Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Thank you, have a nice day,” Tommy says politely to the customer, grinning brightly to the next person happening upon his stall. “Lovely to see you ma’am! Whatcha looking for today?”

It’s a good day today. The sun is out without a cloud in sight, bringing with it the masses of people to the market. Smells dance in the air, carried by the soft breeze. Kids run around their parents' feet, laughing and giggling in delight as they tackle each other. Shouts of people calling out what they’re selling ring loudly against the noise. 

Messenger boys rush and push through the crowd to get where they need to be, arms full of parcels. Women hug their baskets close, keeping a watchful eye on their children as they haggle down the price of some fruit or vegetable with the local farmers. Men walk to and from work as the time slowly trudges on with the rising of the sun.

Everyone seems to be out and about to enjoy the sweet air that spring brings. People open up their doors to let in the freshness of the day, sweeping away the dust on their doorsteps. Clothing lines get thrown up, crisscrossing between buildings like tightropes high in the sky. The clothes wave in the light gusts of wind, painting the sky with pops of color against the bright blue canvas. 

But most of all, the booths and stalls of every farmer, baker, seamstress, black smith, armorer, weaponsmith, you name it, are bursting and bustling with what they wish to sell.

His vendor, one among many and squished between many, many more, sells the gifts of the forest that dwells outside the town’s walls. Mushrooms, wild vegetables, the occasional berry, medicinal herbs, spices. Whatever you wanted, he could find it, for the right price of course. 

The stall he resides in is old with time and love, but it remains sturdy. A vibrant red cloth hangs above his head, stretching to all of the four posts, filled with patches of mismatched material and string. The ledges that wrap around curve to his right, displaying what he has to offer. Jars and baskets litter the space in a cacophony of disorder. 

Behind him, two of the posts connect together with a wall of wood where his dried herbs hang up for sale. He had added a shelving unit against the wall when he had first found the mangled scrap of rolling lumber. It was a delight to find he could wheel the thing around with the help of a donkey or a horse. 

Under the counters, more drawers are filled to the brim with goods. Sometimes they won’t even close all the way, having to step around them throughout the day before he could bring it back home and patch the old thing up. Today though, he doesn’t have any of those problems.

Things are flying off the shelves like you wouldn’t believe. It was like they were in the middle of a budding festival or they had a troop of soldiers visiting during their endless pursuit for glory. Of course, he knows something like that isn’t happening today. He’s just been lucky, choosing to set up his stall in the center of town, just across from the bubbling fountain. The lovely day doesn’t hurt either. 

It was a learning process, figuring out that the amount of money you got at the end of the day was not because of what you were selling, but where you sold it. Especially who you decided to put your stall next to. 

Settling next to the stall of someone selling grotesque things used for dark witchcraft? No chance. Squish yourself in between the booths of both the baker and the seamstress? You wouldn’t even be able to begin to imagine how fast things would sell. 

Tommy steps out of his half-wagon half-vendor contraption, closing the door he had installed behind him and pulling down two thick pieces of wood to hide his wares from sticky fingers. 

He makes sure his horse–Clementine–is still attached to the stall, bumping his forehead to her’s in greeting. She immediately smells the sugar in his pocket, tipping her head forward to try and fit her nose into the hole. He grabs a couple for her to nibble on with a laugh. 

A woman looking for herbs had traded him a whole jar of sugar cubes. With the amount of sugar he has now, he won’t have to buy anymore for at least a month.

After a quick stroke of the beast’s head, he steps into the masses. Easily, he makes his own path from the dense crowd like a captain at the helm of their ship, parting the sea under its great hull. 

With a basket in hand, a heavy purse of coins tucked under his shirt, and a dagger fastened to his belt, he goes to get what he can’t find in the forest. 

The baker is first, who is always a delight to talk to, exchanging jokes as they bargain prices. He ends up victorious, getting two loaves of warm bread at the low price of two copper pieces.

Next is the butcher, where he only asks for what will last him at least a week and two weeks at most if he stretches it out. As much as he hates to admit it, the butcher has always scared him shitless with her scarred skin and dark eyes always scanning the area.

After that quick interaction, he makes his way to the fletcher that is always stationed where the crowds always seem to disperse. It’s not at the edges of the village by a long shot, it’s just farther away from the main square than you would think someone would try to sell their goods. To be fair though, less competition. 

They exchange a quick conversation, each asking how the other is doing and catching up on the little things, before he pays for the arrows. With the amount of coins he’s gotten today, he doesn’t feel guilty about spending some of it on these arrows he’s had his eye on for a while. 

They’re made of strong dark oak with sharp red feathers at the end and a steel arrow head. They’ll be wonderful for keeping the foxes and pesky moles out of his gardens. One perfectly aimed arrow notched on his bow and they would be out with only a single sharp sensation.

He says his thanks, bowing his head in respect, and then he’s off to his stall. Tommy takes his time however, letting his eyes marvel at the expensive jewelry glimmering in the sunlight. Some are inlaid with jewels untold. Sapphires, opals, rubies, emeralds, diamonds. Others are old with the promise of magic thrumming through the dying metal it resides in. Despite their age, they still retain their beauty, dancing prettily in the sunlight.

Sometimes he can smell the artificial perfume of something that shouldn’t exist. He won’t lie, he’s always been good at finding things that hold magic. It’s great for buying certain supplies at the Noctis market, but he wouldn’t be caught dead doing that in the daylight. You could easily be hanged or burned at the stake for practicing, buying or selling magic. Only if you got caught, of course. 

Along the way, he decides to buy a small container of honey, some more salt, and a couple extra jars for when he starts making preserves. 

He passes the toolsmith and a shining iron shovel catches his eye. His old one is falling apart at the handle and it would really be a pain to have to dig up some of the ores and rooted vegetables he finds by hand. He buys it for two silver pieces and a handful of sugar cubes. A scam really. It should’ve only been one silver, but now he has a new shovel that will last him nice and long.

By the time he has made it back to his stall, the sun is high in the sky, beating down with its great rays of light. He gives Clementine a few more sugar cubes and pops back into his blessedly cool stall, removing the thick wood he had used to cover up his ledges.

Everything seems to be where he left it. He puts his basket down in the corner for later, when he can properly sort through it all.

When he turns back around to face the opening, a small, pudgy hand reaches up onto the counter furthest away from him. The hand slowly curls delicately around a mushroom. 

Normally he would yell at stealers, but going off the fact that all he can see is the top of the kid’s head peeking out from under the ledge, the child probably needs it more than he does. Still, it doesn’t staunch his curiosity. 

“Hello, whatcha doing there kid,” he questions, leaning over to get a good look at the small human.

A frightened squeak escapes their mouth and they tuck their hand back to their side, leaving the mushroom to wobble on the ledge. Their black hair is clearly dirty and their clothes are bulky & tattered. A small side bag is tightened close across their chest, probably holding all they’ve ever owned.

“It’s okay, you can take some mushrooms if you need them,” he smiles, careful to not display his teeth. “I don’t mind, I’ve got plenty more back at home. They surely won’t be missed.”

Tommy picks up a couple more mushrooms, the ones that are delectable whether they are cooked or not, and reaches down to place them in the kid’s hands.

Their jaw drops as the fungi is handed over to them, eyes as big as saucers at the small act of kindness. They look up then back down at their hands, as if Tommy might take it back.

“Thank you,” they whisper, holding the food close to their chest gratefully.

“‘Course kiddo,” a light flashes off in his head. “Wait just a second, I have one more thing for you here…let me just-”

He rummages around in his basket that he had left on the ground, pulling out one of the loaves of bread and breaking off a sizable piece. Jumping back up to his feet, he’s happy to see the kid is still there even if they are eyeing him warily. 

“Here you go,” he smiles again, handing over the piece. “Don’t eat all of it in one go, it’s the good stuff. You’ll get a stomach ache if you eat too much in one sitting.”

He’s learned from experience when he himself was on the streets. Any actual food that he could scrounge up had made him sick with the richness of it all. Over time, his stomach learned the beauty of actual food and that it wasn’t something to get sick over, but it’s still good to pass that knowledge on to the youngsters. 

“Are-are you sure,” they ask, narrowing their eyes at all the food in their hands. He can see how they still shine with hunger at the sight of it all. “I won’t owe you anything, right?”

“Nope, it’s all yours. Promise. I was like you once too,” he winks, with a mischievous smirk. “Used to run around stealing for my next meal. Now hurry along, don’t want the guards catching me giving away free food.”

They give a quick nod before rushing away at a full sprint towards the slums of the town, kicking up a plume of dust. 

“Poor kid,” he sighs.

—

It’s cold in the cages. It always has been. 

He can never find a good spot to sit, always finding something sharp stabbing into his side or his arms or his legs. Something , there’s always something.

He can’t stretch out, he can’t move, he can’t breathe .

His mind always likes to dwell on the things he can’t do, taunting him dangerously. Today though, his mind lets him wander to what it could be like to live outside this small enclosure. To live outside the life of the circus animal that he has always been seen as.

He would make a dazzling escape, a tale to be sung by all. All the greatest songwriters and bards would make piles of gold & silver retelling the tale of the great Siren, the greatest bard of all. They would speak of the way he sang just a few cords to break free from the bonds of the ringmaster.

(Really his throat would ache if he sang just a handful of single worded commands, but the storytellers have no need for such details. They only crave to tell what will bring a crowd to their feet.)

But when he steps out into the world, all they would see would be a human, just like them. Wilbur, they would call him, not Siren. He wouldn’t be ridiculed or poked and prodded at or abandoned . No, he would be respected, a part of something. 

He would have a home where the grass was green, under the sky matching the blue of the water below. Where the trees stood tall, reaching up reverently. Where people talked and laughed and played and danced under the sun without a care in the world. Where he wouldn't be alone .

Well, he isn’t exactly alone right now. His fellow circus animals– people are in the cages beside him. But he is lonely. He can’t reach through the bars of his cage to do something as simple as hold their hand. They can only talk to each other, share their wows and their sorrows and their wishes for vengeance. 

Gods, what he would do to get a hug from the Angel– no, he likes to be called Phil , he reminds himself. Or what he would do to get to braid Techno’s hair– such a funny name to choose for yourself really .

His mind drifts back to his fantasies, Phil and Techno now weaved into the story.

Phil would stretch his magnificent wings, feathers iridescent with purples and greens against a sea of black as they drink in the sunlight. He would fly up, up, up in the sky to unimaginable heights and let the air carry him as he flew.

He always told Wilbur and Techno that he wanted to build great structures of untold grace and beauty. He had said he wanted to build a home for the three of them, away from the rest of the world where their only friend was mother nature herself. 

Something cozy and warm, filled with soft blankets and fluffy pillows. Where they all could rest and talk and joke in front of a warm fireplace. Phil didn’t need for it to be grand, a small cabin high in the mountains , he would say and all three of them would agree. It sounded like home .

He painted wondrous stories of a time when he was younger, when he could explore great mountain ranges and fly over iridescent oceans and cross vast distances from one village to the next. When he was a free man before he was tracked down and captured to be something for people to ogle at. 

Techno doesn’t know what it is like to be truly free, Wilbur even more so. They could only dream of what could be. 

Techno has always been a servant to some autocratic, governmental, corrupt thing . They didn’t even sound human when he described the horrors he had been through before arriving here. He had been auctioned off in black markets, back and forth & forth and back between different places. 

He would be sent to kill, to maim, to slaughter. To do what was considered too dirty for “human hands”. His past is filled with blood stained daggers and blood tainted hands. With twisting, writhing bodies and decapitated heads rolling across the floor. 

There was a time though, when he too was free in a sense. He had figured out how to hide his hog-like features from the rest of the world, pulling them to rest deep under his skin. It was a month, maybe, of running, unable to settle down before someone new was knocking at his door.

It was during that time however, that he learned there was always something worth fighting for. Freedom. He learned to make deals where he would work as some sick bastard’s mercenary for a period of time, with little to no pay, and then he would be free from them. He had learned how to take his own fate in his hands and cling to it with all his might. He learned how he could control his life, no matter how pitiful the ways of doing so were.

But just like Phil, he had made a mistake somewhere along the lines. He had made a deal with a man that was not to be trusted and landed himself in the cage next to Wilbur.

Wilbur is different from the other two. All he’s ever known is this cage, this circus. The red and white striped cloth that comes to a point high above his head. The endless journeys where he can only feel the wagon bumping and rattling over paths he will never see. 

He hasn’t seen the sky. He hasn’t seen the grass or the trees. He has only heard. He has only seen the painstakingly joyous faces of the people who watch and take and smile . All he’s ever known is pain and suffering. 

But tonight, he’ll be free. They all will. Not just the three of them, no. The mermaid who can walk and breathe on land, the duck who can shapeshift, the ram who can breathe fire, and the others he never sees but hears being paraded around on the makeshift stage.

A plan is being made, whispered through the bars of cages. Stories of freedom become the fuel for the great bonfire they’re building. All they need is a match to start the flame.

He feels it deep in his bones, the air vibrating with energy, with rebellion. 

Soon, they’ll be making stories of their own.

—

It’s an hour before nightfall when the men come back from their work in the fields or the mines. They swarm around the few stalls that are left, looking for a bite to eat before they head home. 

The air is thick with the smell of them. Sweat mixes in with the coal and dirt that they leave behind in their wake. They sound like a mob of undead beings with the way they drag their feet across the cobbled streets and mumble words to each other.

He catches a few half discernible words being thrown into the wind. It’s quite funny to think that the men are better gossipers than the women, but they are. Or maybe it’s just that he finds their talk more interesting. Either way it’s a fun pastime to listen in on the snippets before the sun finally begins its descent. 

“Did ya’ here?”

“Hmm?”

“Johnny’s sleep’en with another woman.”

Tommy doesn’t usually have many customers around this time, since the things he sells are not quite enough for a full meal. They’re the rare ingredients that are hard to find other than in the forest that most don't dare enter. It’s the unknown that he sells to the common folk, rare delicacies that come from oversea harbors. 

“My son’s the top of ‘is class.”

“No, mine is, ya’ lying bastard!”

He has, however, a couple leftover jars of soup from his dinner last night. He had put too much of one spice in, having to double the whole recipe. Pulling them out from his storage, he sets them front and center on the ledge, pushing some rooted vegetables out of the way to do so. 

All five of them are gone within minutes, people not even haggling down the price of three copper pieces. The men are all too tired to fight with the price of goods, many stalls taking advantage of this fact. 

Tommy will not stoop that low though. He just gives them the normal price and sends them off with a smile, a few kind words. 

“I heard there’s a circus com’in tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Me’ buddy on the wall said there’s a loaded wag’en com’in this way.”

Now that’s interesting. There hasn’t been a circus here in years, most of them seeing the wall surrounding their village and turning right around. Which is fair and all. Most towns with tall stone walls, heavy wooden gates, and looming lookout towers are fairly superstitious and not welcoming of outsiders in the slightest. 

He’ll have to look out for the circus troupe on his way home then. Maybe he’ll ask them when they’re performing so he can catch a show.

With thoughts of acrobats and jesters jumping and juggling around in his mind, the mob seems to move quicker than usual. Really it’s been an hour and his brain is just telling him that it’s only been a few minutes. But when he looks to the sun just about grazing the edge of the horizon does he realize that it’s time to go home.

The air is filled with the clanging and banging of every right-minded person packing up their stalls to make room for the night life that comes crawling out from the shadows. Soon the drunks and the shut ins will come wandering and everyone’s shutters will be closed tight. He too slowly goes through the motions of packing up.

All of his items get carefully stored away underneath the ledges and the hanging herbs get fastened tighter to the wall they sway from. The wooden pieces he had used earlier are put up once again to keep the dust from kicking in as he makes the journey back home.

He heads out of the stall itself once he’s satisfied, latching the door shut behind him. 

Tightening the once loose saddle on Clemntine’s back, he checks the leathery ropes that attach her to the rolling stall. The horse watches it all happen with heavy lidded eyes as she nibbles on a few blades of grass peeking up through the cracks.

When he looks back out to the square, he finds it deserted, a couple stragglers heading in the direction of a nearby pub. His eyes soften though, as they catch on some pretty daffodils blooming in a plant box hanging from a window sill. It reminds him of his forest and suddenly all he wants to do is head back home and crash.

The thought fuels him to swing up onto Clementine’s back, whispering soft words of encouragement as he spurs her forward. She easily trots her way through the cramped town, pulling the stall behind her as if it isn’t there. Clydesdales just be like that though. 

As they head farther and farther away from the main square, the houses look more like barely standing pieces of rotting wood & crumbling stone. The less the flower boxes are blooming and the more the weeds seem to sprout from the cracks. They become teetering boxes all mushed together with disorder and filth. Moss, beautifully soft and bright, is the only color that these dull houses seem to retain. 

He tears his eyes away to gaze at the great stone wall with its pointed towers and square guard houses squished into the structure haphazardly. They’ve always been a sign of freedom for the people, where they don’t have to live with the chaos that lives outside the walls. Tommy’s only seen them as a cage, something to hate. That’s why his home is the forest instead of the walls that enclose the people like cattle.

The forest could never do him any wrong, could never hurt him more than a scratch of a branch against his cheek. He leaves the animals be as long as they leave him alone, living with them in harmony, the forest remaining ever giving in its wonders. Gods, the flashes of the cancopy that he can just barely see over the wall makes his heart ache. 

He urges Clementine through the cramped roads, straight to where the gates lie. They make it there in record time, guard heads popping out of their towers at their arrival. He slows to a stop, Clem’s hooves ringing out against the stone edge in an impatient rhythm.

“Evening, good sirs,” Tommy calls out, dipping his head in greeting to the guards watching him. “Just heading out for the night.”

“Stay safe kid,” one of them yells from the top of the wall. “See ya’ tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he responds, tipping his head back to display a wide grin.

Another guard, one on the ground this time, motions him forward. Tommy hops down, taking the reins of his horse, guiding her forward with kind words and a comforting hand on her muzzle. 

An annoyed huff of air escapes from her nose. She never really likes the sound of the gate rising. 

The guard reaches a hand around the doorway of the guard house, flicking levers and pressing buttons for the stakes of criss-crossed wood to rise. There’s the tell tale grinding of gears against the force of gravity and chains scratching against each other as they pull up. It rises slowly, tiredly, but sure enough, the wide expanse of land is revealed before him.

The forest curves in from the sides, circling around the beginnings of a path through a swaying meadow. Snow capped mountains radiate with purples and blue grays in the background, watching over the land with a careful gaze.

Continuing to talk to Clementine as he beckons her forward, they make their way through the wall, the gates falling closed with a bang behind them. He rewards her with a few more sugar cubes before getting back up onto the saddle.

Now normally, most people would follow the path in the meadow that eventually led you to the mouth of the forest when they left the village behind. But Tommy isn’t your average town loving citizen, no sir-y. Instead he makes a sharp right, angling his horse to the edge of the forest where his cabin remains concealed from the wandering eye.

It’s a short trot, a small part of the journey that only takes up a tenth of the time in the grand scheme of things. But the minutes drag on as if they are hours of nothingness.

