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1.
Tommy cackles as the wagon skids into the town.
“RANBOO!” he shouts, and throws himself forward. “CATCH ME!”
“Tommy, no,” Ranboo says frantically, “I’m holding cooki—”
He throws the tray to the side to catch Tommy, bridal-style. Tommy cackles. Ranboo sighs.
“Hi,” he grumbles. “That was a perfectly good batch of cookies.”
“I caught it,” Tubbo says brightly, holding out the tray. Tommy sticks his tongue out playfully at him and stretches to steal a cookie; Ranboo yelps and narrowly avoids dropping him. “No, you can’t have them. We have to give these to Niki.”
“But Niki likes meee,” Tommy whines. He flops his head back dramatically, hair flying in the wind. “Please? Pleaseeee?”
Ranboo sighs and reaches over him to grab a cookie. Tubbo wrinkles his nose. “Here, Tommy,” Ranboo says, and hands it to him; Tommy exclaims triumphantly.
“You are the best, Boob Boy,” he tells him in Ender, fully serious. “Simply the best. Absolutely superior to everyone.”
Ranboo beams and chirps at him. “Time for baking,” he says, and traipses off along the path. Tommy grumbles good-naturedly as he’s jostled. Tubbo takes Ranboo’s other side, holding the cookie tray out of Tommy’s reach (much to Tommy’s chagrin). “So, Tommy, how long will you be in town?”
“Two days!” Tommy says brightly. “So we can have a sleepover!”
Ranboo purrs. “We can make all kinds of craft—”
“Ha! Hey, fucker, what’re you doing walking around in the day?”
“... bracelets.”
Tommy’s eyes snap upward and over Ranboo’s shoulder, toward the source of the shout. “What?” he snarls. “What’d you just say?”
The guy snorts. “What, are you all buddy-buddy with him? You’re humans.” His lip curls up. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with freaks.”
“Okay, first of all—” Ranboo’s arms tighten around Tommy, and Tommy curses, thrashing out of his grip. Ranboo just clings tighter. “You son of a bitch— Ranboo, let me—”
“No, Tommy,” Ranboo whispers, “don’t—don’t let him bother you, this is normal, it’s—it’s okay—”
“Has he done this more than once?” Tubbo spits, and skids around Ranboo, stalking toward the guy. Ranboo frantically readjusts his grip on Tommy to throw an arm around Tubbo and yank him back, and Tubbo swears. The guy snorts.
“Oh, I see,” he says mockingly. “Aww, is the little goat boy sad? Are you trying to fight me? I’d like to see you try, awww—”
“Fucking—” Tommy elbows Ranboo in the shoulder and curses again. “Ranboo, let me at him, let me at him.”
“C’mon,” the guy snorts now, “don’t get all worked up about it, it’s just another fucking Ender bastard—”
“I’m going to kill him,” Tubbo says, “I swear to fucking god, I’m gonna kill him.”
“Guys,” Ranboo says. His voice shakes the slightest bit, and Tommy fumes. “Guys, it’s—it’s okay, really, you don’t have to—”
The guy across the street laughs. Laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
Tommy snaps.
He’s shifting before he really knows it—flipping that tiny switch in his brain, and suddenly he’s smaller and smaller, until he can nip gently at Ranboo’s arm and slip out of his grip. Ranboo yelps as Tubbo suddenly doubles his efforts, and shouts, “Tommy! Tommy, don’t—” He mutters a curse in Ender and wraps both arms around Tubbo’s waist, hauling him back as Tubbo spits something about nukes and making this jackass regret his entire life.
Tommy skitters in ferret form toward the bastard on the side of the road, and leaps back into human skin right in front of him, narrowing his eyes.
The man’s eyes widen, just a bit, before the corner of his mouth tilts upward. “Oh,” he says, “you’re one of those ones.”
And it’s really just a combination of all sorts of things: his sneer, his eye roll, the way he smirks as he looks Tommy up and down. He’s about an inch taller than Tommy, broad-shouldered, and maybe Tommy should be threatened—but, well, it’s kind of hard to feel afraid when he spars fucking Technoblade on the daily.
Tommy seizes him by the front of the t-shirt and yanks him forward till he can look him in the eyes, snarling. “Listen to me, bastard,” he hisses. “Listen. I want you to think, very clearly, about what you just told my friend … and then I want you to apologize.”
The corner of the man’s mouth curves into a smirk. He takes a breath.
Tommy waits.
“Or what?”
Tommy rolls his eyes and slams the guy back into a building. The guy yelps, feet dangling in the air, kicking aimlessly. He hits Tommy in the shin, and Tommy doesn’t even grimace. “Apologize,” he repeats. “C’mon, now, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“I—I don’t—”
“Apologize,” Tommy spits, “to my friends. Or I am going to turn into a bird”—he shoves him back into the wall—“and fly very, very, very high up in the air, and then drop you.”
“I—I’m sorry!” the guy squeaks. “I—I—I—”
“You, you, you,” Tommy mocks, “use your words.”
“I’m sorry,” the man whispers, hoarse. He lets out a frantic exhale as Tommy sets him back down on the ground. “I’m very sorry.”
“And you’ll stop discriminating against people who can’t help being hybrids?”
“I— Yes. Yes, I will. I promise. I will!”
“Thanks so much,” Tommy says brightly. He lets go of the dude’s shirt and turns on his heel, striding away, flipping him off when he glances back to find him whimpering and glaring at Ranboo and Tubbo. “Ranboooo. I think I deserve a cookie for that. I was very brave.”
⸻⸻⸻
“Tommy,” Ranboo sighs. “I … thank you.”
Tommy purrs satisfactorily. He rolls onto his back to rub his head against Ranboo’s knee; Ranboo begrudgingly scritches him under the chin.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” Ranboo sighs, “but … well. That guy—I think he’s new in town. He’s kind of … kind of a jerk. I was getting really tired of it.”
Tommy blinks slowly up in the direction of Ranboo’s chin, respectfully avoiding his eyes.
“So, uh, yeah,” Ranboo says. “I’m used to just—just putting up with things. So it was nice to not have to … not have to sit back and deal with it, I guess.”
Tommy blinks; considers it; and shifts back. He flops around till he’s got his head in Ranboo’s lap and says, “You shouldn’t ever have to deal with shit like that.”
