Chapter Text
The only thing worse than exile was growing wings in exile.
The pain was excruciating, like a thousand knives stabbing out of his back, rather than in. He had screamed himself hoarse by the time that they had pushed out. He didn't even have the energy to check the damage, he had passed out immediately afterwards.
Waking up, Tommy alleviated his previous opinion. The only thing worse than exile was the aftermath of growing wings in exile.
The blood had dried and crusted to his back leaving him itchy and uncomfortable. Yet, he barely had the energy to twitch, let alone clean himself up. Not that he was inclined to do so. Every moment caused a new throb of pain in his back and the weight was...distracting at best. A weight he didn't fully grasp the meaning of.
But all of these aches and pains were secondary to the all-consuming loneliness he felt. Tommy was used to being lonely (or so he thought). He was lonely all the time in exile. No one came to visit except Dream. So that feeling in his gut was consistent and unyielding. It had become background noise, at this point. Something he pushed to the back of his brain because sure it's true but it wasn't going to change so why waste time thinking about it. The sky is blue, grass is green and Tommy is lonely.
But now, it was unbearable. He was hyper aware of the fact that no one else was around for miles. It was almost enough to distract him from the pain in his back. Almost.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, feeling so alone and scared but eventually, Tommy realized that there were tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked fast, horrified and trying to hold them at bay. Why was this happening? It didn't seem normal. Tommy had dealt with wounds, emotional and physical before, with others and by himself. It had never been this emotionally taxing. Still, his body didn't get the memo and the longer he stayed there, completely alone, the harder it was to not break into sobs.
He wanted to be held. He wanted Tubbo to sit and run his fingers through his hair while Cat played in the background. He wanted Ghostbur to pull him close and stain him blue while he rambled on about the things he had seen that day.
Fuck at this point he'd even take-
"Tommy?!"
Dream.
****
So. He had wings now. That was a thing.
Dream had been pissed at first, accusing Tommy of hiding it from him. The blank stare coupled with the tears that Tommy couldn't stem (to his own utter humiliation) convinced the masked man that Tommy had been just as clueless of his hybrid state.
The next few days, Tommy had been extra helpless. He could barely walk, let alone sit up. Dream had to come and bring him food and water, helping him out of the tent to do his business in the woods. It sucked. And it was bullshit, in Tommy's humble opinion. He grew wings not legs. Why was he so weak?
It didn't help that Dream was constantly reminding him of how useless he was right now. Sure, it was true but Dream didn't need to rub it in his face. Yet, even with his sharp words, he still brought Tommy food. Still checked on him everyday. He came to see him and care for him when no one else did. So what if he was never full? So what if it barely satisfied that ache in his chest, constantly demanding attention? It was better than nothing.
He found himself craving Dream's presence as the days went on. It had been about two weeks since he had sprouted the fuckers and they had gone from naked and ugly to fluffy and ugly. It seemed like as his feathers grew so did his clinginess to Dream. It was starting to remind him of those hours spent alone just after the wings had pushed out. He tried not to be obvious, he didn't want to annoy Dream. The man was already doing so much for him. But he had a feeling Dream knew of his need for his presence. Dream hadn't said anything yet but Tommy knew it was only a matter of time before his friend got tired of him and left for good.
When Dream wasn't around, Tommy found solace with Mushroom Henry. The mooshroom was warm and something inside Tommy - that had gotten stronger as the days went by - reveled in the heat. He even found out he slept better with the cow than in his own bed. It was like he couldn't get comfortable no matter what position he settled in.
It was mid day, Dream had left not too long ago, and Tommy was cuddling with Mushroom Henry when the crow came.
He hadn't noticed it at first. Tommy was half-asleep, as relaxed as he could be since the wings came, when a shadow passed over him. And again. And again. Ugh.
"I'm alive! Go eat something else!" He shouted at the circling birds, waving one arm lazily. It wasn't unusual for scavenger birds to mistake his still form for a snack. Mushroom Henry huffed and shifted and he patted her flank consolingly for shouting so close to her.
Tommy tried to settle back down to his half relaxed state but it was like his senses refused to get the memo. His new appendages kept twitching (funny how they always seemed to do the opposite of what he wanted) and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He finally opened his eyes and glanced around, expecting to see a wolf or something about to devour him. But there was nothing in sight except for the birds who were still circling him.
It was when he glanced up at them, one hand coming up to shield his eyes from the sun, that his wings jolted. His gut moved right along with them and Tommy found himself instinctively glancing around for shelter.