The sounds of his wagon being pulled through the worn down path is a familiar thing that drones in the back of his mind, as is the clip clops and steady breathing of Clementine. It’s in the familiar silence that he remembers that he was going to look out for the circus caravan.

His head is immediately set on a swivel, an alternative to the easy up and down bounce of riding on a horse. Squinting his eyes against the dimming rays of the sun, he can just barely make out a shape coming down the road that he’s never followed.

It’s hard to tell from here, but he can just about make out a thin line of red and white cloth covered wagons and donkeys weighed down by belongings. How the guards on the wall could’ve seen them coming from where they are is beyond him. Maybe they have those- what are they called again -magnifying glasses.

He looks away as soon as his eyes start to water against the everlasting heat of staring at the sun. If they’re arriving tonight, then they probably won’t start until tomorrow, which’ll allow him to get the times of when they’ll be performing from the locals.

But….he feels himself pause. Something about the troupe just isn’t settling right with him. It’s a gut feeling in every sense, churning and tying his stomach into knots. He glances back at the long line again and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, sending alarm bells off in his head.

Yeah, maybe he won’t go see the circus.

Before he can change his decision, they’re entering the first line of trees, the beginnings of green foliage blocking his view. He immediately jumps down, leading Clementine through the bush and past that one muddy spot that he almost got stuck in this morning. 

They step into a clearing, his clearing, and there sits his quaint little cottage. Home .

The stables for Clementine and Henry are tucked under some tall oak trees at the edge of his clearing. Small, but strong enough to withstand the gusts of winds that come with the autumn storms. He hurries to unlatch her from the stall, letting her gallop around and stretch her legs. They can move the stall under the overhang later.

He opens the latch to the door, leaning inside to grab the basket of goods left on the floor, and bounds over to his house. Pulling the key out from where it lies around his neck with a bit of twine, he unlocks his door and steps in.

It smells musty when he takes in a deep breath, an undertone against the strong smelling herbs and spices he has drying on the walls. He steps in further, placing the basket on the counter and slipping off his boots at the door.

There’s a questioning meow and then suddenly he’s being bombarded by a ball of black fur.

“Hey King,” he laughs, cradling the tomcat in his arms as he walks further into his house. “How you doing, big man?”

Tommy gets a purr in response and a head butt before the cat is leaping out of his arms to nose through the contents of the basket.

“There's nothing in there for you,” he scolds fondly, cracking open his windows to let some of the spring air in before it disappears with the sun. “And don’t you go eating that meat. I just bought it today!”

He heads to the back door, the floorboards creaking underneath him. 

“I’m heading out, King. You coming?” Before he can even finish his sentence, the black cat is pawing at the door like his life depends on it. “Oh you little shit. You’re acting like you haven’t been out all day.”

Which, in all fairness, could be true. King could’ve stayed in, lounging about on his bed, taking in the sun’s rays. But there’s no way that would’ve happened. He knows the cat is a wild spirit just like him. Always wanting to be running about, hating the closed in feeling of walls. 

The last time he had left the cat locked up in his house without a means to get out, he had come back to total chaos. Everything that he thought wouldn’t be within his reach, was on the floor, crumpled or shattered or tangled. King had looked very proud of himself, gazing out a window indifferently but sitting as regal as ever. Ever since then he had a piece of wood leaned up against one of the windows like a ramp, and the window just opened enough for him to slip through. 

Pushing the door open, King bolts out, chasing after the chickens pecking at the ground for one final time before they head back into the coop. 

“King! Don’t you go terrorizing the ladies,” he sighs, but there’s a quirk to his lips. “I thought we talked about this man!”

One of the hens squawks, leveling her beady eyed gaze at the tomcat.

“See, she agrees with me.”

It’s a losing battle really. King’s just messing around with the chickens and he’s not really hurting them, so he doesn’t have much of a reason to give him a talking to. He’s still going to fight, of course. He’s Tommy, he doesn’t go down without a fight. But before more words can spill out of his mouth, there's something wet nudging against his shoulder.

“Henry,” he exclaims, whipping around to give the cow a hug. “How are you doing?”

He gets a moo in response, the sound rattling against his body due to the close proximity. 

“Yeah? That’s good to hear. How was my day? Well it was great, thanks for asking!”

Tommy goes on to describe his day, recounting the best parts as she– yes Henry is a she, shush –led him to a nice grassy spot. He plops down while she grazes, continuing to tell her of the little kid stealing his mooshrooms and of the circus coming to town. She watches him through her lashes, content.

Soon enough, Clementine is back from her galavanting and nibbles on some grass next to Henry. King comes along too, done with tormenting the chickens to curl up in Tommy’s lap. It’s there where the four of them watch the sun fall through the treeline, a dazzling display of pinks and oranges filtering through the leaves. 

When all the chickens are finally back in their coop and Tommy runs out of things to say, only then does he get up from his spot in the grass, stretching his arms to the sky.

“Alright ladies and gent, let’s do the rounds.”

Chapter Text

The wagons roll to a stop after what feels like forever. 

A hush rushes out over everyone at the sound of machinery, the wildfire building up blown out like the light of a candle. They must be entering a town then, a town with walls and a gate. That might be a problem.

The wheels start moving again, rattling over cobbled stone. No one dares to speak of escape again, the fire rising higher and higher up their throats till they all choke on the smoke of their words. 

Wilbur, however, can only feel the excitement buzzing under his skin. He’s so close, they are all. It makes him jittery, picking at the skin around his already bitten nails. He wants to move, he wants to do something, he wants to be free. It’s so much more of a possibility now that it makes him want to cry and laugh at the same time, to hear two emotions twisting together in a horrible noise. 

He looks out the bars of his cage to meet Phil’s glowing eyes across from him. They gaze kindly upon him, a small smile flashing for a breath of a moment. They speak of the same wants and the same fears as if they are a mirror image of his own. The avian’s feathers ruffle in anticipation, the noise catching the eyes of Techno next door. 

His eyes gleam more than glow in the blackness that can only be brought by the complete and utter absence of light. To the untrained eye, his unnerving stare could mean just that, unnerving. But to Phil and Wilbur, his glare speaks more than a million words ever could.

Techno’s calculating, weighing the chances of all of them getting out alive, questioning the consequences. The look he swings between the two tells of what he would do, what he would sacrifice for them to be okay. A slight shine that disappears in a blink shows how much he has longed to paint the world with the blood of who has wronged him, of who has wronged them. 

They all hold each other's gazes, each regarding each other from behind bars for the last time as the wagon beneath them slows to a stop.  

Once the wheels stop their incessant clunking and the horses stop clip-clopping along, it’s silent, pain-stakingly so. No one breathes, no one speaks, no one moves. It stretches on and on and on. He worries in the darkness if the keepers won’t let them out into the tent tonight. He worries that the silence will never end, and he makes a promise to himself that he will never let it get quiet like this ever again, for as long as he lives. 

Finally, the unsettling stillness is shattered by one of the keepers ripping open the flap of the wagon. The lantern he sets on the floor shines brightly against the cages, creating warped shadows from where it sits.

“Alright ya’ mangy beasties, you know da’ drill.”

He heaves himself up onto the wagon, keys clinking at his side.

“No bite’en, no scratch’en, no talk’en, no hiss’en.”

He walks down the aisle that separates the two rows of cages, leveling his beady glare at all of them. The man reeks of sweat and dirt, the sickly smell of alcohol adding to the horrible concoction. 

“We’ve got a big show ta’marrow night. It’ll be the biggest one we’ve ‘ad in a while, so none of ya’ be mess’in ‘round. May’be a few of ya’ might even be able to, ah,” he pauses in front of Techno, a vicious grin widening on his face as he leans forward, “finish off your debts.”

It’s the blazing match that sets the whole forest aflame. 

Techno’s hands dart out between the bars of his cage to wrap around the man’s neck with deadly precision, pulling the man against the metal harshly. The action causes a clang to resonate in the air. 

He was already horribly off balance. The slight widening between a set of bars caused by Techno moments before had only tilted the scales further against the keeper.

The enclosed fabric of the wagon muffles any outcry that the man makes. He begs, he gasps for air, he cries, and then, he turns blue. His hands stop scratching at Techno’s arm soon enough.

Wilbur’s never seen a blue like that before.

The scary thing is, isn’t that the man died, no the keeper had it coming. It's how Techno does the whole thing, not even uttering a sound and holding himself with such prestige. His eyes though, how they burn.

They swirl with bloodshed, with the need to kill and slaughter and pull apart bodies. Wilbur can see the massacre that brews in his brother’s eyes and it makes him giddy, knowing that now they are the ones pulling the strings, the masters of their own fate at long last.

Techno lets the body crumple to the floor into a mess of flesh that doesn’t even look human anymore. He sorts through the pile, hands grasping at the keys. Unlocking his own door, he maneuvers his wrists in a way that must be painful to slot the key into the lock. 

The metal bars swing open and Techno steps out.

Wilbur grins wildly, high on adrenaline. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet in a crude way with how he’s crouching, ready as a loaded spring. 

The next thing he knows is his own door swinging open and Techno pulling him out.

It’s silent and for a moment, Wilbur worries that this is a dream of his own twisted imagination, that he’s going to wake right as it's getting good. That he isn’t actually standing outside of his cage, but still sleeping in it.

But the hand holding his own, a point of contact that he’s only dreamed of, is warm against his skin and calloused with battle scars. It’s not cold like the metal bars that his fingers always find a way to wrap around when he dreams. He still has to check, to disprove his paranoia. Wilbur gently squeezes Techno’s hand-his brother’s hand–and the spell is broken. 

“Wil,” he breathes, eyes glistening.

“Tech-”

He wraps his arms around Techno, burying his face into his shoulder. Fuck, how he’s longed to do this, to no longer have to steal teasing jabs and subtle shoulder bumps. 

It-it’s so hard to put into words what he is feeling right now. It’s feeling the sun on your skin after being underground for eons. It’s like rain is finally falling from the sky after an endless summer. It’s hearing your loved one talk after being deaf to its beauty for so long. It’s learning to smile after years of crying and eternal sorrow.

It’s love, boundless and endless in its radiance. 

It makes his heart squeeze, worrying away at itself that it won’t be able to feel this again. His hands curl into the tattered shirt that Techno wears, his throat tightening with emotion. 

Neither let go of the other when Techno moves to free Phil from his cage, Wilbur gladly watching his brother’s back. 

Phil, unlike the other two’s quiet emergence, bursts out of his cage, joining in on the tangle of limbs as he wraps his wings around them. 

“My boys,” he whispers, voice wet and catching on his words. 

The three of them just stand there, taking in their presences after having to pretend to ignore each other for so long. He lets himself carefully thread his fingers through the avian’s feathers. He lets himself lean into their touches. Phil starts crying somewhere along the way, quiet even as his shoulders shake with the weight of it. Wil can feel himself on the verge of crying too, eyes watering so much that they burn.

In the light of a single lantern, a family is remade. After years of sharing blood, sweat, and tears, they can finally be whole once more. 

“....Are you just going to keep standing there or are you gonna hand over the keys?”

Wilbur jumps at the sudden voice, as does Phil, Techno twisting to put himself in front of the noise, curved ears twitching. He can’t see who spoke from where he is hidden between the two. It makes him push himself closer to Phil, protecting his father with his own skin. The voice does sound familiar, though, when he replays it in his head, calming his spooked nerves to a degree.

“Quackity,” Techno grumbles, gripping the keys tightly.

“Techno.”

Oh, it’s the duck that can shapeshift. Wilbur had just learned his name today actually, when everyone was sending word out of tonight’s escape between the bars. 

“Quackity,” Wilbur sighs, “we were having a moment.”

“Yeah, you can have your moment ‘Wil-bur,’ when everyone else is free……..so, keys.”

“I don’t think I should give ‘em to you,” Techno says, shifting on his feet enough for Wilbur to see around him.

It’s how he can see the duck blanch, face rapidly paling. His wings pull in closer to himself. He’s seen Phil do the same thing as a way to comfort himself, like a self hug in a sense. 

“Hey man, let’s talk about this-”

“Techno, mate, just give Niki the keys, yeah? She’s trustworthy enough to handle freeing everyone,” Phil cuts the other avian off, placing a hand on Techno’s arm comfortingly. 

They stare each other down for a moment before Techno eyes flit back to Quackity, holding his gaze before dropping the keys into Phil’s open hand. Quackity’s eyes flash with something unrecognizable, but it’s gone before he can pick it apart. The bird hunches in on himself, waiting.

Phil tucks his wings behind his back before heading to, presumably, Niki’s cage which seems to be only a few feet away from Phil’s. She’s the mermaid if he remembers correctly. 

“So,” Wilbur starts, tilting his head curiously at his brother. “You gonna show me how to fight?”

Techno grins.

—

By the time Techno had explained the basics of how to sock a good punch and where some important pressure points are, Phil was done helping Niki out of her own cage. He had happily joined in on the end of the conversation, giving his own pointers as well, which-what the fuck.

The man is old with a lot of time and experience under his belt, that’s a definite. But not once had his father ever mentioned his own time in battle. 

“So-wait,” Wilbur starts, brow furrowing. “You’ve known how to fight this whole time.”

“I’m not called the Angel of Death just for kicks, mate,” Phil smirks.

“And those sword display-things–whatever–weren’t just part of the show?”

“Nope.”

“I-okay, wow.”

“So we all agree that Wilbur ‘as to stick with at least one of us, right,” Techno butts in.

“Oi-!”

“Yep. It’s best if he’s with me though.”

Despite being in between the two’s petty competitive words, it’s wonderful to finally be able to talk freely with them. To no longer have to worry about the people in the other cages side eyeing them, to no longer have to worry about who could be listening in. 

“You’re doubt’in my abilities old man?”

Soon they’ll be under the night sky, together, free and escaping to who knows where. But as long as it is together, he couldn’t care less where they went…….okay, maybe he might, just a little bit. 

“No, I’m just better,” Phil returns with a playful glint in his eyes. 

He just wants access to water, large amounts of it, that’s all he would ask for. Warm water if you wanted to get into the details, but he wasn’t going to go into the details now was he?

“Oh, we’ll see ‘bout that.”

Wait-hold it. Hold it right there. He needs to jump in right here. There is no way in hell he is keeping a tally.

“Please, for the love of all that exists, don’t go body counting,” Wilbur sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Mmmmm, no promises Wil.” Techno then turns to Phil, a slight quirk to his lips. “I've already got one, keep up.”

“I shouldn’t have even mentioned it-I shouldn’t have even mentioned it!”

He should-he should feel bad about this right? Talking about killing people like it was a game to keep score in. But he can’t find anything, no inkling of self hatred or disgust. His throat doesn't tighten, his stomach doesn’t twist. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he knows that the people-the things-out there aren’t innocent. They’re all guilty and he can list off a few even as he stands here. Kidnapping, torturing, psychological manipulation. Not pretty stuff. 

A part of him is excited to finally show those bastards what exactly they locked into the cages. A part of him screams at him that this is fucked up. A part of him whispers that he promised he would never stoop to their level. And a part of him, the loudest one of them all, says that it doesn’t matter, he’s with his family and that’s all that should matter. 

He realizes that he agrees. He whole-heartedly agrees with that statement.

He would go through hell and back to get to hug Techno like that again. He would spend eons apart to get to have another conversation with them. He would-he would do anything to keep this family together. And he would, if it was the last thing he would do. 

“Wilbur? Hello? Earth to Wilbur,” Techno’s deadpanning voice knocks him out of his line of thought. “I think we’ve lost ‘em Phil.”

“Hm? What? I’m here,” he blinks. “What I miss?”

“That it’s time to go,” his father smiles. “We’re leaving now, mate.”

Wilbur’s eyes widen.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go,” he pulls on Techno’s arm, earning a small chuckle from Phil. “Come’on, move it slow poke. We’ve got places to be, things to do. Chop-chop!”

“You are insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

“Mmmm, sure Wil.”

He pauses in front of the flap that leads to the outside world, to freedom. There’s a world out there that he’s never known, never seen, and he pauses. He fucking pauses. A little voice in his head whispers to him, a voice that holds all of his doubts with one single question. What do you think is going to happen?

His grip on Techno’s hand slackens.

Wilbur-Wilbur doesn’t know what’s going to happen. There could be monsters worse than the things that haunt the circus out there. There could be wars and battles brewing outside of this village or town or kingdom. It might not all be the beautifully painted tapestries that he has pieced together in his mind, fantasy by fantasy. That’s what it was, wasn't it-a fantasy. Something of a–

The cloth flickers slightly, no doubt from a breeze. It gives him a glimpse and that’s all he needs for the worrying spell to break, ripping back the flap to see stars.

So, so many stars. He didn’t think there would be so many. Millions upon millions of little lights that wink at him with the determination that comes with thousands of decades of living. And the moon-oh the moon. A pale crescent smiling down, pockmarked with spots of wisdom. Its beams seem to reach down to him, extending a friendly hand to help him up, to help him find his place in the stars.

The night sky was something he never dreamed of, it was always the sun and its never ending warmth. But now, all he can see is the beauty of the night, mysterious and elegant in its own way. 

He breathes in the air, relishing in it. It’s crisp and sharp and cold, eating away at his lungs with every breath, biting at his cheeks. It’s amazing. All he had ever known is the musty smell of sweat and grime of a small, enclosed space. This is splendid and he never wants to breathe anything else ever again. 

Techno’s hand squeezes his, a comfort for each other that this is real, that this is actually happening. 

They share a glance, eyes reflecting the stars, and they jump.

—

“On your right, Techno,” Phil yells out, shoving a drunken keeper his brother’s way before turning to deal with the other two men in front of him.

Techno catches the man by his neck, cleanly snapping it with a singular movement, tossing the broken body out of his way.

“Stop give’in me the stragglers, old man,” Techno huffs back after knocking another man down, this time with a harsh kick to the back of the knees. 

The air is thick with the smell of iron and the sounds of screaming. Metal clatters against metal. Flesh clashes against flesh. Bodies fall to the ground in agony, but it’s only the tainted that fall. 

This area could’ve been a pasture at some point with how flat and open the land is. Wilbur can see walls though, and the outskirts of a town. The keepers must’ve bargained to get the space to set up with a farmer or something.

But it definitely isn’t a pasture anymore, it’s a battleground. There’s bodies and blood and bones everywhere he looks. Some people are more drenched in the red substance than others, gladly partaking in the fight. Others are still emerging from the wagons, freeing themselves from their cages. There’s so many people. He didn’t know so many could be shoved into only a handful of small spaces. 

The wagons appear almost unscathed for the moment. He has a feeling some are going to use the wagons as their own, to leave the town and travel to find a place to settle. Maybe they can use one themselves…on second thought, maybe not. He can’t fathom stepping into one again.

Currently, Wilbur is stuck in between the two of them, backs turned inward to him. So he sort of just watches, fascinated with the fluid movements of the two obviously skilled fighters. That’s not to say he doesn’t keep his guard up, he does, but he can’t stop staring.