Ranboo tilts his head down at him. Hesitantly, he pats Tommy on the forehead. “I—I know.”
“But do you know?” Tommy says. “Like, really, really know?”
“I—I think so?”
“You should know,” Tommy says. He reaches up and fumbles, with a rather low amount of effort, for Ranboo’s hand; Ranboo allows him to press it against his chest, purring again. “Phil always says ‘Know your worth.’ You’re—you’re worth so much, Boob Boy.”
“You’re blushing,” Ranboo points out. “A lot. Oh, wow, your face is—are humans supposed to get this red?”
“I’m not human, jackass,” Tommy mumbles, and turns his face away, burying his face in the blanket over Ranboo’s knees. Ranboo chuckles and pats the top of his head.
“Go on,” he says quietly. “Knowing my worth?”
“Right,” Tommy squeaks. He clears his throat. “You’re—you’re a good person. You’re nice, and you taught me Ender, and you’re really good at baking, except for the part with the oven ‘cause you always burn the bread, and you’re really fucking tall.”
Ranboo snorts, although it sounds impressively flustered. “You—I— One of those things is not like the others.”
“Hmm,” Tommy says, “I guess. The tallness is the only problem here. If you were shorter, you’d be—you’d be better.”
“Okay,” Ranboo says softly. “Sure.” He hums and tugs a pillow to his chest as Tommy pushes himself up till he can flop down beside him, still holding Ranboo’s hand. “So … what’s the point?”
Tommy huffs. “The point, Ranboo, is that you should’ve let Tubbo tear off that asshole’s head.”
“I would’ve,” Tubbo pipes up from downstairs, because of course he’s been listening to their conversation for who-knows-how-long. “It would’ve been funny. Niki wouldn’t have grounded me for kicking his arse.”
Ranboo sighs. “It’s—I mean, it’s not that bad. There’s always gonna be another jerk. They just … they hate us, no matter what.”
“Well, I’ll teach ‘em,” Tommy promises. “And until then, you tell me if anyone’s bothering you. Or you tell Tubbo. But I’ll probably use my teeth and Tubbo will probably use a knife.”
Ranboo snorts. “Got it,” he says softly. He takes a breath. “Give me a hug, Tommy. You’re being too nice. It’s—it’s annoying.”
Tommy giggles and sits up to hug him, tucking his head beneath Ranboo’s chin. Ranboo purrs. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll start being a bastard again, how’s that?”
2.
Tommy wakes up all too early.
He grumbles, burying his face in Ranboo’s side. Ranboo is absolutely dead to the world, eyelids as nonexistent as ever, eyes boring into the wall. Tommy burrows back into the covers, but the damn noises continue, the racket slamming around downstairs like they’ve gained a customer who’s a circus clown. Tommy pries himself out from under Ranboo’s arm, groaning, and yawns.
“Tubbo?” he says sleepily, and stumbles down the ladder from the loft, blinking as his gaze sweeps across the bakery. “What’re you …”
“Give me all the fucking cash,” the man says frantically. “Give it to me, give it to me, move faster —”
“Alright, alright,” Tubbo says through gritted teeth. “I’m getting it. Calm down with the sword, man, you don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, I don’t want to do what?” the man spits. “Stab you? Freak you out?” He laughs hoarsely, and Tubbo freezes, pressing back against the counter. The man’s sword jabs recklessly at Tubbo’s neck, and Tommy just fucking barely holds himself back from leaping at him and rending his head from his body. Tubbo swallows. A bead of blood drips down his throat.
Tommy’s hackles raise as the man chuckles. “You’re just a tiny fucking goat,” he says softly. “What’re you gonna do? Go baaa?”
Tommy shifts and lunges.
The man hisses through his teeth as Tommy claws at his wrist, knocking the sword back—Tubbo twists out of the way and dives to the ground, flashing Tommy a thumbs-up and mouthing Get his ass. Tommy rears up on both back legs and snarls, tiger teeth bared, and the man whimpers, cowering back.
“Please, please—” Tommy shifts back, crouching to retrieve the man’s sword; the man sobs. “Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”
“I’m not gonna kill you, asshole,” Tommy says, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “Be pretty fucking pathetic, wouldn’t it? Although I guess not as pathetic as you.”
The man squeezes his eyes shut and presses himself into the corner. Tommy rolls his eyes and steps back. The thief just … stays there, like an idiot, whimpering and blubbering.
“You can leave now, you know,” Tommy calls, unimpressed. The man cracks one eye open, shaking. “Don’t be a dumbass. Quit robbing places. Unless, you know, they look rich enough to take a goddamn hit. And quit hating hybrids. It’s not a good look.”
“Please—please, I have a family—”
“Yeah, I’m sure they’re hella proud of you. You need money, go steal it from someone who deserves to be stolen from,” Tommy emphasizes, and jerks his head toward the door. “Now go. Leave. Exit, you understand that one?” The man scampers around the counter, stumbling, before he dashes out the door and down the street. Tommy snorts. “Apparently he did.”
Tubbo groans as he gets to his feet. He bonks his head into Tommy’s chest; Tommy wraps his arms loosely round his shoulders, clinging tighter as Tubbo hugs him round the waist too, and tucks his chin on top of Tubbo’s head, careful of the horns.
“Dumbass,” Tubbo grumbles. “I could’ve taken him.”
“I’m not a big fan of the whole killing people thing, Tubso,” Tommy chuckles. “And it takes forever to clean up blood once it dries into that fuckin’—the tile grout, you know? Forever. I’m serious.”
Tubbo snorts. “Alright. Sure. Fine.” Tommy clings to him tighter, and Tubbo giggles. “You were worried, weren’t you?”
Tommy makes a face. “Noooo,” he says, “absolutely not —”
“You were worried, you bastard!” Tubbo shoves him teasingly, grinning, then leaps up to throw an arm around his neck and drag him down to ruffle his hair. Tommy protests incoherently. “Such a mother hen. I wouldn’ve been fine, you know.”
“I knowww,” Tommy complains. “Just—let me worry about you, dumbass. I don’t think you realize that people actually care about you.”
