to open your stupid alien doors,” Tommy huffs. “So I could show you I wasn’t just a pet.”

“…Oh,” Wilbur says, and there’s the dark green again. Tommy shifts his weight, frantically trying to come up with something else to distract Wilbur. “Yeah, those doors are synced to our handprints. They only open for us.” Wilbur glances away. “…I’ll add you to the AI so you can work them now.”

Wilbur starts to get up but Tommy grabs him arm and pulls him back. “Wait!” he says, just because he can’t let Wilbur leave when he looks so despondent. Even if being added to the door AI means freedom, means control, Tommy doesn’t care as much about it as how broken Wilbur looks right now. “What about—I haven’t guessed all your colors yet!”

A bit of lavender crosses Wilbur’s arms, but he lets himself be pulled back onto the couch-nest. “Yeah? Okay, what do you got?”

“Yellow is happiness,” Tommy says, because he’s certain of that one.

Wilbur nods. “It is, yeah.” He smiles shyly. “You make me very yellow, Toms.”

Tommy’s chest warms at the words, at the nickname, and his breath hitches. Does Wilbur mean…does Wilbur mean that Tommy, himself, makes him happy, not just Tommy the pet? Isn’t Wilbur annoyed yet after they’ve actually talked to each other? Isn’t Wilbur guilty or embarrassed by everything that has happened, and would rather Tommy just go away?

Tommy can’t speak for a moment, but he’s pulled out of his stupor when Wilbur turns a little blue around his shoulders. Tommy reaches forward and brushes those scales.

“You’re blue a lot, too,” Tommy says. “It often showed up with yellow. What does it mean?”

Wilbur glances down at his own shoulders. “…Just calm, I suppose. Relaxed.”

“Huh,” Tommy says, removing his hand. This blue is a bit darker than the usual sky-blue, but maybe it’s just mixing with the dark green. “And gold means laughter, right?”

Wilbur grins. “Yeah, that and excitement. Or just really happy.”

Tommy silently notes that he managed to get Wilbur gold a number of times, too.

“Is light pink happiness too?” Tommy asks, because that’s the next most common color he sees.

Wilbur opens his mouth to respond, and then closes it, a sly look coming across his face. “Maybe I’ll let you keep guessing with some,” Wilbur says deviously.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, shoving Wilbur’s shoulder. “It’s gotta be some form of happiness, right? It often shows up when you’re yellow.”

“It is a form of happiness,” Wilbur confirms, but grinning in a way that’s clearly a taunt. He might be some kind of fish-lizard hybrid, but his grin is catlike with how smug it is.

Tommy crosses his arms. “Sounds like something stupidly close, like joy or amusement or something.” Wilbur shrugs a shoulder. “Whatever, keep your silly color-communication to yourself.”

Wilbur’s smile flickers, and then he lifts his scales turn dark-green. “Stars,” Tommy hears him whisper. “You can talk.” The alien flops back down on the nest, covering his face with his hands. Tommy turns a bit to watch him. “What am I going to tell Phil and Techno?!”

“Why don’t you let me tell them?” Tommy points out, and then flops down next to him, bouncing the pillows.

Wilbur peeks at Tommy through his fingers, looking incredulous. “You would give them a heart attack, Tommy.”

A nasty grin splits Tommy’s face. “Yeah, and?”

-

It’s only a half an hour later before the other two aliens, Phil and Techno apparently, return. Wilbur and Tommy meet them by the door as usual.

“Hey Wilbur,” Bird—Phil—says, and dang it’s weird to hear a voice instead of a bunch of odd chirps. Phil sounds like a kind guy, and weirdly, the voice fits him. Tommy can easily hear it in the alien who played with him, who comforted him, who helped take care of him. “How you doing, mate?” Phil wraps Wilbur up in a feathery hug.

“Ugh, Phil,” Wilbur whines, throwing his head up. “Don’t you get tired of being a mother hen?”

“Never,” Phil says unapologetically. He then reaches up and cups Wilbur’s face with one talon. “Why are you all green? What’s the matter, mate?”

Tommy, watching from the side with Pig/Techno, silently confirms that dark green is a negative color. He’s not totally sure what, and he doesn’t quite know how to ask.

Tommy can see Wilbur school his face, trying to force down the dark green with sky-blue. “I’m fine,” Wilbur says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hmmm,” Phil says doubtfully. “So there’s nothing I should know? When I walk further into the ship, I won’t encounter a huge mess?”

“…No,” Wilbur says.

“Uh-huh.”

Pig snorts and turns to face Tommy. Tommy watches as the giant alien gently pets his head, as he’d done a hundred times before. Part of Tommy jumps at the idea that Pig is about to speak, that Tommy is about to hear his voice for the first time: “And how are you doing, runt?”

Tommy’s examinations stop.

“’Runt’?!” he repeats, aghast. “Wilbur gave me the dumb name ‘Theseus’ to please you, and you call me runt?”

The hand on Tommy’s head freezes.

For a moment, it’s dead quiet. Tommy glares up at Techno, whose face is totally blank like he just hasn’t processed it. He glances at Phil, who’s staring at Tommy. His beak has fallen open.

Wilbur lets out a bark of laughter.

The other two don’t look away from Tommy as Wilbur speaks. “So, yeah…guess what I discovered.”

Techno’s hand slowly moves down Tommy’s face to his neck, and gently lifts up the emerald pendent.

“No,” Phil whispers. “No, there’s no way…”

Tommy turns and looks him dead in the eyes. “I can talk. I’m sentient. I have been this whole time.”

Phil’s hands fall away from Wilbur and he slowly approaches Tommy. Tommy watches every step. They’re fairly close in height, Phil just a few inches shorter. Phil stares into his eyes, searching for something. Perhaps just registering the thoughts in Tommy’s own eyes.

“…You understand us,” he says finally.

“Yeah. I do,” Tommy answers.

“…Oh stars,” Phil mutters.

“That’s what I said,” Wilbur pipes up.

Phil seems to want to glance back, but doesn’t look away from Tommy. “This is why you were feeling shame.”

Shame. So that’s what dark-green means.

Tommy’s heart gives an odd squeeze. It makes sense that Wilbur is feeling shame—but for what, precisely? For treating Tommy like a pet? Or for being all affectionate with a sentient being?

Tommy doesn’t like the silence that lets those thoughts continue, so he breaks it himself. “Right,” he says. “So, I’m Tommy, by the way.”

Techno’s hoofed-hand, still holding Tommy’s emerald, moves to his shoulder. Tommy looks up at him.

“…Tommy,” Techno says finally. “…Nice to meet you.”

Tommy cocks a grin. “You too, Techno. And since you gave me a dumb name, I’ll have you know that before Wilbur told me yours, I called you ‘Pig.’”

Techno stares at him for a long moment. “You know,” he sighs finally, “Despite never actually having a conversation with you before, somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

Tommy’s grin gets wider.

“It’s better than what he called me,” Wilbur butts in. “He named me ‘Fish-face.’ Can you believe that?”

Techno’s hoof ruffles Tommy’s hair again. “Good one, runt.”

“Hey!” Wilbur objects.

“’Runt’?!” Tommy repeats again, ignoring Wilbur. “You know my name! You know I’m intelligent! Why are you still calling me a runt?!”

“You’re small,” Techno says, gently tapping the top of Tommy’s head. “Like a runt.”

To the side, Wilbur huffs that he was ignored, but petulantly explains. “Piglins, which are Techno’s species, call their young either runts or shotes. He’s just calling you a child, Tommy.”

Tommy’s not placated. He points to Phil. “Phil is shorter than me! Do you call him runt?”

Techno tilts his head. “Nah. Phil’s old.”

“I’m not old, you big lug!” Phil protests. “Just because Avians live longer than either of you doesn’t mean I’m old!”

“Yeah you are, Phil,” Wilbur says, butting Phil’s shoulder with his own. “Even taking into account our respective maturing rates, you’re the oldest.” Wilbur turns back to Tommy, and Tommy is pleased to note the growing amount of yellow and pink on his scales replacing the green. Even if what the alien says next fills Tommy with anger. “And Tommy is the itty-bitty baby.”

“I’M NOT A BABY,” Tommy shouts, feeling his cheeks turn red, “I AM A FULL-GROWN MAN!”

Wilbur coos like Tommy’s throwing a tantrum. Which he absolutely is not. “No, no you’re not! The vet did a scan and said that, by the rate of your current growth, you won’t be considered fully grown for another nine years.”

“Nine years?!” Tommy repeats, astonished. “Your vet’s technology was wrong. Humans are considered adults when they’re eighteen.”

“And how old are you?” Wilbur croons sweetly.

Tommy hesitates—he wants to say twenty-one, but that will still make him a baby by the aliens’ standards. “Twenty-six,” he says, trying to cut off the silence before it becomes suspicious.

Wilbur glides forward and boops him on the nose. “No, no. The vet said you were sixteen.”

Dang it.

“The vet is a liar and a wrong’n,” Tommy says.

Bird—Phil—suddenly lets out a loud whine, and both Tommy and Wilbur turn to him. “Even by the standards of your own people, you are a child,” Phil croaks out, swaying slightly. He looks like his knees might give out underneath him. “We took an intelligent child, oh Prime—”

“Well, you didn’t,” Tommy points out. “It was a whole other group of aliens that kidnapped me, and then I got sold—I think—through several different hands before I ended up with you.”

Phil does not look at all comforted. In fact, his expression cracks, his bird eyes shining with sympathy.“Oh little one,” he breathes, like his heart is broken.

What is Phil doing? Why is he looking at Tommy like that?

There’s a great heaving noise to his side and Tommy looks over to see that Techno has gotten down on one knee. Even that way, he’s much taller than Tommy, but now that they’re closer, Tommy can see the intense look in Techno’s eyes.

“Tommy,” the alien says. “We need you to tell us everything about your planet. Now.”

Chapter Text

Tommy tells them about his planet. The three aliens take him to the cockpit (where apparently Tommy hadn’t been allowed before), all sit down, and then pelt him with questions. It’s a bit cramped and dark in the room, over half of it glass to see out into space, and filled with buttons Tommy desperately wants to press, but it’s comfortable. Tommy’s fine as he answers each of their questions best he can.

Another human might worry about getting their planet potentially invaded, but a) Tommy trusts these aliens and b) Tommy doesn’t care that much about earth anyway. So he talks. He tells them that humans haven’t discovered any other planet capable of holding life nearby. The extent of his race’s space travel. How they’re never made contact with another intelligent race. How he was minding his own business when he got beamed up.

Throughout it, he asks the aliens a couple of questions in return. Like why the ship got so cold that one time when he was alone with Techno. Techno confesses that he’s used to a colder climate, while Wilbur and Phil live on warmer planets. So while they were gone, he had turned the heat down. He apologized for it, but Tommy just shrugged it off. It had worked out in the end.

At first, Tommy mostly just has fun telling them about his planet. He explains television and human customs and foods and animals, making Wilbur laugh as he describes the wonders of cows. But then Phil and Techno start pressing more detailed questions—what environments were on earth, how many planets are in the system, how big is the sun? Tommy is no astronomer, but they wring him out for details—how long are the days, how long was Tommy with the other aliens that kidnapped him, what did the other aliens look like? They write it down, too. At some point, Wilbur stops laughing, and then shortly after, he just steps out.

Tommy’s not dumb.