Someone had ransacked the keepers’ supplies before the true fight had ultimately broken out, distributing weapons to those who wanted them. Techno had immediately grabbed a dagger and handed it to him, saying it was good for self defense. He still has it tightly gripped in his hand, waiting with bated breath for someone to come at him. It’s the first thing he’s ever owned. 

His brother hadn’t grabbed any other weapons, wishing to only fight with his fists. Wilbur hadn’t believed Techno could properly handle himself without a sword. He had been proven wrong, oh so very wrong. 

Techno twists around one attack, managing to get himself behind the guy and using him as a quick shield when another keeper tries to stab Techno in the stomach. The first one dies to an ally, the second dies before the kill even gets processed, felled by his own sword. How his brother even turned the man’s blade upon him is beyond Wilbur. 

Phil, on the other hand, quickly found two broadswords and claimed them as his own. And with the way he uses them, yeah, they definitely are his now. 

He’s quick in his movements, but each is precise, calculated, and refined. It’s like he’s creating his own dance as he cuts through keepers, dodging and weaving amongst them, each one getting leveled with a sword as he passes by. 

His wings though, are what really change the playing field. Phil uses them to burst forward at alarming speeds, sometimes even boosting himself into the air to get a heavier hit on someone. They also just scare the living crap out of everyone, looming high above his head, feathers almost looking like shining obsidian daggers in the moonlight. 

Where Techno is brute force, Phil is a damning one. But together, they are a force to be reckoned with. 

They easily swap places with an almost synchronized glance over their shoulders. Like old dance partners, they relearn their steps.

Suddenly—and now Wilbur’s seriously suspecting that these two have fought together before—Techno calls out to Phil, holding off a guy but palm outstretched blindly behind him, and Phil just throws over one of his swords to him. Without even looking.

It takes his breath away.

Techno puts the sword to use, making quick work of the last few keepers trying to run away. The weapon easily allows his brother to cut the distance in half, killing them before they can even get past the wagons.

“I think that’s the last of them, mate,” Phil says, killing off the final man in front of him with a practiced slash across the chest. 

Techno’s eyes narrow, looking over the circus grounds. The half set up tents are now alight, flames providing more smoke than light as they lick tiredly at the cloth.

Everyone seems to not believe it’s over, glancing around nervously. The air is still, stifling even. All that can be heard is the sound of exhausted huffs of breath. 

Then someone lets out a victorious shout and the silence breaks, people joining in with their own cheers. Some are reaching to hold each other close, already sharing tears. Others are talking excitedly to each other, pointing out things with amazement.

He sees Quackity crying and laughing at the same time, hugging two people he hasn’t seen before. One is wearing bright colors, light brown hair flopping over his eyes above a bright grin. Equally colorful symbols brighten and flit like ever moving stars over his skin. The other man has dark hair pulled away from his face, orange horns peeking out from the top of his head and a tail with a tuft on the end. He seems to be partially on fire-

Yeah, he’s just going to ignore that.

The younger looking ones, ranging from teenagers to children, are grouping together, laughing and talking loudly. Some are not letting go of each other, glaring at the other adults that pass them. 

That mermaid–Niki, he remembers–is hugging another woman with puffy hair and horns curling around sheep-like ears–or, at least, what he thinks are sheep-like ears. The ram looking dude, the one that he remembers breathing fire, continues to glance at the two awkwardly. It looks like he’s trying to catch the sheep woman’s attention. She spots him looking and exclaims happily, tears brimming in her eyes as she slams into him with a hug. 

Phil squeezes his shoulder, breaking Wilbur’s gaze off from watching the reunions. He’s smiling at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You did it,” Wilbur whoops, turning to hug his father tightly. 

“We did it, Wil,” Phil says, voice watery as he returns the embrace. “Don’t cut yourself short.”

They both let out an audible oof when Techno comes and hugs them from behind, Wilbur sandwiched in between the two. He lets out a happy sigh. 

Phil’s wings wrap around the three of them, hiding them away from the world in a shroud of feathery darkness. Techno’s hand finds his, carefully intertwining them together.

Wilbur doesn’t think he could ever get used to this. From having nothing to everything-it’s almost jarring, a welcomed feeling but an unknown one. He feels scared, that this might be too good to be true, that this might not last. He feels confident, that this is right, that this will stay. He feels whole. 

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them back, hunching over to rest his face on his father’s shoulder instead. 

He breathes the moment in, solidifies it into memory. Memorizing every detail with an utmost delicacy, settling it close to his heart. 

It hurts to even think of breaking the moment, but he must. His curiosity is on the verge of tearing him apart. He must know.

“What are we going to do now,” Wilbur asks, mumbling slightly. 

This circus is all he’s known. From what he remembers from the early days of his childhood to that of the long days of being an adult, the circus was always there, always present, always looming. He’s-he’s not sure what’s next. It’s all so…foreign, a stretch of territory that he’s never had the chance to set foot in.

“We’re free now. We can do whatever we want, mate.”

Techno hums in agreement. 

We’re free, his thoughts repeat, turning it over in his mind.

….Anything is possible. The world is theirs to explore. He can imagine traveling over and through tall, snow-capped mountain ranges, down through low, vibrant valleys. Maybe even traversing from town to town, sleeping under the stars and waking with the sun. 

He springs upward, a wide grin on his face as he spins his head to look between the two. A childlike wonder, a need to explore, blooms inside of him.

“What are we gonna do first? There’s so many things, I can’t practically choose,” he starts animatedly, excitement bubbling higher and higher. “Do you think we could see the ocean? Or-or a beach? Could we even go to the Nether? What about mountains? They’ve always sounded so majestic.”

“Woah there Wil,” his father chuckles. “We gotta get out of this town first.”

“And maybe some new clothes an’ supplies,” Techno adds on, a small smile on his face.

“New clothes? Why? Where are we going to get those?”

“It looks like we've just killed a million people,” Techno deadpans, taking the smallest step back, but the dark sea of feathers part with the motion.

Wilbur twists around to look at his brother. And, oh yeah, he is kind of right. 

Dark stains litter his shirt, blood heavily caked on his hands. His hair is loose from where it hangs in a low ponytail, ears twitching as the strands graze over them. Phil, however, looks a bit more put together. A couple splatters here and there are on his face & clothes, but that’s pretty much it, even his wings are in good shape. 

“Yeah,” he takes in a sharp inhale through his teeth. “New clothes, definitely.”

Now that he's looking for it, he can feel the sticky substance on his own clothes and hands. He didn’t kill anyone though, must’ve been transferred to him from the other two. 

“I think there should be some things we can take over here…” Phil leads them through the thicket of people, easily maneuvering with his wings tucked close to his back.

They reach where the donkeys and horses are tied up to fence posts, frightened by the rising smell of blood and smoke. The animals are still weighed down by bags and the like, some lean against each other so they don’t completely tip over. Others stomp their feet, nickering and trying to rip away from the fence posts. 

“Poor things,” Techno huffs.

He puts his hand on the muzzle of one of the horses, instantly calming it down. 

“There ya go,” his brother continues softly. “We’re only ‘ere to help.”

Phil comes around from the side, making sure the animal can see him moving closer. Slowly, he takes off the bags, passing them over for Wilbur to look through them. But he doesn’t, watching his brother with eyes as big as the moon.

“How are you doing that Tech,” Wilbur asks quietly, afraid to disturb the peace with such a majestic beast. 

His brother questioningly raises an eyebrow at him, still stroking the horse’s nose and occasionally scratching underneath its jaw. Phil smiles at them before sorting through the bags himself, making a loud ruffling sound that startles the stallion at first before it realizes where it's coming from.

“Just pet’en the poor guy,” he says. “You can too if ya want.”

Oh, he.  

Despite the nervous beating of his heart, Wilbur steps closer to the horse, who only swishes his tail once and blinks at him before turning his attention back to Techno. 

“Let ‘em smell your ‘and first.”

Cautiously, he reaches forward, stretching his hand out–the one without blood on it–palm face up. The horse looks at him incredulously, but still puts his nose in his hand. He smells the appendage, huffing out a breath of damp air against it that makes him flinch. 

“It’s okay, Wilbur,” Techno hums, a hint of a laugh hiding underneath.

Wilbur lets Techno pull his hand forward just a bit more to rest on the horse's nose. He lets out a small gasp, slowly stroking the muzzle, making sure to avoid the leather around the horse’s face. The great beast, in turn, leans into his hand. 

“There you go,” he smiles. “See? Noth’in to worry about.”

“Woah ,” Wilbur breathes, continuing to pet the horse, getting brave enough to scratch underneath his jaw.

He feels like a kid at a carnival, but he can’t seem to find a reason to care. A smile breaks out on his face, stepping just a tad closer to get a better reach.

“You’ve never seen a horse, ‘ave you,” Techno asks, his smile falling slightly. 

“Hmm? What? No, I haven’t. Heard them though,” he hums back, not taking his eyes off the horse. “Do you think we can take him with us?”

“Mmm, I’m not sure about that Wil,” Phil joins in, still bent over the bags. He looks like he could fall over if Wilbur pushed him.

“Why not!?”

“We can’t draw attention to ourselves. I don’t know if someone is going to see the horse and recognize it as one of the circuses. Besides, we can’t possibly take care of one.”

“But-”

“None of that, mate. You and Techno come first and that is final.”

“Fine,” Wilbur huffs, still gazing at the horse intently. “Goodbye Josie, I hope to see you in another life.”

The horse huffs in response.

“Come on, Wil,” Techno rests his hand on his shoulder. “It’s ‘bout time we get go’in. If there’s walls here, there’ll definitely be guards stationed. The fire and shouts will attract ‘em soon if they ‘aven’t already.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez,” he sighs, giving the stallion one final pat on the head.

When he does finally step away, he sees Phil a couple paces ahead of them, carrying a couple bags and swords strapped to his sides. 

“What the-”

“Yeah, yeah, keep it movin,” his brother says jokingly, picking up a few bags of his own. “Can you carry this one?”

“Oh, yeah,” he bends down, throwing the bag easily over his shoulder. It’s surprisingly light, but it looks almost completely full from the way it’s filled out. “What’s in here?”

They start forward together, following the line of weighed down animals. They all look so sad and Wilbur has to forcefully look away from them. His heart aches at how it reminds him of himself and his family, all stuck in a cramped space, unable to move of their own free will. 

“Nether if I know. Probably some clothes or somethen.”

The two of them catch up to Phil, who’s stopped at another animal, a donkey this time that’s sitting down. He’s looking over the flasks tied to the donkey’s side, twisting them around and lifting them this way and that.

Satisfied with the inspection, he hooks two of them to the strap on one of his bags and tosses the other one to Techno. 

“What’s in those,” Wilbur asks curiously, leaning over Techno’s shoulder to see better.

“Nothing yet. Err, well, except this one,” Phil lifts up one of the containers. “This one has alcohol in it.”

They continue to walk again, the old man slowing down so they all can walk together. 

“Alcohol,” his eyes narrow.

Wilbur only has had bad experiences with alcohol. Well, he’s never actually consumed the stuff before, he’s only smelled it reeking off the keepers. It makes them all…woozy, tripping over their feet and their words. Drunk, he thinks that’s what they call it.

“It works fer clean’en wounds, it’s not just for drinking,” Techno explains, catching onto his suspicious look.

“Oh, that makes sense,” he nods along.

Soon, the line of animals ends and they’re leaving the circus behind, in all its burning glory. The grass here is tall in the surrounding pasture, not trampled down by heavy footsteps and the wheels of the wagons. He ignores the tickling sensation around his legs to gaze up at the stars. 

It’s here, staring awestruck at the sky, that he realizes they never said goodbye.

Chapter Text

It’s late at night when he hears something knocking against his door. 

Tommy startles awake, pushing up onto his elbows and staring bleary eyed out the window across from his bed. To his surprise, the moon is still out, its beams reaching out with pale, twisted arms. The stars blink back at him, seemingly just as tired as he is. 

He flops back down, confused. There’s no way there’s someone at his door right now. No one’s ever come to his cottage in the woods before. Why would they be coming now at a time like this? Only a mad man would venture out into the woods at night. Or, at least, that’s what the villagers would say. 

Maybe it was King?

He looks around finding the cat curled up at the end of his bed, undisturbed. Something settles in his beating heart, calming his racing mind. He takes in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it burst from his mouth in a rush of air. If the animals aren’t scared, there’s no need to be afraid. 

It was probably just the wind, or a raccoon throwing something down from the trees.

He’s just about to close his eyes and fall back to the warm embrace of sleep when the banging starts up again, louder this time. At this rate, his door could get knocked down. He waits one more breath and then it’s silent, peaceful, like it never even happened. 

It’s superficial, he can just feel it. King’s awake now, eyes glowing in the dark and ears twitching to find the source of the noise. 

There it is again. 

The tomcat vaults off the bed, scrambling to make purchase on the wooden floor as he rushes for the cracked open window. He’s gone in seconds.

Coward .

Okay he’s not imagining things, this is really happening. Something or someone is at his door, this close to breaking it down.

“I’m-I’m coming,” he shouts, jumping up from his bed and pulling a baggy shirt over his head. “Just-give me a minute!”

It’s quiet again, like someone’s holding their breath as Tommy trips over his own feet in the darkness to get to the door. He rubs at his eyes, trying to stop his vision from blurring before unlocking the door and swinging it open harshly.

A cool breeze ruffles at his hair, making him shiver. It was so warm when the sun was out, but the moon only comes out to take it all away. 

His eyes still haven’t quite adjusted, so he can’t clearly see who he’s talking to when he speaks, but it’s definitely someone.

“What are you doing here? It’s not safe to be out an’ about at night.”

“By the stars above, it’s a child,” a voice exclaims, tinged with age. 

Somehow, the voice begins to remind him of the magic infested jewelry he was looking at earlier this morning.

“Oi,” he shouts, his response instinctual. “Not a child, dickhead!”

Tommy blinks. 

And then Tommy sees , stumbling back at the sudden awareness.

“Holy mother of fuck!”

The blotchy shapes in front of him morph into three people. One in front, two in back. 

He’s guessing the person in front of him is the one who had spoken. It’s hard to clearly see their face in the current lighting of the crescent moon but he can tell they are indeed a man. He’s a bit shorter than Tommy by a couple inches but with the way he holds himself, Tommy doesn’t doubt he would lose a fight against him. A tattered cloak is wrapped tightly around his shoulders and a weird looking hat atop his head.

The two figures behind him are looming on either side of him, also men, but definitely younger than the first. The two of them look like bodyguards in a sense, in the way they watch him move about meticulously, in the way they don’t trust him. 

One is lanky, a stretched out string bean with a long coat and a cap that he’s seen worn by some of the messenger boys. It looks rather comical pushed tightly down on his head. Curls of hair he cannot distinguish the color of flop on one side, peeking out from underneath the fabric.

The other is just as tall, if not taller, but more bulky with broad shoulders and hair that seems to go past his shoulders, pulled back to the nape of his neck. Interesting choice. He looks normal though, no clothing or fabric that isn’t fit for spring weather like the cloak or coat on the other two. Only a simple, linen shirt and some loose fitting pants. 

Yet, despite the clean look of all three, he can’t help but note the smell of smoke lingering in the air. 

“Um….,” the long haired man helpfully starts, his voice deeper than he expected.

It seems to set the lanky bitch alight, bursting with a smile and leaning forward to rest a hand on the shoulder of the older one.

“Sorry, my family is just impolite,” he beams, voice melodic and soothing. “But do you think you could let us stay here for the night? We just saw this lovely cabin of yours and decided to stop here for the night. Sorry we woke you up, didn’t think anyone was here.”

Okay, he’s just talking up his home for kicks, layering it on thick.

“Err,” Tommy puts rather eloquently, “I don’t think I have the space for one more person let alone three of you.”

And that is true. His house is only equipped with enough room for a kitchen, a storage area, and a bed. He does have a cellar, but it’s filled with goods right now and he can’t afford to move it all and risk it getting spoiled. For gods’ sake, he doesn’t even have an attic space.

“What ‘bout over there?” The bulky bastard points to the stables. “Looks like you ‘ave the room fer us.”

“That’s the stables. I don’t think you want to be sleeping with the horse tonight, man,” he yawns, leaning against his doorway.

“I-we don’t mind,” the first one speaks up. “We’ll be out of your hair in the morning anyways.”

“Well,” he pauses, frowning as he thinks, “I guess it could work.”

He must not be thinking straight if he’s even pondering the idea of letting three strangers stay at his house overnight. Three strangers with weird clothing, funny accents, and having a thing for knocking at people’s doors in the middle of the night.

Ah, fuck it. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. Right?

“Let me just get some blankets,” Tommy sighs, waving a hand over his shoulder as he turns around. “Be back in a second.”

He steps back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. It’s when he’s going through all the blankets he has folded in the corner does the reality of this situation hit him. 

Three men, all of them looking like they could easily gut him, coming in the dead of night.

Are they going to kill me? Were they sent to find me?

Do they know ?

His hands twist at the blanket in his arms.

Surely not. Wouldn’t they have done something already if they were?

He looks to the door, staring at where he can see a slit of the outside. There doesn’t seem to be any movement.

Maybe they’re waiting to gain my trust first?

Tommy pinches his skin between his fingers, looking away from the door with a light chuckle. He must be really tired to be thinking like this. They’re just some travelers looking for a place to stay for the night. And like that one man said, they’ll be gone by the morning and he won’t ever have to think about them again.

On second thought, it wouldn’t hurt to be hyper aware of the three. It definitely wouldn’t be a terrible idea to stay on guard.

Humming to himself, he lifts the kerosene lantern up from its hook on the wall. He fumbles for a match, pushing past jars and cans inside the cabinet to finally reach the little box. Pulling one out, he strikes it alight against the wooden counter. 

A flame jumps to life, flickering beautifully at the end of the stick. He’s always loved watching fire, whether it was from something as simple as a match or as massive as a bonfire. The little ball of light is a mix of a sapphire blue base and bright orange tips. 

Half the stick is already gone before he moves to light the cloth wick, lifting up the glass to get to it. The flame jumps to it greedily, the kerosene keeping it endlessly full. He pushes the glass cage back down, keeping the fire from escaping and blows out the match.

With the lantern now in hand, swinging from its curved handle, he grabs the bundle of blankets from where he had left them. 

He kicks open the door with his foot—though not before slipping on his boots—holding the lantern up high so everyone can see where they’re walking. The three stragglers have their backs turned to him and at first Tommy thinks they’re conversing secretly. But when he takes a closer look, they seem to all be marveling at the night sky as if…as if they haven’t seen it in a long time.

Sure the sky is pretty with all its stars and constellations and planets, but it's not that amazing. He pauses, looking up to the sky, his eyes adjusting after staring at a flame for so long. 

…Okay, maybe it is that amazing. 

