Chapter Text
Tommy is fucking sick of this, he is hungry and thirsty and just got in several fistfights with the fucking wildest creatures of his imagination. Imagine those boring 'would you rather questions' except it's between a mutant hawk, a seven foot malformed pig, and a shark zombie.
And he basically lost 2 out of 3 times.
He totally won against the zombie, he got out of this cell didn’t he? Then he got stuck in a drawer, which was a bummer, and then he was found, but willingly, wrestled his way until they were all caught by the massive, massive, angel guy.
Now that was a surprise, this guy looked human if you squinted, like really squinted.
Tommy lays on his stomach, facing away from the alien who had decided his cell is the most comfortable place to be and just, settled down, five feet away.
He is so tired, this day has already been so much and he is just ready to lay down and fall asleep all bundled in his meagre blanket and pretend that he has returned to his bedroom but now he can’t even sleep after trying to run from his captors because one has just decided that he wanted to be within spitting distance and watching him creepily.
Actually, Tommy turns his head and squints at the guy who doesn’t react, the alien is just dead set staring at the floor. It’s wings, once so fluid and flexible, are stone still. Tommy doesn’t know if that is more or less unnerving than him basically being one of his kidnappers, and probably next fight.
Tommy stares at him, daring him to look up. He is much less threatening than he feels. He is blinking slower than a cat, head and limbs heavy with the exhaustion of constant fear.
He wiggles his toes to remind himself they are still there and he spots the alien’s wings twitch but then settle just as quick, less than a second of reaction and yet its pupils hadn’t even moved to glance.
Its eyes are human, he will give him that. Dark centre and grey, almost greenish surrounding them with whites and, if he got close enough to see, probably the brush of red blood in veins on the edges.
If Tommy raised his hands, squinted, tilted his head a little, then he could imagine this alien without the wings and see an average, if strange looking, middle aged man. His skin was pale and healthy pink, he wore gloves and long sleeves. He wears a long cape, clasped onto his shoulders, and he vaguely remembers seeing him wearing a hat but for now it is just a head full of blonde hair.
The only thing marking this man as a creature of unknown, an alien, is that his fingers are just unnaturally long, his ears are wide but don't stick out and are mostly hidden beneath hair, and oh yeah, the massive fucking black as coal wings.
When trying to strange the pig this guy had gotten so close Tommy could reach and touch his face, he was so sure this man was just that, a regular man, ready to come clean about the aliens being fake or this being a test or a dream or just something different that what it was, but then Tommy had seen his wings spread behind him and the alien had forced him back into his jail cell and suddenly it wasn’t worth fighting again.
Three of them versus one, not a fair fight, and definitely not a fair fight when Tommy could physically push down on the rumbles of his stomach as if his skin was thin enough that he could touch the rippling muscles and shush them.
So a check in, his toes and fingers could wiggle, the floor was close against his cheek, Feathers over there wasn’t budging an inch, he was hungry, and thirsty, and bone deep tired.
He couldn’t let his eyes shut so Tommy pushed himself off of the floor and crossed his legs to face his company.
Feathers didn’t look up at him as he moved. Tommy sharply groaned, exhaling through his clenched teeth when he fixed his posture from its cramped position.
Tommy hazarded a stretch, reaching his arms forwards and then up and backwards, he heard a pop and shook out his hands. His mouth widened in a yawn, bringing tears to his eyes, and he quietly smacked his dry lips.
All the while, the alien was silent. Tommy tilted his head, trying to catch their eye but to no success, so he shrugged. If he was going to wait for something Tommy wasn’t going to give it, he stood and walked over to his corner where his two pillows, blanket, and empty plastic bag were placed.
He wrapped himself up and sat down in the very corner of the room on one of the pillows to mirror Feathers.
He grabbed the second pillow to bring to his lap, holding it for warmth across his lap and trying not to rest his head on his arms where he would surely submit to the easy draw of sleep. Not in front of the beasts.
So he waited in silence.
Silence like this there was always a ticking clock to remind people of doom, but now Tommy didn’t even know what day it was let alone what hour. He tried not to let it bother him that he couldn't remember the date, nor the last time he saw the sun.
He knew it was August, he had been settling into his classes, he finally remembered the room numbers but not the teacher’s names, it was a weekday not a weekend, last he remembered.