“You guys are asking me these things so you can take me home,” Tommy finally says as they scribble something down.

Phil pauses in his writings, and then looks up. He has that pitying expression again. Tommy likes Phil, but that look is really starting to grate on his nerves.

“Of course, Tommy,” Phil says gently. “We would have returned you immediately if we knew you were a sentient creature. Your caretakers must be worried sick. Did you think we’d still keep you here?”

Tommy looks away, a nervous, shaky laugh escaping his lips.

Beside him, Techno lets out a chuffing sound. “We’ll get you home, runt.”

Tommy hugs his own arms, feeling like he might fall apart at any moment. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s working. He had tried to come up with plans to get back to earth since he was caught, but he’d honestly started to think he wasn’t going to get home. And now…now he just doesn’t know.

Techno taps at his screen thing, blowing it up to the size of a fancy flatscreen television, tapping at images of dots Tommy doesn’t understand.

“It’s gotta be in Region 4,295,” Techno says to Phil. “A temperate planet, just one sun, a sideways view of the galaxy like that. What’d you call it, runt?”

“Milky way,” Tommy answers, trying to pay attention so he doesn’t have to be in the tangle of his mind. “The Milky Way Galaxy, because there’s that kind of formation in the stars. And because the person who named it must have loved cows, the genius.”

Techno gives him an odd look. “…Right.” Tommy sticks his tongue out at him. “It’s a relatively unexplored area. I say we go there and just start scanning the planets for life. We’ll find ‘em.”

“How long will that take?” Tommy asks unsurely.

Phil shrugs a shoulder. “Not too long. If our guess is correct, then several hours. Two days, tops.” Phil starts typing at the ship’s controls. “Might as well start heading there.”

The ship grunts before Phil and Techno turn around and start questioning him again. The stars pass lazily by in the distance, and Tommy wonders how fast they’re going. He doesn’t feel a thing, just the usual vibration of the ship’s engine under his feet.

“Our planet’s blue and green from space,” Tommy mentions at one point. “But all the ones around us are just orange, red, and brown.” He thinks for a moment. “I guess there might be some blue ones. And one of them has rings.”

Like he said, Tommy’s not great at astronomy.

Phil and Techno show him a couple of pictures of planets that Tommy dismisses. It goes on for a while, and eventually Wilbur walks back in. Tommy’s head snaps around to look at him, and he immediately frowns at how…droopy Wilbur looks. Like a bird caught alone in the pouring rain, heavy and flightless. His scales are all dark green and sapphire-blue.

“…You’re ugly,” Tommy says, because he doesn’t know how else to address it.

Wilbur sighs and thumps down onto a seat. “I’m a separate species from you. I have entirely different standards of beauty and ugliness from yours.”

Tommy stares. “Still ugly.”

Wilbur huffs, and a bit of dull yellow dusts through his cheeks, but is soon dragged back under the blues and greens. He kind of looks like a darker version of earth, without any clouds.

Wilbur had told Tommy that blue meant ‘calm,’ but Tommy’s starting to think that this dark blue is something else. He’s not sure why Wilbur is acting like this. Maybe the guilt about having Tommy as a pet is just sinking in more.

“Stop looking like that,” Tommy says finally. “Or I’ll drag you to the vet. I think I’m due for some vengeance.”

Wilbur perks his head a bit, and light purple appears along the fins on the sides of his head. “What was that about, by the way? Why do you wear a fake-skin? Is your planet cold?”

Tommy jerks a shoulder, fine with the distraction, especially if it distracts Wilbur, too. “Sometimes. I guess it’s just a culture thing. Humans always wear clothes.”

“Always? Even when it’s warm?” Wilbur asks, more lavender-purple speckling along his arms.

Tommy gives him a firm look. “Always. And to see someone without their clothes is considered very invasive and rude. Done by wrong’ns.”

To Tommy’s silent dismay, the light purple evaporates at once and the dark green returns full force. Even Phil glances back from the pilot’s seat guiltily. Wilbur bites his lip. “Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy says hastily. “For men it doesn’t matter so much with shirts—that is, the upper body. For women, though, that’s bad.” Tommy just starts rambling. “Which is kind of awful, actually, but then it wouldn’t be good if women just walked around without shirts the way men do—because—well—well maybe men should just wear shirts the same way, all the time.” When did this become political? “I was really worried you guys were going to remove my pants at the vet, and I would not have had that, but thankfully you didn’t. And usually we change our clothes like, every day, except the aliens who captured me were real jerks and didn’t let me pack any, so I’ve been in this outfit for like—four? Four weeks? I’ve been here for three weeks but I don’t know how long I was captured before that. Maybe five weeks. But like, humans on earth would very much frown on me for not changing my clothes for so long. Oh, and we also are supposed to have entirely different clothes if we’re sleeping. Plus also different kinds of clothes depending on the weather and the occasion. We have, like, whole industries dedicated to clothes.”

Wilbur stares at him. There is silence.

Tommy’s cheeks redden.

Techno finally breaks the awful quiet. “Seems like there are a lot of overly complicated rules about that.”

Tommy bursts out laughing, and then Wilbur joins in. Phil sends them back a worried look.

“My culture just wears coverings for warmth, armor, and to hide weaponry,” Techno huffed. “Yours is ridiculous.”

“Well said, Techno,” Tommy rocks forward and backward in his seat to get out some energy. “Well said.”

“What was that even about?” Wilbur wheezed through his laughs. “You totally lost me!”

“Believe me, Wilbur,” Tommy says, “That’s only scratching the surface.”

-

“Is this the one?” Phil asks for the millionth time, holding out a hologram-image to Tommy. Tommy peers at it. A couple of the planets they’ve shown him look like earth at first glance—blue water, green land, white clouds—but he’d determined they couldn’t be because of the way the land looked. This one, however…there’s the stupid outline of America, with its little pinpoint at the end for Florida. Tommy always thought Florida sounded overrated.

“That’s it,” Tommy finally says.

He stares at it, orbiting lazily. Earth. Home. That little circle was—literally—his entire world up until a few weeks ago. With all of its chaos, its redundant political arguments, cruelty, harshness—gentleness present but not enough to survive on. Passed from home to home, from hand to hand of adults that didn’t want him.

It didn’t feel like home.

Phil’s eyes crinkled in a way Tommy had decided was his equivalent of smiling. “Great, mate. We’ll be there in no time.”

Tommy shifted his legs under him in his chair to be more comfortable and glanced over at Wilbur. The scaled alien was almost entirely blue right now, so blue he looked like a blueberry.

“You look like a blueberry,” Tommy told him.

Wilbur gave Tommy an odd look. “I don’t actually know what a blueberry is, aside from the fact that it must be a type of berry and that it’s blue.”

“Alright, genius,” Tommy said snidely. “What, you so calm you about to fall asleep or something?”

No way that blue meant calm. Tommy was calling his bluff.

Techno coughed at the edge of the room, and Tommy thought the woosh of air that followed was Phil hitting the pig alien with his wing.

“Yeah,” mumbled Wilbur. The alien brought his long legs up against his chest and mumbled into his knees. “Tired.”

Liar.

So what did it mean? More guilt? Disappointment? Unhappy that his pet was leaving? Wishing Tommy had never been intelligent in the first place? Was he—

“So what’s life for you like back on earth, Tommy?” Phil said from the front of the room suddenly. Tommy blinked at him. “I mean, you described what your planet is like, but what do you do there?”

Tommy thought. His life was so chaotic that he had no idea how to answer that question. Travel long distances to get to new foster homes. Occasionally visit families. Make temporary friends in neighborhoods that usually didn’t care when he left, but liked him to swipe things and join their gang for a few weeks.

Tommy jerked a shoulder. “Run around.”

Phil glanced back. “Descriptive, mate. And…?”

Tommy really didn’t want to spiel his whole sorry life story to them, so he just said what normal kinds do. “Go to school. Our planet—well, my country—has schools everywhere. Kids go and are taught things. Math and stuff.”

Phil brightened. “That sounds nice. So all your children get a basic education. Do you also make friends there?”

Phil had adopted those caring-foster-parent vibes real quick. Tommy had met some adults who asked these things and really cared, but usually it just annoyed him. Like, that’s nice, but one day they would split paths and never see each other again, so what’s the point?

Phil was in that group now. If, somehow, a week ago, they could communicate and Phil had asked Tommy that, Tommy might have answered honestly, and wouldn’t have been annoyed. Tommy might have curled up into his side and told him about all the dumb teachers, how occasionally they touched on interesting and useful things, but it was often drowned in outdated knowledge they would never use. And Phil might have covered Tommy with his wings and made some joke they both laughed at.

It was that picture in Tommy’s head that held back a snide reply. Instead he just gave another cookie-cut answer. “Yeah, a couple.”

Phil opened his mouth, probably to ask more things about school, but Tommy wasn’t sure he could be polite on the subject for much longer. So he barreled ahead and played a reverse-Uno card; “So what do youguys do in your lives, aside from abduct me as your pet?”

“Ah,” Phil said, glancing unsurely at Techno. That caught Tommy’s attention. They were hiding something. “We take multiple jobs across several planets.”

“That’s why you guys travel so often?” Tommy asked, understanding why the aliens would disappear at times and bounce from planet to planet.

Phil looked a little relieved. “Yeah, that’s why.”

He wasn’t slipping away that easily. “What do you do?” Tommy asks.

“Er…”

Techno grunted, coming in to save Phil. “It depends. They’re different jobs with each planet.”

“Like…?” Tommy pressed.

“Anything we should know about approaching your planet, Tommy?” Phil interrupted. “Can they read through cloaking technology? How far?”

Tommy frowned at him. Phil wasn’t as good at changing subjects as he thought he was.

But fine, if the aliens didn’t like him or trust him enough to tell him something as simple as their jobs, then they could keep their stupid secrets. It wasn’t like they were going to dump Tommy back on earth and never see him again or anything.

“I don’t know anything about cloaking technology, so I guess not,” Tommy answered, thumping back onto his seat with a huff. “The aliens who abducted me weren’t detected. Nobody was talking about an alien ship approaching our planet. Would’ve been nice to have the warning.”

“That’s good,” Phil said with a small sigh. “Admittedly our ship’s cloaking it a bit old. Technicians are always developing ways to detect cloaked ships, and ways to cloak them better, too. It’s a right pain to always have to buy the latest models to keep up. We get one and immediately another comes out.”

“We should’ve bought the 1.19 model last week,” Techno grunted. “The new detectors scan for special displacement. Our current cloaker is practically useless.”

“We were distracted!” Wilbur defended.

Phil waved a feathered hand. “We can buy and install it later, I bet no one else actually has the latest detectors. It won’t matter to some Untouched planet all the way out here.”

“What does that mean?” Tommy piped up. “’Untouched’? Wilbur said it before.”

“Undiscovered,” Phil supplied. “Hasn’t interacted with any other planet’s race before, or at least, not the system most species are part of. There are a lot of policies about that. Untouched planets are reported to the intersystem government—called Essempi. The Essempi agents study the planet to discover its intelligent authorities and then introduce themselves and explain how the rest of the universe works. The planet can then decide their own policies on interplanetary immigrants and trade and such.”

“How do they ‘discover’?” Tommy asked. “Do they go down and say, ‘Take me to your leader’?”