There seems to be something murky, like a cloud just as the sun is setting or rising, clustered together with stars that almost look pink and blue and purple, instead of their normal white hue. It’s a long strip, a tear in reality as it cuts across the sky. Something in the back of his mind tells him it looks like someone mixed milk & multicolored flower petals together and accidentally spilt it on the cloth of the night sky. 

He barely catches himself from laughing at his thoughts, realizing that it would most definitely be rude to laugh while someone's back is turned. Instead, he clears his throat to catch the men’s attention, all three of them whipping their heads around like they’ve just been slapped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he smiles carefully, raising his hands up in front of him as much as he can with his arms full. “Let’s just head to the stables so we can all get some sleep. I’m sure we all have a long day ahead of us, yes?”

“Yeah, sure,” the bulky bastard says. 

It is that exact moment when all of them step into the light of the lantern, displaying more of their features than he hadn’t been privy to see in the darkness.

The older one has blonde hair and blue eyes, a spitting image of Tommy if it weren’t for the age difference and the crow’s feet at the edges of the man’s eyes. He seems to realize this too, tilting his head to the side, mouth slightly open in what he thinks is surprise. It almost reminds him of those cocky crows always picking at the plants in his garden.

The lanky bitch looks basic: brown hair, brown eyes. His mouth quirks up when he catches Tommy’s gaze and he promptly looks away to see what the third and final member of the group looks like.

He-he has pink hair. Pink fucking hair. Brown eyes stare back at him intensely, calculating, watching his reaction carefully. Tommy can’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth. He only really talks to animals, so you can’t necessarily blame him…but still.

“Are you a fucking witch or something? How did you even get it to that color,” he squints. “It’s vibrant as hell my dude. People would kill to get ahold of some of that dye or whatever shit you got going on there.”

There goes being on guard.

The atmosphere becomes deathly silent, suffocatingly so. Clearly, he said the wrong thing. All three pairs of eyes glare at him, daring him to say more. He has a feeling if he moves, shifts ever so slightly, he would be killed on the spot. The brunette seems to not need an inclination to do so, stepping forward with a purpose and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he immediately takes a step back, holding his only slightly free hand out in front of him. “Look man, I mean no harm. I wasn’t-I didn’t mean to offend you-any of you, okay?”

He doesn’t stop moving forward. 

“If he is a witch, I swear I won’t tell the authorities,” Tommy scrambles backwards as best he can, his mind screaming at him to run from the clear threat. I don’t want to die today . “I promise–I’ll swear on my life if you need me to. I don’t mean any harm, man-I’ve sold shit to witches before and they’re still kicking.”

“Mate, calm down. He seems to have not meant it,” the older one comes to his rescue, placing a hand on the lanky bitch’s shoulder. 

Tommy still doesn’t move, hand still raised. He doesn’t trust them to keep the peace for long, let alone for the anger of the other to have calmed down that quick.

“But he-he just threatened him,” the man snarls, baring his teeth.

He did not threaten him. Sure he did say people would kill for the dye…. oh , he internally winces, yeah. Yeah I did threaten him . However indirect it was, he did, he one hundred percent did.

“I know, but he’s made his point clear,” the elder sighs. “And either way, he’s just a kid.”

This time, Tommy does not object to the second statement. 

“Yeah, I’m-um-I’m sorry,” Tommy hastily proves the man’s point, tripping over his words to do so. His pride is not doing too good right now. Oh well. “To all of you, really. I messed up and I understand your reaction…..No hard feelings?”

It’s quiet for a precious moment and he prays that he didn’t mess up again. The pink haired man is the one to break the silence.

“No hard feel’ins,” he pauses before stepping forward and picking up one or two of the blankets that he must’ve accidentally dropped in his haste. “And no, I’m not a witch. Just in’erited the color.”

Oh, that totally does not make sense, but alright-whatever. The three of them must have chosen each other to be family. That’s…nice. Something deep inside of him curls away, greedy to have a family of flesh and bone. Tommy just nods, letting the man know he heard him.

He eyes up the rest of the blankets in Tommy’s hands and he quickly gives them without another word. Tommy’s careful to not let their hands brush against each other as the fabrics are transferred between them. The bulky bastard then just hands them over to the older one, who holds the fabrics close as if they were a lifeline, intensely staring down at it. 

Okay, maybe he won’t question what the fuck that whole interaction was. He definitely does not want to cause anymore problems tonight. Instead, he makes his way to the stables, keeping his mouth shut tight.

The grass is quiet under their feet as they walk, slick with dew. It’s calm, tranquil even, only disturbed by the occasional owl hooting and the crickets chirping quietly in the background. 

They talk behind his back, in low murmured tones, but he doesn’t mind. They’re probably just talking about where they’ll head next tomorrow and he has no need to know of such things.

Something darts through the grass in front of him, just out of reach of the light of the lantern. He freezes in his tracks. It could’ve just been a bunny, a racoon maybe, or even a woodchuck. But it makes his heart hammer at what it could be.

The tales of the villagers have stunted his trust in the night life of the forest. He’s heard of the wolves that shift between forms with the moon. Of the blood suckers that lurk in the shadows waiting for their prey to happen upon them. Of the spirits and ghosts that are restless enough to kill with the paranoia of trying to find what their unfinished business might be. 

A shriek rips out from the silence. And he realizes, with his heart in his throat, that it’s coming from behind him.

He twists around, trying to see what the fuck is going on. The lantern’s light shines on the three figures, two of them staring wide-eyed at the lanky bitch, unsure of what to do as the man twitches. His eyes follow the man’s gaze, down to his feet.

“Oh,” Tommy sighs in relief, “King what are you doing? Scaring all of us like that!”

Again, three pairs of eyes lock onto him, this time with disbelief instead of anger. He sets the lantern beside him and crouches down with his arms out.

“King, stop biting his ankle,” he huffs. “He didn’t do anything to you, ya’ little shit ball.”

The cat looks to him, eyes blown wide to see through the darkness, his tail flicking back and forth. It takes him a minute, but eventually he loosens his jaw and releases the lanky bitch from his grasp, licking his lips all snotty like. He bounds over to Tommy, letting himself be picked up and tucked to the boy’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says to King before turning to the group with an apologetic grin. “Sorry about that, this is just King. I would rather your introductions to not have been so….violent, but he is his own person. Can’t control the poor guy now, can I? Gotta let his free spirit roam about.”

Something akin to respect shines in the bulky bastard’s eyes before it disappears as if it was never there.

“Is-uh-are you okay,” he continues, tilting his head to try and see how bad the bites are. “I have some bandages if you want them?”

King squirms to be put down and Tommy obliges, letting him scamper off to the stables.

“No, I’m good,” the lanky bitch says, looking anywhere but Tommy’s eyes. Okay, what the fuck is up with that? “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Alright,” he responds, picking the lantern back up. “Just wanted to know if it was deep enough for an infection.”

They resume their walk towards their original destination. The three don’t talk this time, more alert in a way as they get closer and closer to the stables. He can hear Henry mooing in confusion, probably from King dashing in, and Clementine stomping about at being woken up in the dead of night when they finally arrive.

“Welcome to the stables,” Tommy smiles, throwing open the double doors.

It’s nothing fancy, just two stalls facing each other on opposite sides and some hay & tools tucked in the corners, but it’s one of the first few things he built around the cabin when he had first found it abandoned. The building was built with his blood, sweat, and tears–mostly metaphorically speaking. 

“Hey ladies,” he greets at the stall entrances. “Sorry for waking you up, but we have some visitors. They’re going to hang out with you tonight.”

Clementine swings her head over the edge of her stall door, messing up his hair with a great huff from her nose. 

“Yes, yes. I know, but it’s only for tonight,” he strokes her muzzle calmingly.

Tommy looks over to said visitors, who are cautiously stepping inside. The lanky bitch seems to be enraptured by the majestic being that is Clementine. Rightfully so, really. 

Again, there’s that flash of emotion in the bulky bastard's eyes. It’s kind of pissing him off, not being able to see the meaning before it’s gone as quick as the wind.

“This is Clementine,” he introduces, then points to the other stall. “Henry’s over there.”

He gets a moo in confirmation. 

“And King should be in here somewhere.”

The lanky bitch seems to stiffen at the mere mention of the cat, stepping closer to the older man who’s looking over the structure of the stables with a knowing smile. 

“Did you build this, mate,” he asks, placing a hand on the main center beam that holds up the tip of the roof. 

He had detailed that beam with careful carvings of the forest, spending days on the whole endeavor. It was worth it in the end, having it as a pretty centerpiece of the stables. Whenever he couldn’t sleep at night he would come here and trace his fingers over the carvings until he fell asleep to the soft sound of the animals breathing. 

“Yep, built the whole thing myself,” he boasts proudly, glad someone is appreciating his craftsmanship. “It took a while, but I think it was worth it. The animals have a place to sleep and I got to have fun pulling the thing together. A win-win situation if you’d ask me.”

“Did you do these carvings? I haven’t seen something so intricate in years.”

“Yeah-yeah I did,” Tommy can feel his ears reddening at the comment. 

Clementine saves him though, draping her head over his shoulder, pulling him closer to the stall door.

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “We’ll be quiet for you to go to sleep soon.”

He side steps from underneath the horse’s head. There should be enough room in the far corner where he keeps the extra hay if he just moves some of the tools around. Tommy starts putting all the items laying around in the spare wheelbarrow, lugging it over to the other side. There’s a broom hanging on the wall that he picks up too, sweeping away some of the extra hay left behind. 

“Alright,” he sighs, hanging the broom back in its place. “Sorry this isn’t much, but this is where you’ll be sleeping tonight.”

“Thanks mate,” the older one smiles, stepping into the space and intricately setting up the blankets.

The bulky bastard plops the bags he was carrying onto the ground too, opening some. The lanky one, though, seems to be cautiously watching Tommy. It makes his skin crawl with the unwanted eyes following him. Yeah…he’s just going to leave now.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving the lantern with you and I’ll be on my way,” he says, aiming for the door. “Have a good night.”

Without a second thought, Tommy places the lantern on the hook at the entrance before leaving, King following hot on his heels. When the stable doors close behind him, he feels like he can breathe again. The air was stifling almost, heavy. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the lingering anger in the air or just the three’s presence in general. 

He’s broken out of his thoughts by King pushing against his legs.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Jeez, I’m going, I’m going.”

Trudging along, the tomcat leading the way, is when it finally hits him.

Magic. That’s what was making the air thick. Lots of magic. 

He’s only felt that much of it in one spot at the Noctis market. There was this group standing off to the side, not particularly looking at what the stalls had to sell but talking amongst themselves. Tommy hadn’t heard anything interesting, but he could feel, sense even, the power that floated around the group. 

Maybe that bulky guy is lying. Maybe he is a witch. That would be cool, wouldn’t it? Hmmm…..

Well, not my problem. 

They’ll be gone by tomorrow.

—

They would in fact not be gone by tomorrow. 

Tommy knew it as soon as he woke up to rain battering down on his roof and wind rattling his window panes. He’s not leaving either, no way is he traveling to the town in this weather. 

(He also wouldn’t dare leave the travelers alone at his home to do gods know what.)

And besides, the wagon could get stuck in the mud. 

“The gods are against me today,” he grumbles, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “Why did it have to be today of all days?”

One less market day wouldn’t hurt him, especially with how much he sold yesterday. But he’s stuck, at home, with three strangers in his stables.

King pokes his head out the window and immediately jolts away from it, drops of water clinging to his fur and seeping in through the opening.

Tommy can’t bring himself to laugh at the cat’s stupidity.

He pulls himself out of bed to close the window, wiping away the water on the sill. It’s a death knell, the sound of it sealing shut.

“Guess we’re both staying home today, buddy.”

Chapter Text

There’s another knock at Tommy’s door. 

He internally cringes. It’s too early for human interaction. 

“Coming,” he shouts, pushing away from the counter where the beginnings of his breakfast were being put together.

When he throws open the door, he finds the bulky bastard standing in his doorway, a shabby looking cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He looks ten times more menacing in broad daylight that it makes him do a double take. But no, it is the same guy from last night, pink hair and all. Just, you know, more drenched. 

“Is everything alright,” Tommy asks, looking over the man’s shoulder to see if his fellow travelers are behind him. They aren’t. 

So when the air starts to feel heavy again, he knows that it’s coming from this guy. Now that he’s focusing on it, there’s not as much magic in the air like with the group at the Noctis market, but more concentrated specifically around him. It’s intriguing to say the least, he hasn’t felt magic act like this in ages. 

The man nods. 

“Jus’ wanted to ask if we could stay ‘ere till the storm blows over.”. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s fine.” He’s now cursing himself for even letting them stay here in the first place. What was he thinking? “Just until the storm blows over.”

Out of the corner of his eye, King jumps up onto the counter.

“Hey! No,” he swerves around. “Do not eat that! I just bought that yesterday!”

The tomcat vaults off the surface as soon as he realizes he’s been caught. Tommy just huffs in amusement, moving over to the counter. Nothing seems to have been touched though, so he ends up pouring a little extra milk in King’s bowl. 

The bulky bastard is still standing in the doorway, watching silently. A strong gust of wind blows through the open door, spraying droplets onto the hardwood floor. 

“Come in, why don’t you? You’re going to get sick at this rate,” Tommy sighs, waving him in.

You’ll have to stay longer if you get sick , he thinks to himself. Not the easiest thing to treat either. 

King eyes the man warily when he ducks to step in, looking up from his bowl. The bastard returns the stare, but looks away first nonetheless. King smugly goes back to drinking his milk.

The wind is quieter now that it’s not howling through the open door and the rain becomes just a pittering noise above his head. It’s peaceful, something normal compared to the stranger looming in his home. 

Tommy goes back to slicing up the loaf of bread.

He can feel the man looking over the interior of his cabin, hear him shuffling about to get a better look at something. It’s rather neat for once, having done some cleaning recently. 

There’s the herbs hanging from almost every wall space he can find that’s not occupied with shelving. A couple of his favorite dried out flowers are littered about too, whether in small vases or pasted to the dark wooded walls. 

His bed is tucked around the corner from where his house bends into an L-shape–farthest from both doors, but still close enough to the fireplace. A good sized dresser covered in trinkets and mementos is next to it and a locked chest at the foot of it. The bastard’s eyes linger on that for a bit. 

In the far corner, underneath a window, sits a round table with two chairs. Despite the small set up, he still likes to call it his dining room. 

The piles of blankets he sorted through the night before are peeking out from behind the fireplace, the entrance to the cellar hidden underneath.

Shelves are filled high above with books; high enough for a cat to not be able to jump onto them easily. Nicely spaced windows dot around the walls, giving it an open feeling that was something he desperately needed when he first moved into the practically ramshackled cabin. 

He’s glad that he put his bow and sheath of arrows under his bed yesterday, along with the few daggers he’s collected over the years. The dude would probably not take his eyes off those.

“Have you had any breakfast yet,” Tommy asks casually, rummaging around for the jam jar.

Don’t look at him like that, it’s just small talk-

“Mmmm, not yet,” he replies offhandedly.

“Do you have anything for breakfast?”

”Nope.”

When Tommy looks over his shoulder, shocked, the man is purposefully eyeing up his books. 

“Are you going to eat anything at all today,” he tries again.

“‘Ave to see if I can find someth’en.”

What the fuck. Who travels without food? That’s-like-a death sentence.

He stares at the piece of bread he was just about to eat, then to the loaf and the jar of jam, then back to the bulky bastard. 

Screw it. He can afford to share some food today. Besides, it would be bad hostmanship if his…guests remained hungry during their time here. No one deserves to fucking starve . 

Tommy picks up the basket tucked underneath the counter, the one he used during the market yesterday, and sets it up in front of him.

“Have, uh,” he pauses, picking at a strand poking out from the weaved basket. “Have your family eaten yet?”

He already knows the answer.

“No.” There’s the ruffle of fabric as the man presumably moves to look at him. The prickly feeling of eyes watching him solidifies his guess. “Why?”

“Bread and jam sound good?”

The air stills, then shifts behind him, magic practically dancing in the air. The danger is tangible, he can feel it pulse like a heart, beat like a war drum. 

King watches the interaction rigidly.

“You offer’en,” he asks, sounding calmer than before. 

It does nothing to sway the rising panic in his chest. It does nothing to stop the magic. 

“Of course. You don’t have any food and you’d be hard pressed to find something substantial, especially with this weather.”

“There a price?”

“What,” Tommy asks, finally having enough courage to turn around and face the man. He’s met with a bright red eye stare and he falters. Were his eyes always red? They swirl a bit, twisting like a bloody current, before he looks away again. “There-there isn’t a price? I’m offering , it’s free.”

The air thickens, heavily layering over his shoulders. King’s tail flicks at the edge of his vision.

“Really, no charge,” he says again, willing himself to look into the man’s eyes.

He feels the air become stifling again, practically crushing him, before quickly letting up. The lighting twitches and the color twists to that of a dull maroon, or he hopes that it was just a trick of the light. 

“Okay,” the traveler says, returning his gaze back to the books. 

He focuses on the pattering of the rain on the roof, instead of the blood roaring in his ears. He times his breath instead of listening to the panicky twitch of his fingers. Another deep breath and he’s back. 

Tommy quietly starts arranging for breakfast to fit in the basket. The half a loaf of bread, the jar of strawberry jam, and the knife he was using–now wrapped in cloth–get placed in. He pulls open the cabinet doors, finding some cheese and adding it to the basket too.

King starts to get excited when he puts his cloak on and steps into his boots, prancing around his feet. The bulky bastard, however, raises an eyebrow in silent question.

“What?” Tommy picks up the basket, settling the handle into the crook of his arm. “I can’t have breakfast with you guys?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to.”

A small part of him feels hurt but he quickly shoves the thought away….but he can’t help but agree. It’s been-been a while since he shared a meal with someone that wasn’t an animal and he can almost feel a sense of longing brewing deep inside him. 

He actually crushes the feeling the second time around, pulling open the door for the bastard to step through.

“Well, I do have to tend to the animals too,” he says, closing the door behind him. “So if you want a reason other than that, there it is.”

He doesn’t get a response. It doesn’t hurt.

—

“Attachments are for the weak. You are not weak. Stop acting like it.”

—

The tomcat stays close to his feet as they make their way to the stables, protected from the rain by the low hanging cloak . 

Even though Tommy has his hood up over his head and the fabric pulled taunt around himself, he can’t stop himself from shivering slightly with every gust of wind. And every time he does, the man beside him glances over before quickly looking back to the stables. 

Tommy and King share a silent look.

It’s hard to see through the rain with how heavily it’s falling down, but he knows the route to the stables by heart now. If this keeps up, he’ll have to stay home again tomorrow just to do damage control. The runoff shouldn’t be too bad but he’s worried about the river flooding the forest. He should check the cellar too, make sure there aren’t any leaks. 

As he starts rattling off all the possible chores he’ll have to do tomorrow, the faint outline of the stables comes into view. There’s a dark shape standing just outside the building’s entrance too. He can’t make it out until they get closer, blinking the rain out of his eyelashes in surprise.

“Do all of you want to get sick,” he mutters to himself. “Bunch of children.”