There was the question that, if he was gone so long wouldn’t his seat be empty and his name called over and over for roll call and yet he wouldn’t show. How long before calls came unanswered to the house phone, how long until they realized he wasn’t skipping class or sick, would he be too far away?
Were people even looking for him now?
Feathers was silent. If he could read Tommy’s mind with his alien super powers then he didn’t make it obvious.
So they sat on opposite sides of the room. Tommy entertained himself by trying to silence his growling stomach but it quickly got boring. Feathers didn’t even seem to breath.
Tommy narrowed his eyes and pushed himself to a stand, blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders. He ventured a step forward and when he gained the confidence in Feather’s coma like state he took another.
Only to immediately scramble back to his corner when the door hissed its released, separated from the wall, and the grey alien walked in.
He tilted his head at the two in the room and Tommy quickly bared his teeth, “What is your problem!”
The alien didn’t respond, obviously. But it did tilt its head to the side, ears flicking, and mumbled something to Feathers. It’s voice a dragging and stuttering gurgle.
Feathers looked up, finally breaking their stillness and gave a small smile to his fellow alien, taking from their hands four different bags. Two opaque, a mystery, and two very familiar water bags.
Tommy perked up at the sight of them, his fingers losing their tension in the grip of his sheet. The grey alien looked over and lowered itself a little but Tommy did not want to encourage the beast to come closer.
He aimed his body as if to leap at the zombie. He didn’t know that Tommy was weary and exhausted, pain of overuse straining his body to keep upright, all he needed to see was that Tommy was ready to go a second round if he felt like it.
The message got across and the alien scurried away with a double click of fear, the door hissed closed behind them.
Tommy waited for him to return, a final one up over him, but he didn’t. Now all that was left was that Feathers now had the bargaining chip.
The alien looked to the ground again but without a glance, their hands began to open one of the opaque bags, barely an inch, but big enough that the smell wafted.
Instantly saliva pooled in his mouth. The smell of baked bread, olive oil or bread, cooked flour and rising dust. It was overwhelming, his mouth nearly dropped open at the unexpectedness.
But Feathers was unmoved, didn’t even see the strong reaction. He just reached into the bag, grabbed a small piece of whatever was held inside, put it gently into his mouth and swallowed. Then his hands fell to his sides again, the open bag on his lap, and he fell into stillness.
Tommy wondered if he was a sloth type creature, exhausted and often half dead looking, hanging from trees and sitting on the floor waiting for things to happen. Feathers wasn’t sleeping, he got that far.
Despite the silence, he had everything on his court, and Tommy really wanted that food and water.
He knew that Feather had more strength, logically who was the one fending off against beasts thrice his size. Tommy could see raw strength in Feather’s shoulders from carrying those heavy wings, no doubt his upper body strength would trump anyone from the natural weight of their limbs.
So here they were, a crossfire. Tommy could not be patient with this.
So he took a half step towards Feathers. He aimed his body more towards the wall, avoiding the middle of the room where there is nothing to push off of if he needed the boost.
Feathers didn’t move, and so started this again.
Tommy took one step, then another, half way across his journey and then hazarded a glance away from Feathers towards the spot where the door emerges from, but there was no sign of Feathers’ friends.
Tommy liked to think now this alien was at his mercy, but he doubted it.
He was tired, he was hungry, this wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t fun in the first place, but running was better than trying to sneak a roast from a distracted lion, more fun to try and leave people in the dust than to dodge claws.
Tommy’s nails were bitten down, not even sharp enough to catch on the edge of a piece of paper, and this alien had fingers the size of Tommy’s palm, surly meant to grab and then hold on.
Three steps later and Tommy lightened himself, lowering his chest. He was side to side with the alien and not in front where his vision would be able to see his hands try and snatch his food. If the alien glanced to the side he would see it but hopefully, if it was human enough, his approach would be blurry.
Unnatural stillness met creeping force.
He inched himself down to the ground, if this were a house with wooden floors he would set the panels creaking with his movements, but luckily this was not a home.
Tommy braced himself with one palm on the ground and balanced on his crouching toes.
He extended his arm as far as it went without stepping forward into where his legs would be able to be swept out from under him and leaned his weight gradually onto his palm. He could feel his tremors easily this way and he locked his elbow to try and ease it.
The massive black wings were tucked and partially pinned beneath Feathers’ body as he sat but if his wingspan extended then it would easily be able to bodily smack Tommy and unbalance him.