"The fuck…?" He mumbled, freaked out. He looked at Mushroom Henry, who stared back, relaxed and not at all stressed. Obviously, nothing was wrong but Tommy's body wasn't getting the memo. He felt adrenaline filling his veins, heart beginning to pound and all he could think about was finding shelter.
Then, one of the birds dived.
Tommy was moving before he could even process it, his body having a mind of it's own. He scrambled and lunged towards the first thing his eyes laid on. A spruce tree with low hanging branches. He heard a startled moo and sudden movement. His fast retreat frightened Mushroom Henry. He would have felt more guilty if he could feel anything other than panic at the moment.
"Stupid...fucking...bird shit…" He gasped, worn out already for the mad sprint to his cover. Already, the adrenaline was fading and Tommy felt exhausted. He leaned against the tree trunk and tried to catch his breath, face burning from exertion and humiliation. This couldn't be normal. Was something wrong with him? There were only two other winged hybrids in the server and Tommy didn't know Philza that well but he thinks he would've noticed if Quackity dove for cover anytime something flew overhead.
As if it could hear his thoughts, a loud caw drew his attention. Above him, settled on a branch was a crow. It was tilting its head back and forth, like it was observing his rattled state. It made another call and he glared.
"Fuck off!" He swiped one hand through the air, not having the energy to do much more than that. The crow did not leave, the bastard. It just stared at him, making an odd sound over and over.
God, it wasn't even a hawk or something that had startled him so bad. It was just a dumb crow. How humiliating was that. This is what big man Tommyinnit had been reduced to. Cowering from crows under a spruce tree, not even having the energy to chase it off.
Another loud caw but Tommy ignored it. The teenager laid his head on his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs. His wings seemed to get the memo and curled around his form as well.
After a few minutes of Tommy ignoring it's calls, the crow finally got the hint. He heard the flap of its wings growing distant and he glanced up, seeing it had left. He felt a tinge of guilt for ignoring it but he pushed it down. Dumb bird had ruined a perfectly fine day. Good riddance.
He sighed, leaning back and stretching his legs out. It took a bit to adjust into a position that didn't bother his wings too much (turns out tree bark and fluffy wings don't mix) but they finally settled. He could see Mushroom Henry had returned to a graze a few yards away. Her bright red body a stark contrast against the green. At least she didn't seem too upset about him interrupting her nap with his freak out. Plus, it had been getting rather hot with the sun directly overhead and it was nice and cool under the tree shade. As annoying as the crow and the weird bird instincts had been, things could've been worse. He allowed his eyes to drift closed, listening to distant bird songs and the crash of the waves.
Thump.
The noise wasn't loud but it still startled Tommy, his wings flaring out and throwing him off balance. He caught himself before he face planted and glanced around, expecting...well, he didn't know what but it couldn't be anything good.
But all he saw was a bag. Just outside of the reach of the tree branches. He stared, his mind trying to process what was happening when he heard a familiar caw.
Up above, resting on the same branch as before was the crow. Only, it had brought some friends along with it's return, two other crows perching alongside it. The three stared at him and he stared back. The original crow must have gotten tired of the impromptu contest as it broke his gaze to glance at the bag and back at him, letting out another loud caw.
Realization dawned on Tommy and he stared at the bag with more attention than before. It looked more like a sack with lumps outlining it's form.
"Is that...did you-" He glanced back at the crows and they all stared at him innocently.
Seeing that they'd be offering no answers, Tommy crawled over to the sack, trying to avoid being smacked by the low hanging branches. Closer now, he could see a stamp on the bag itself proudly stating that it was all natural home grown-
"Where the fuck did you get a bunch of potatoes?!" He laughed, pulling the bag closer and opening it up to see the contents. It was just as the label had stated. Russet potatoes, a little small and the sack was half empty but it was still more food in one sitting than Tommy had seen in a long while. Dream usually only brought him a little at a time so this was practically a feast. Tommy's stomach growled. Part of him was worried whomever had lost these would come looking for him but that part was drowned out by imagining just how the crows had to have brought it to him in the first place.
"Did-did you-" he snickered, struggling to speak through his laughter "did you guys have to carry it together? That's-" He gave up and screeched out his laughter. He hunched over the potatoes and laughed hard enough his stomach hurt. Tommy couldn't even decide if it was funny enough to warrant this level of reaction but he was exhausted and starving and some weird crows had just brought him a sack of raw potatoes. What the fuck even was his life anymore?
Eventually his giggles tapered off and he managed to catch his breath. With a loud sigh, Tommy calmed down and glanced over at the birds. They hadn't moved from their roosts, still staring at him quietly.