“Well, they certainly don’t abduct little children,” Wilbur lifted his slitted nose imperiously. “The process takes a lot of time. Essempi has to determine who should speak on behalf of the planet’s race, which is tricky. And then identify whatever the planet determines as aggressive gestures, so that an intergalactic war isn’t started because someone sneezed.” Wilbur paused. “Yes, that has happened.”

Tommy made a face but Wilbur just continued his explanation. “Even then, there’s a lot of interplanetary laws to explain, a lot of careful introductions. Untouched planets are usually kept secret at that time, Essempi doesn’t tell anyone their location.”

“The aliens who abducted you must have been criminals hiding out on the edge of space,” Techno pitched in. “Probably cloaked. Saw an Untouched planet and thought they could sell a new species for a nice hunk of money. Didn’t even bother to test intelligence.” The pig’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Scum.”

Tommy didn’t have a very high opinion of them either.

“So will you guys report my planet to these Essempi blokes after you drop me off?” Tommy asked.

Phil shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah mate. We’ll send the report pretty quickly. But, er…” he glanced at Techno. “Don’t tell any other humans about what happened to you, alright? Essempi will be upset if anyone else interacted with this race before them. Corruption or something like that. Loads of contracts and treaties.”

“Would you get in trouble?” Tommy asked, starting to get worried.

Techno snorted.

Phil’s eyes did the little crinkle-smile. “Yeah, we would.”

Tommy frowned. “Then I won’t tell anyone about you.” As amazing as they were, Tommy wouldn’t risk their safety.

“Thanks mate.” Phil jerked his beak suddenly, pointing it at something. “Tommy, look—there’s the first planet of your solar system! We’re almost there.”

Tommy propped himself up on his seat, leaning onto the back of Phil’s. A little round ball was to the left of their ship. “What planet is that?” he asked curiously.

“I don’t know, mate, your planet probably has a name for it,” Phil said with a shrug. “It’s the nineth one from your sun, does that help?”

Tommy shook his head. He didn’t know.

“It’s the smallest one,” Techno grunted from the side.

“Pluto!” Tommy shouted suddenly. “That’s Pluto! And you guys called it a planet?”

Phil looked at him strangely. “Er…yeah?”

“HA!” Tommy shouted. He may not be into astronomy, but he once got into a huge fight at a school because everyone disagreed if Pluto was a planet. Sucks to be them, the aliens have the final word! Pluto may be small but it could be the best planet in the whole universe if it wanted to be. No one could hold it back.

Tommy realized that no other human had ever gotten to see the planets as closely as he was right now. Not all of them were in their path, but Phil and Techno pointed it out when they passed an orbit of one. He quickly got absorbed into it, trying to remember the names for each one. Saturn had the rings, obviously. Jupiter was the big one. Neptune was the blue one, and next to it was—

When Tommy started making that particular joke, Techno almost kicked him out of the cockpit. It wasn’t until Techno stood up and took a step towards him that Tommy backed down. He wasn’t missing this view for anything. Wilbur laughed, though.

They were passing Mars, the little speck of earth visible in the distance. Techno had turned on the cloaking device a while ago, but Tommy was distracted when a loud beeping noising came from the ship.

“What’s that?” Tommy asked. “Asteroid field? Space monster?”

“We’re being hailed,” Techno said, voice somehow more monotone than usual. “…Tommy. Why are we being hailed from your planet.”

Tommy blinked. “What?”

“Your planet is contacting us,” Techno continued. “Which means they have detected us.”

“Maybe Essempi found them,” Phil tried unsurely. “We know at least one other group of aliens has discovered Tommy’s planet—we thought they were criminals, but maybe they reported the planet to Essempi anyway.”

“And exposed themselves for kidnapping someone?” Wilbur said incredulously.

“Wait, maybe—” Tommy frantically wracked his brain for astronomy lessons he never paid attention to, “Earth sends out signals to try and contact any other possible life out there. Maybe it’s that.”

“Nope, it’s not that,” Techno said, staring at the blinking light on the controls. “They’re on our specific frequency. They’re contacting us.” Techno shot a glare at Phil. “’We don’t need the new cloaking model,’ you said. ‘No one else will have it for a few more months,’ you said. ‘It’s probably just the last model except in blue this time,’ you said.”

Phil wacked him with a wing.

“We don’t know what their technology is, mate,” Phil said to Techno, still sounding worried. “This could be something totally other than the detection model.”

“Tommy said they’ve barely done any space travel,” Wilbur muttered.

“That’s true!” Tommy argued. The beeping blaring in his ears was stressing him out.

“Just—just turn it on, Techno, let’s listen,” Phil finally said. “Let’s see if they’re actually trying to contact us or not.”

Techno flipped a switch, and another voice, a no-nonsense male voice, entered the room. “—Four minutes-twenty seconds remaining. Unidentified vessel, respond immediately. You are entering Earth space. Return from your approach or identify yourself, or you will be fired upon. You have four minutes remaining. Unidentified vessel, respond immediately—"

“I can understand them,” Wilbur whispered.

“What?” Tommy said, turning to look at him.

Wilbur’s head swung to meet Tommy’s gaze. “Tommy, the translators only work if both parties each have one. I can understand that voice—” Wilbur pointed at the speaker, “—So they have a translator!”

Tommy started feeling very small. “I—I don’t know—I’m sorry—”

Phil turned around suddenly and reached for Tommy’s face. Tommy flinched, but that feathery hand just cupped his cheek. “We know you wouldn’t manipulate us, Tommy. We know you didn’t know about this. But we’re—we’re worried, and unprepared for this.”

Oh. Okay. So he wasn’t in danger. But…

Tommy gave a shaky swallow as Phil drew away, talking with Techno about possibly turning around and coming back later, or trying to hack the Essempi database to see if earth was discovered.

It sounded so complicated. And all through it, that voice chanted the same words, only changing occasionally in tone and how much time they had left to respond.

‘Or you will be fired upon,’ echoed in Tommy’s head.

“Hey,” Wilbur suddenly reached out to Tommy, lightly touching his arm. Tommy looked up. Wilbur was back to being mostly green, of varying shades of grassy and mossy, but he just looked at Tommy worriedly. “It’ll be okay. We’ll sort it out.”

“…You have one minute remaining…”

“Let me speak to them,” Tommy blurted. Both Phil and Techno cut off, turning back to look at Tommy. Tommy’s throat was tight but he spoke anyway. “I can try and talk them down.”

The three aliens in the room looked at each other. “They might think we were the ones who kidnapped you,” Techno said hesitantly.

“But you’re giving me back!” Tommy argued.

Phil’s wings shuffled unsurely. “If this Untouched planet—supposedly Untouched planet—can detect us through our current cloaking, they might could scan through the new cloaking technology, too. We don’t know how Tommy’s kidnappers got to them. This might be our only way…”

“I think we should wait,” Wilbur said suddenly. “Draw back and decide what to do. They’re threatening to fire on us, we should play it safe.”

Phil looked back at the scaled alien. “Wil…”

“…Twenty seconds remaining…”

Techno grunted and finally looked back at Tommy. “Really think you can talk them down, runt?”

Tommy looked into those dark eyes, often droopy with sleep but now alight with intensity. He could do this. He had to. “Yes.”

Techno flipped the switch without another word.

The repeated message cut off. They became silent, waiting for the ship to speak.

“Er—hello?” Tommy asked.

Silence.

Tommy cleared his throat. He had said he could do this, he was going to do this. “Um, yeah, this is Tommy Innit?” He held back a wince. “I was, well, kidnapped by aliens a couple weeks ago, and these newaliens are trying to return me home.”

There was a pause.

“…What is this?” the same voice from before finally said. “That is not possible. You are intruding on earth space—”

“No, listen—” Tommy said, thinking frantically, and then he reached up and took off his translator-necklace, tossing it to Wilbur who fumbled to catch it. “I can speak English, do you hear me? I just took off the translator-thing. If you’re not wearing yours, you can still understand me. An alien wouldn’t be able to do this, right?”

Tommy waited another beat.

Another pause.

“Tell the aliens with you to stop their approach. Stand by until we contact you again.”

The line gave a small staticky sound and went silent. Tommy looked over to Wilbur and held his hand out. Wilbur dropped the emerald translator into his palm.

“What did you say?” Wilbur asked immediately.

“Huh? Oh, that was just to show them that I speak English. Did you understand them about stopping the ship?”

Techno was already messing with the controls. “Yeah, on it.”

They waited in silence. Wilbur beat his hands against his knees nervously. Phil’s feathers were still ruffled.

The voice cut back. “Tommy Innit, foster child, born April 9^th, 2004, age: sixteen. Reported missing five weeks and two days ago. Is this you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Tommy said. “I was abducted. Beamed up. Yoinked. Nabbed.”

“…Stand by,” the voice said, and cut out again.

Well that was quick. Tommy was starting to think that their ‘stand by’ was really just a less polite version of ‘please hold.’

“How do they just have all that information on you?” Wilbur asked into the silence.

Tommy shuffled. “I mean, it’s all documented. Doesn’t your Essempi thing keep track of its citizens?”

“Yeah, but—” Wilbur stuttered a bit and waved a hand vaguely. “Who exactly are we talking to here, Tommy?”

Tommy shrugged a shoulder. “Government.” Probably Americans. The accent sounded American.

“Your government has scanners and translators you knew nothing about?”

At first, it had been surprising, but when Wilbur said it like that, it was honestly really obvious. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Wilbur looked at him strangely. “You’re not worried that your government is keeping secrets from you?”

“Well I mean it might not be my government,” Tommy said. “Lots of countries have space forces. America has NASA and Europe has ESA and Canada’s got one too and China has a space force—CHSA or something—but that didn’t really sound like them so who knows.” He looked at the ceiling thoughtfully for a moment. “They spoke English, but that’s a pretty common language.”

“Tommy. I meant—government? Secrets?”

“Oh yeah they do that all the time. All of them do.”

All three of the aliens gave him a weird glance.

“And you’re just okay with that?” Wilbur spluttered.

“Um, yeah? Why, doesn’t yours do that?”

“None of us have been on our own planets in some time, mate,” Phil cut in. “And even then, those were just visits. But no, our planets’ governments don’t keep secrets.”

Tommy looked side to side between Phil and Wilbur. “What about keeping secrets from each other? Like private knowledge and stuff?”

“Well alright there are some things,” Phil granted with a dip of his beak. “Like the locations of Untouched planets. But this? Knowledge that there is other life in space?” Phil waved a hand at the speaker. “No, at least not for long.” He tapped a talon against his chair. “That seems like something people are entitled to know.”

Tommy kind of felt like he was being cheated on here. Like he had taken a hard geometry test back at school only to discover everyone else had just needed to say ‘2+2=4.’

He was interrupted by the voice coming back.

“Alien craft, come in. Respond now.”

Would it kill them to say ‘please’?

Techno hit a switch and silently gestured to Tommy again.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re here,” Tommy said.

“To clarify your story, Mr. Innit,” the voice said, “You were taken from earth by extraterrestrial beings. The current beings with you on the approaching ship are different ones that are trying to return you to earth.”

“…Yes,” Tommy said after thinking it over a moment.

“We have cleared you for landing. We are sending exact coordinates to your ship; follow these and only these. Upon landing, we will require a full explanation from both you and the aliens with you. Is this all understood?”

The intensity of this voice was kind of scaring Tommy. “Uh, yeah.”

“Captain of the ship—is this understood?”

“Yeah, we hear you,” Phil piped up.

“Proceed.”