HIs tongue between his teeth, biting down to not breath. He, with the tip of his pointer and middle finger, grabbed the edge of the open food bag on Feathers’ lap, and tried to drag it to his position.
He still did not move.
Tommy didn’t know if it was luck or this was some sort of experiment.
He managed to completely remove the bag from Feathers’ space and slid it over the floor, taking his weight off his hand and onto his toes with his bounty.
The bag sliding against the metal floor was like the squealing of tires on a roar in the silent room, but Tommy had grabbed it, and then quick as a whip, launching himself backwards into the half way point of the room, not all the way into the corner, and turned over his catch.
Inside of the bag there was this mass of joined lumpy mess. It honestly looked like a cross between a loaf of bread, uncut, and trail mix, granola, and a few specks of spice or grains or what not in it.
When Tommy reached it and snagged a bit of it, it fell away from the mass like cotton candy, he sniffed it, drooling at the smell, and then after the first bite, when it disappeared into his belly without even registering the taste of it, he was back by the fist full.
It didn't melt in his mouth like cotton candy and he was somewhat thankful for that, because this did taste like bread, sweet bread thick with moisture and some weird spices but bread all the same.
He was digging crumbs from the corners, shaking the bag a little, when he heard the shuffle slide of movement. His head snapped up to see Feathers leaning over to reach for a water pouch and the second opaque bag.
He didn’t look up to see Tommy barely taking a breath in between bites, his stomach, which was now aching a little, gurgled beneath his hands in that in-between state of not digested yet and too hungry to digest.
Unconcerned, feathers unscrewed the spout of the pouch, took one measly sip, and then put it to the side where Tommy had approached to grab the bag of cotton bread. Feathers had placed the bag of water so far to the side that he could barely reach to return it again.
Tommy was not naturally stealthy, and normally he didn’t have to be, but this was an obvious trap. If he hadn’t been caught before then this false security bullshit was certainly something of a temptation, or an experiment, a note taking, or a trick.
But his throat was parched, his skin was flakey, and Tommy barely had enough liquids in his body to spare a few tears.
So he lightly tossed the empty bag to his corner, where the first bag is now the official beginning of his collection, he has just decided that.
Feathers, done with the water, opened the second opaque bag and out wafted the same smell, now a little less appealing to Tommy, but valuable nonetheless. Feathers took one small chunk of that to eat and then settled the bag down on his lap.
He shuffled his wings a little. Tommy was captivated by the interlocking flow of feathers, all merged into one limb, thick and sturdy. He had never seen a bird up close and he could imagine the same limbs on their small bodies, interlocking feathers that fluffed and smoothed like butter and refracted water, or glided on air. Tommy couldn’t help but wonder if this alien could use them to fly.
Then Feathers looked up, just a little, and Tommy startled as he was caught staring, shoulders drawing up defensively.
But the alien only gave a slow blink and looked down again, bored or sleepy.
Tommy was no stray cat, he was no pet, he was no creature to be coaxed forward like a feline with a promised look, he didn’t need another home or someone that would take him to a secondary location, cut him open, he didn’t need any of that.
He was staying right here, yes he was, he was content with his food and his blanket and he wanted the alien to go away now. He almost opened his mouth to say that but hesitated, all the alien’s so far had big sensitive ears, pointed, or curved, and every time Tommy spoke they winced, so he closed his mouth and licked his dry lips instead.
Tommy was not anything to be led to places, he went where he went, but he was curious, if he couldn’t speak less he could wake them up or chase them into an attack then maybe he could walk around them.
When the alien settled down again into his signature stillness, Tommy lasted only a minute before he had creeped forward to snatch the easily reachable pouch of water. He drank it all, squeezing every last drop and setting the bag to the side.
He could almost feel his body be overwhelmed with the good nutrients and sudden influx of respect that was deprived, water trickling down his sore throat and filling his stomach, easing the tension. He was even more sleepy as his cells worked away.
But while Feathers was awake and nearby, he was awake and Tommy, in his half delirious mind, took an unnecessary step forward and to the side, farther from the wall and more into Feathers’ vision.
Tommy was not stupid, he was out of reach, but definitely Feathers could see him, even if his pupils didn’t even twitch in instinctual response to see the sudden movement like a human would.
That was the one unnatural thing about his eyes. Tommy’s eyebrows raised in shock as he finally made the connection, what made this human-like alien so alien feeling. Its eyes, while all the same colours as a human, did not shake like one.