Tubbo falters in his aggressive hair-ruffling. “Ah,” he says. After a moment, he huffs and releases Tommy, if only to head-butt him in the bicep. “Don’t worry about me,” he says gently. “I’m all good.”
Tommy narrows his eyes at him. Tubbo narrows his own eyes, all rectangular pupils, right back.
“You’re telling Niki,” Tubbo says.
“Oh, fuck no—”
“Telling Niki what?” Ranboo appears in a burst of purple, sparkling particles. Tommy yelps and jolts back.
⸻⸻⸻
“So,” Niki says, “you just … let this jackass leave after he threatened Tubbo and made fun of him for being a hybrid?”
“Oh, no,” Tommy says, “of course not.” He fidgets under her blistering gaze. She might be three-quarters of a foot shorter than him, but she makes up for it in pure glower. “Listen—I sent Ranboo after him. We know where he lives.”
“Tommy won’t let me throw a bomb down his chimney,” Tubbo grumbles.
“We’re going to egg his wagon,” Tommy says dutifully. “And steal three-quarters of his silverware, so he has to just keep washing three forks over and over again. And then I’ll shift into a phoenix and stand on his windowsill, so he’ll see me, and he’ll tell everyone about it, but nobody will believe him.”
Niki is silent for a moment. “Wow,” she says slowly. “You … really thought out this punishment.”
“It was all Tubbo,” Tommy says proudly. “Do you have any eggs, by the way?”
3.
Tommy wakes up to a muffled flump.
He blinks his eyes open, grumbling slightly. His covers are so warm, and the outside air is so … not. Does he really have to—
“No,” comes Phil’s voice, echoing through the too-thin walls. “No, no, please, not again, please—”
Tommy’s slung himself out of bed in an instant. He curses as darkness flashes before his eyes, blinking blearily until he adjusts himself and presses a hand to the wall to keep track of things. He shifts, shrinks, shivers; soon he’s hopping on the ground, letting out a sleepy caw, and taking off.
He flits through the halls like a shadow, landing carefully against Phil’s door. It’s unlocked, as usual; he pecks at the lock until the doorknob flips downward and the door swings inward.
“Please,” Phil is gasping. “Please, please, no, don’t take them—you can’t, you can’t —”
Tommy hops into the air and glides toward him, landing carefully on the curve of his wrist. Phil jolts backward, eyes wide open but unseeing, still trapped in horrible dreams; Tommy caws desperately, pecking at the back of his hand, and Phil lets out a choked cry.
“Please,” he croaks. “Please, no. Take me instead. I can’t let you do that to them. Don’t leave them alone.”
“Dad,” Tommy tries to say, forgetting he’s a crow for a moment, and that does enough. Phil shudders—sobs—sits just the slightest bit straighter, and slowly, his eyes drift open.
“Oh,” he says. He buries his face in his hands, cheeks glistening with tears. “Oh.”
Tommy caws gently at him, using his beak to brush a messy strand of hair out of his eyes, clearing his view. Phil takes a shaky breath, then another, then another. Tommy hops down into his lap and presses his tiny, feathery head against Phil’s rapidly-beating heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest until it finally slows.
“Tommy,” Phil says hoarsely. He smooths a hand over the feathers of Tommy’s head—rumpled, like Tommy’s hair will surely be when he shifts back—and sighs. “Hello, love. I hope this is you. It’d be awkward if you were just an ordinary crow.”
Tommy bumps his head gently against Phil’s heart again. Phil cracks a smile. “It’s you, then,” he says. Tommy nods. “Thank you, mate. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
Tommy caws indignantly. He takes three hops over to the end of Phil’s bed, then shifts back, finding himself sprawled across Phil’s legs, tangled in the blankets; he curses groggily and pushes himself upward.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. There’s still something of a crow’s caw in his voice, and he coughs. “What—what happened?”
This is enough of a routine that Tommy feels comfortable asking. Phil has a nightmare. Tommy, with the privilege of having the room closest to Phil, flits over to wake him from whatever prison his mind has trapped him in. And then, sometimes, Phil talks. Sometimes they just sit in silence.
Tommy thinks it’ll be another of those latter nights for a moment, as Phil sighs and tilts back against the headboard, scrubbing at his eyes. “Ugh,” he murmurs. “I still hate that you have to see me like that.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Tommy says, as gently as he can muster. “It’s okay, Phil. You’ve helped me with enough nightmares. I’m just paying you back.”
“There’s no need to pay me back,” Phil says, but he opens his arms, and Tommy is quick to slot himself into the hug, nabbing half of Phil’s warm blanket in the process. Phil chuckles. The rumble of his chest reverberates through Tommy’s already-sleepy brain, and he shuts his eyes, burrowing into the warmth.
“D’you want to talk about it, then?” he mumbles, solidly expecting the answer to be No.
“I—” Phil falters. He takes a breath, lets it out; Tommy blinks his eyes open, forcing himself to be a bit more alert. “Yes. I want to talk about it.”
Tommy stays silent, expectant; he burrows into Phil’s side, Phil’s arm around his shoulders, and waits for as long as Phil needs. Phil’s brow knits; his mouth moves, forming silent words, until he seems to get the hang of what he intends to say.
“I …” Phil exhales. “I haven’t always lived in the same world as the rest of you.”
Tommy blinks. He wants to inquire—wants to say What the fuck, and Please elaborate, and more—but he forces himself to be silent. Phil needs a blank canvas right now. He needs a listening ear.
Phil chuckles. “I know you’re bursting to ask questions, mate. You can ask all you want in a second. I—I’ve told Techno and Wilbur some bits of it. It’s … it’s hard to talk about some other parts.”
Tommy looks up at his face, frowning. Phil takes a breath and continues.
“I was born in this universe,” he says softly. “I was born here, and grew up here, in a town very similar to this one. My parents were kind, but they were human—and I was human too. I didn’t have my wings quite yet.” Tommy blinks at him, suddenly overwhelmed with even more questions, and Phil chuckles and smooths back his hair again. Tommy fidgets with the blanket in his lap, tugging and folding and twisting the edges. “So, when I turned eighteen, I set off in search of adventure. I was a textbook adventurer back then. Desperate to find a maiden in a tower and rescue her from a dragon—that sort of thing.” Tommy snorts. “But I didn’t find any maidens. In the fourth or fifth village I got into, a man challenged me to arm wrestle. If I beat him, he’d buy the next three rounds. If he beat me, vice versa.”