Okay. Good.

Tommy shuffled awkwardly.

Techno cut off the com and started to move them forward again.

“Good work, runt,” Techno huffed once they were going.

Tommy blinked. He didn’t feel like he’d done a good job. “The guy didn’t seem very happy,” Tommy hedged.

“Beings are like that all over the universe,” Techno countered. “Can’t make everyone happy. But you talked him down. We’re not being shot at, and we can return you home. That was our goal. So I count it as a win.”

The words helped a bit, but Tommy still felt anxious. Worried. Would Wilbur, Phil, and Techno be alright? He’d seen plenty of movies where humans weren’t nice to aliens. Where confrontations ended in violence.

He didn’t want his friends to be hurt.

He jerked slightly when something cool brushed against his arm, and he looked over as Wilbur drew back.

“Sorry,” the scaled alien said.

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. Wilbur had turned completely dark blue. Tommy opened his mouth to ask about it—he’d never seen Wilbur that blue, when the alien slid out of his seat abruptly. “I think I’ll just—check our engine before we land. It’s been a while since we’ve landed the whole ship instead of just the shuttle.”

And yet again, Wilbur slipped out of the room.

Tommy watched him go, and then looked back at Phil and Techno to see if they had any answers. Techno was focused on flying the ship, but Phil was looking at the door Wil had gone through too. He turned back to the controls after another few seconds though.

Tommy waited for a possible explanation, and when it didn’t come, started to get up. “I’m going to go help him.”

Phil jerked a bit, glancing back at him again. “Er, I rather you didn’t mate,” the bird’s voice was warbly. “The engine room is a bit…sensitive, especially before landing. You shouldn’t be in there if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Tommy landed back in his seat with a huff. Phil might be lying, but Tommy didn’t know enough to call him out. Silly little human who didn’t understand the technology.

He sulked as earth got closer, although Tommy did get more drawn into the planet’s beauty the more he could see of it. It was easy to be distracted by the planet’s paint strokes of white clouds, wide expanse of oceans, blemishes of green and brown on its surface, and the golden speckled lights of electricity that glistened from its shadows. Dazzling. So big.

Tommy was so small compared to it. Just a little kid in the system, tossed around. Tommy once heard of how astronauts, after seeing earth from space, always advocated for prevent climate change and pollution once they got back. But Tommy just felt like he was a little bottle of plastic contaminating it.

Techno tilted the ship, angling it for America—heh, Tommy was right about that accent then—and then began to descend. The viewport got blurry as they went down, but Tommy didn’t feel the ship shake or any kind of crushing pressure. He watched the high-definition Google Earth zoom-in as they got closer and closer to land.

Tommy had never been all that great at geography, so he couldn’t name wherever they were heading. But it was by a coastline and looked like a military base. Long black asphalt paths crisscrossing around a field, jets resting unused on one side. A big, bland, concrete square building set on one edge.

And then Tommy saw—fellow humans.

…They looked anything but normal, though.

A group of people in military green camouflage stood at a line by the building, watching them and waiting for them to land. The beings were the average height of human, average build, and had the right amount of limbs—no wings, no bulky muscled frame, no slim limber height. But they also wore masks. Gas masks, by the look of it, with big back googles and artificial muzzles. And Tommy could see the guns in their hands.

Americans and their guns, of course.

The ship landed, apparently at the exact coordinates Techno had been given. Tommy shuffled in his seat, not exactly sure he wanted to step out in front of the armed masked humans.

The comm beeped and Techno flicked it on. The same voice as before spoke through it. “All occupants of the ship will step outside to meet with us. We will go to the building you see ahead of you to fully explain the situation. You have our word, no harm will come to anyone…unprovoked.”

Well that wasn’t ominous.

Techno flicked off the comm and looked at Phil. “Could this be a trap?”

Tommy tensed. He wanted to reassure the aliens, but what did he know about these people? He felt guilt swamp over him, muggy and suffocating. They were here because of him, and they might be in danger.

“We can handle ourselves,” Phil breezed off, and stood up. He crinkled his eyes at Tommy and started ushering him out of the room.

“I can walk, Phil, you don’t have to hover,” Tommy complained as Techno loomed at the back of the party. The walked through the halls, a blue Wilbur joining them silently, before they reached the platform that led outside.

Tommy tapped his fingers against his leg anxiously, waiting for Techno to open the door. There were humans on the other side of this wall. Earth on the other side of this wall.

The door creaked open.

Tommy squinted his eyes against the sunlight.

The line of soldiers were before him, in those odd gas masks. What was that about? They weren’t in space. Did they expect a gas attack? Out here in the open?

Tommy decided to go first, because the aliens had taken the risk to bring him here and the soldiers were less likely to shoot him, a human, anyway. Phil jerked as Tommy strode past, like he wanted to reach for him, but Tommy marched forward quickly and confidently. He stopped about fifteen paces away from the humans.

He realized that the man in the center of the line was actually totally different from the others. This man was tall, and dressed in a dark green suit that, at first glance, looked like the camouflage uniforms all the others were wearing. But it was smooth, pristine, and more appropriate for an office than combat. He also wore a gas mask like them, but his googles were slightly less shaded, and Tommy could kind of see what his eyes looked like. He had black hair and a large jadelike pendant around his neck—a translator.

“You are Tommy Innit,” the leader said when Tommy stopped. Tommy immediately recognized his voice as the man who had been communicating with them when they approached. The shaded eyes shifted from Tommy to the ship. “Are your companions joining us?”

Techno strode out first in response to that. Tommy watched the soldier’s tense at the huge alien, easily twice as tall as the tallest of them and more than thrice as wide. The only one Tommy didn’t see shift at all was the leader, who watched calmly as Techno came up to Tommy’s right.

Phil approached and came to Tommy’s left, Wilbur trailing behind him.

“This is all?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy said finally. “Now who’re you?”

The man turned his head from gazing at the aliens to Tommy. “You will refer to me as Agent Sam.” Tommy didn’t really pay attention to titles that much, but the severity of this guy made Tommy think he might respect it this one time. “I am in charge of handling extraterrestrial interaction on behalf of earth.”

“You?” Tommy spluttered in surprise. “One guy? On behalf of all of us?”

“Is that a problem?” the man asked, in a I-am-raising-a-skeptical-eyebrow-that-you-can’t-see-because-of-my-stupid-mask voice.

“I didn’t vote for you,” Tommy snapped. “Aren’t you Americans all about voting?”

Frankly, he was a bit insulted that one person was supposed to interact with aliens on behalf of all humans. Without humanity even knowing about it.

‘Agent Sam’ or whatever seemed to be amused. “Our planet’s leaders from across the nations voted for me,” he explained. “And you, or your nation, did vote for those people to make decisions on your behalf.”

Oh, this guy thought he was smart, huh?

Tommy waved behind him, to Phil, Wilbur, and Techno. “And those leaders decided not to tell us that aliens exist, huh?”

Tommy wasn’t sure what answer he was expected, but it wasn’t a flat, “Yes.”

When Tommy was old enough to vote, he would vote all the current politicians out of office. Except for the Queen. She could stay.

“Moving on,” Agent Sam said, brushing Tommy aside, “Before we move inside the building, I will ask you to leave your weapons behind. Your ship will remain untouched; you can leave them there. We have questions for you that will take some time.”

“We have some questions for you too, mate,” Phil spoke up.

“We will attempt to resolve the matter inside,” Agent Sam said, and if that wasn’t an answer that gave no promises, Tommy didn’t know what was. “Please remove any weapons on your person now.”

Tommy looked back, and Phil and Techno were looking at each other, having some silent conversation with their expressions. Tommy struggled to join, trying to read Phil’s beak and Techno’s droopy eyes. But finally Phil reached behind him and took out the weapon strapped to his back—some cross between a sword and a crossbow in one—and handed it to Techno. Techno took it and then lumbered back to the ship. They all waited awkwardly as Techno returned, with less items on his belt as well, and then looked over at Agent Sam expectantly.

“Follow me, please.” And then Agent Sam turned on his heel and strode off.

Tommy followed, keeping close to Phil’s side as they passed the soldiers who stood back to let them through. Tommy glanced back at them and noticed about half the soldiers picking up the rear to follow them, while the other half remained with the ship. Their group approached the building, and Tommy wondered briefly how Techno would get in, before a much larger glass door opened up for them.

When they pass the threshold, a green light flashes just briefly over their heads, startling Tommy, his head whipping up. “What’s that?”

“Weapons detector,” Wilbur mutters.

Tommy frowns and glances at all the soldiers with their own guns.

“A precaution,” Agent Sam says smoothly, and gestures for them to continue on.

It was cold in the building, not quite uncomfortable but definitely crisp after just being outside. Tommy looked around, but the large entry room was grey and blank, with a few seats in circles by the windows and several doors along the walls. Agent Sam turned back on his heel and waited until they were all inside, and the glass door slide shut behind them.

“I will take Mr. Innit with me for examination,” Agent Sam said the moment the door had closed. “The three of you will please wait in that room—” Sam gestured smoothly to a door on one end, “—and I will be with you when I am done with him.”

“You’re going to separate us?” Tommy asked, surprised. “I thought you wanted us to explain everything.”

“I do,” Agent Sam said, with a slight inclination of his head. “But I would like you to explain it to me first, separately.”

“This isn’t the last time we’re going to see him, is it?” Wilbur suddenly blurted. Tommy looked back at him, and his scales were struggling colors of dark blue and light orange, which really didn’t complement each other. Phil nudged Wilbur with the elbow of his wing.

Agent Sam didn’t respond immediately. “…Not necessarily,” he said eventually.

Tommy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No, it won’t,” he said to Wilbur. “I’ll see you guys take off.” He tried to sound encouraging, but his throat felt dry. He looked away from them, and found Agent Sam peering at him closely through those dark googles.

Wilbur didn’t look very encouraged, but didn’t say another word as Agent Sam lifted a hand to gesture Tommy to walk beside him. Tommy stepped up, and Agent Sam gave a curt nod to the aliens before leading Tommy through one of the doors, two soldiers following behind them.

Tommy wondered if he’d just lied…Would he see them again?

Chapter Text

Tommy’s heart sank a little the moment the door closed behind him, feeling inhuman eyes linger on his shoulders.

“Tommy.” Tommy blinked, bringing his attention back to Agent Sam. He was taken by surprise when Sam reached up and pulled off his gas mask to look at him.

Sam had a serious face, a hard jawline and a stony expression, but his eyes peered at Tommy with concern as he handed off his mask to one of the soldiers behind him.

“That door is soundproof, and this building has interference for any communication aside from our own,” Agent Sam said. “You can speak freely here, and those aliens won’t hear a word. Is there anything you want to say to me?”

Tommy blinked, a bit turned around by the sudden unmasking and by the complexity of the question. He needed a few seconds to follow. “Uh—just what I told you on the call here. I was abducted by aliens, but these aliens returned me home.”

Agent Sam watched him closely. “You don’t need to be afraid. Whatever might happen, we will keep you safe. We have the weaponry to take them on, if need be.”

“No!” Tommy said immediately. He gave an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the armed guards behind him. “No. These aliens are good, they helped me, I don’t want them hurt.”

Agent Sam didn’t look convinced. “Hmm.”

“Is that why you wanted me alone?” Tommy asked.

“In part,” Agent Sam said cryptically.