“You say somethin?”

Uhhhhhhhh. Shit. 

“Hmm? No, I didn’t say anything. Must’ve been the wind.”

The lanky bitch is just standing in the rain, arms outstretched and head tilted up to the sky, drinking it all in. Without a cloak. He’s smiling though, clearly enjoying himself as he twists and turns underneath the pouring sky. The bitch stops his-his dance? To look at the stable’s entrance, talking animatedly to the third traveler hidden behind the open doors.

At least someone’s enjoying the weather.

Somehow, neither of the duo notice them arriving. Tommy even catches a laugh or two and some snippets of a conversation. Something about how wonderful the rain is or how cool it is. The bitch reminds him distinctively of the children at the market, always clinging to their mother’s side but quick to point out or run to something that piques their curiosity. 

He silently wonders how this “child-man” would react to the market. 

“Oh, hey Techno,” the bitch grins, not seeing Tommy just off to the side. Also, Techno? What kind of name is that? “Are we going to be able to stay here for the day?”

“Yep, all set,” the bulky bastard-or, uh, Techno says, shifting awkwardly. 

“Oh thank the stars. There’s no way we’d be able to travel in this weather,” the older one sighs, poking his head out of the doorway. He catches sight of Tommy, eyes widening a bit in surprise. “Woah, didn’t see you there, mate! Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just brought some breakfast over,” he says, gesturing to the basket. “Bread and jam alright?”

“You didn’t need to do that. That’s very kind of you.” The man bites his lip almost nervously, thinking something over. “Is there a price?”

“Gods, what is with you guys and prices? I’m being hos-pit-able, it’s free,” he pauses. “I would say ‘I promise,’ but I don’t think you would believe me anyways.”

A gust of wind makes him shudder, as does the narrow eyed look that passes over the traveler's face, sharp and distrusting.

That’s cool. I don’t trust you either .

“Sorry, mate,” he pushes open the door a bit wider for him to step in. “We’re all just a bit…antsy about deals and the like. Haven’t had our fair share of good ones.”

“Mmm,” Tommy hurriedly accepts the invitation– even if it is his own fucking barn –and strides inside. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t quite like deals either. Had a bad run with one a while back.”

Fuck. Why did I just say that? Walls, Tommy. Walls.

King rushes out from under his feet, causing the lanky bitch to flinch. 

Tommy hides his smirk when he puts his cloak up on a hook on the wall. Despite the extra covering, he still had gotten wet. He pulls the longer strands of his hair and twists them to get some of the water out, but it doesn’t help much. It would be so much easier if he could just-

No, nope, none of that. He can't even think about doing such a thing with people here. Even if he gets a headache from it, he cannot . Under no circumstances whatsoever.  

Speaking of people, he turns back around to see all three of them staring in his general direction. 

Just peachy . 

“Here you go,” he takes a step forward, holding the basket out to the elder. Though, not before taking out the two slices he already pre-cut for himself. “There’s a knife in there to cut up the bread. I brought some cheese too, by the way.”

“You really didn’t need to do this,” the old man says, the lanky bitch peers over his shoulder. The look reminds him of the kid at the market yesterday. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Tommy takes a bite of one of his slices before continuing. “Starving sucks.”

He gets sent another confusing and layered look from Techno, but Tommy ignores it in favor of the food in his hands.

The three return to the basket, which he’s rather grateful for, settling on the ground in a kind of semi-circle where none of their backs are turned to him.

“I would like the knife returned to me when you're done, please,” he says as an afterthought, especially when the bitch eyes it up as much as he does the food. “The basket too. You can keep everything else.”

“Of course, mate.”

The lanky bitch stops staring at the knife and Tommy starts on the last of his bread in relative peace. 

Despite still being in the company of three strangers, he allows himself to slide down the wall and settle himself comfortably on the floor. His thoughts, however, drift without his permission, having to force himself back into reality a couple times before succumbing to the whirlwind going on in the back of his mind. 

Everything about these travelers is so confusing. It’s a puzzle that he’s struggling to piece together. They arrive at his house during an odd hour of the night when they clearly could’ve just stayed in a tavern inside the town walls. The guards would’ve gladly opened the gate for them after a couple questions. 

“What’s this,” the lanky bitch-child asks quietly, staring at the jar with fascination. 

“It’s strawberry jam, Wil,” Techno replies cooly.

Maybe they don’t like the walls like he does and wanted to sleep in the forest under the night sky. But then why are they in his barn? Why were they looking for shelter from a beautiful night and a peaceful town? 

“Wha-why did you just use my name with-with him here! You specifically told us that we couldn’t say each other’s names last night while the kid was around,” the bitch- Wil , angrily whispers. 

And the absence of food is startling, especially with all those sacks and bags they were carrying. He remembers there were even canteens but he now doubts that they were ever filled with something. 

“You used my name while he was jus’ stand’in outside the door. Jus’ be’in fair.”

The small argument breaks him out of his thoughts, carefully listening in more intently as he nibbles on the last of his bread.

“I didn’t know he was there!” The bitch’s voice raises a tad bit higher, but he catches himself. “You could’ve said something.”

“There was’ent any time to.”

Wil gives his brother– I’m getting serious brother vibes here –a shove, almost knocking Techno’s food out of his hands. A dark look settles over the man’s face as he clutches his food closer, but even Tommy can see how playful it is.

“Oh, you’re in for it now.” Techno’s mischievous smirk says it all as he jabs his brother in the side. 

“Hey!”

“Boys,” the elder sighs, “settle down.”

“But Phillllll, Techno’s being an asshole,” Wil whines, leaning away dramatically.

Techno, clearly the one with any sense, groans and drags a hand down his face. “Wil, could ya not release all of ou’ names at once.” 

The two dissolve back into petty squabbles, Phil watching them with a weary smile on his face and diving out jam lathered bread to them in between hushed whispers. 

It brings a tiny grin to Tommy’s face. He can’t help it. They’re acting just like the families he’s seen on the streets. It warms his heart that there still might be a chance for him to find a family like this as he gets older, hope bravely peeking its little head out.

Maybe it’s the warmth of the moment. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling floating around that he hasn’t felt around other people in a long time-the safeness . Maybe it’s the playful taunts whispered into the air. But he makes a spur of the moment decision nonetheless, a small olive branch.

“Tommy, my name’s Tommy.”

There go the fucking walls.

—

After tending to Henry, feeding both of the two hungry animals their respective breakfasts, and seeing if they wanted to get out of the barn–which they didn’t–Tommy headed out into the unrelenting rain to tend to the chickens. Do a couple maintenance checks around his clearing and the like. 

King excitedly followed him out, chasing after his heels to stay under the cover of the cloak, much to Wil’s joy. 

The ladies always like to be out, come rain or sunshine, so as soon as he opens the coop up for the day, he gets bombarded with a flurry of feathers and clucks of good morning. 

“Hello to you too,” he laughs, taking the same basket he used to carry the breakfast out from under his cloak. He had happily taken it back from Phil as soon as he handed it over to him, knife and all. “Alrighty, let’s see. Any eggs today?”

Tommy moves to the covered, wooden end of the enclosure set up with neat little boxes on the inside with a rectangular hatch. Pulling it open, he can easily see at least a dozen eggs situated inside their own cubicles. 

“Look at that. Thank you m’ladies,” he hums, carefully collecting them all in the basket. 

The harsh rain subsides into that of a faint sprinkle and the cat at his feet sticks his face out from behind the cloth. Once he notices the change, he’s bounding away. 

Tommy watches King for a moment, seeing him rush to the forest, and then places the basket onto the ground to get the food out for the chickens. It’s in a burlap sack tucked into one of the boxes that doesn’t have an open space for the birds to enter. 

It is when he’s reaching in to toss the feed onto the ground that he hears the familiar shattering sound of an ender pearl smashing onto the ground, the vwoop of teleportation following close behind. 

The chickens squawk in surprise, scattering away.

He flinches hard , instantly dropping the bag onto the ground and pulling a dagger out from his boot. His stance turns defensive as he looks around for the source of the noise, back to the chicken coop. 

“Woah, it’s okay! Don’t shoot the messenger,” a voice to his left says, teetering off into a nervous laugh. 

Tommy tries his best to regulate his breathing, but it’s kind of hard to when he faces an official messenger of Xe Dee, the King of the lands of Esempi. It’s-it’s not rare exactly, to see one especially if you live in land he rules over like he does, but this far west and specifically at his house….. did I get found out?

Carefully, he lowers his knife to his side, eyes flicking to the messenger every time he so much as twitches. 

It seems like there’s been a design change to their uniform since he last saw one. The man–maybe not a man, but in his late teens like Tommy–is wearing a crisp, white button up, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and loose fitting, fern green trousers. There’s a simple half cloak drawn around his shoulders in a plain black. A satchel is crossed over his chest and he can even see the glowing tint of potions peeking through. 

The golden colored crest of the King is displayed proudly on the flap of the bag, haunting him every time he blinks only to see the symbol appear behind his eyelids. How could he forget it? The two oval-like lines cross over each other before wrapping around a simple circle. He forces himself to glance away. 

But what's most notable, is the sword strapped to his side and the hilts of daggers peeking out from his boots. That and, you know, the dual colored eyes: one brown, the other red. 

“Do you have a message,” Tommy is just about able to ask without his voice cracking. 

He has a feeling he’s not supposed to be seeing the multicolored eyes this easily, his headache dimming slightly. Damn it .

“Err, yes, I do,” the messenger pauses, fidgeting absentmindedly with the hilt of his sword. “If you could put the dagger away that would be nice.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he rushes to say, pulling on the act of a simply spooked civilian even as his heart squeezes. It’s nerve racking to put the weapon back, but he does it anyway. “You just scared me there. It’s not everyday that you hear one of those ender pearls hit the ground.”

“Ah, yeah.” The messenger pulls down his hood, revealing a head of tight brown curls. A black bandanna keeps most of it out of his face. Tommy keeps his up. “Sorry about that, it’s just easier to travel that way.”

And more expensive .

“I bet it is,” Tommy forces himself to smile.

He nods along, shooting him a cheeky grin. And then, like he’s remembering himself, he straightens up, features smoothing out effortlessly as he folds his hands behind his back.

“I come with a message from King Xe Dee himself. The Circus, monitored by his brother, Prince Dream, was said to have arrived at this-the nearby town late last night.”

Tommy subconsciously stiffens at that name. It’s his circus? He’s nearby? Fuck.

“However, it has been reported by Prince Dream that the Circus has been burned down, looted, and the hybrid employees have disappeared. Due to their sudden disappearance, King Xe Dee has named them the culprits of this tragedy. If you know anything about the whereabouts of these traitors, please report them immediately and you shall be rewarded a hundred gold coins if your information is proven correct.”

Suddenly, the pieces click together. The travelers are from the circus. The magic he felt was a cloaking spell. Wil’s cap always covers his ears. He never saw Phil without his cloak on or that stupid hat. 

His heart starts to hammer loudly in his ears.

He-he should turn them in shouldn’t he? The servants of the King would leave quicker too, but he catches himself. It would be best to just let them leave and not have this connected to him. Besides, if they took the route through the mountains, they would be free. 

He swallows carefully, bringing himself back to the present.

“The circus got burnt down,” he asks, fake pity coating his words. “Oh, that’s too bad. I was going to go and see them perform the next time I went into town.”

The messenger perks up at that.

“So, you saw them entering the town?”

“No, not at all,” he smiles tiredly. “I work in the town for the day and come back here before night falls. I saw the circus just a ways down the path that leads into town. You know, the one that comes from the mountains. It was hard to miss, with all those red and white covered wagons.”

“Did you see something amiss? Anything suspicious?”

“No, they were too far away for me to see anything like that. Maybe the guards on the wall saw something?”

“You know, you’re pretty smart for just a guy that lives out in the forest.” The messenger eyes him up & down, and for a dreadful moment, he thinks he’s been recognized. “You would make a great messenger. I’m sure His Majesty would hire you.”

“Oh, you are too kind.” I would never go back. Not in a million fucking years . “But this is my home, I couldn’t bear to leave.”

“Of course,” the messenger smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But-just-keep it in mind will you? It would be nice to have someone my age on the force. You would do wonders out there.”

“I will, good luck.”

“Thanks–the name’s Eryn, by the way. If you want to find me again just ask the messengers stationed in the village for me.”

“Tom.”

“It was nice meeting you…I hope our paths cross again.”

“The same.”

The teen pauses, like he’s trying to remember something, but there’s already an ender pearl in his hand and he’s gone as soon as he throws the eye.

Tommy sways on his feet for a moment before he crashes to the ground and squeezes his eyes close as he wheezes for breath. It takes all his willpower to not fall apart right then and there. If he does, he knows he won’t be able to force himself to stand again.

The rain picks up, but the wind doesn’t return, at least, he doesn’t think so. It’s hard to hear anything over the rapid beating of his heart. A chill creeps up his spine and as soon as he starts to shiver, he can’t seem to stop. His cheeks seem wetter too, eyesight blurring, but he blames it on the rain. 

What a fucking mess.

It was pure luck alone that he didn’t completely freak out while Eryn was here. If he had, he would’ve guaranteed himself a one way ticket back to the place he’s tried so hard to forget. 

Tommy takes a shaky breath, nails biting into his arms. 

It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not going back. I’m safe.

Of course Dre- he just had to stop here. Of course he had to come looking for him. Why had he been so stupid to think he wouldn’t? That bastard of a prince was probably on a warring rampage from the day he left. 

Did-did they get caught? No-they told me that they would be fine, that they would be able to cover it all up. Right? They must be safe. They’re safe…..please let them be safe.

He pulls his knees closer to his chest, burying his head away from the bitter chill.  

And this whole “Circus” thing must be a coverup to allow him to traverse the kingdom in pursuit. He must’ve been following along the mountain range, that’s why they came in through the northern path. Touring town to town in hopes to find him.

Now that he thinks about it, could it be the Circus? The one that he’s only heard rumors of. The one that’s been famed for tracking down hybrids and “recruiting” them to be stuck in the endless travels of a windbound circus. 

It would make sense, but….to what extent? How bad is-was it actually? There’s no way it could be anything like the stories, right? But if it’s his -

There’s too many questions and not enough answers. It’s killing him, not being able to put it all together. And his head is killing him. He just aches , but he can’t find any energy to do anything about it except sit in the rain. 

King finds him sitting there, meowing quietly, paws balancing on his feet to push his face into Tommy’s view. 

“Hey-y bud,” he whispers, sniffling a bit as he raises his head up from his knees. 

King bumps his nose against his in greeting, and Tommy scratches under his chin, earning a rumbling purr in response. 

“Did you have a good little look around?”

He gets a meow in response.

“Yeah? That’s-that’s good. Don’t think you’ll get another one in for a while bub.”

The droplets seem to become heavier, coming down in big droplets. The tomcat crawls onto his lap and Tommy just curls the cloak over him, petting his wet fur absentmindedly. 

He watches as the chickens return to where they originally were before the scare, pecking furiously at the ground like nothing happened. He wishes he could just forget it as easily as that. But, now that he knows the three are from the Circus, everything shifts. 

They either escaped from or rebelled against the Circus. That’s why the air around them was tinged with smoke. That’s why they have so many bags, but no food. That’s why they didn’t stay the night in the village. 

That’s why they’re so jumpy around deals and promises and favors. They probably had a bad deal with the Circus. Though, he doesn’t know how bad of a deal it could’ve been for them to burn the whole thing down, but he has some theories. It is his . 

And now that he knows their hybrids, the clues are so much easier to see. He’ll just have to piece together who’s what, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Techno’s pink hair and the brief sighting of red eyes is itching at him though. He’s seen similar red eyes before, but where?

Another shiver rattles through his body, dragging him out of his thoughts and leaving him bone-dead tired. His head pulls at him, making his brain pulse angrily. 

“Oh fuck this.”

Tommy reaches outside of his cloak and snaps his fingers.

A little sphere of honey-yellow light appears out of thin air. The rain bends out of its way as it hovers around him, circling around his head and then following in a spiral all the way down. 

Everything once wet, dries within in an instant. The mud that he didn’t know he had clinging to his clothes disappear. Everywhere the light touches gets left behind with a warm feeling. 

He sighs, feeling a bit better after letting out some of his magic, having severely suppressed it the past couple of hours. Tommy knows that it’s not good to hold shit like that in, but he had no choice-or it seemed like he had no choice. Now that he knows the three are hybrids, he has the upper hand.

Either way, they’re all outcasts in a way. Maybe he won’t have to do anything for them to keep his secret. He highly doubts it, but a guy can hope. 

King knows what’s up, jumping out of his lap and letting the sphere spin around him too. Once it’s done, it splits in two as if it always was. The smaller one gets absorbed by King and the other floats up to melt against Tommy’s forehead. 

The rain parts around the two as smoothly as cutting through butter on a hot day. 

“Oh yeah,” he says, pulling himself up to a standing position and grabbing the bag of feed. “That’s better.”

King gives him a look that can be directly translated to: took you long enough . 

It starles a laugh out of him and the smile remains as he finishes tending to the chickens and herding them back into the coup. 

“Come on, King,” Tommy smiles, feeling it reach up to his eyes. “I’ve got some things to do.”

—

“What’s got you so down, Eryn?” A fellow messenger, one more experienced than most, gives him a toothy grin as he enters through the gate. “Something caught yer mind?”

“Heh-yeah. I guess you could say something like that,” he murmurs, settling down next to the messenger under the tent. “Just thinking about something...”

“Well don’t go over-using that brain of yours. We’re gonna need you quick as a whip for this endeavor,” his face darkens for a moment. “He needs all of us to be.”

Eryn watches the rain drip into already full puddles and that boy’s shadowed features flit into his mind again. He couldn’t see the entirety of his face, but-something about it is nagging him, he just can’t put his finger on it.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“As long as it takes,” the messenger sighs.

Chapter Text

Tommy puts some logs in the fireplace, starting it up with a match, before pulling out the second key tied around his neck. It slots easily into the lock of the chest with an audible click and then he’s lifting the lid up with greedy eyes. 

It isn’t like he hasn’t opened it in forever, he sorted through its contents a couple days ago. But he’s just been craving for something familiar, especially now that he’s wading through uncharted territory. 

In a way, the situation is somewhat familiar. The constant feeling of danger, the bubbling fear of the unknown, the helplessness. It’s familiar alright, just, not in a good way.

Old memories that not even his nightmares dare to touch on are resurfacing. Things he doesn’t want to remember, things he’s been trying to forget for the past two years. 

Hell, that messenger–Eryn–almost sent him completely spiraling. He’s getting soft . He should be used to this shit by now. 

—

“Don’t tell me you’re going soft? I taught you better than this, Tommy.“

—

Fucking– see!

Tommy swears he just heard his voice, for the second time today. He thought he was getting better. He thought he was over this, got rid of this . 

Almost in a daze, like he can’t believe he’s doing this, he swivels his head around the room.