“Did you win?”
Phil chuckles. “Patience, Toms.” Tommy pouts sleepily. “I beat him. Although, now that I think about it, he probably let me win. So he bought us our drinks, and he told me about this great new opportunity with a group he was working with. A fighting ring, of sorts. It was said to become the greatest arena in the world.”
Tommy gapes. A chill settles over his bones. “You don’t mean—”
“Hypixel,” Phil confirms. “I was tricked into joining Hypixel. But the arenas aren’t the only games they play with you—and they play constantly. They were messing with the dark magic, the old magic. And somehow, they decided, out of everyone, that I would be the one to travel through dimensions and be plunged into a strange new world.”
Tommy’s holding his breath at this point, attention fixed on the story.
Phil shrugs aimlessly. “So I went. I was young and stupid. And, of course, I got in, and spent about three days fending off zombies and finding food. When I decided I’d gotten tired of the novelty of an entire new world, I looked up at the sky, and told them I was ready to leave.”
“But they didn’t let you leave,” Tommy realizes.
“No, they didn’t,” Phil says. He sounds resigned. “Quite the opposite, actually. I was stuck in an uncivilized, abandoned world—and for a gold piece or two, the betters could send down challenges for me. I can’t tell you how many lightning bolts I dodged or how many creepers I killed. They thought it was all some sort of elaborate game.”
“So how did you get out?”
“I didn’t. Not really.” Tommy blinks at him. “I spent five years in the world. By then, I was virtually invincible—I don’t like to brag, of course, but there’s a reason the village comes to me when there’s a threat.” Tommy snorts, and Phil ruffles his hair. “It was when I was working on my biggest project yet. It wasn’t all bad there—I got to make things, work to create all kinds of different projects. This one was in the End.”
“Whoa,” Tommy says. He frowns, brow furrowed. “But—wouldn’t there be Endermen there? How were you alone?”
“Those were my same questions,” Phil says. He sounds far-off now, eyes fixed on some point in the distance, where Tommy can’t follow. “It wasnt like this world. It was barren. While I was working on the project in the End, I came so close to the void that I nearly died—and that’s when I met her.”
“Met who?”
“The goddess Trixx-tinn. But she always insisted that I call her Kristin.” Phil chuckles wistfully as Tommy gapes. “She explained it all to me. I was left on a husk of a world—one where every sentient being had been eradicated, maybe through our own hubris, maybe through some terrible disaster. She was the one who helped me get back to my own world. And as soon as I got back, I tore Hypixel to pieces and ran. I never looked back.”
“That’s how you met Techno,” Tommy realizes. “You saved him.”
“Yep.” Phil smooths an unruly strand of hair from Tommy’s forehead. “And I’ve been running from my past ever since. I’ll be honest, you’re probably the first person I’ve told it all to.”
Tommy burrows into Phil’s side, clinging on tight. It’s an awkward hug, but he hopes Phil understands what it means nonetheless. Phil seems to, from the way he chuckles and ruffles Tommy’s hair gently.
“I’ve relived it all now,” Phil says wryly, as if resigned. “I’m sure the nightmares will be coming on. Oh well. Might as well face them.”
“I’ll fight them off,” Tommy promises. “I’ll—I’ll beat them away with a stick. Don’t worry.”
Phil smiles. “Thank you, mate. Now go to sleep. You’re exhausted.”
“‘M not,” Tommy protests, as Phil gently wrangles the blanket over him instead of tangled around his legs. He clings onto Phil’s hand stubbornly. “You’ll be okay? You’re sure?”
Phil smiles. “I have you,” he says. “Of course I will.”
Tommy nods, satisfied, and shuts his eyes. Phil’s soft chuckle is the last thing he hears before he’s dead asleep.
4.
“I’d like to purchase these, please,” says the woman, and sets down a bundle of herbs. Tommy’s eyes snap up from his and Wilbur’s poker game.
“Sure,” he says, “that’ll be … five silver and two copper, thanks.” She hands it over, and he tucks it into their money pouch, flashing her a smile as he wraps it in tissue paper. She raises an eyebrow impatiently before he hands it over.
“Interesting group,” she remarks, eyes sweeping over Wilbur and Techno and Tommy, tucked into the back of their produce stall. She points to Wilbur, then Techno, then Tommy; Tommy blinks. “How many of you are hybrids?”
“Oh,” Wilbur says. He exchanges a glance with Techno and Tommy, a silent Let’s-hope-this-isn’t-what-it-sounds-like, and says, “Well, Techno is, obviously. Tommy’s a shifter.” The woman raises an eyebrow, as if surprised. “And I’m human, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately,” she echoes, with a laugh. Tommy blinks. “That must be difficult. I mean, your siblings are all so special, and you’re just … human.”
Wilbur blinks. “Ah. I’ve … never really thought of it that way.”
“Well, that’s just how it is, isn’t it?” She shrugs. “I mean, I’ve been a shrew hybrid all my life, but it’s never been particularly obvious.” Tommy’s eyes drift to her headscarf, and he wonders whether she keeps ears hidden under there. “I’m sure it’s hard knowing that your brothers are so powerful compared to you. I mean—a piglin! I’m sure he can hold his own. And a shifter—well, come on, now. Against a measly human—” She giggles. Tommy not-so-inconspicuously reaches for the bread knife in the neighboring stall.
Wilbur kicks him in the ankle. Don’t, he mouths. Tommy scowls.
“Alright, listen,” he says, whirling around to face the woman. Wilbur buries his face in his hands and muffles a groan. “That’s not—you’re treating him like he’s not fucking worth anything if he’s not a hybrid.”
She blinks at him. “Well, I wasn’t saying that—”
“Oh, what were you saying? Because it sure fucking sounded like you were making fun of him for not being a hybrid.” Tommy slaps his palm down on the table with a thunk, and the woman wrinkles her nose with disdain. Tommy rolls his eyes. “We didn’t spend the last two goddamn centuries trying to get people to view hybrids equally, just for you to show up and claim that hybrids are better. That’s not how it works.”