Tommy frowned, upset. “Listen here, ‘agent,’ communication is a two-way street. You need to talk to me or I won’t talk to you.”

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to talk to a soldier that way when he was totally alone and surrounded. But Tommy had never been the greatest at listening to authority figures. Here came the part where the teacher would frown, would lecture him, would send him to the principle’s office, and he’d be forced to write lines or do homework or something that just made him more antsy.

Agent Sam smiled. “You can call me Sam, actually.”

Tommy jerked back, reeling. “What?”

“Sam,” the man repeated. “Just Sam. The title is professional, but you can call me just by my given name.”

“Aren’t you a super-important global-agent?” Tommy asked.

Sam shrugged a shoulder, an easy, casual, human move. Tommy hadn’t realized how much he’d forgotten common human movements until now. Even shoulder-jerks by the aliens were at odd angles for their own body-types, but Sam’s, of course, was specifically human. It was weirdly deja-vu.

“I am what I need to be,” Sam answered. Weird. “But you’re right, we need to communicate. So then; I’m going to interview about everything that happened. Some of the questions may seem unrelated, but I need you to answer them anyway. It will take a while. But before that, we need to give you a physical.”

“A what?”

-

The ‘physical’ was a doctor’s appointment done by humans and was worse than the one done by aliens to a perceived pet. Doctor Sheep had just waved a thing in front of him and been pretty much done. These guys needed more than that. Tommy objected very loudly but they talked him down and insisted it was necessary. Tommy bristled and snapped and fought every step, but at least it was done quickly. They did give him some fresh clothes, though. Jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He missed his one with the red sleeves, even if it had been getting holes.

After, he was brought back to a room where a bunch of movies probably shot scary interrogation scenes. Giant mirror on one wall, table with two opposite chairs in the middle, bright light sitting on the side of it. Maybe some Marvel movies had used this place. This is actually about what Tommy imagined when Sam said he wanted to ask Tommy questions. Tommy sat down and drummed his fingers on the table for about four seconds before Sam strode in.

“Fire away, big man,” Tommy said, because if Sam wasn’t going to take advantage of Tommy being willing to call him ‘agent,’ then Tommy wasn’t going to bother with any respect whatsoever.

Sam didn’t make any kind of disapproving expression at the nickname. He gave Tommy a small, lopsided smile and then gestured to one of the guards standing at the door Tommy had come through not a minute prior. The door slid open yet again, and this time a new man in a suit walked in, rolling a trolly in front of him.

It was filled with food.

Tommy watched with eyes as wide as dinner plates as they set actual dinner plates—several dinner plates—in front of him. A whole tray of sandwiches of different kinds; peanut butter and jelly, turkey, ham, chicken, and others. A bowel of fruit that looked straight out of a tropical ad. A plate of cheeses, crackers, and dips that would be used as an appetizer at a party for multiple people. Yogurt packets, vegetables so bright that for once they actually looked appetizing, and a lidded metal pot that, as the server lifted the lid to check on it, looked like it contained chicken soup.

“What?” Tommy asked finally as the server still piled food onto the table in front of him.

“Your physical came back with full marks,” Sam volunteered, watching Tommy with that amused expression again. He was easier to read without the gas mask. “You weren’t malnourished at all, you even weighed a little more than your last recorded examination on earth. But I figured you still deserved a big hearty meal after spending so long away from home.”

‘Home.’ Why did that word feel hollow?

“…Thanks,” Tommy said finally. “But there’s no way I can eat all of this.” Was that a mini-pizza?

Sam shrugged a shoulder. “I know. But I didn’t know what you liked, so I gave you options.”

There was now more food than table in front of Tommy than a Thanksgiving feast. The interrogation room looked a lot less intimidating with colorful sandwiches and fruit decorating it.

The server offered him a few drink options and Tommy just got water. He was a bit overwhelmed. He liked the golden pellets that tasted like apples, but there were all he had eaten the last few weeks. And now he had a literal buffet in front of him. The server gave him his glass and then strode off, the trolley now notably lighter.

Tommy just stared at it all for a moment.

“We can get you other things, too,” Sam offered, still with that small smile.

“Um…no, I’m good,” Tommy said, and then awkwardly picked up a sandwich. Start simple.

It was still an intimidating layout.

“You should have some,” Tommy said suddenly, somehow unable to even take a bite of the sandwich in his hand.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but picked out a clementine and started splitting it into pieces, eating the tiny slices. Something about eating together encouraged Tommy, and he finally started nibbling at the food.

He kind of wishes it was Wilbur or Phil or Techno on the other side of the table, though.

Sam starts asking his questions. First it’s just about Tommy’s life on earth, nothing to do with aliens. Tommy gives cursory answers, obviously this isn’t really what they care about. So they move on to when Tommy first got abducted.

Here, Sam pushes him for every tiny detail. Where exactly was it? What time? What was the temperature? Tommy hadn’t had a map or a watch or a freaking thermometer and says as much, but Sam insists he at least make an estimate. Then Tommy describes every alien he saw in the order he saw them, what they did and how they acted. This all happened several weeks ago and honestly it’s very fuzzy to Tommy, but Sam doesn’t let up. He’s gentle and understanding and considerate, but also insistent and determined. Tommy almost feels like he’s lying with how he’s trying to answer such obscure questions, but Sam says he’s recording what Tommy’s not sure about. The agent types up everything onto a laptop that Tommy can’t see the screen of.

Tommy finally gets to the point where he met Wilbur, Phil, and Techno. Here, Sam stops him.

“They thought you were a pet?” Sam says, shocked.

“At first,” Tommy corrected. “They didn’t think I was sentient.”

Sam types a few things up, looking uncomfortable like there’s slime on the keyboard or something. “And how did that go?”

Tommy explains being fed and played with. He uneasily talked about the crate, but also how Wilbur would let him out. It feels a bit rude or something, to talk about the aliens behind their backs to a stranger. Finally, as Tommy gets near talking about dancing with Wilbur—he doesn’t want to talk to them about dancing with Wilbur—he plays a Reverse Uno card and asks Sam a question.

“Who exactly are you people, anyway?” Tommy asks. “FBI or something?”

Sam twitches a smile. “No, not exactly. Knowledge of our organization is classified. But we are in charge of handling interaction with any alien beings.”

“Phil said Essempi would handle first contact with new planets,” Tommy said, crossing his arms.

Sam’s expression was still, not shifting from that smile. “They told you about that, did they?” Tommy just glared at him silently. Sam’s smile widened. “I assume this is one of your communication-is-a-two-way-street moments, hm? You want me to answer some of your questions before you continue to answer mine?”

Tommy wondered if they might force him if he refused to answer. They were some form of military group. Nobody else on earth knew that Tommy was alive or here. There were guards standing directly by the door, guns in their hands.

He’d always been stupidly brave. Or maybe just stupid.

“Bingo, big man.”

Sam’s face split into a full smile. “You’re some kid. You’ve told me you’ve been through things that would make a grown adult traumatized for months and now you stare me down, someone you know is a powerful official, without an ounce of fear?”

Tommy was the biggest man, obviously.

“I’ve seen a lot of crap,” Tommy said, jerking his chin up.

“The records we pulled about you had numerous teacher reports of you acting out,” Sam said, tapping his fingers on the table. Tommy bristled a bit—obviously, they would get records on him, but how could they read through them so fast? “But maybe you just needed a better outlet. Perhaps, someday, you could come work for me?”

Tommy arched an eyebrow. Was that flattery? Sam seemed genuine. “And who exactly would I be working for?”

Sam leaned back in his seat, folding his hands together on his lap. “I won’t give you our name, but we are a non-governmental security agency whose goals are to protect the earth from intergalactic enemies, create extraterrestrial allies, cover up alien activity from public knowledge, and examine the rest of the universe. We have interacted with Essempi, the alien organization you described. We recruit people from all over the world; NASA scientists, ex-military, and experts in just about any field you can imagine. Technology, astrology, biology, physiology, anthropology—”

“Lot of ‘ologies,’” Tommy cut in.

Sam still looked amused. “Quite. Many of our members were pulled from other positions, but we also recruit some promising young minds and bodies for early training.” Again, he gave Tommy an appraising look.

“How long have you known about aliens?” Tommy asked, still not trusting anything this guy was dishing out quite yet.

“1955,” Sam answered immediately.

Tommy’s draw dropped. “Over sixty years?” Longer than this sucker had been alive.

Sam inclined his head in acknowledgement. “In 1955, an Essempi delegation revealed themselves to our world’s leaders. They explained to us the basics of the rest of the universe—that is, other alien races and interplanetary systems. The world’s leaders at the time decided to abstain from allowing extraterrestrials to come to our planet and forged my organization to represent the earth, defend it if necessary, and study other life forms.”

“Your organization?” Tommy repeated. “But you’re too young to have made this thing, and some big leader doesn’t have the time to handle some kid like me…” Tommy trailed off at Sam’s mixed expression, smugness that faded into a hint of sympathy.

“I do lead this, however,” Sam said. “I am in full command of our planet’s greatest resources that are dedicated to all of our planet’s communications with aliens.”

Well, alright then. And this guy didn’t want Tommy to call him ‘agent’?

“Why?” Tommy asked suddenly. “Why keep aliens a secret from everybody? Why didn’t our world leaders tell people immediately, or at least since nineteen-something-or-other?”

Sam tilted his head. “How well do you know your history, Tommy?”

“You’re the stalker who dug up my records, you tell me what grade I got in history class.”

Another amused smile. Like Tommy was a comedian or something. “Fair enough. 1955 was just ten years after World War II. It was also during the Cold War. Countries had their own problems, and did not believe earth was ready to be open to the universe.”

Tommy bristled again. “Why do they get to decide? Don’t people deserve to know?”

“Tommy,” Sam said patiently, “Our world is incredibly divided. Do you think we’re ready to allow whole new beings onto our planet? To let our own people leave our planet, and get into trouble, or cause it? I don’t know how much those aliens told you about planets integrating with Essempi, but it is not always beneficial.”

Now there, Tommy was way out of his depth. He crossed his arms and thumped back in his seat petulantly.

“That’s dumb,” Tommy muttered.

Sam shrugged a shoulder again. “Perhaps. I let the politicians hash it out. My job is to study our options and defend us however necessary.”

“Some job you did,” Tommy grunted. “I got freaking abducted.”

“Yes,” Sam said softly, tapping a few keys on his laptop. “My apologies for that. Our Essempi allies give us certain basic technologies, like translators—” he gestured to his necklace, “—and they also usually get us the most recent cloaking-technology detectors, but those are always changing. You were caught just within the curb where we were behind a model. My theory is that some bandits with the latest model swiped by our planet and took you just as a specimen to sell.”

Tommy was really starting to hate cloaking technology.

Tommy mulled all this information over for a moment. “So what happens now?”

“Now?” Sam said, “Now you return home. After we are sure you are completely healthy and have told us all you can, we will return you to civilian life. You’ll stay here while that happens; I’ll make sure you’ll be comfortable here, before you go back to the way things were before.” He gave Tommy a small smile. “Although you may receive an invitation to special military training someday.”

Tommy’s stomach twisted sourly.

Sam continued on, ignorant. “It could take a few months to make absolutely sure, and of course, you won’t be able to tell anyone about your experience. We’ll have a cover story for your disappearance. But you’ll be returned like nothing happened.”