"Well...thanks. I don't have anything to give you, sorry." He shrugged. Tommy wasn't even sure if they understood him but it was nice to pretend. He missed talking to people. The only one that listened to him anymore was Dream and even he didn't like listening to Tommy for longer than an hour at most.
"Hey, if you guys stick around, I'll bake you one. Seems fair, yeah? And I gotta say, I make a mean baked potato. Learned from the best! My fri-uh, well, I used to have this friend that was obsessed with the stuff. He made so many I got sick of em," He looked down at the starchy wonders, his thoughts drifting to a different sort of exile. One somehow just as lonely even with people all around.
"It'll be just like old times, I guess."
He was driven from his thoughts by a fluttering of wings. One of the crows landed next to him, waddling closer to peck at the potatoes. There was no hesitance in its movement. It didn't see Tommy as a threat, at all. He huffed.
"Alright, I get it. Less talking, more cooking. I think you and Dream would get along." With a groan, Tommy pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook and he swayed with dizziness, grabbing onto a branch for balance. There was a loud squawk and he felt something touch the back of his head. He flinched, only realizing afterwards it must be one of the other crows.
"I'm good, I'm good. Jus' - gimme a sec."
It took an embarrassingly long time to make his way to the campfire with the potatoes but his only witnesses were Mushroom Henry - who was perfect in every way and would never judge Tommy - and the crows so really, who cared?
"Feast for kings!" An hour later, and the potatoes were baked through. Tommy, pressed the sides, splitting them open to let out the heat. He placed one on the ground and kept the other for himself.
"Careful, still hot though." There wasn't any real point in warning the crow, it couldn't understand him anyway but it was the thought that counted.
He munched on his much-too-hot tuber, burning his mouth but too hungry to care, and watched the crows gather around the other one.
"...you can eat those, right?" It was a little too late, the crows having descended on the snack. Tommy mentally prayed to Prime that he hadn't just poisoned his new companions.
The rest of the meal was consumed in silence and all too soon, Tommy had finished. He licked his fingers, and tried to ignore his growling stomach that demanded more. He still had a few potatoes left but resolved to save them for later. He shouldn't be greedy, one was more than enough.
The next day, Tommy wished he had just eaten another as he watched Dream blow the rest up.
But, the crows came back. Not every day, but more days than not they showed up with varying snacks that Tommy prepared and shared with them, eating a little for himself. He tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head pointing out that Dream didn't let him keep the potatoes, no way he'd be happy about these.
But it's not like Tommy was getting them, and if anything, he was doing it for the crows! It would be rude to shoo them away at this point. They were good company, too. Soothing that ache in his chest somewhat when Dream left him alone. They only ever seemed to show up when the masked man wasn't around and Tommy couldn't tell if that was intentional or not.
He ended up naming them, as well. Elizabeth, his beloved, was the one that started this all. He had forgiven the crow for the initial scare and she was the one that stopped by the most when the other two weren't around.
Pogboy was the loudest, loving to make her opinion known on anything and everything. Tommy had no clue what she wanted half the time but he liked her attitude.
And finally, Barbara. She was more touchy than the others, constantly trying to mess with Tommy's hair, and even his wings. He always shooed her away but she'd be trying again later when he was distracted.
Tommy had no clue if they were girls but they didn't protest the name or pronouns so he called it a win.
With his new crow friends sneaking him food, Tommy was better fed than he had been in months. He still felt weak and that miserable tight ball in his chest never went away but the dizzy spells were becoming more and more rare.
The only thing that put a damper on his good mood was those damn wings. They hung on his back, fluffy and ugly and useless. Weren't they supposed to be all feathered like Phil's or Quackity's? Was Tommy just defective? They didn't listen to him either, flapping and shifting when he wanted them to lie still, and becoming dead weight when he tried to move them.
It sucked, but he tried to ignore it. Things could be worse. At least, in exile, Tommy didn't have to worry about anyone except Dream seeing his embarrassment of chicken wings. And Dream had made it clear that even though everyone else left him, he wouldn't. That was enough. It had to be.
He told himself this over and over when the night came and Tommy was curled in bed. The tightness in his chest growing until he was paralyzed by fear and sadness and loneliness, crying until he exhausted himself into a restless sleep.
It was enough, because when he woke up each day, Dream would be there.
He could deal with loneliness, he could deal with Dream destroying his things. Because he had his crows, his mooshroom, and even when it hurt, he had Dream.