He isn’t here, it’s okay. I’ll get through this. I have before, I can again. It’s okay to not be okay. I’m healing, even if it is taking me this long. It takes a while, it’s normal. I’m healing.

He takes a deep breath, sitting down in front of the chest. King gives him a look from where he lays curled up on the bed. 

“Oh hush,” he grumbles. 

Looking in, he sees everything exactly as he left it. The first books he ever bought–the ones about spells and potions and historical figures that were banned from the history books–are stacked in the corner. 

His pouch of hard earned, ancient jewelry covered in runes and spells sit atop the stack. The brewing stand he crafted with shaky and excited hands is on the other side, expensive ingredients like nether wart and blaze rods in a bin next to it. 

And in the empty space between it lays a small portrait of his parents, cradled in the soft blue blanket that he had clutched in his hands as his home was overtaken. 

The color of flames flashes behind his eyelids, beautiful and wild as they dance. Boots kicking down doors and slamming on hardwood floors echo in his ears. Another breath and he is back to the present.

He checks that his mum’s spell book and his father’s handcrafted potions book are underneath the worn piece of painted paper.

Tommy hums his approval when his finger tips brush the old leather covers, first over pale green and then faded purple. They were the only things he owned for a long, long time.

His hand leaves the books, closing carefully around the portrait. The paper is weathered but smooth against his skin.

He doesn’t remember his parents well. There’s faint memories scattered around that he can’t hold onto for too long. But, if he gazes at the picture long enough, he can remember the way his mum would exclaim excitedly when she figured something out, eyes ablaze as she would hurriedly write it down. He can remember the way his dad would ruffle his hair in greeting whenever he got home from work, a fond smile on his lips that would crinkle his eyes. 

Tommy rubs the edges of the photo fondly, gently placing it back on top of the journals. 

What he’s really here for, is the books; the one on old historical figures and the other an encyclopedia of hybrid traits. The first he stole when he left and the second he bought at the Noctis market. He’s read both a handful of times. 

The encyclopedia is a given, but the other he grabs on a gut feeling. It’s just-he feels like he’s seen Techno somewhere before, maybe even Phil. Not Wil, though. Too much of a basic bitch. 

He closes the chest, keeping the key slotted in the lock, and plops down on his bed next to a curled up King who doesn’t give the books a second glance. 

After getting situated, pulling a blanket across his legs, he opens the encyclopedia to the table of contents. 

He’s-he’s not sure what he’s looking for, but he’s sure he’ll know it when he sees it. His eyes follow down the list, immediately catching on Chapter 2: Avians . Turning to the associated pages, he scans the writing.

What To Look For :

Avians are one of the few hybrids that exist with wings. Most, if not all, have wingspans measuring to be about 6 to 10 feet. There are, of course, larger and smaller wingspans possible, but there hasn’t been enough sightings to consider them common or natural. 

Despite avians having wings, they easily can be hiding in plain sight. Their wings can be tucked close to the back and or covered by cloaks and baggy clothing. Any other features they have are either too hard to notice or easily hidden. 

For example, all have longer and sharper nails than natural, almost claw looking if you stare at their hands for too long. But unless you are looking for it, it can be quite impossible to catch. Their slightly pointed ears are also hard to see, especially if they have long hair. Some, not all, have the extra feature of feathers in the hair or on any other part of the body. It isn’t common to see this, but it’s definitely something to look out for. 

On the topic of feathers, depending on which bird hybrid they are, the feathers can look different in color and shape. Parrot hybrids have more vibrant, colorful feathers in simple patterns, while sparrow hybrids have more dull feathers but in intricate patterns. 

Tommy flips to the next page, the rain picking up slightly. 

Instincts :

A major instinct aspect that comes with the bird-like traits is nesting. This is similar to how actual birds provide and make a nest for their chicks and flock, except it’s with materials like blankets and cloth instead of sticks and grass. Their nests can be found wherever an avian is residing. 

It is also considered a space only for those seen as ‘’flock” to enter. If you are not welcome, seen as an intruder, or a danger, the “head” avian (the parent in most cases) will become violent and will do anything to get you out of the space or away from their flock. This is especially true when it comes to their chicks, or fledglings. The same rule of staying away from a mother bear’s cubs can be applied here.

Now, to define what a flock is, varies from avian to avian. Generally, it can be described as a family. A flock can consist of biological members, chosen members, or a mixture of both, so it can be quite hard to tell if a hybrid (or a human, though this is only in theory) is a part of an avian’s flock. To add to this, the hybrid doesn’t necessarily have to be an avian hybrid, they can be from any other hybrid group. This is due to not only the nesting instinct, but a familial instinct as well.

So Phil is obviously an avian and Techno & Wil are his flock. That’s easy enough to figure out with the hat and the cloak always on his person. And the odd look Phil had when given the blankets last night can be part of these “nesting” instincts.

He tilts till his back hits the wall behind him with a soft thump, eyes closed in thought. 

But that bit about flock and attacking intruders isn’t fitting in the slightest. Err, wait, maybe it is. Last night with commenting on Techno’s hair and this morning with breakfast. Phil’s not as violent as the book is saying avian’s are, but it could just be that the book is wrong or he’s severely suppressing his instincts. That can’t be good if it’s like Tommy suppressing his magic. 

On second thought, the only reason Phil told Wil to back off was because he was a kid-

Tommy bolts upward, eyes snapping open.

Oh fuck, am I considered a fledgling in avian age-or whatever.

His pride is mortally wounded. He is not a fucking child.

He flips through the chapter again, seeing if there is anything about what ages are considered fledgling age or just avian life spans in general. Nothing.

Tommy sighs. That’s going to seriously bother him. Whatever, it’s probably not even correct.

Turning back to the table of contents, he begins his search once again. 

— 

Wilbur gazes at the barn’s doors longingly. 

“Wil,” Phil sighs. “If you stay out there any longer, you’re going to get sick.”

He grumbles in reply, leaning further against the column, feeling the engravings carved into it press against him in return. 

The rain is just so beautiful and dazzling, he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of it. The way it pours from the sky and then runs along the ground, creating rivets as it goes. The way the droplets sway and tilt with the wind, dancing with its partner. How it cools the air around it and all it touches, like a balm to the soul. 

Hesitantly, he tears his eyes away from the doors, focusing in on the conversation Phil and Techno are having. He’s not entirely sure what the problem is, but he knows that Tommy was talking to someone that arrived and might’ve leaked their location. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He hasn’t known the kid for long so it doesn’t necessarily feel like a betrayal. More than anything, he’s a little disappointed that it can be this easy to lose trust in someone you just met.

“Phil, I know what I saw,” his brother says firmly, arms crossed. 

“But-there’s no way word would spread that quickly.” Phil’s brow is furrowed. “It’s not possible.”

“It look’d like the person teleported . I don’t know ‘ow that’s possible either, but that’s the only answer I ‘ave.”

Teleportation sounds cool. That’s when you can hop from place to place without physically traveling the distance on foot, right?

“Maybe….” The far off look in his father’s eyes brings to mind things he would rather forget.

He sees Techno tense out of the corner of his eye, sharing his thoughts. 

“No Phil.”

The answer breaks the haze, lifting the weight of remembrance off of both their shoulders. 

“But-”

“There’s no way that guy could ‘ave access to ender pearls.” Wilbur blinks. What are…ender pearls? “Those are nearly em’possible to get without a mage’s help or some long an’ taxing backwards way.”

Phil starts pacing, shoulders hunched up. 

“What if it wasn’t one of the town’s men.”

Techno stares at him incredulously, Wil equally confused if not more. 

“What do ya mean by that?”

“What if it was someone in the big leagues that started the search? A noble, a duke maybe. Someone with big pockets.”

“An’ why would someone like that want to help….” Techno trails off, like he’s just realized something, arms falling to his sides. 

Phil stops worrying a line into the floor, a hard look in his eyes as he nods to Techno in confirmation.

“What am I not getting here,” Wilbur asks, carefully pushing off the column. 

“Well,” Phil starts, turning his gaze to him, “it was always rumored that the owner of the Circus was somehow connected to the royal line. He must’ve pulled some strings when he heard about what happened, pulling out of the royal treasury as well.”

“Wait wait wait wait,” Wil pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me that he’s royalty? The owner. Of the Circus. Are we talking about the same guy here?”

“Yes. Or at least related to in some way.”

“And what royalty line are we talking about here?”

He doesn’t even know where he is, let alone what country and the long lineage that rules over it. He’s not even sure what a royal does or has control over other than land and money. 

“King Xe Dee and his brother, Prince Dream, are the only ones left of their bloodline,” Phil offers him a tired smile in understanding. “They rule over the lands of Esempii, the kingdom we are currently in.”

—

Tommy blinks at the history book in his lap, dumbfounded. 

“There’s no way,” he whispers to himself, scanning the writing over again. “There is no fucking way .”

The pictures of the Blood God and the Angel of Death stare back up at him, silently condemning him to his fate. 

—

“So-wait,” Wilbur frowns. “We’re basically screwed right now because the guy that owned the circus knows the royal fuckers that own the land we’re currently on?”

“No,” Techno says, eyes brewing a storm. 

“Care to elaborate?”

“Technically speak’in, we might be, but I’m sure with Phil’s past travel’en experiences we’ll be able to find a path through the mount’ens an’ lose the search’in party.”

“But aren’t mountains cold and shit? We don’t have nearly enough supplies,” he glances at their bags in the corner subconsciously, “or enough food.” 

“Wil’s right on that part, mate,” Phil hums, closing his eyes. “I mean, we could steal if there’s a market in the town.”

“But it’d be more likely that we’d be caught,” Techno counters. “If we’re correct ‘bout someone higher up aid’in in the search.”

They all stand there in silence, mulling over their options. 

Phil starts pacing again, the constant beat of his pace matching the rhythm of the rain pattering above. Techno seems at a loss for what to do, running his hands through his hair.

He hears the horse trudge in her stall for a moment. A light goes off, Wilbur’s head snapping up.

“Why don’t we just ask Tommy?”

—

Tommy pulls the book closer to his face, still not believing what he’s seeing. He feels a shiver crawl up his spine. 

The Blood God and the Angel of Death are spitting images of Techno and Phil.

Who are currently in his barn…..

He has terrorists in his barn . 

—

“No,” is Techno’s and Phil’s immediate response. 

“What-why not,” Wilbur sputters. 

Techno and Phil–who stands rigid at Techno’s side–share a glance, deciding whose turn it is to talk. It’s Techno’s. 

“We can’t trust ‘em, Wil.” His voice is firm as he speaks, but there’s an undertone to his words that try to soften the blow. “He could’ave just sold us out fer all we know. And besides, he’s ‘lready given us food and a place to stay. There’s no reasen to ask fer more.”

“There is though! We need money or information or food–whatever the both of you think we need to have to get through the mountains,” he pauses, but still continues in a quieter voice. “There isn’t any harm in asking.”

“Look, we just don’t know what he could do-what he’s ‘lready done. It’s best fer us to tread carefully.”

Wilbur hates this, this helpless feeling. He can’t help himself, he can’t help his family. It feels like he’s stuck in some far off land with no way out. His hands twist, hidden in his coat pockets.

Why can’t they just try? Why won’t they let him try? If it fails, it fails. 

Sure, Tommy might’ve already betrayed them and was slightly antagonistic last night, but he apologized for that and has already been more kind than the keepers ever were. He let them stay the night and then gave them breakfast free of charge. He didn’t even question why they were so skittish about accepting the food, just kept pushing till they accepted. 

And really, Tommy’s just a kid, what could he do? They’ve got the upper hand here, why aren’t they taking it? They started an entire rebellion last night, how could asking a kid for information or food be any harder?

It makes his blood boil. He needs to do something, anything to get up and through those mountains. Anything to get away from the remains of the past.

What if….he does it himself? It seriously couldn’t hurt to try………

“Alright, okay. I see your logic,” he mumbles, slumping his shoulders in false defeat. “I’m gonna step out for a bit, try and think of something else.”

He sees Phil’s expression soften and he knows he’s got him. Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Of course, mate. Just don’t stay out too late.”

“I will.”

He can do this, it’ll all work out.

Wilbur steps out into the rain and relishes the storm. 

—

Tommy notices King’s ears twitch before there’s a knock on his door. 

Oh shit .

He stops mid pacing to stare at the door in surprise. Maybe he just imagined it?

There’s another knock over the crackling of the hearth. 

“Coming,” he shouts, hurriedly putting his books back in the chest. “Just a second!”

Some relief comes from locking his treasured belongings away and placing the key back around his neck. But it gets interrupted by another knock on his door, albeit lighter than the first two. 

“Gods,” he grumbles under his breath as he makes his way to the door. “Can’t even think in peace can I?”

When he pulls open his door, it’s to the sight of Wil standing awkwardly outside, thoroughly soaked. 

Well at least it’s just him. 

In the end, he couldn’t find a hybrid match for him or a historical figure look-alike. He’s not even sure this guy is a hybrid which is just as possible as him being one. Obviously he’ll still keep his guard up, but he has a feeling it’s going to be hard remembering to. 

Tommy raises his eyebrow in silent question. 

“I-uh-wanted to ask you about the mountains,” Wil stammers out, wringing his hands together. 

He blinks. 

“The mountains,” he deadpans. 

“Yes?”

I can not believe I’m going to let another stranger into my home for the second time today. 

“Fine, come in,” he opens the door wider with a sigh. “I was just about to start making dinner anyways.”

Tommy carefully watches Wil’s reaction. Let's just say he is not surprised to see him looking like a child in a candy shop. The way he kind of just stands there, hands loose at his sides, eyes darting everywhere, makes him want to burst out laughing. He hides his smile by busing himself with figuring out what to make for dinner. 

Going off what he knows–which isn’t much–he’s pretty sure Phil won’t eat chicken because he’s an avian. (The hybrid book didn’t say anything about what each class ate, so he’s really just guessing at this point.) Techno is a little trickier, being from the Nether and all, but piglin has the word pig in it and pigs aren’t picky, so he’s just going to go off of that. 

Why he’s trying to be considerate about what he makes for literal terrorists is beyond him. 

Soup is easy to make and probably just a vegetable based one is the safest route……potato soup should be good. Especially because he’s been meaning to eat the potatoes that he found a couple days ago. 

He glances over his shoulder to find Wil still gazing around with wonder, with his back to him. Thankfully he isn’t trying to poke around and also hasn’t noticed King curled up on his bed. King just watches but doesn’t seem to really care.

If the animals aren’t afraid, there’s no need to be afraid. 

“You can take a seat if you’d like.” He gestures to the table and chairs in the corner. “I’ll be in the cellar for a second. Don’t touch anything please.”

In the middle of removing the blankets from on top of the trap door, he hears Wil swear under his breath.

Looking over, he sees him now sitting in one of the chairs, absolutely rigid, and staring directly at King, who holds his gaze easily. 

The scene makes him chuckle, gaining the attention of Wil. 

“He’s not going to bite you again,” Tommy smiles, continuing on removing the pile of blankets. “He’s just there to watch you, make sure you don’t do anything funny. He might attack you if you do.”

“What-actually?”

“Eh,” he shrugs, “depends on what he’s feeling like.”

Finally he gets to the bottom, the trap door finally revealed. With a hard yank and a creak of the wood, a ladder to the floor of the cellar is revealed. 

“And I’d say he’s a bit moody today,” he says with a conspirator grin and starts making his way down the ladder, though not before he hears Wil muttering something under his breath. 

The cool of the cellar leaks through his socks when he gets all the way down, startling a shiver out of him. It’s a tad bit humid at the same time, being underground and all. He can’t hear the rain down here, but that means he also can’t hear the bitch in his home. He’s still contemplating if that’s a good thing. Either way, it makes him hurry in grabbing what he needs. 

Despite the cellar being filled with rows and rows of shelves and storage units, he knows everything is always in its own little spot. It’s like a library with its own system—without the books of course.

He walks past the preserves and the jarred goods, to get where he stores all his extra goods for the short term. Ruffling around in a handful of bags, he finds the sack of potatoes, picking out four good sized ones before heading back to the ladder.

At the last moment, he decides to quickly check for any leaks, potatoes still tucked under his arm. He walks around the perimeter with his hand brushing the sides before doing the same to the ceiling. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be any water coming in. He’ll double check tomorrow. 

Making his way back up the ladder is a lot harder than when he first came down, having to use only one arm to climb. But he gets to the top eventually, setting the potatoes down before pulling himself up.  Wil is in the exact same spot he left him in, clinging to his seat and not taking his gaze off the cat napping on Tommy’s bed. The sight is just as comical as when he first saw it.  

“You doing okay there, Wil,” he asks, trying hard to not grin as he closes the trap door. 

“Oh yeah, doing just great,” he spares a glance at Tommy. ”And it’s actually Wilbur.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” Tommy offers a polite smile, now putting the blankets back in their spot.

“Not your fault,” Wilbur’s gaze turns back to the cat sleeping peacefully, who’s unbothered by the stranger in his space. 

Humming in acknowledgement, he carts the sack of potatoes over to the kitchen counter. He starts chopping up the potatoes on the cutting board into chunks. 

“I was joking, by the way.”

“About what?”

“King. He only bit you last night”– Was it really just last night? –“’cause he thought you were an intruder or something. Your knocking really scared the shit out of him.”

“Oh,” Wilbur’s whole demeanor seems to soften behind him. “That makes sense, I guess. I think we’re even now, he scared the shit out of me when he bit me.”

“You screamed like you were dying,” he casts a grin over his shoulder. “Like a little girl.”

There goes being on guard, damn it .

“Hey,” he shouts back, face flushing. “I did not.”

He turns back to cutting the potatoes up, his smile wider than before. It feels nice to banter like this.

“I’ll agree to disagree.”

His mind floats back to the soup, turning over ingredients and spices in his mind with each chop. Onions, carrots, and celery are a must. Garlic and salt & pepper too. Maybe some thyme. Butter to cook the vegetables. He should probably boil the potatoes first to get them soft and then put everything in together with some milk, heavy cream, and flour to make it thicker if needed. 

Rummaging in the cupboards underneath the counter, he pulls out a big pot, clanging and banging as he goes. He sees Wilbur flinch out of the corner of his eye and murmurs an apology.

He really wants to put in some chicken broth that he made a couple days ago, but-airing on the side of caution-he decides to leave it out. 

Once he finishes chopping up the potatoes, he moves to fill the pot with water. There’s jugs of water near the right end of the counter on the floor that he keeps so he doesn’t have to go down to the river everytime he needs water. 

He goes through two large jars till he gets the water to a level he likes. Before he heads over to the fireplace, he slides the potato chunks in. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but he finally gets the pot’s curved handle to catch on the hook hanging above the fire without spilling anything. As an afterthought, he adds a couple more logs to the fire. 

Wilbur watches the whole ordeal curiously, eyes wide to take it all in. He doesn’t glance back to the King the entire time, occasionally shifting to get a better look at things. 

Making his way back to the kitchen counter, Tommy decides to ask what’s been on his mind since he started putting everything together. 

“Do you want to help,” he rubs the back of his neck with an awkward smile on his lips. 