‘Like nothing happened…’

Like Wilbur sneaking him out of his crate at night didn’t happen. Like Phil’s little caring touches didn’t happen. Like Techno softening when Tommy crept up to him didn’t happen. Like all of them laughing and enjoying music in the living room didn’t happen.

Tommy’s hands curled into fists.

“What else do you want to ask me?” Sam left open.

Tommy breathed out slowly through his nose. “Nothing. Let’s continue.”

-

“Well,” Sam said, closing his laptop with a light snap, “I think that’s enough for now. Thank you for staying with me for so long. You must be tired.”

He was. Tommy’s brain felt like overturned dirt with how many memories he’d dug up. He hummed in agreement, slouched over on the table. It felt like he’d been here for hours, explaining everything, all the way to where he ended up in this room.

Sam gave that same amused smile. “I’ll have our guards take you to one of our guest rooms where you can sleep. Do you want me to take your translator?”

Tommy’s hands immediately came up to rest protectively over the emerald necklace. “What? Why?”

“To return it to the aliens that came with you,” Sam explained easily. “It is theirs, right?”

“You’re going to see them?” Tommy asked, perking up.

Sam nodded. “Yes, I will interview them on their side of the story. I believe you, of course—” he added with a nod of his head, “—I just need all the details and perspectives. I’ll admit, Tommy…” Sam’s hand rested on top of the closed laptop, “Your story is worrying. There’s at least one other group of aliens that knows earth exists, slipped through our defenses, and took one of our own.” The hand on the table closed into a fist. “I assure you, I won’t let it happen again.”

Sam sighed. “I also need to make sure your alien companions won’t reveal us to the rest of the galaxy. Essempi has agreed to let us remain unknown, and our planet will remain that way.”

Tommy dug his nails into his palms. “Can I see them?”

Sam looked hesitant. “Tommy,” he said slowly, “I understand from what you told me that you got attached to these aliens. But you’re only a child. I think it’s best you stay away from them.”

No, no, Tommy wasn’t ready.

“Please?” Tommy asked, hoping, not sure what he’d do if he never saw them again. “I said I would see them off. Let me say goodbye?”

He looked at Sam and Sam looked at him, and Tommy saw the crack of sympathy creep into Sam’s eyes.

“…Alright,” Sam said finally, and he stood up. “Come on.”

Tommy let out a long exhale. “Thank you.”

-

The room where Wilbur, Phil, and Techno were being kept had at least a dozen guards outside it. Tommy’s a bit insulted on their behalf, but he also remembered how scared he was of Techno when they first met. At least those guards are on the outside of the room—there are only two on the inside.

The room Sam made the three aliens wait in for the past couple of hours is big and the walls are lined with black couches. It’s clearly a waiting room of some sort, but it’s incredibly dull and boring, with no pictures on the light-grey walls and no windows. Tommy would hate it here, and he feels guilty for leaving Wilbur, Phil, and Techno here for so long, even if it wasn’t up to him.

Phil is perched on one of the couches, cross-legged and wings folded, while Techno sits on the floor. Even sitting on the ground, Techno is at least as tall as everyone in the room. Wilbur, however, appears to have been pacing.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says the moment Tommy walks in. His scales, which had been reddish-orange and various shades of green like some awful Christmas design, quickly shifts to light blue. “You’re back.”

He sounds so relieved. Like he didn’t think he’d see Tommy again.

It makes Tommy’s heart tight.

“Yeah I am,” Tommy shrugs off. “They couldn’t keep me away. I would fight them.”

Wilbur smiled, and to Tommy’s delight, specks of yellow came onto his scales. “Sure you would, child.”

“Oi!” Tommy objected. “I could take you!”

“Sure about that, gremlin?” Wilbur purrs, creeping closer.

Tommy’s brain stupidly reminds him of getting burrito’d.

Tommy crosses his arms. “Yeah, but I don’t think you want to get dog-piled on by my new friends.” He jerked his head in the direction of the guards at the door. They were neutral and stone-faced as ever, but Tommy thought they seemed to be eying Wilbur’s mock-threatening stance very closely. He frowns at them; Wilbur would never hurt him, they’re just playing.

Next to him, Sam’s face flickers with amusement, but it quickly vanishes beneath a cool mask of indifference.

“I have finished interviewing Tommy for now,” Sam said, hands held behind his back. “I want to thank you three for taking care of him, and for returning him to us. Not just anyone would have done so.”

“Not a problem, mate,” Phil said, standing up from the couch. “We understand how stressful it can be to lose a fledgling. Each one is precious, and Tommy is no exception.” Phil’s voice was friendly, but there was an odd tightness to it. Techno gave a grunt of agreement, still sitting on the floor, somewhat slouched and staring blankly at the wall.

Sam inclined his head. “I would like to ask you three some questions before you leave our planet. But Tommy wanted to say goodbye first.”

“Goodbye?” Wilbur repeated, eyes shifting back to Tommy. Dark blue pattered over his scales like raindrops in a puddle. “This is goodbye?”

Tommy shuffled on his feet, but Sam answered for him. “Yes, after we’re sure Tommy is alright, he’ll be returned to the foster care system as before.”

“’Foster care,’” Techno said suddenly. “You said that before, when talking to us through the comms. What does that mean?”

Uh…

Tommy wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “It—well—” Tommy glanced back at Sam, pleading for help.

Sam, terrific man, aided him immediately, for all that his tone was indifferent. “Children without parents on our planet are often put into foster care systems, where a certified parental figure temporarily watches over them, to the point of further exchange, adoption, or adulthood.”

Tommy blinks at Sam as Sam stares blankly at the three aliens. Was that a dictionary definition? Why did he know the definition of foster care? Did Sam just memorize random definitions of words in the dictionary?

“Adoption?” Wilbur repeated.

“Without parents?” Phil also chimed in. His eyes locked onto Tommy, suddenly filled with sympathy. “Oh, Tommy…”

Tommy suddenly felt very small.

Maybe coming to say goodbye hadn’t been the greatest idea. But he wouldn’t have been able to do that to them, to up and leave like everything they’d done for him meant nothing.

It had meant everything.

Tommy looked at the floor. “I won’t hold you back from getting on your way,” he murmured. “Just wanted to say ‘bye.”

Techno suddenly let out a loud snorting sound. “Did you people realize he was gone?” Tommy looked up in surprise, but Techno was looking at Sam.

“I’m sorry?” Sam said cautiously.

“Tommy,” Techno clarified. “When he disappeared. Did you realize he was gone? That he’d been abducted?”

There was a slight pause. Sam continues with his indifferent tone. “Tommy was reported missing the evening after he disappeared. I am sure that the local authorities in his area searched for him. That’s not my jurisdiction, however.”

“Is that a no?” Techno growled.

“That depends on the details of the question,” Sam shot back stubbornly. “Our planet did know he was gone, yes. We did not, however, realize he was abducted by aliens. It is not uncommon for foster children to run away from their homes and go missing.”

“’Not uncommon’?” Phil repeated, looking shocked. His wings fluttered partially open in surprise. “Why would children run from homes that provide for them? And what about his ‘temporary’ parents? Were they worried?”

Tommy snorted, those parents barely realized he was there. He wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t reported him missing for a few days, no matter what Sam said.

Then he realized everyone was looking at him because of the snort and he ducked his head, wishing he could hide.

Sam, again, came to his rescue. “I do not know. I am not in communication with them. He had only been with those parents for a few weeks before his abduction. Considering they reported him missing, I assume so.”

“You ‘assume’?” Wilbur repeated, sounding aghast. Brown and red pulsed around his scales. “And Tommy had only been there for a few weeks?”

“Is there a problem?” Sam suddenly said, sounding exasperated. “We have millions of children across this planet. We register and watch over them, but many still fall through the cracks. We knew Tommy was missing but that wasn’t unique. Nonetheless, he’s back, and we’re grateful that you returned him.”

Wilbur wasn’t pacified. “What would have happened if we hadn’t returned him?”

“Wilbur,” Tommy muttered, feeling a bit like a rope in a tug-of-war. Wilbur glanced at him, but returned his accusing glare back at Sam.

Sam stared Wilbur down for a moment. Wilbur was taller by a few inches, and clearly angry, but somehow Sam looked calm and authoritative nonetheless.

“I believe,” Sam said softly, “that this line of questioning is not your concern.”

Tommy knew. He would have been written off as missing. They would have looked for a bit and then moved on to something else. Kept him on records, but would have had other things to worry about.

Thorns of red sprouted over Wilbur’s body at Sam’s refusal to answer.

“Sorry, mate,” Phil said abruptly, stepping between Wilbur and Sam with crinkled eyes. “We’re just worried about Tommy, is all. We’ve gotten fond of him. He’s a good kid, as I’m sure you’ve figured out already. Surely you can tell us what will happen to him now, right?”

Sam looked down on Phil, the only alien shorter than him, the one who looked the least strong, with his thin bird arms and smaller stature. But Tommy knew that Phil was deceptively dangerous, from their play-wrestlings and wrangling Tommy into things. Phil had always been gentle, but Tommy had felt his restrained strength, and right now, those kind eyes didn’t hold the warmth they did when they looked at Tommy.

“My organization’s duty is to keep the knowledge of alien life away from the public,” Sam said finally. “Tommy will be returned to foster care as if nothing happened.”

Wilbur was turning far more red, his arms shaking at his sides.

Tommy glanced back and noticed the two guards tightening their grip on their weapons.

“Ah,” Phil said, as if that answer was perfectly satisfactory. “Then, just one more question… What exactly did you mean when you said ‘adoption’?”

Tommy’s brain stuttered. What did Phil want, asking about that?

Sam stared down at Phil for a long, painful eight seconds. “…I believe other planets are aware of the concept.”

“Well, yes, I know what it means,” Phil brushes off, sounding for all the world like a neighbor discussing the weather. “I just wanted you to expand on how you were using it, mate.” Phil’s eye-crinkles are nothing but polite.

Sam says nothing, just continues to stare down at Phil.

Techno stands suddenly with a groan, and Tommy feels the guards at the door tense behind him. Techno pays them no mind and comes up behind Phil, resting a hoofed-hand gently on the feathered alien’s shoulder.

“I believe, Phil,” Techno says casually, “that he meant Tommy is up for adoption on this planet.”

Tommy glances at Wilbur, who is watching the other two with some sort of rapt, desperate, hopeful attention.

“That’s what I thought he said,” Phil answered Techno pleasantly. Then he turns back to Sam, tone still bright and friendly. “Then, might we adopt Tommy, in that case?”

There’s a very long pause where Tommy has absolutely no thoughts. Maybe a whole minute.

Eventually, Tommy’s brain kicks in, and he manages to say, “Might you what-now?”

“The human foster care does not consider aliens eligible to register for adoption on this planet,” Sam says finally. “To be clear: No.”

“Why not?” Wilbur finally speaks up, voice a little more high-pitched, his colors of red and brown keep shifting, unable to remain still. “Your planet barely noticed Tommy was gone the first time. What does it matter if he never really comes back?”

“Easy Wilbur,” Phil murmurs to the other alien.

Tommy’s mind is spiraling.

“I can’t just let you take a human child,” Sam says, now a bit of his frustration spiking through his calm demeanor.

“We wouldn’t hurt him,” Techno says with a shrug. “Technically we’ve already adopted him. And we watched over him fine before now, right?”

“You treated him like a pet!” Sam says, voice raising.

Wilbur becomes bright tomato red. “We didn’t know—!”