Tommy didn't know what the date was when Dream said his goodbyes again, leaving through the portal. He had lost track of the days sometime after Christmas and never bothered to ask Dream for clarification. All he knew was that it was shaping up to be the same in a long line of them. The crows usually showed up an hour or so after Dream left so Tommy busied himself with feeding Mushroom Henry and attempting to get his wings to do what he wanted.
But, as the sun moved through the sky, the crows still hadn't shown up. He tried not to feel too upset, they were wild animals. It's not like they came to see him because they liked him or something. He was just a food source.
He scowled at the ground, snuggling once more with Mushroom Henry who accepted it with the grace of a saint sent by Prime Itself. It was fine. So what if it had been a while since the crows had missed a day? Tommy didn't need them anyway. They were just some dumb birds. He had Mushroom Henry, who was far superior anyw-
"Caw!"
"Fuck!" His wings flared as Tommy startled, falling off of Mushroom Henry. (Who, bless her soul, was used to Tommy's shenanigans at this point and just stared at him blankly).
The crow, Pogboy, stared at him from where she sat innocently on the ground.
"...where the fuck did you come from? Scared the shit outta Mushroom Henry. 'S not polite to sneak up on people, y'know that? Who raised you? Here I am, enjoying a pleasant snooze and you come in here, startling poor, innocent Mushroom Henry." Tommy patted the cow, who was very much relaxed. "I should speak to your mother. Or father. Or crow parent of the non binary sort." He paused, staring at Pogboy, who stared back silently.
"...well? C'mon then, where's your friends? They out harassing other innocent mooshrooms? Or is that just a you thing-"
"What the fuck."
Tommy froze, cutting himself off. That was a voice. A human voice behind him. Someone spoke. Someone was here. He knew that voice. But it wasn't Dream. But Dream was the only one that came here. But it wasn't him.
His mind was stuck in a loop and he couldn't move, no matter how much he wanted to. He was frozen, his wings pressing hard to his back as he stared down at Pogboy.
...Pogboy, the crow.
Tommy was a fucking idiot.
Footsteps. They were approaching and suddenly Tommy could move. He scrambled forward, getting his feet under him. Everything in his screamed at the idea of being on the ground with his vulnerable back to...to..
Tommy turned around.
Fuck.
"...Phil?"
Tommy was hallucinating. It was the only explanation. There was no way Philza fucking Minecraft was here, staring at him in the middle of his exile campsite. His head spun as he tried to wrap it around this concept.
At least Phil didn't seem to be doing any better. His eyes were wide enough that Tommy could see the white all the way around his irises and he kept opening and closing his mouth. He looked kind of like a fish when he did that.
"You look like a fish." He blurted out. It seemed to snap Phil out of his shock. The man blinked, looking so completely befuddled it would've been funny if it were any other circumstance.
"What?"
If thoughts could have faces, Tommy was sure all of his would be staring at him in judgement. So many questions he could have asked and that's what he started with.
Well, no turning back.
"You heard me. You’ve got a fish face Philza. It's all-" he mimicked the motion, over exaggerating for good measure. "Sure you're not half fish? Maybe you're a flying fish. That's a thing, innit? Pretty fuckin' sure that's a thing. Y'know, I've never had fly fish before. Is it good? Well, maybe I shouldn't ask you, it's like you asking me if humans taste good. Pretty insensitive, I'll admit. I'm a big man, I can admit when I've made a wrong even if it's so completely rare of me that it's almost unheard of-"
"Tommy." Phil's tone had Tommy snapping his mouth shut instantly. He sounded pissed. Phil's face might be blank of rage but Tommy didn't trust that for a second. He was used to masks. Even a happy one was never a guarantee of kindness.
The voice in his head wailed to run and Tommy for a hot second, was inclined to listen. He felt his wings fluff up, and his legs tense but he forced himself to still.
Phil seemed to be observing the behavior, a despair in his eyes that confused Tommy. But before he could ask, Phil shook his head and the emotion was wiped away.
"Jesus, what the fuck. What the fuck." Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tommy, why do you have wings?!"
Tommy spluttered. What kind of question was that?!
"I don't...well, why do you have wings, huh? Seems pretty rude to ask me that, Philza." He crossed his arms, trying to look confident. His wings betrayed him by curling around his shoulders as if trying to shield him.
Fucking snitches.
Phil twitched and clenched his hands at his sides for a moment before relaxing. He sucked in a breath before releasing it slowly. He looked relaxed and calm by the end. Tommy eyed him warily, not fooled even a little bit.