“I mean, I was just saying—” Tommy levels an irritated glare at her. The woman flushes pink with indignance. “Goodness, I don’t know what people are teaching their children these days, it certainly isn’t manners! I mean, look at the one in the back, being a good hybrid—”
“Fuck you,” says Techno, who never curses. He tugs out a knife and a grindstone and begins to sharpen it. “Also, Tommy, take our wares back. Clearly, she doesn’t have enough taste to appreciate ‘em.”
Tommy grins and rummages in the money pouch for five silver and three copper. “Here,” he says brightly, lunging over the countertop to snatch the bundle of herbs back. The woman squawks. “We have a right to refuse service to judgmental bitches! Here’s an extra copper for your trouble. Have a great day.”
She huffs, turns up her nose, and whirls around, stomping off. Tommy cackles.
“I didn’t even have to shift for that one,” he says, dropping to the ground beside Wilbur, who rolls his eyes and flips him off. Softer, he says, “Will? You good?”
Wilbur’s eyes drift to the side, the corner of his mouth twisting. “I mean … not great. Not exactly fun when somebody shows up and tells you that you’re inferior to your siblings because you’re not cool enough.”
Tommy huffs indignantly. Wilbur yelps as he throws himself into his arms. “That’s not true,” Tommy says, bonking his forehead gently against Wilbur’s chest. “She’s just a bitch. I can’t believe she’d say something like that. In the year of our lady and savior Trixx-tinn.”
“Tommy, you’re barely religious.”
“I like to blaspheme. Keeps Trixx-tinn and Exx-Dei on their toes.” Tommy wriggles further into the hug, and with a fond huff, Wilbur ruffles his hair. “Will. Will. Promise me something.”
“Yes, Tommy,” Wilbur sighs. “What do I promise you?”
“Promise me you won’t believe her. Do it. Do it.”
Wilbur sighs again, tucking his chin onto the top of Tommy’s hair. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Sure. I promise.”
“Promise better. Pinkie promise.”
Wilbur chuckles. “I promise,” he sighs, and intertwines his pinkie with Tommy’s. “I won’t feel worse about myself just because I’m not a hybrid.”
“Good. And if you break the promise, I’ll just shift into an anteater.”
“Tommy, I swear to gods— No, no, don’t shift, don’t you dare— Oh. You’re just a cat.”
Tommy purrs and rubs his cheek against Wilbur’s sweater. Techno snorts.
5.
Tommy wakes up to find Techno pacing the floor.
He blinks his eyes open and grumbles. “Hrmm,” he mumbles. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Techno rumbles. “Stay still.”
Tommy blinks. “Wha’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing.” Techno paces over to Tommy, opens his mouth, shuts it, turns on one hoof; he begins to pace again. Tommy makes a face and pushes himself up, grimacing. “Relax, Tommy. It’s fine.”
“What’s going on?” Tommy repeats. He slings his legs over the side of the bed and pushes himself up. Techno levels a grimace at him and moves to stand by the door, and Tommy blinks. “Techno? Are you okay?”
Techno takes a harsh breath. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just … don’t go in the kitchen.”
Tommy blinks. “You— What’s in the—”
He takes a step toward the door. Techno mirrors him. Tommy squints indignantly. “Techno. Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m not gonna tell you, Tommy.”
“Tell me, Techno!”
“It’s Hypixel!”
Tommy blinks.
“Oh,” he says. He takes a shaky breath. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Techno mutters, and ruffles his hair. Tommy bonks his forehead against Techno’s shoulder, and Techno chuckles weakly. “It’s not—it’s not anything bad. Wilbur’s doing the usual. He’s pretending to be the grumpy old person who owns this cottage and lives alone.”
Tommy laughs. “So they’re gonna go away?”
“Hopefully.” Tommy blinks up at him, frowning. “I mean … they usually do. They come chasing after me every other year or so.” Tommy clings tighter to Techno’s arm, and Techno huffs fondly. “Relax. Phil is looping around, looking for any other Hypixel creeps. They tend to send a bunch in case they need to take people by force.”
Tommy growls. “That’s so fucking—”
“Shh.” They both freeze; Techno yanks Tommy into the corner as the doorknob shifts and rattles.
Wilbur’s voice echoes, high-pitched, through the door. “Don’t go in there! Nothing to see there, just my … just my storage room, for my cats! Yes, I keep my cats in there—”
“Let me in there,” says a low voice, through the door. Techno freezes, pupils narrowing. He tugs a knife from its sheath at his hip, and Tommy stiffens.
“Under the bed,” he hisses, “go,” and Techno disappears beneath the bed, just as the lock clicks and the door swings open.
Tommy meows indignantly up at the new person.
“Yes!” says Wilbur, who sounds out of breath. He leans against the doorway, panting. “I … I told you, this is my cats’ room. I see that … Mittens is the only one here, aren’t you, kitty—”
Tommy leaps up into Wilbur’s arms, purring as Wilbur bundles him against his chest. The man from Hypixel narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“Meet Mittens,” Wilbur says brightly, and holds Tommy out. Tommy presses his ears back, tilts his head, and widens his eyes to look as cute as possible.
The man softens. “Oh, alright,” he grumbles, and reaches out a hand to pat behind Tommy’s ears.
As adorably as possible, Tommy’s claws gouge all the way up to the man’s elbow, latching onto his hand with his tiny, needle-sharp teeth. The man shouts and stumbles back; Wilbur bites back a snort and lets Tommy go entirely, so his full cat weight is dangling from the man’s hand, now bleeding in fifteen different places. Swearing up a storm, the man from Hypixel shakes his hand back and forth until Tommy is shaken loose and lands gracefully on the floor.
“Gods dammit,” the man spits, “how dare you—”
“Oh my,” Wilbur says, looking directly into his eyes. “What a surprise. Mittens is usually so sweet.”
Tommy licks blood from his paw, tucked safely behind Wilbur’s legs.
“Son of a—” The man huffs and storms through the door, aiming a kick at Tommy that misses miserably. The front door slams shut a few moments later.
Wilbur darts into the kitchen and calls triumphantly, “The bastard’s gone!”
Tommy gets to his feet and pads over to Techno, whose pupils go wide as he blinks at him. Tommy blinks slowly and bonks his forehead gently against Techno’s; Techno chuffs and lifts a hand to scratch behind his ears.