“Wait.”

Phil’s voice cuts Wilbur off. Both Wilbur and Techno turn to him, and the rising anger in the air gets blown away.

“Agent Sam is right,” Phil says finally.

“What?!” Wilbur says, aghast.

“We did treat Tommy as a pet before,” Phil goes on, wings stiff at his sides. “And that was wrong, because he was intelligent and deserved to be recognized as such. We didn’t know, but we do now, so things can’t be the same as they were. We took Tommy in without his consent, and treated him as an animal. But he’s a person, with his own opinions, and he can make his own decisions. So, Tommy?”

Tommy’s attention, buzzing around between half-formed ideas in his head like gnats in a jar, zeroed in on Phil.

Phil’s eyes are crinkled, warm, but something about them seems shy. On his sides, his arms spread out, like the wings of a mother bird preparing to cover her young.

“Do you want to be part of our family?”

Tommy’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Phil took a few steps closer, hands open at his sides. “Come with us, Tommy. We’ve loved having you. You fit in so well with us. We don’t want you to go. So stay.”

Techno grunts behind him. “You’re a little nuisance,” he says, “but I wouldn’t trade you for the stars, runt.”

Tommy didn’t understand. Sure, he’d imagined being adopted before, loads of times, picturing a pair of parents, sometimes already with a kid, smiling at him and liking him and recognizing him. And they wouldn’t be annoyed with him, wouldn’t push him away, would want to spend time with him.

He’d never imagined it like this. Not with fur and feathers and scales.

“Tommy…” Sam said unsurely, and Tommy realized that he could put this all to a stop, just by saying no. Sam would appreciate it. Sam wanted him to say no. That’s what the human was waiting for. The three aliens would drop it if Tommy denied them.

No words could form in Tommy’s throat.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, and Tommy blinks at the tall, scaled alien. “I…I understand if you want to leave us. You can go. That—that would be fine.” Wilbur sounded choked. “But you would make us so happy if you stayed, Toms.”

Wilbur’s scales seemed to be shimmering with how quickly they changed. Flickering between brief flashes of yellow and pink, and roiling with dark blue. Shaky and unsure.

“You want…me?” Tommy asks in a small voice, tapping his chest, which felt so frail all of a sudden. “Even though I’m intelligent? Even though I can talk, and I’m not a pet?”

A spark of light orange crossed over Wilbur’s scales before turning back to the churning mesh of the other three. “Of course we still want you, Tommy,” he said softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We want you all the more, now that we know. You’re still our Theseus, our Tommy. We love you. Even though we…”

Wilbur trailed off, and Tommy hesitated.

Wilbur took a hesitant half-step forward, gentle but determined. “It will be better this time, Tommy. Whatever you want, we can do it. You can pick out your own foods, tell us when you want to be alone, have your own room—” a twist of dark blue coiled directly over the center of Wilbur’s chest, “—things would be better. We can show you the universe, sweetheart. If you want. Whatever you want.”

Tommy hadn’t imagined it like this.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He walked forward into Wilbur’s arms. “I want to stay with you,” he whispered.

“Oh Sunshine,” Wilbur said. Those long lanky arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer to a cool chest. Dark blue is overrun with pink, with little trickles of yellow and gold. Tommy’s head was tucked under Wilbur’s chin, cool scales nuzzling into his hair. One long-fingered clawed hand scratched gently at his neck. “Of course you can stay with us.”

And Tommy feels his heart soar, because this might not be what he imagined, but it’s even better. It feels better, it feels so strong and genuine and true.

“No. He can’t.”

Wilbur’s tight grip shifts from being gentle and welcoming to possessive and jealous, a soft hiss breathed out through pointed fangs. Tommy squirms, trying to peek out at Sam. He manages to see, but Wilbur keeps him tucked tight against him.

“What’s that, mate?” Phil says cheerfully.

Sam is not placated. “Tommy is a human. I cannot let you take him.”

Techno huffs. “You let other aliens take him.”

Sam bristled. “That wasn’t intentional.”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Wilbur says, running a hand down the side of Tommy’s head. “He said he’s ours. So he’s ours.” Tommy shivered in Wilbur’s grip at the possessiveness in his tone.

“He’s a minor,” Sam argues. “A child. He can’t make decisions like that.”

“Do your other children have to wait until they’re old enough to be able to decide to be adopted?” Techno huffs.

Sam looks at Tommy beseechingly. “Tommy, please,” he says, “I know you enjoyed being with them, but this isn’t safe. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“They treated me kinder than my foster families, even when they thought I was an animal,” Tommy says, pressing himself against Wilbur. “I want to go with them.”

Sam looks stricken, torn. “I can make sure you’re given to a good family this time. I can—I can have you be watched over here, if need be.” He pauses, something hesitant but impulsive in his eyes. “I can watch over you. One way or another, you’ll have a good family.”

Tommy gave Wilbur a light squeeze. “This is a good family.”

Wilbur let out an affectionate trilling sound and squeezed back.

Sam shakes his head and looks back at Phil. “Be reasonable. I can’t let you trapeze around the galaxy with a child.”

“Earth has trapeze?” Wilbur suddenly says brightly. “Oh that’s nice.” Tommy wrinkles his nose a bit as Wilbur tilts his head to lean it more against Tommy’s.

“Fledglings are precious,” Phil said with a nod, ignoring Wil. But his eyes sparked with something threatening. “And we’ll protect ours.”

Sam’s hands became fists at his sides. “I’ve vowed to protect this planet and its people.”

 “You wouldn’t be breaking your so-called vow,” Wilbur dismisses. He probably would have waved the idea away with his hand if he weren’t occupied holding Tommy. “We’re perfectly capable of protecting our little Tommy.”

“I’m not little!” Tommy objects, and Wilbur just coos, pink as an awful Valentine’s Day card.

“…I’m sorry, Tommy,” Sam said, and made a gesture with his hand. The door opened, and the dozen guards from outside started coming in, lifting their guns towards Tommy’s family. Tommy’s grip on Wilbur tightened again, this time fearfully. “But I can’t let this happen.”

The room seems darker with all the uniformed soldiers crowding in, Tommy’s heart flutters as he sees them turn their weapons on his three aliens—his family.

Techno growls and steps in front of Wilbur, who’s already baring his needle-teeth. Tommy can feel the Piglin’s rumble through his feet, and Phil starts spreading his wings, feathers bristling, talons flashing.

Several guns click as the soldiers take aim.

“Do not fire yet,” Sam instructs to his soldiers, “Not until I give the command. Tommy,” he says, redirecting his attention to Tommy, and Wilbur’s hold tightens around him immediately, “Tommy, this is your last chance. Just walk over to me. We won’t hurt you no matter what happens, but I can’t protect you while you’re over there. I want you to be safe.”

“Glad we can agree on that last bit, mate,” Phil said cheerfully. “Unfortunately, we won’t hold the same policy for you.” Phil’s beak clacks sharply at the end, and Tommy sees Techno flex his huge, meaty fingers.

Tommy reaches up and grabs Wilbur’s forearm. “Wait,” he says, and just like that, everyone in the room pauses, listening. He’s kind of shocked, used to being unheard both as an orphan and as a pet, but he doesn’t have time to process how strange it is. “I don’t want him hurt. He was nice. And he’s just trying to look out for me.”

Wilbur looks down at him lovingly, pink all across his face. Should Wilbur really be pink (a happy-color, Wil had confirmed) when there are several guns pointed at them? “Oh Toms,” he croons, and a cool, clawed finger runs down Tommy’s cheek, “We won’t kill him, then. But you’re part of our family now. We won’t let anyone take you away from us. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Think about this for a moment,” Sam intercedes again. “I won’t let you take Tommy away. And if you fight me, he could get hurt. We outnumber you, there’s no way you’ll win this.”

Tommy’s heart sinks. Sam is right. And even if Tommy doesn’t want to leave the aliens, even if he wants to stay right here with Wilbur forever, it’s selfish to let them get hurt on his behalf. He shifts in Wilbur’s arms, but Wilbur doesn’t let him have any give. “Wilbur,” Tommy murmurs. “He’s right. You can’t take them. Let me go.”

Wilbur runs a hand up Tommy’s arms in his practiced, soothing way. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. We can handle it.”

“You have no weapons,” Sam says coldly.

“Yeah, about that…” and Tommy can hear Techno’s smile.

There’s a sudden ZING! in the air, and though Tommy’s view is blocked by Technoblade’s back, he sees the purple lights that spring from the pig-alien’s hands. The edge of a shield on one end, an ax on the other. Next to him, Phil also holds a blue-tinted shield.

Sam takes a step back in surprise. “What—How—?”

“I told you it wasn’t a waste to get the latest undetectable holo-weapons, Phil,” Techno grunts smugly.

“Yeah, yeah, gloating looks ugly on you,” Phil snides back, and Techno gave a loud snort that made some of the soldiers jerk slightly.

Sam’s surprised expression locks back down into determination. “You’re still outnumbered. Either way, we will defeat you.”

Tommy sees Techno shift the ax. It looks comfortable in his hands. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

At his sides, Sam’s fists tighten. Tommy doesn’t want them all to fight, and Sam doesn’t seem to want to fight with Tommy here, either. “Think logically,” Sam insists again. “Even if you get out of this with Tommy, our planet has an alliance with Essempi. We will report you. We will attain their aid to hunt you down.”

That sounds like a lot of crazy work for little Tommy, and it makes him feel a bit heady, to be honest. It’s more like something earth would do for the president’s kid or some other child people actually cared about. Not some troublesome foster kid they barely noticed was gone before. Does Sam really have the power to do that?

Phil barks a laugh, a loud, caw-like thing. “Essempi? Oh, mate, your ignorance of the universe is showing. Why don’t you give them a call?”

Tommy’s brows furrow at that—both Sam and the aliens hadn’t said anything bad about the Essempi organization before now. And yet, Phil spoke about it like it was made of clowns.

“…A call,” Sam repeats, a new kind of caution in his voice. “Do you truly want me to do that?”

Phil gives a flourish with his wing. “Go ahead. Right now. We’ll wait.”

Sam looks skeptical, and glances at Tommy as if expecting Tommy to know what the heck his aliens are getting at. Tommy just shrugs in Wilbur’s arms, still being cooed over and petted. He might squirm more if he isn’t so focused on what’s going on. Frankly, Wilbur should probably be more focused on their situation, but it’s obvious he isn’t, his scales are still bright pink from head to toe as he holds Tommy tight.

Sam purses his lips and then lifts his wrist, tapping at some sort of bracelet until it lights up with one of the holo-screens Tommy had gotten used to. Whereas usually it stood vertical to display its images to the viewer, this time the holo-screen fell horizontal, and after a few seconds, a transparent being emerged waste-up to stand among them.

Tommy blinked, both at the show of technology and this new being. He couldn’t really…describe it. It was a mishmash of many, many conflicting traits; it had scales, fur, and horns, and the way its body was curved made it hard for Tommy to tell if it was male or female or something else. Primarily, it was a gold color, but it also had bits of red and wore some black loopy-things over its eyes. Its horns went all around its head, like a crown.

“Agent Sam,” the new being greeted with a slight inclination of their head, and Tommy was surprised at how weirdly deep their voice was.

“King Eret,” Sam greeted in return. “We have an issue.”

The flatness in Sam’s tone seems to communicate to this Eret person how severe the issue is. They tilt their head, listening.