Wilbur considers him for a moment, blinking in surprise.

“Really? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“If anything, you’d be a major help.” Tommy opens the cabinets above, pulling out the milk, the heavy cream and the butter. There’s a cold rune etched into the cabinet’s bottom, but no one needs to know that. “And it never hurts to learn something.”

“Are-are you sure,” he hesitates, wringing his hands together as Tommy turns to look at him. 

“Wilbur, does it look like I’m not sure?” He tries to say it with the straightest face possible but he can’t stop himself from cracking a grin. “Come on, I won’t mind teaching you something. Promise. I’ll even tell you the best ways to use what you can find in the mountains and wherever you end up after that.”

And even after that whole little speech, he still hesitates. 

Tommy softens his smile and steps closer to where the stranger sits–the stranger that he can’t seem to keep his walls up for–and extends his hand in offering. 

Wilbur stares at the outstretched hand, looking more lost than ever, forehead creasing like this is something he has to think ove,r to make sure the hand that looks accepting won’t backstab him. 

Where’s that child-like wonder? Who hurt him so much to make that bright flame flicker? Who made him so distrusting of even the littlest things?

Tommy’s heart aches for this stranger, who looks just as broken as he feels on his bad days, with a melodic voice and a child for a heart. 

Tommy doesn’t know when he started to get attached. 

Wilbur sighs, his forehead smoothing out, and takes his hand. 

Tommy squeezes the hand in his, smiling brightly, and pulling the man to his feet. 

“You ready,” he asks as he drags him over to the counter.

“Not at all,” Wilbur says through his teeth. 

“Oh don’t worry, you'll do just fine.”

He pushes Wilbur in front of the cutting board, who’s looking a bit confused as to what he should do. 

“How…how much do you know about cooking,” Tommy asks, pulling out another cutting board and knife.

Wilbur looks away, something in his eyes that he can’t catch. 

“Next to nothing,” he mumbles after some time. 

“That’s fine, I don’t mind explaining,” he smiles back, that turns to something soft as he sees his hand brush over the handle of the knife awkwardly. “Here, let me just-”

Tommy picks up his own knife, showing him how to hold the knife properly. He grins when Wilbur mimics it.

“Alright, so we’re making potato soup,” he starts explaining. “The pot over the fire has the potatoes already, and we’re just going to let them get a bit soft in the water.” He opens another cabinet, pulling out the celery and carrots. “We’re going to add these to the soup, but we have to chop them up first. I was thinking about cooking them in butter before we put them in though.”

He breaks off a stalk of the celery from the bushel and gives it to Wilbur–who is soaking all the information up like a sponge, nodding his head here and there. 

“Now, you see this big leafy thing on the top? We don’t want to eat that, but it’s what you’ll want to look for when it’s in the ground.” 

He shows him how much to cut it off, drawing a line with his knife and then slicing it clean through. Wilbur mirrors the movement, although more carefully than Tommy, smiling slightly at his small achievement. 

There he is . 

“And then you’re just going to chop the rest of it with the same motion you just used.” He watches as Wilbur does exactly that, Tommy following along and keeping at a slow pace. “Yeah! Just like that. When we get to the end, where it’s a little bit white, you’re going to want to stop there. Don’t eat that part either.”

He pulls two more off the bushel and hands one to Wil, both returning to chopping.

“You’ll be able to find celery close to water sources, so they’re less likely to be found in dry climates but check the shady spots. Always wash whatever you find off before you use it. You don’t know where it’s been. I clean my vegetables off before I even enter the house so I don’t have to be bothered with it while I’m cooking.”

Tommy eventually gets a high rimmed pan from below to put all the chopped celery in, pushing the ends and leafy parts to the side to put in the compost later. He explains everything over again for the carrots and the garlic, adding those to the pan as well once they finish.

“Now, for the onion,” he grabs one from another cupboard, “this one is a bit of a special case. Like the carrots, it can come in different sizes and colors, but the different color types all taste different. This one is called a yellow onion, good for cooking in general. White onions are a little sweeter and red onions are stronger, spicy in a way.”

He pulls the candle he always keeps in the kitchen to situate in between their two cutting boards, rummaging around again for that damn match box.

Where’d the bugger go?

He glances over his shoulder to the mantel above the fireplace.

There it is .

Matchbox now in hand, he returns to explaining, “Anyways, as I was saying, onions are special. When you cut them, they release a fume that you can’t see. It’s not harmful, don’t worry, but it makes most people’s eyes water.”

He lights a match with a flick of his wrist and sets it against the wick of the candle, making sure the flame jumps before blowing out the match.

“I, however, know this trick. If you light a candle or if you’re near any type of fire-“

Tommy cuts himself off to demonstrate, slicing the onion in half. Not a single tear blurs his eyesight and he catches Wilbur’s enthusiastic grin.

Something warm curls up inside him, wrapping around his heart with a tight squeeze. 

He returns the smile, knowing deep down that this will all disappear like a dream when they leave tomorrow.

Better enjoy it while it lasts.

—

The potato soup stares back up at them, simmering quietly in the pot.

Tommy hopes he’s done it right, he’s never done such large portions on purpose before. It’s soup though, if it tastes bad then he’ll add some more spices, maybe another potato or two. 

Thankfully, it’s the right color and thickness despite the loss of the chicken broth. A little flour had to be added in the end but the soup is now creamy and a light golden color. 

Either way, it’s the journey that matters, not the destination right? 

Wilbur was a joy to cook with even though his experience in a kitchen was severely lacking. The bright smiles and cocky grins. The light banter appearing as they both opened up to each other. The ease of explaining what he loved to do and the mountains to the north, not once feeling like he should control his rambling. All of it was worth more than spices and the roof over his head. 

It felt like, for the first time, he was truly healing. He can feel the walls built carefully around his heart cracking. Maybe Wilbur felt it too. Maybe he helped him heal a bit.

He's going to miss this. Desperately miss this. 

“You ready to try it, sous-chef?” Tommy grins to Wil at his side, pushing those dangerous thoughts away.

“I’m ready, you ready?” He grins back, an excited glint to his eyes.

Tommy hands the long wooden spoon over to Wilbur, whose smile widens ever so slightly, and stirs the pot one last time. He manages to get a sizable portion on the spoon before trying it. Tommy waits with bated breath.

To his surprise, his eyes start to water.

“What-Wil. Why are you crying?” Tommy’s hands flutter nervously at his sides, not sure what he can do to help. “Are you alright-did you burn yourself-does it taste bad?”

Did I do something wrong?

“No-no, I’m alright,” Wilbur’s breathy laugh fills the air, but it sounds so alight . “I’ve just never tasted something so good.”

Despite himself, Tommy frowns. It can’t be that good. 

“Shove off,” he grumbles, but he can’t help the way his shoulders sag in relief. “I’m positive you’ve tasted something better than potato soup.” He bumps Wil, reaching for the spoon. “Let me try it.”

Wilbur doesn’t flinch like he did last time. Pride swells in his chest.

“Trust me on this one here. It’s really good.”

The spoon trades hands and a second later Tommy has a bit of the soup in his mouth and- oh my gods, it is that good .

He stares at the soup like it’s offended him. 

“I’m never going to have something this good ever again.”

Wilbur bursts out laughing beside him and Tommy can’t stop the grin from breaking his deadpan glare. 

He tucks the sound into a safe space next to his heart, where all his best memories sit. 

Tommy joins in, his own laugh surprising him. 

I’m going to miss this.

—

In the end, they had split the soup into four portions. Three of them were poured into some mason jars.

Wilbur had said that he would just take them over, told him it was easier that way so they both didn’t have to trek in the rain. Tommy let him go. 

It was hard to not break into tears as he ate his soup, sitting alone at his table.

A hole he didn’t know he had feels empty now. 

Tomorrow is going to be hard

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the messenger quivers, “but there’s no leads to follow. It’s almost like they all disappeared.” 

The Prince glares at the middle aged man and he hurries out with a frightened look plastered to his face. 

He’s heard those words before. It was a different situation, different phrasing, but still the same outcome. 

He leans back in his chair, staring blankly at the papers scattered messily on his desk. Certain words seem to be written boldly, taunting him with their existence. A newspaper reads the headline, “The Circus Burned Down! Connections to the Royal Line?” A long list of receipts documenting the expenses of the Circus, the large sums sticking out. A notebook with its pages spread open, unidentifiable runes scribbled upon it in a hand not his own.

The desk gets flipped over in a single motion, a crash breaking through the silence, papers tumbling about in the air.

The Prince stands above it all, eyes burning, chest heaving and hands clenched into fists. 

“I’m coming for you Tommy, if it’s the last thing I do.”

—

Tommy wakes up to a blue sky and birds chirping, King a warm presence curled up against him. 

The world sounds quiet, empty, without the constant drumming of rain on his roof. 

He takes a deep breath and pulls himself to a sitting position, mentally preparing himself for the day. 

Breakfast first, everything else can wait. 

He makes some scrambled eggs and toast for himself with a small fire in the hearth. 

Wilbur and his family should still be here. He told him that it would be best to leave at night for the mountains, only because he knows that they are on the run. Hopefully Wil relayed that information to Phil and Techno. 

Gods, he still can’t get over the fact they’re terrorists. Techno is way too awkward to be the fucking Blood God and Phil radiates too much tired-dad-energy to be anything but one. And Wilbur….he doesn’t even know how he got messed up in all of that. 

A part of him whispers that Phil and Techno don’t deserve Wilbur. 

He pushes it away.

“Attachments are a weakness,” he whispers under his breath. 

He can’t believe he’s agreeing with his “lessons”, but if that’s what’s going to get him through today, then he’s going to use it. Just today, he just has to get through today. He can fall apart tomorrow. 

Tommy hums under his breath, trying to distract himself as he pulls together a breakfast for three. 

It’s something that his mother used to sing to him, he thinks. It’s all a little blurry at times, but he always seems to remember the melody. The familiarity of it eases some of the tension in his heart. 

He puts the rest of the loaf of bread into the basket he used yesterday as well as a jar of jam—blackberry this time—and another chunk of cheese. 

Tommy hears King jump down from the bed, sauntering over to where his milk bowl is. He makes sure to fill it up and douse what’s left of the fire before slipping into his boots, basket in hand and cloak over his shoulders. 

It’s early in the morning, so hopefully they are all still asleep. If not….he’ll just have to be quick about it, excuse himself under the pretense of chores or something. 

Birds chirp and whistle over his head, calling to each other and celebrating the rising of the sun. He wonders if Phil can understand what they’re saying or if he can talk back to them, maybe mimic their noises. 

A pair of eastern bluebirds soar over his head, their bright blue wings and peachy orange chests catching his eye. 

He saw them a lot while he was at-

No, nope, not thinking about that. Something else-please, anything else-

He remembers they were his dad’s favorite. He would point them out to him occasionally. He faintly thinks he loved bird watching.

Why they’re so far from the eastern coast is beyond him, but…..it’s almost like his parents are watching him from above, sending a reminder of his childhood-of them and their love. 

His steps feel a little bit lighter as he makes his way to the stables. 

It’s quiet as he approaches. A part of him is relieved, another makes his breathing hitch. He sets the basket of food down in front of the double doors. 

Lightly and with what stealth he can muster, he pulls one door open, popping his head in. It’s dark and his eyes can’t seem to form anything other than thick outlines. He can only hear the faint clopping of Clementine’s hooves as she paces impatiently behind her stall door. 

Did they leave ?

His heart stubbornly aches with the thought. 

He waits for another precious moment, straining his ears for something….

There!

A slight rustle of fabric, barely audible, but there.

So-what now? If he slips up and makes a noise, ultimately waking them up, what could he do-what could he say to dissuade their-their what? Distrust? Anger? He does not want to face the wrath of the Blood God and the Angel of Death. 

Wait. Why doesn’t he just use his magic? He can already feel the beginnings of a headache pull at the edges of his mind. It hasn’t even been a full day and he’s already itching to do more. Maybe it’s because he’s consciously suppressing it? Ah, whatever, it doesn’t matter.

Pulling a spell to mind, he draws a glyph in the air with his finger. It’s a simple spell, one his mother modified in her spare time to make even simpler. Within seconds the air that his hand trailed through is shimmering with a light, golden glow. And with an artful flick of his fingers, the spell floats to the center of the stables and silently explodes, the particles scattering and dissolving in the space.

Clementine sneezes, some of the remnants of the spell hitting her nose. The sound of it is nonexistent.

He feels all warm and fuzzy. It’s been a hot minute since he’s done a specific spell like that. The aftereffects are hitting a little bit harder than usual, but it should clear up.

Speaking of clearing up, that silencing spell is going to last only a couple minutes.

It was actually one of his mom’s passions, figuring out how to make a spell’s effects last longer or for a specific duration. This one should last about five minutes, give or take a couple seconds.

Striding into the barn, his footsteps impossible to hear, he heads to Clementine first. She has a curious tilt to her head. He lifts up the lock and the stall door swings open, a slight breeze stirring up the air. 

Tommy doesn’t even need to point, Clementine just heads to the barn doors, pulling them open a little bit more with her nose. He hurries over to Henry’s stall to do the exact same, grabbing the stool and the milking bucket from the side.

He has to lead Henry out though. She seems intrigued by the travelers in her barn, which is fair. Henry hasn’t seen any other people other than Tommy since he bought her off of that farmer. 

Once they’re both outside, Tommy carefully closes the barn doors behind them. 

It’s slightly jarring to go from no sound at all to hearing everything once again, but it doesn’t take long for him to adjust. 

He finds Clementine galloping around the property, mainly in the small pasture–between his house and the stables–where the chickens also are. The sight makes him smile. She must’ve felt cooped up in the barn yesterday.

Henry is already grazing on the grass, tail flicking lazily behind her. 

“Alright Henry,” he says, heading to her. “I’ve gotta milk you first before you go walking around. It’s not healthy for you.”

He gets a moo in response.

“I know, I know. I’ll be quick.”

There aren’t any more interruptions after that and Tommy sets to work, sitting comfortably on his stool, grass swaying against his boots.

He’s got a lot of stuff to do today, now that he’s thinking about it. There’s the daily chores with the animals and checking on his garden. He planted some seeds a week ago, but with the way the birds have been acting recently he might have to replant a couple. 

Then he has the cellar to check for leaks, maybe he’ll touch up the cold runes while he’s down there too. Oh and the river. He almost forgot about that. Hopefully it didn’t rise too much and the outhouse got affected. He’s been meaning to do laundry as well. If he has the time and the river hasn’t gone to the rapids, it’ll be good to get done with. 

He should make a pack of food for the three, since they don’t have any food on them. So now foraging is possibly on the list too.

Shit. 

Well, best to get started.

—

Tommy’s in the middle of adding more lapis into the runes carved into the cellar walls when he hears a knock on his door. It’s faint enough that he chooses to ignore it.

He cringes when it happens again, a little bit louder this time.

A part of him wants to go up and see who’s at the door, the part that craves just for a taste of human interaction. But he’s currently covered in the recognizable powdery substance of crushed lapis, the basket of the stones close to his feet, and he’d rather not risk it. 

What if it’s Eryn from yesterday? How would he react to Tommy coming to the door stained in blue?

He shoves some more of the powder into the carving, solidifying it there with some water and a murmured spell. 

There’s another knock. 

Tommy prays that they won’t come into his house uninvited. The travelers shouldn’t….hopefully. Maybe they’re just trying to return the breakfast basket. Wilbur would probably jump at the opportunity–that’s what his heart tells him. 

He sighs, moving to the next rune. 

There isn’t another knock on the door. 

His fingers curl tighter around the lapis stone in his hand. 

“It’ll hurt less when they leave,” he promises himself. 

The thrum of magic runs through him again as he whispers a spell. The warmth helps for a bit before it gets whisked away by the cool chill of the cellar and the sharp thoughts of being alone once again.

—

Wilbur acts like it doesn’t hurt when Tommy doesn’t answer. He decides to leave the basket at his front door, a mirror image to when his family woke up to food at the entrance of the barn. 

Techno is still absolutely miffed about that part. Wilbur is too, to be honest. How Tommy got into the barn, got the animals out, and left without waking any of them up is definitely confusing. 

Maybe Tommy is out in the forest somewhere. Maybe he went to the village. He wouldn’t ignore him, not after last night. Right?

He meanders his way back to the barn, watching the cow–Henry, if he remembers correctly–graze around the property. 

His mind floats back to the warmth in that kitchen, a light feeling that he hasn’t felt around anyone but Phil and Techno. He wants to feel that again, be in that kitchen again, to be able to do something useful. To learn something- anything about this crazy world that has been kept from him all his life. His heart squeezes with the thought of leaving this all behind tonight.

He pushes it away, gazing around the meadow. 

Wilbur hadn’t realized how much space Tommy has. It was hard to tell the night they arrived and even harder during the storm that consumed yesterday. 

There’s a whole meadow surrounded by the forest, an area maybe as big as the place where the Circus decided to set up camp. At the forefront, Tommy’s cabin sits and that weird wagon looking thing under a large overhang stretching from the side of the house. It faces so the kitchen windows look out to the break in the trees. 

Then, if he follows the beaten down path towards the other side of the enclosed space–where the sun rises–he’d eventually make his way to the barn. To the left of that path there’s a shed looking thing made of glass that sparkles in the sun and a sizable garden twisting around it. Phil said it was a greenhouse when he pointed it out. 

To the right is a big open pasture for the animals to graze on and a chicken coup situated a little ways from the barn. If he looks hard enough, there seems to be a path that leads into the forest, through the pasture. Techno found it leads to a river when he went looking for Wilbur last night. 

Last night.  

He cringes at the reminder. They’d been pissed- beyond pissed. The silent type of anger filled with disappointment. Thankfully, they’d calmed down a little bit when he relayed all the information he learned over the jars of soup. Who knew Techno was such a big fan of potatoes. 

Wilbur had honestly been surprised when they let him go drop off the basket. With everything that happened, the possibility to do so didn’t seem real.

His thoughts leave him when he sees Phil sitting outside the barn, taking in the sun. He looks to be sleeping but he knows that he was being watched. The prickle of eyes following him is not an unfamiliar feeling, unfortunately. 

He huffs in annoyance when he plops down next to his dad. 

“You know, you didn’t have to watch me,” Wilbur grumbles. “I would’ve been fine.”

“Who said I was watching you? I’m just enjoying the sunlight, mate.”

“Uhuh, sure.” He glances around for a moment. “Is Techno in the barn?”

“Nah.” Phil finally opens his eyes, blinking tiredly at Wilbur. “He went to the river. To see if he could catch anything.”

“Fish?”

Wilbur’s never had fish. He wonders how it tastes-how to cook it. Maybe he could ask Tommy about it later. 

“That and to see if he can scavenge for anything edible. Tommy never said that we couldn’t. It’s not like it’s his forest anyways.” He pauses, a thoughtful look to his eyes. “No one can ever truly tame a forest. You live in harmony with it.”

He hums in agreement, but his throat tightens when a thought passes by. It’s out in the air before he can catch it. 