“Well,” Wilbur says softly, and crouches to stare beneath the bed. “Great job, Tommy.” He lifts a hand, and Tommy high-fives him with a paw, then darts out from beneath the bed to shift back and flop onto the floor, huffing. He grimaces at the sticky blood on his hands. “You’re alright, Techno. You and Phil are safe. I’d stab that guy without hesitation if I needed to.”
Techno huffs a laugh. “Alright,” he says. “Thanks, Will. That means a lot.” He slides out from beneath the bed slowly and sits beside Tommy, ruffling his hair. “And Tommy—thank you.”
Tommy grins. “Of course,” he says. “You’re my brother, you know. It’s my job to bite people for you.”
Techno snorts. “Never say that again.”
6.
Tommy wakes up to a knife at his throat and a low voice hissing, “Stay quiet or you’ll regret it.”
Tommy cracks one eye open blearily, already irritated. Hello there, deja vu. Where are Techno and Wilbur and Phil? Didn’t they promise to—
“We drugged your little family,” the man chuckles, “we’ll be bringing them in as well. Good to add in some old blood—makes things more exciting, doesn’t it? But it’s even more exciting to bring some new blood.” He flips his knife so quickly that Tommy doesn’t even see it, barely a blur, before pain ignites against his shoulder. Tommy grits his teeth to avoid crying out.
Blood drips from the cut on his shoulder. The man chuckles. “Get up.”
Tommy glances back and forth. The darkness sweeps over his room like velvet. He clenches his hands into fists, imagining it—twisting, spinning, snarling and leaping at the man to clamp his jaw over his throat. But …
Wilbur. Techno. Phil.
Tommy gets up.
⸻⸻⸻
These guys are smarter than the hunters were.
They secure Tommy with ropes, tying his wrists, his ankles, shoving a gag into his mouth; Tommy growls up at them as they shove him into a bundle of hay in the back of a wagon, securing the ropes to a metal loop on the floor. He yanks at them just to test it; one man chuckles. “Good luck with that. Even a tiger hybrid couldn’t cut through those ropes. Woven with pure steel.”
Tommy glares up at him. The man snorts derisively. “Just a kid,” he mutters. “You’ll grow up soon enough.”
It’s not long before they haul Wilbur, Techno, and Phil into the wagon as well. Techno is cursing, thrashing, fighting up a storm; Wilbur and Phil are limp, Phil’s wings dragging across the ground. One of the silhouettes in the darkness presses a sword to Wilbur’s back, and Techno reluctantly goes still.
Tommy wriggles to the side as they toss Wilbur and Phil like unwieldy bags of flour, up into the belly of the wagon; they secure them quickly enough with the same ropes, and, without fanfare, the lead man raises the butt of his sword and slams it into Techno’s head.
Tommy cries out through the gag before he can stop himself. Techno flops into the hay, unconscious, as the man chuckles. “Oh, you’re worried about him getting hurt? Don’t bother.” He nudges Techno with a boot, and Techno’s head lolls to the side, exposing his throat. He never exposes his throat. “The Blade’s taken plenty of hits. The gamblers love him—he’s a dependable little fucker, for sure.”
Techno’s at least two feet taller and two hundred pounds heavier than the man, but he speaks like he’s the size of a barn pig. Tommy thrashes furiously against the ropes, practically frothing at the mouth. He lunges to kick the man and lands a weak hit against his ankle before he hops down from the wagon.
The man pauses. He levels a dark look at Tommy.
“This is your family,” he says slowly. Something in Tommy’s chest goes ice-cold. “Isn’t that right? Cute little group you got here. I’d be careful, or they might get hurt. Got it?”
Tommy glares up at him, fuming. The man raises an eyebrow.
Slowly, Tommy nods.
“Good.”
⸻⸻⸻
As soon as the wagon jolts and judders into motion, horses clip-clopping against the cobble road, Tommy sets to work.
Techno’s still out cold. So are Wilbur and Phil, dead unconscious, breathing gently. Tommy’s a little jealous that they can be so unaware of the whole situation.
He grits his teeth and shifts just his hands, trapped and cramping beneath him. He feels the claws emerge from his hands as he tenses and lets out a relieved sigh through the gag, rotating his wrist to bring the claws to the rope and tear at the fibers.
Sure, your average knife or sword might not work to cut this damn thing—but Tommy doesn’t need to cut it. He just needs a divot in it—a divot large enough for him to get a grip on it and rip it apart with his bare (or bear) hands.
Slowly but surely, the iron frays beneath his claws, the interspersed rope fibers cutting like they’re barely air. He takes a breath; works his nails into the divot; and, gritting his teeth, yanks.
The rope makes a twisting noise, iron fibers rubbing against each other and setting off sparks. It loosens, loosens, and loosens … and Tommy is free.
Dumbasses.
He flops down to the belly of the wagon, pressing his shoulder against the wood, and sneaks a peek over the edge. There are lackeys on either side of the wagon, trotting on their horses, but the one nearest to him has been bouncing up and down for so long that he looks preoccupied being seasick. The other one—well, Tommy will just have to pray that he doesn’t notice.
Hey, Trixx-tinn, uh … funny story! I’m being kidnapped. Bless us for the sake of your boyfriend Phil, please and thank you, I don’t want to die.
He yanks the gag out of his mouth and spits a curse, relieved. Memories dance before his eyes for a second—pain, pain, forest, shifting, Techno, swords, pain—before he grits his teeth and forces himself out of it.
He has a family now. He’ll sure as hell protect them.
He rips the ropes off his ankles and wriggles on his belly toward Wilbur and Phil. Both are tied up, but that’s easy to fix; his hands melt back into human form, and he yanks at the knots until they’re loose, and Wilbur and Phil are free.
Now, to wake them up. That might be the hard part.
“Will,” Tommy hisses. He leans over and smacks at his forehead. “Will! Get the fuck up! Get up!”
Wilbur doesn’t stir.
Tommy curses and moves on to Phil, jostling his shoulder. “Get up,” he says. “Wake up. Get up, c’mon, move along—”
Tommy sighs, thinks, He’s gonna kill me for this, smacks a hand down on one of Phil’s wings.
The effect is instantaneous. Phil’s eyes fly open, and he caws angrily at Tommy, moving to jolt upward; Tommy pins down his arms to keep him still.