"Tommy," Philza sounded much calmer as well, the liar, "How long have you had wings?"
Tommy opened his mouth, ready to deflect, but Phil cut him off.
"Please, tell me the truth. This is very important."
He scowled, and glanced away. The teenager was half convinced to lie anyway when a loud caw broke the tension and Pogboy hopped over and sat on Tommy's foot. Innocent eyes looked up at him and though Tommy was still annoyed that apparently Pogboy was Philza's crow, he couldn't deny her anything. The fight left him and he sagged, feeling the stress of the day catching up.
"'Bout a few weeks, maybe a month. Dunno, kind of hard to keep track of the days here. Why?"
Tommy didn't know how he was expecting Phil to react but the tortured look that came across his expression was still a little surprising. He looked like Tommy just told him his fuckin' dog died or something. What was his problem?
"Fuck. Fuck. Jesus Christ, okay." Phil scrubbed at his face with both hands for a moment then seemed to come to a decision. "Where's your nest? Chat's been saying they've been bringing you food, is your stash low? When was the last time you even preened? I know it's hard to reach the back, God knows how you're even standing right now." By the end of his mini rant, Phil seemed like he was speaking more to himself than Tommy. The boy in question puffed up. He had no idea what Phil was talking about but he could take care of himself. Besides, he had Dream and Dream said that was enough.
"You off your rocker, old man? Nests? I don't even want to ask what preening is but y'know I'm not actually a bird, right? Just got the chicken wings." He laughed, trying to play off his confusion. He hated feeling stupid but it wasn't his fault Phil seemed to be losing it. A dark voice whispered that maybe killing Wilbur had snapped something in the hardcore player's brain. He shoved the thought away.
Phil didn't seem to find this as amusing as Tommy did. He had frozen when the teen spoke, the same blank expression from earlier coming over his features.
"You...don't know what nesting is?"
Tommy wanted to laugh it off but the tone of voice told him something was wrong. He had misstepped somewhere and was now treading dangerous waters. He didn't even know what he had said wrong, so he was unsure how to fix it.
Phil wasn't waiting for a response though. He stepped closer, a desperate look entering his eyes.
"Tell me you have a nest. Or a stash. Fuck, tell me you've preened." With each sentence, Phil moved closer until he was practically on top of Tommy. The teenager in question was frozen to the spot. Half his brain was screaming to run, the other was wailing for help. Crying out for some nameless figure to save him. It kept him rooted to the ground.
Phil was studying him, eyes flitting over Tommy's entire state and when he spoke again his voice was barely a whisper.
"You don't even know how to chirp, do you? You're all alone." A hand moved slowly and cupped Tommy's face. Something in Tommy's head quieted, fixating on the touch. Phil seemed to soften, his thumb stroking gently.
"Just a baby."
That was enough.
Tommy ripped his head out of Phil's touch, ignoring the wailing inside him to get it back. The tightness returned in his chest, strong enough to almost knock him off his feet but he planted them firmly and silently told his body to shut the fuck up.
"You. Need to go the fuck away." He jabbed a finger into Phil's chest. "You're being all freaky right now, and-and you're scaring Pogboy." He glanced down at the crow, who tilted her head.
"I don't know what this shit about nesting and chirping and whatever is, but obviously you've had one too many and need to go take an old man nap or something."
Phil stared for a long moment, the soft look in his eyes never leaving. It caused a flush to Tommy's face and he changed tactics from poking to shoving.
"Go! Just - get the fuck away from me! Go away, Philza!" His push barely made the avian budge and he couldn't tell if he was just that weak or if Phil was just freakishly built under those weird robes.
He would have kept shoving and shouting but Phil's sudden grip around his wrist stopped him short. It wasn't tight, it was gentle, almost cradling the limb which was what really shocked Tommy. No one had ever held him so gently before. Not since…
…
"Okay, Tommy." He jumped, hearing his name spoken. The teen had been so focused on the touch he had zoned out a bit.
"Go lay down. I'll be back. Everything will be alright." His wrist was given a short squeeze that shouldn't have felt as reassuring as it did. It pissed Tommy off, and he yanked his hand back. He elected to ignore it only worked because Phil released him at the same moment.
"You don't get to tell me what to do." He hissed. "Piss off."
Phil looked amused, but backed off. He stepped away, no longer right in the teenager's space like the weirdo he was.
"Don't worry. It's going to be okay." Was all he said before spreading his wings and taking off into the air.
Tommy watched him fly off, feeling shaken and all too aware of his stumps for wings, pressing tight to his back. So useless and ugly.
"...Show off."