“Apparently, a few weeks ago, one of my planet’s children was abducted,” Sam said. Eret straightened, opening their mouth to respond, but Sam cut them off. “Just today, a group of three aliens came to earth to return said child.” Eret’s mouth closed slowly. “Except now, those aliens are threatening to take the child back.”

“Where are they now?” Eret asked urgently.

Sam gave a twisting motion with a finger that confused Tommy for a moment before the new alien turned around and appeared to take in the scene. The black eye-formations flashed white as they landed on Tommy’s family.

“Hulloooo,” Techno sang.

“Hi Eret,” Phil greeted, dipping his beak. “Nice to see you, mate. Hope the last explosion didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

Tommy creased his forehead. Phil’s eyes were still crinkled and his tone was still light, but there was something different about him, even from the fake way he’d been acting friendly to Sam. In how his feathers were bristled, in how he didn’t seem as warm. Techno as well had an energy around him, like he was moments from pouncing on some weak prey.

“Wilbur?” Tommy whispered questioningly.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” Wilbur just says into his head, twirling a lock of hair with a long finger, just behind Tommy’s ear. “We’ve got it.” So Tommy falls silent, watching the stand off, watching Sam’s eyes flick between Tommy, his family, and the new alien.

There’s a certain stillness to the new alien, a tense paused before they speak. “Philza. Messing with Untouched planets now?” There’s a hint of scorn and disapproval in the words.

Philza shrugs. “Not normally. But the winds of the galaxy guided my wings here.”

Eret somehow manages to look unimpressed without any change in expression. “Did the ‘winds of the galaxy’ make you kidnap a child too? It is unlike you to harm them.” The black eye-form flash in Tommy’s direction.

“I don’t,” Phil refutes immediately. He waves towards Tommy. “The child is perfectly unharmed. We’ve just grown fond of him, and this planet isn’t treating him right, so we’re taking him ourselves. You have my word, absolutely no harm will come to him under my watch.”

There’s something heavy to those last words, and the new alien twitches a horn, which immediately draws Tommy’s attention. Are they horns or are they antennae?

Eret slowly turns their head to look at all the soldiers, guns pointed towards Techno and Phil, who stand between them and Wilbur and Tommy.

“Your word?” Eret repeats.

Tommy sees Sam’s eyes widen in surprise, but Phil cuts him off before he can say anything. “I swear it.”

“His word means nothing—” Sam begins, but Eret turns to him.

“It does,” the alien says. “Philza and his crew has a significant reputation in the galaxy, Agent Sam. And he has never failed to uphold a promise.” The horn-antennae curl downwards in a way that reminds Tommy of a grimacing mouth. “For better or worse.”

Phil gives a lazy, cheeky salute with his wing.

Sam is not appeased. “Our alliance states you are to help against threats—”

“It also states that Essempi may give advice when earth interacts with the rest of the intelligent galaxy,” Eret presses on. “Here is my advice in this situation: let them go.”

Techno snorts. “Good advice.”

Eret ignores him. “You do not understand who these aliens are, Agent Sam, but I do. And I know you cannot take them. Your child will not be harmed. And I am assuming from its place that it does not object to the situation.”

Everyone turns towards Tommy and Tommy blushes a bit in embarrassment. “Er—no,” he says, and then remembers that Eret is some sort of alien king, so he tacks on, “Your Majesty.”

Above him, Wilbur trills a soft chuckle, and Tommy elbows him lightly.

“You don’t understand,” Sam grits out frustratedly.

“I will be happy to discuss it with you,” Eret says smoothly. “But here is my advice: don’t antagonize them. I know them. I know earth. I know both party’s capabilities.” Eret’s black eyes meet Sam’s head-on. “I know who would win in a confrontation. It would not be you, Agent Sam.”

Wilbur lets out an airy laugh. “You flatter us, Eret.”

Sam stared at Eret. And Eret stared back. Finally Sam’s gaze broke away to look towards Tommy, locked into Wilbur’s embrace.

“He won’t be harmed,” Phil says again from the side.

Tommy watches as Sam’s fists clench, before the agent tears his gaze away. He then glared up at Techno. “I won’t let you get away with this.”

Techno gave him a feral grin. “You and a hundred other planets.”

Another heavy pause.

“Stand down,” Sam says finally.

The soldiers obey immediately, not appearing either relieved or reluctant through the gas masks or in their body language. Tommy thinks it’s kind of creepy, how they move like robots.

“Well,” Sam says stiffly, his hand holding up the projecting watch clenched. “I have a mess to handle, then.”

King Eret bowed their head—perhaps an apology, perhaps out of respect. “I will await your next call.”

They vanished with a flicker of light.

“Well,” Phil says, clapping his hands, “Now that that’s all settled, mind helping us out a bit, mate?”

Sam glares forward, teeth gritted. “You expect me to help you? With what?”

“Tommy said he needs clothes,” Phil gestured over his shoulder to Tommy, still in Wilbur’s arms.

“Huh?” Tommy pipes up, trying to lift his head more, but Wilbur just soothes him down.

“Clothes, mate,” Phil glanced over his shoulder, eyes crinkled. “You said you need them, and the last aliens who took you first didn’t let you have any. We’ll get some for you. And anything else you’ll need.” Phil turns back to Sam. “So. Clothes?”

Sam looks affronted. “You want me not only to allow your kidnapping of a child, but to help you with it?”

Techno rolls back a shoulder. “Well if you don’t, we’d be happy to go outside and find some ourselves. Shouldn’t be a problem…for us.”

A beat of silence.

Tommy ducks his smile into Wilbur’s arm, and the gentle stroke through his hair made him think Wilbur could feel it.

“I will gather the items Tommy will need immediately,” Sam grit out.

“Thanks mate,” Phil said in an oddly nasally tone.

-

An hour or so later, they’re standing outside again, and Sam gives them two neat suitcases that Phil has opened up and is inspecting, Tommy looking over his shoulder. Tommy had told Sam his size (although Sam appeared to have already known), and the agent had arranged for any clothes Tommy could possibly need. There are long sleeves and short sleeves and jackets, but also just basic things like a toothbrush, small supply of toothpaste, and the like. Tommy isn’t sure he needs to brush his teeth in space—the golden pellets have never made his breath smell bad and his teeth feel alright—but he appreciates it.

Phil pokes through the items like a parent checking to make sure their child has everything for a trip, until he pulls out a small chip in the side of the suitcase, having to slice through its fabric with his claws.

Phil holds it up, looking at Sam with crinkled eyes. “Nice try, mate.”

Sam’s expression remains stony.

Tommy feels awkward, but he just waits on the side. Phil flicks away the tracker and turns to him. “This seem like everything you need, mate?”

Tommy nods and then glances at Sam nervously. “Thanks, Sam.”

Tommy doesn’t look up again, though he feels Sam’s eyes on him like pinpricks on his neck.

“Contact me if anything goes wrong, Tommy,” Sam finally says. “I swear, I’ll find a way to help you.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I don’t need help. I have everything I need.”

Wilbur throws an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and pulls him close. “Marvelous. This was fun, but I think we should get going.”

With that, Wilbur steers Tommy back up the ramp of their ship. Phil and Techno stay behind for a moment, but Wilbur seems determined to have Tommy back inside as soon as possible. They go straight to the steering room and Wilbur starts typing buttons to warm it up.

Tommy crinkles his nose. “Hated my planet that much, Wil?”

“They tried to take you from me,” Wilbur says bluntly, long fingers plucking at buttons like chords on his not-guitar. “Bad memories. Goodbye, planet, thanks for the brother, I hope to never see you again.” Wilbur waves a hand towards the outlook without looking up.

“Brother?” Tommy repeats softly.

Wilbur keeps his eyes on the controls, but he grows a needle-toothed smile that is not at all scary anymore. “Not a pet. Brother. If you like.” His smile turns devious. “Or gremlin if not.”

Tommy laughs and shoves Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur looks up then, grinning, and nudges Tommy back with his own.

“I meant it all, by the way,” Wilbur says. “Whatever you want, it’s yours. Your own chair at the table, your DNA in our recognition system to open doors, your own room—I can help you design it, if you like.”

Tommy is kind of looking forward to having his own space, his own privacy, but…part of him will miss Wilbur. He wonders if he can get Wilbur to fall asleep on him again, or maybe sneak into Wilbur’s room once in a while.

“That sounds nice,” Tommy says softly.

It’s at that point that Phil and Techno walk in, Techno carrying both of Tommy’s suitcases and setting them down by the door.

“That worked out nicely,” Phil says, taking a seat.

Techno gives a snort. “Eret came in clutch, surprisingly.”

“We’ll have to try to leave less collateral damage next time as a thank-you,” Wilbur agrees.

“Oh wait a minute,” Tommy says. He turns to fully face his three new family members. “You guys are galactic criminals?”

The three aliens suddenly pause.

“I mean,” Techno finally says, “it depends on what planet you’re on. Here, technically, we aren’t legally recognized as convicts.”

“That will probably change real soon,” Wilbur mutters.

“Just in a couple of systems,” Phil said gently to Tommy, ignoring the other two. “And a few individual planets. And some cities. And some are under other aliases. Plus the crimes they don’t know for sure we did. Really, it’s not much.”

“That’s…not a problem, is it?” Wilbur asked unsurely, a bit of grey peeking through the pink on his scales.

Honestly…Tommy wasn’t sure. “What kind of things do you do?”

He watches Techno fiddle with the bracelet that Tommy is pretty sure has the holo-weapons in it. “We take out corrupt government officials. The kind of people who’ve become too powerful for them to be brought to justice by the law. Other things, too, like break through blockades so food and supplies can reach starved and impoverished areas. We go from place to place and do what’s needed.”

“Techno once created an agricultural system that farmed 242,000 potatoes in one day to feed a city going through a famine,” Phil pipes in.

Tommy crinkles his nose up. “Potatoes?” Or some sort of alien equivalent.

“They’re the best food,” Techno says defensively, hunching a bit over his controls. “Though apparently it was still illegal because it wasn’t approved by the planet’s government.”

Tommy barks out a laugh. “Seriously? Those are your crimes? Growing too many potatoes?” He leans back and thumps his arm against Wilbur. “Provided you weren’t, like, trafficking slaves or something, it doesn’t matter to me at all. I didn’t think you guys would do that, but I also only really met you today, by some standards.” He pokes Wil’s side. “You’re a pathetic villain.”

Wilbur huffs, throwing an arm around Tommy. “I’m a great villain, my wanted posters look very intimidating. And you’re part of our villainous crew now, Toms.”

It feels weird, knowing that every time Wilbur, Phil, and Techno left the ship, they were probably doing something illegal on the outside. Then they would come home to Tommy and goof off, playing and snuggling.

Oh right. This is home now. And Tommy beams at the thought.

“Alright then, crime boy,” Tommy snarks, grinning from ear to ear. “Think you can teach me a thing or two?”

Shades of pink blossomed around Wilbur’s scales as the lizard-fish-alien smiled, completely covering him until he looked sort of like a flamingo. “Absolutely, Sunshine.”

Tommy traces the pink scales on Wilbur’s arm, which seemed to glitter under his touch. Wilbur leans more onto him, humming, nuzzling into Tommy’s hair.

“Have you figured out what the pink means?” Wilbur says softly into his ear.

Tommy smiles. “I already know.” He turns his face into Wilbur’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”