“There’s a reason I stepped on your wings,” he hisses, “there’s a reason, calm down, wake up.” He snaps his fingers in front of Phil’s eyes, and Phil blinks, pupils dilating back to normal size. “We got kidnapped.”
Phil jolts. “We got kidnapped.”
“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. Good man, Phil, c’mon, you’re awake now. Okay. Can you fly?”
Phil flaps a wing experimentally. “Seems like it.”
“Pog.” Tommy wriggles his way over to Techno. He falters as he approaches; Techno hasn’t stirred. He’s too still. He’s never this still, not in real life—always in motion, always working, always laughing and spinning Tommy around in their living room when Tommy shows him a cool trick he learned with a pocket knife. “Hey, uh—Techno. Techno, wake up.” Tommy presses two fingers to Techno’s throat and relaxes at Techno’s slow, steady heartbeat. “Techno, you’ve got to get up now. You’ve got to get up.”
Techno doesn’t move. Tommy’s heart sinks.
“Well,” he says, turning back to Phil. “You take Wilbur. I’ll take Techno. Run to the right, and get into the forest, as far into the forest as you fucking can. If you can fly, then fly.”
Phil falters. “Can you carry Techno?”
“I can.” Tommy reaches over with shaking hands toward the ropes that bind Techno’s wrists, and he yanks the knots loose. “Ready?” Phil nods. “On three. One, two, three.”
Phil scoops Wilbur’s limp body up and leaps, wings flaring wide. One, two, three wingbeats, and then he’s just a tiny speck in the sky, miniscule against the blooming clouds. A guard shouts with alarm, craning his neck to gaze into the wagon bed—and Tommy shifts.
He’s really not sure if this will work. Like, really unsure.
It’s the hooves that grow first, and that feels normal, like twisting into a deer or a horse. Then the antlers sprout from his skull. His muzzle extends, and he brays as loud as he possibly can, sending the wave of sound across the winding cobblestone path. He rises to his full height, and a guard cries out with terror.
Tommy grabs hold of Techno’s tunic with his teeth and hauls him upward, until he’s flopped across Tommy’s back, then leaps out of the wagon bed and into the road. He lands on all four legs and gallops off into the forest, disappearing into the trees.
Don’t mess with a moose, he thinks, hopping another root.
Techno flumps across his back, and Tommy huffs, slowing to a canter. Hooves echo after him; he takes a rapid left and delves into a mess of blackberry bushes, wriggling into the hollow beneath.
He shifts back and exhales, catching Techno with a yelp and lowering him to the ground. “Techno,” he hisses. “Hey, hey, Techno. Get up, okay? You’ve got—you’ve got to get up—”
His heart echoes in his ears. Horses’ hooves rummage through the grass. Tommy sucks in a breath.
“Don’t die,” he says quietly. “Please.”
He shifts into a ferret and skitters out from beneath the blackberry bushes. A horse dances over his head; Tommy shifts back, stumbling, and trips over a root.
He crumples to his knees. “Oh,” says a low voice, as Tommy curses. “There you are.”
Something hard slams into Tommy’s head. His vision goes black.
+1.
He wakes up to low, mumbling voices.
“Hrmm,” he mutters. He cracks open one eye and immediately winces. “Wha—wha’s goin’ on?”
“Stay still,” says a low voice. Tommy grimaces and forces his other eye open, and the person’s face swims into view; darkness silhouettes their face, mouth knitted into a frown. “Don’t move, kid. It’ll make it hurt more.”
“Wha’ happened?”
“A shit ton, judging from what the boss has been saying. I said don’t move.” Tommy ignores him and struggles to a sitting position, groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose. Darkness flashes in front of his eyes. He squints up at the person and frowns.
Eyes blink at him from several places that eyes don’t usually grow, glowing purple, as the person crosses his arms. Or one set of them, anyway. “Don’t ask questions,” he says lowly. “It’ll just make things worse.”
“Make things worse? What’s—what happened? What’s happening?”
“Prime, you’re really out of it.” The kid can’t be much older than Tommy, but he reaches out and flicks him in the forehead, and Tommy grimaces. He sets his hand to the side and finds a bloodstained wet rag; reaches up to the back of his head and finds the source of his pounding headache. “The boss is putting Hypixel back together.”
“He’s doing what?”
“Talk a little louder, why don’t you?” Tommy groans and pushes himself to his feet, wobbling; the other kid rolls one set of his eyes, the ones situated where normal human eyes go in most scenarios, and reluctantly loops one of Tommy’s arms over his shoulders to keep him steady. “We’re in a boat. We’re headed back to Hypixel.”
“But—I thought Phil broke that magic.”
“Phil? You mean Philza?” Tommy nods; his head throbs. “Yeah, he broke it. These guys never fucking quit, though. And …” The kid exhales through gritted, sharklike teeth. “Back to war we go.”
Tommy follows his gaze over to a porthole. “We’re in a ship,” he realizes.
“Yep. Headed over to land where they can practice dark magic without getting stabbed.”
“That’s—” Tommy’s head spins, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “My family will come. They’ll save us.”
The kid snorts derisively. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“It’s true. Phil—Philza, and Wilbur, and Techno—they’ll come to get me.”
“Technoblade?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve fought him before. He obliterated me like it was nothing.” Purpled rolls his eyes. “He’s not going to touch Hypixel with a ten-foot pole. That’s in the past. You’re on your own, kid.”
He drops Tommy’s arms and drifts toward the others, crowded around the porthole. Bile rushes up Tommy’s throat.
“What’s your name?” he blurts.
The kid turns back to him, frowning. “Why do you care?”
“I just want to know.” Tommy exhales. “Mine’s Tommy.”
At least fifteen vividly purple eyes shoot Tommy a glare. The kid signs and yanks down his hood, shaking out sandy blond hair; Tommy blinks at the antennae that poke up from his hairline. “Purpled,” he says shortly. “Now quit annoying me.”
⸻⸻⸻
Tommy ends up at the porthole to the side.
He realizes pretty quickly why the others are all crowded around the opposite porthole. A storm is brewing outside, clouds whirling furiously to cover any hint of sun. Darkness descends over the cabin.
Tommy exhales and tilts his head against the cold glass, shutting his eyes.