The human eye, constantly used as it is, is moving almost every milli-second to see and register all objects, especially moving ones, in the side vision as well as the centre vision.
Tommy had once read that humans are naturally drawn by sight to things that move or make noise, due to past hunters and gatherers. So when a person walks into a room everyone stares.
Feathers’ eyes did not do that, not even the tiniest bit, their pupil was steady. Almost dead looking with their stillness.
He wondered if this alien was prone to stillness, just like it’s eyes were fixed, capable of moving on will but never unconsciously taking in information like a true human eye, he certainly didn’t have the eyes of a bird, which he knew flickered more than human’s own.
Feathers stared at the floor, even when Tommy was certain his bare feet were in the corner of the alien’s vision he did not react.
Tommy hesitantly shuffled a bit closer and tilted his body to the side to get a better look at the down turned face. Tommy tilted his head and watched.
When those doll-like eyes snapped from the spot on the floor straight up to Tommy’s face he admits he shrieked, pushing himself backwards.
Feathers looked shocked at his reaction, wings tucked close but back straightened, he was now starring and Tommy didn’t know what he preferred. The alien to look at with such complex examination, or to be sleeping with their eyes open.
The alien tilted his head in a brief mockery of Tommy’s actions and churred.
He could see the sound ripple the alien’s throat and Tommy swallowed uncertainty.
“You’re fucking creepy you know that?” Tommy whispered. Feathers tilted his head the other way.
“Fuck off before I come over there,” He snarled, rising his voice a little but not too much, the alien didn’t seem as affected by the noise as the others.
Feathers, taken aback but still gentle, still impossibly gentle for an alien, like he always has been so far, prodding and pushing into spots but never dragging. He pushed away from the wall and let his wings come uninhibited to wrap slightly around his body.
Tommy wondered if he was cold, the metal sucked warmth away. Tommy did not want to give up his blanket to the alien in case he never got it back.
Gaining confidence back when Feathers settled down. His face was still up, looking at Tommy, despite this he put himself to a crouch and walked along the wall, pushing away to come closer and then jump back, often spitting muttered insults when Feathers moved slightly.
He jumped back and forth like a curious parrot, hopping from heel to toe and finding the boundaries.
At one point Feathers looked down to his bag of bread and nibbled on a bit. Tommy pushed himself into the wall as far as he could go, and while he thought Feathers was reasonably distracted, he got close enough to touch the tip of his finger to the longest feather on the end of the wing.
Immediately Feathers yanked their wing back out of reach, and Tommy scrambled backwards, hissing slightly. The alien cooed and returned his wing to the original position but Tommy was back in his corner.
“Apology not accepted,” Tommy muttered, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes into a glare.
The bird pushed itself away from the wall and Tommy tensed, warning him with a loud exhale through his nose and to his surprise the bird alien did glance up and stop.
The alien rested his arms on his knees and said something in his language, a long soft caw followed by chirps and churrs only separated by tone, not volume.
It almost sounded like a rainforest of birds talking to each other.
He continued speaking in his unintelligible language while Tommy puttered about, he hesitated before taking a step closer, not able to resist wanting to touch the wings or attempt to take the bag of food but with Feathers active and aware, sometimes looking at Tommy and dipping his head this way and that.
He stopped himself from getting too close when it looked like the alien was encouraging him forward, angling the top of the open food bag to Tommy so he could peek inside it but would still have to get close to reach for it, Tommy was not that dumb. He quickly retreated again, finally back into his corner.
He placed the three bags he gathered onto the floor of his corner, his specific corner now, and then placed one of his pillows on top to curl up on.
He then half held, half used the other pillow for his head, while the blanket trapped it all in like a layered surprise easter egg.
All the while Feathers was squawking away. He had no way of knowing what he was saying but the sound, accompanied by a sore body, and a full stomach, he fell into a doze.
Tommy gave a half hearted resistance, his eyes snapping open when he felt like his body was shutting down only to squint and close his eyes again, he didn’t know how long this dance went for but eventually he snapped awake to see an empty room, dozed, then one last awakening when the lights began to dim.
He closed his eyes for the final time, dreaming of tall tall trees, branches reaching towards each other, closed doors, barricaded holes, and birds in flight.
------
“I don't know what you did to get the human to attack you but it was obviously your fault-”
“Phil!” Wilbur shrieks.