“We could ask Tommy,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. “For where the best places to forage are.”

“Absolutely not Wil,” Phil says sternly. “You- we can’t ask for more of him and you certainly aren’t going to interact with him alone anymore. It’s not safe. We’ve had this conversation already.”

“But you just let me go to his house alone .”

“I was watching you.”

“Hah,” he declares, pointing a finger at him. “I was right. You and your stupid bird vision. Can see shit from far away, truly unfair.”

He sees his dad’s eyes soften at the edges.

“Oh don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not,” he laughs lightly. “I’m just grateful we made it out. Grateful for you and for Techno.”

“Oh no, Phil’s getting all mushy again,” Wil jibes, a grin on his face. “So old he can’t contain his emotions.”

“You little shit!”

Wilbur laughs, lying down on the grass and stretching out. It’s a little uncomfortable with the way the grass brushes against his skin, but it’s a lot kinder than what he’s previously had. 

He watches the tops of the trees leaning over the barn sway with the breeze, a natural peace he had never been able to truly enjoy washing over him. 

Content. He’s content.

Phil starts carding his fingers through his hair, and Wilbur falls asleep to the rustling of the wind and the sun’s rays shining down on him. 

—

Tommy messes around with the food in one of the cabinets, shuffling around with the jars of spices. He takes them all out, checking for those that have lost their labels and setting them aside. The others get put back onto the shelves. 

He glances at the door as he carries the little jars over to the kitchen table, where some scraps of paper and a quill sit. 

It’s a little bit past noon and he is going stir crazy.

At this rate, he’s just trying to do meaningless crap, trying to keep himself busy. All the chores he could’ve done outdoors are finished anyways. He had done it all before the three even stepped out of the barn, except checking the river. 

He wants to go to the river, to see if he can do his laundry, but that risks seeing any of the three while he’s out there. If he interacts with any of them he might lose it when they leave. He’s somehow already attached to Wilbur and that’s going to be painful enough. Tommy does not need another heartbreak on top of that. 

A breeze comes in from the open windows, taunting him. 

He won’t fall for it.

Tommy starts writing out the names of the spices that need labels, the sharp tip scratching over the paper. Once he finishes writing one out, he tears the piece free and places it on the lid of the jar, letting a spark of magic make the paper stick to the metal. He moves on to the next one.

The task feels very repetitive after a few goes but he pushes through it.

His head pulses in annoyance at his persistence. He’s been using a lot of magic today and it’s wearing down on him, but it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before. If anything, it helps him focus on what he’s doing and not on the thoughts that are trying to grab his attention. 

King pops in from his usual window by the time Tommy’s finished. 

“Hey King,” he smiles. “How you doing?”

The black cat meows in acknowledgement before hopping up onto the table, coming up to nudge his face against Tommy’s.

“You need something?” he laughs, scratching at the tomcat’s chin. 

Just as abruptly as he’s arrived, King jumps off the table, heading over to where Tommy’s boots are by the door. He circles them for a moment before staring right back at Tommy.

“Nope.” He starts carting over the jars of spices back to the counter. “You are not guilt tripping me into heading outside, mister. I know what you’re doing.”

Another questioning meow. 

“King,” he sighs, crouching down to pet through his fur. “I know you want me to go outside, but I’ve already been out. You missed your chance bud.”

Tommy stands up, shoving spice jars back in their spots, the familiar clinking sound of glass against glass ringing in the air. 

Gods.  

Tommy hates penting himself up in here. It grates on his nerves. He’s spent enough of his life locked away, and here he is, doing it to himself. 

His hands grip the edge of the counter.  

This house is his home . It is. He built it himself, with his own hands. His blood, sweat, and nightmare filled tears are in the foundations of this cabin. It’s a part of him.

Then why does he want to leave?

His chest tightens, something poking and prodding at him with each breath. 

Why does it feel like death is on his heels? Why does it feel like he is right around the corner?

He focuses on his breathing. In and out.

Of all the days to have a bad day, it just had to be today, didn’t it?

Of course. Of course it did. 

He feels a warmth press against his shins. King stares back up at him. 

This cat is his savior, through and through. 

Tommy collapses on the floor, back to the strong wood of the cupboards. King just settles in his lap, purring up a storm, dragging him piece by piece back to himself. 

He focuses on his breathing, fingers carding through soft fur. He focuses on the warmth of King in his lap, the vibrations thrumming through his bones. He focuses on the wood against his back, on the wood underneath him. 

He is here. He isn’t leaving. He’s safe. He’s home . 

“Thank you,” Tommy whispers.

—

Wilbur wakes up to see Tommy walking out of his cabin, a smile on his face and a cat at his feet. A wider, flat curved basket is settled into the crook of his arm, something catching the light inside of it. 

Phil is calling him before Wilbur can even wave hello.

He sighs in defeat.

—

Tommy checks on the animals before heading down the path to the river. 

He knows he’s just stalling, but he’s outside and that’s a good first step. And, either way, he’s just checking on the river and then going foraging. Laundry can wait.

King stays on his heels the entire time, not even straying when Tommy passes the chickens. Clem and Henry are grazing together close to the edge of pasture and the chickens are still pecking around their pen, or near it at least. 

The new iron shovel gleams in his short rimmed basket, catching his eye from time to time. It’s heavy, sturdy. Maybe those two silver pieces were worth it. 

He realizes he misses the market, the constant hustle and bustle of it all. He misses the people, the new faces that he won’t remember. He misses the noise, the colors, the smells. He misses coins constantly changing hands, selling and buying and then selling all over again. 

The longest he’s stayed away is a day or two. It feels like it’s been weeks. He wonders if the guards or the other vendors notice his absence.

He hopes that the kid from the other day survived the storm well enough. If they come around again, maybe he’ll add a little healing potion onto some of the food he gives him, just to ward off any sickness.

It’s cooler when he steps into the tree line, going along his normal route. He feels calmer here, safe, hidden in the foliage and swaying leaves. 

No trees seem to have fallen down from the storm, but there’s more leaves and branches scattered about than usual. Everything is damp, puddles of water here and there, mud in patches. King leads Tommy around those. 

Nothing seems to be too washed away though, no new tree roots sticking out and tripping him. Maybe it didn’t rain as much through the night. A gust of wind dances through the trees, shaking free stray droplets. 

By the time Tommy gets to the river, he’s thinking it’s less and less likely that the river rose much.

But his breath catches. 

Just to the left, sits the Blood God on a large rock close to the riverbed, braided hair thrown over his shoulder.

Tommy doesn’t spare a second glance at the man, hastily glancing at the river level–which is maybe half a foot higher than it was before–and steps off the path to head back into the tree line. 

“Good af’ternoon, Tommy,” Techno calls out.

Shit . 

Of fucking course he heard him. Hybrid’s probably have better hearing than him, even if the book didn’t mention it. He really should see if he can find a different one at the Noctis market. 

He forces himself to turn around, shoving his shoulders down when they want to hike up to his ears. 

“Afternoon, Techno.”

Techno shifts almost uncomfortably on his rock. Tommy sees a sack at his side, practically empty. Maybe he’s foraging too?

“Thanks.”

“You’re-you’re welcome?”

“Fer breakfast this morn’in an’ dinner last night.”

“Oh,” Tommy allows himself to smile. “Yeah, it’s no problem. No need to thank me.”

The silence is deafening, awkward. King sits at his feet, tail curled around him as his gaze flicks between them. 

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I should get going.”

Tommy turns around again, heading in the general direction he had already chosen: away.

“Where you go’en?”

“The forest,” he throws over his shoulder, not stopping. 

Please please please. Don’t follow me. Please.

King suddenly runs up in front of him, pouncing on a mouse. He doesn’t kill it though, letting it escape from underneath his paws before chasing after again. 

Tommy shakes his head. The game of cat and mouse. All too familiar.

He feels like he’s a part of one too. He’s the mouse; everyone and everything else is the cat. The messenger with his news, this kingdom and its royalty, the travelers smelling of fire and ash. All coming to surprise him out of his underground burrow. 

There’s the telltale crunch of branches behind him.

He sighs, fidgeting with the basket on his arm.

“Yes, Techno?”

He doesn’t acknowledge the figure appearing at his side, continuing his way through the forest.

“The things ya told Wilbur. Why did you tell ‘em that it would be best to leave at night? Why the mount’ens?”

“Do you not agree with me,” he raises an eyebrow in question when he glances the Blood God’s way.

Maybe the Blood God is only one for killing, not strategy. Maybe he’s just trying to dig up more. 

Guard up, Tommy . 

“I jus’ want to see your logic behin’ it all.”

“Fair enough,” he nods. “Well, first of all, Wilbur asked about the mountains and I took it as the route you all chose. Was I wrong to assume?”

“No, you were not,” Techno sighs. “I did not know he specifically asked ‘bout that.”

King bounds out from under a bush, mouse proudly carried in his mouth, dead. 

“I see.” Tommy kneels down to give the cat a rewarding scratch under his chin and a smile before continuing on. “I said going during the night was the best way to handle it because it would give you time to prepare after the storm. If you left early this morning, you wouldn’t have had time to get your bearings. The landscape always looks different in the rain.”

Techno nods.

“That’s what I thought too. Jus’ wanted to hear your think’en process.”

I also said it because I know you’re on the run . 

He nods, “Anyways, do you need something from me?”

“Er-no.” There’s that awkward side again. This guy? The Blood God? It’s becoming more and more challenging to see Techno as the blood-dripping figure told in the stories of the survivors. This guy doesn’t even look like he can hurt a fly half the time. “I don’t know the forest well an’ you do. Thought I could tag alon'-get a lay of the land.”

Maybe he is the Blood God, just hiding it under a layer of social clumsiness?

Gods, why is this all so confusing!?

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs. 

He does, he most certainly does mind, but he doesn’t voice it. 

But Tommy just keeps walking, King in front of him, and a second set of unfamiliar footsteps beside him. He harshly blocks out the stranger-the terrorist at his side and all the images of the blood and destruction that appear in front of his eyes every time he blinks. Now what to get?

Being barely the beginning of spring, not much is sprouting up from the ground. He’s currently relying on his stores from summer and the greenhouse. But it’s only so big and the surrounding garden just has seeds in its soil. 

Well, he definitely has a fair amount of potatoes in the cellar and he does have enough salt to preserve maybe a handful of fish. Maybe fishing is the way to go then. That and mushrooms. Those damn things never seem to stop growing no matter the weather. There should be a patch coming up soon if he remembers correctly. 

They round a tree and he spots the specific cluster he had in mind. 

He drops himself on the ground at the edge of the group, basket set next to him, and shovel now in hand. If he’s right, the shovel should be able to– yes –cut through the stalks of the mushrooms easily enough. 

Two tools in one, definitely worth those two pieces. 

“You know,” Techno drawls and oh for fucks sake . Tommy forgot he was there, consciously twisting himself to the side so his back isn’t to him. “I do ‘ave one more question.”

“Yes? What is it?”

He cuts away at another mushroom, placing it in the basket. He ignores the way his hands start to shake. 

“Why were you talk’in to that guy the other day? The one with the royal crest on his bag?”

Tommy’s heart stops.

Did he see me do magic?

He sees his knuckles turn white on the shovel. 

“Well,” he swallows down the bile crawling up his throat, making his hands focus back on cutting the mushrooms. “There was a circus that came into town-what was it, two nights ago? I think it was the night the three of you arrived on my doorstep.”

He struggles to take another breath, feeling those eyes on him like he did when he was alone with the Blood God that first day. He had hoped it was the last. 

“Anyways, the circus was burned down the night it arrived, the members nowhere to be found. Somehow the royals got involved in this whole mess-maybe someone with connections owned the circus. Either way, His Majesty the King sent out his messengers to spread the word, and the one that came to me seemed to hint that it was the members that burned it down.”

Such respectful words to a man who watched as his life was ruined are bitter in his mouth, foul as they slide past his teeth. 

“An’ what do you think,” Techno says, lightly raising an eyebrow. But other than that, Tommy can’t get a read on him. 

“On what,” he asks, placing another mushroom in his basket.

“Do you think the members burn’ed it down?”

Yes . 

“I-hm,” he pauses, timing his response and checking his mouth. “I don’t know all the details, do I? So how would I be able to answer your question if I don’t know all the facts?”

“‘Ust answer the question, kid,” the Blood God huffs, leaning against the tree that casts shade over the both of them. 

He sees blood flash across his face, the mushrooms at his feet flickering into blackened skulls for a breath of a moment. 

King curls closer to Tommy, pressing his head onto his lap.  

He takes a deep breath. 

“I mean, if they did burn it down, then they must’ve had a reason. I just hope that the reason was…justifiable.” He chews at the inside of his cheek. “Maybe the members were stolen by a more jealous circus owner? That one just seems far fetched, but I wouldn’t put it past them.”

He flicks his gaze to the Blood God who almost looks…surprised? 

There’s the flash of red underneath those brown eyes and then Techno is looking away, nodding to himself. 

The birds seem quiet, barely singing their songs. Tommy holds his breath with them.

Techno adruptely starts trudging away, heading back through the forest with nothing but a quick wave of the hand in acknowledgment or farewell. 

That’s that then.

The crunch of branches and leaves fades away and the birdsong comes back in full swing. 

He breathes in, slowly letting it out. Relief curls around his heart almost as tightly as the loneliness making everything ache. His shoulders slump.

Tommy plants his free hand in King’s fur, stroking absentmindedly as he counts the mushrooms with the other.  

“You know, you’re the only true king here. That bastard of this land doesn’t deserve the title.”

—

“Don’t tell me you made Tommy freak out!”

His brother blinks at him in exasperation. 

“He jus’ looked tense, so I left.”

Wilbur sighs through his teeth, rubbing at the headache pulsing against his temple. 

He finds himself pacing. Pacing pacing pacing.

Why am I so……so worried? Anxious?

He can’t get a grip . Why does this matter so much? Why does he care? Why must he care?

Spiraling down down down and away, away from this moment. 

“Wilbur.” Techno grabs him by his shoulders, a familiar look to his eyes. “Calm down. It’s fine . He is fine. He jus’ needed a moment, so I left.”

His heart beats against its cage. It hurts . Why does it hurt?

“But-”

“Hey, none of that.” Wilbur forces himself to focus on Techno in front of him. To take in the strands of pink hair swaying in front of his brother’s face, the crease between his eyebrows, and the silent absence of Phil. “He’s probably just not us’d to people talk’en like I did, with the way he lives out ‘ere in the middle of nowhere.”

That’s what I’m worried about .

He realizes he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to leave this kid alone, so alone, without anyone to hold him, without anyone to help him. He doesn’t want to leave the warmth of learning and the calming brightness in Tommy’s eyes.

“And besides,” Techno continues with a nonchalant shrug, “we’ll be gone by toni’ht.”

And Wilbur-Wilbur doesn’t want to leave.

—

Techno doesn’t mention how Tommy’s pale face and tense shoulders and darting eyes reminded him of how Wilbur looked in those cages. Those gods forsaken cages. 

He couldn’t stand it, so he left.

It was probably his doing anyways. 

He couldn’t have helped, he wouldn’t have been able to fix it.

The constant pinging of voices bouncing against his skull are left to be ignored.

Coward .

—

When the sun settles itself against the horizon, Tommy knocks on the barn door, leaving a carefully prepared sack of food behind. Enough to last through the mountains.

He makes his steps even, sure. Doesn’t let his shoulders hike up.

The stars are beautiful tonight, as beautiful as they were when the three arrived. And now they leave, under the cover of them once again.

The bright specks of light have never felt as sharp as they do now.

Chapter Text

(3/1/24)

Heyo! I hope everyone's fairing alright, but I'm going to be having a serious talk.

I do not support Wilbur, will I ever. My past fics will continue to stay up because they are a piece of history and are a testament to my hard work and creative ability. Again, that being said, I DO NOT support Wilbur. 

I will not be posting a chapter for the fic this month. I do not know when I'll post for this fic again, if ever. When I do decide, you all will be the first to know. The other fic that is currently a work in progress-the one called "The Most Dangerous Thing Is To Love"-will continue to be updated because Wilbur has not been introduced yet nor will he ever be introduced. I might post a chapter there later today, but no promises. 

It is a possibility, however, that I will kill him off. The fic is currently in a position in the timeline where it can occur seamlessly. But, if not, I will share all my plans that I have had with this fic. Most of the google document outline will be posted if I decide to discontinue this fic, just like I did with my last discontinue-ment. 

I will not speak on my feelings on the matter other than I do not support Wilbur and am still mentally processing all that I am hearing to not distract from Shubble. I did not find out about this as quick as most of you probably heard, so I am sorry my response was not as quick as others. Please, please go support Shubble in any way that you can, whether it be something as simple as following her on any of her platforms or donating to a women's aid foundation/charity for those in similar situations. 

Spread the word and stay safe.

- Mkat

__________________________________________________

UPDATE:

(3/22/24)

I will be keeping this fic up AND continuing it despite still having Wilbur in it and, you know, not killing him off. Here are my reasonings:

(Note: William is IRL Wilbur, the person, just so we don’t get mixed up.)

1 - This character wasn’t even originally based off of William, it was his character that he created in the DSMP world.

2 - I now see WTCCTT Wilbur as MY character, not anyone else’s, because I wrote him. I see him as a character with a similar name and nothing else because that’s where the similarities stop.

3 - I do not want to give up writing this fic because I love it dearly. I have put so much effort into it that I don’t think I could just throw all of it to the chopping block. Over a hundred pages in a Google doc have been written and almost a year of my life spent writing it (I started in May 2023).

So yeah. Also, just because I’m saying all of this DOES NOT mean I support Wilbur. I DON’T support him.

And if you are uncomfortable with continuing to read this fic, that’s perfectly fine and I completely understand. You can click off at any time. I want you (the reader) to be comfortable with what you’re reading and if that means losing views/kudos/comments that’s totally, totally okay. I don’t want you to feel obligated to keep reading this because you aren’t obligated to. You don’t have to keep reading and I wholeheartedly understand. Please stop reading if you are uncomfortable.

That being said, updates will be slow going for this fic as I permanently separate William from WTCCTT Wilbur in my mind and writing. I will be noting in the first summary to look at this chapter for my standings on everything for new viewers as well. I actually don't have the next chapter completely done yet; I've been a little bit behind in writing. I have a lot going for me IRL-wise, just the name of the game really. It might be a bit, don't expect something from me early April lol. 

And for those of you looking for something else to read, whether it be from me or not, I do have a fic that I update every other week called "The Most Dangerous Thing Is To Love." It's got bench trio in a modern setting with superpowers, heroes, villains, the whole sha-bang. It is a little violent, so please read the warnings that I put up for each chapter. If that's not for you, go spread your love to the others in this community (or a different one!) that are still pursuing their writing.

I thank you for clicking on this fic and I hope you will continue with me on my journey of finishing this fic. If not, then I wish you luck in finding your next read. Thanks for staying for this long! I appreciate every moment you've spent here. 

- Mkat