He comes back into awareness when someone taps his shoulder.
“Mm,” he groans, and pries his cheek off the glass. Salt spray peppers the outside of the boat. It’s rocking back and forth more severely now. Way more severely. “Wha’—”
“You know Technoblade?” says the person.
Tommy blinks up at him. He’s … well, Tommy’s seen odder things, but not by much. Diamonds pepper his skin, embedded into his arms and across the side of his face. They glint turquoise and gray in the stormy light of the cabin.
“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Yeah, he’s my brother.”
The person raises an eyebrow. “Right,” he says skeptically.
“I’m not lying.” Tommy sits up, wobbling; his headache has somehow worsened, and he tilts off-balance, knocking his shoulder against the wall before he blinks the spots out of his vision. “He’s—well. I … I think he’s coming.”
“Think whatever makes you feel better, kid,” says the person. “I’m Skeppy.” He holds out a hand, and Tommy shakes it, nodding hesitantly. “I knew Techno. I—well, he never exactly wanted to make friends, but I think we were good buds.” He snorts. “Always tried to teach me to fight better. He kicked my ass every other day.”
Tommy smiles weakly. “He’s trying to teach me to fight, too.”
“Right.” Skeppy looks him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “Even for a human, you’re skinny, kid. Stay out of the boss’s way.”
Tommy grimaces at being called human. “Right,” he says softly. “But—”
But Techno is coming for me. They’re coming for me. They’ll save me.
“But what?” Skeppy says.
Tommy averts his eyes. “Nothing,” he says, and turns away.
⸻⸻⸻
He wakes up again to that same damn man in his face, teeth bared, growling.
“Who the fuck,” he spits, “did you call? Who did you bring?”
Tommy’s eyes fly open. The man is clutching him by the front of his shirt, nearly raising him off the floor.
“What did you do?” the man spits. “Answer me!”
Tommy twists to the side, kicks him in the crotch, and flips him over his shoulder and into the wall.
The man lies crumpled on the floor, breathing hard. Tommy kicks him in the head without hesitation. His eyes flutter shut.
“Prime,” says a voice behind him. “The kid’s not helpless after all.” He turns to find a woman grinning at him, something twisted and sharp in her eyes, but the hand she offers him is kind. “Let’s move, idiot, before we all drown.”
Roses bloom and twist from her skin; Tommy avoids the thorns and clambers up after her as she shoves a trapdoor open and hops out onto the deck. The rest of the group belowdecks follows, and Tommy finds himself on the deck of the ship, surrounded by a mess of entirely abnormal fighting machines.
Purpled nabs a sword from a guard and tosses it to Tommy. “Fight!” he hollers. “Who knows who’s coming to snatch us next!”
Tommy skids to the side and barely deflects the next person’s blow. They press the sword against his; Tommy curses, twisting the hilt of his sword and shoving them away. He stumbles back into the mast, and they lunge forward and press their sword to his throat.
Time stills.
Tommy’s heartbeat thuds in his ears as their hand moves—forward, forward, forward, tensing and untensing, and—
He shuts his eyes.
Ice blossoms in his chest.
You’d think he’d be comfortable dying by now.
Thud.
Tommy’s eyes fly open.
Techno lets out a furious chuff, rounding on him, sword in hand. Tommy takes a shaky breath.
“Technoblade!” shouts the rose-covered woman, staring. “He’s here!”
“Techno!” Skeppy hollers.
“Techno,” Tommy says softly, and then Techno is scooping him up in a hug.
Tommy laughs wetly into his shoulder. “Techno,” he says. “You’re here. You’re— Oh, ow, Techno, you’re kind of crushing my bones—”
Techno loosens his grip just slightly. Tommy clings to him. “What the fuck?” he hears Skeppy say. “I’ve never gotten a hug from Techno—”
“I missed you,” Tommy says. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”
“If you ever abandon me in a hole in the forest again,” Techno says, very deliberately, “I’m going to lock you up in a room full of pillows, where I know you won’t get hurt doing something stupid.”
Tommy pouts. “You’re no fun.”
Techno lets out a rumbling laugh as he lets go of Tommy, only for Tommy to be tackled by Wilbur and Phil on either side. “Oh, Tommy,” Phil says, “you’re okay, you’re okay—”
“You let me stay unconscious while we were breaking out of a fucking wagon!” Wilbur accuses.
Tommy bonks his forehead into Wilbur’s shoulder. “You were asleep, you bitch!”
“Should’ve stabbed me, then!”
“No.” Tommy hugs him tighter. “Bitch.”
Someone clears their throat behind him. Blinking, the group hug loosens, and Tommy turns to find Purpled, looking entirely unimpressed.
“Hey,” he says, “I really hate to interrupt this family reunion, but, uh, the ship is sinking. Hopefully you guys have a boat?”
“Yes,” Phil says. “Yes, we have a boat.”
“Great. HANNAH! SKEPPY! THEY HAVE A BOAT!” The rose woman—Hannah—emerges, stumbling under the weight of five sacks of gold. Skeppy follows.
Techno snorts. “Skeppy hasn’t changed.”
Tommy leans into his side. “You have to tell me all your stories after this,” he says softly. “And then we’ll go find all the rest of the Hypixel fuckers and take them down, too.”
Techno settles an arm around his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan.”
Tommy takes a content breath as he leaps from the enormous ship into their little skiff.
“Tommy!” Tubbo shrieks, launching himself into Tommy’s arms. Tommy laughs delightedly. “Ranboo says he’s going to fucking kill you when you get back onto land ‘cause he couldn’t come save you. He didn’t say fuck but I thought it worked with the sentence. You bitch. You bitch. Getting kidnapped, how dare you—”
“Hi, Tubbo,” Tommy says, fighting a laugh. He tucks his chin onto Tubbo’s head. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For—for protecting me.”
“Idiot,” Tubbo says fondly. “I’m just paying back a favor.”
They stand at the helm of the skiff, a suitable distance away, and watch the Hypixel boat sink to the sea floor, Tommy’s head tucked onto Techno’s shoulder, Tubbo spitefully clinging onto his hand.
“Damn, Techno,” Skeppy mutters from the side. “I don’t remember you being so nice to me.”
Tommy’s finally got a family.