Philza has just rounded the corner, a open bag under his arm and a hand on his hip, “I was in there for hours mate, he’s fed and he's asleep and not once did he attack me so i'm putting this on you,”
“It’s not my fault! He was- he was aggressive when I got in there!” Wilbur defended, “Baring his teeth and then just snapped, so loud I thought my brain was melting, then he was gone!”
Phil shakes his head and Technoblade looks up from his tablet, “Was that the first or second time?”
“What?” Phil’s head snaps up, surprised, “What do you mean the second time? What was the first time?”
Wilbur gave a threatening look to Techno and Phil lifted his hand to stall him, “When were you going to tell me you went in alone? Not only attacked alone first of all,” His wings raised a bit, “and then you decided to go in a second time! Thinking nothing would happen?”
“Well-”
“Are you joking with me?”
Wilbur put his face in his hands, “I’m normally so good with the creatures, the fragile ones! I don't know what’s wrong with this human. Maybe he’s broken?”
“Fragile is not what I would call that thing,” Techno muttered, scrolling down and then tapping the keyboard.
“Yes I saw your struggle with the human,” Phil rolled his eyes. Techno’s lip curled in embarrassment.
Phil walked over to their storage bins where they kept a large stock of food and water packages of varying different varieties for all their different creatures, he picked up one from each and debated picking up a third water pouch.
“Does he really need more resources? We just fed him twice today,” Wilbur asked.
“You didn’t see him, the human just inhaled both of the water packets,”
“Well we aren’t keeping him- it, for long, it can survive a couple weeks,” Techno grumbled, closing the lid of the bin for Phil, “If the distributors have to give it extra resources that’s on them not us,”
Phil hummed and agreed, putting the collected packets on the counter, he took off his hat and shook his head, ruffling his hair and the feathers on the back of his neck.
“Just don't want to risk any sickness while we are in transit. There aren’t many pit stops on our path, much less medicine that we know work well with his biology.”
“Better to underfeed than to over feed and make it sick,” Techno shrugs a little, he puts his hand on his pockets and fiddles with a cap for one of their water pouches. Philza and Wilbur allow him to collect seemingly useless bits and bobs from their supplies as long as it doesn’t spill into the common areas, as per a rule set by Phil when he found a piece of sharp metal tucked under his pillow.
“Besides the human, how was the batch of Geno-types settling in?” Philza asks.
Techno sat down heavily, “I don’t like transporting them-”
Wilbur huffed, “We know Techno,”
“But,” He stressed, glaring at Wilbur, “I gave them the recommended medicinal gas and they fell asleep or were near it by the time we took off so they were fine.”
Phil nodded, his gloves were off and set next to the water, revealing his two inch long talons that he tapped considerably on his chin, “I might check on them before we clock in for the night,”
“I can do that,” Techno insisted.
He looked over to Wilbur who was running his fingers over his knuckles, thinking hard, “Did you do anything besides mess with the human?”
Wilbur gasped in offence. Techno cut in before he could defend himself, “You know this is still a job right?”
“I know I know-”
“What about the Rollipop? You used to love those Wil,” Phil mused, tilting his head.
“I just-”
Techno leaned back in his chair, “I’m not picking up your slack if you want to play with our merchandise for the three weeks-”
“I am not!” Wilbur shouted, “I was not- I did check up on my sector, they are all fine! They’re fine! All good! Sue me if I wanted to check out the first human in space,” He growled and averted his eyes, canines peaking through his lips.
Phil smiled and put a hand on his shoulder, his wing curled around him slightly, “There is plenty of time for us to get to know him,” He assured, squeezing gently, he looked up at Techno, “This is all exciting but it’s also barely the second day in our trip, come on Techno give some breathing room. It’s not bad to have some fun here and there,”
Wilbur grins, all canines, in an argument won but then Philza adds, “As long as fun doesn’t get you permanently scarred, mauled, or have need for any disease control units. Those are so much paperwork,” He glares at Wilbur, who cowers slightly.
Technoblade grumbled and rolled his eyes. Phil grinned, “See? All good now,” He picked up his hat, stuffed his gloves into his pocket, and picked up the pouches with careful touches, frighteningly aware of the sharp edges of his fingers, “I’m going to drop this off then I am going to check the camera footage for hallways 03 until 7A.”
“Let's get this show on the road!” Philza stepped out of their storage room with a light bounce in his step, leaving Wilbur and Technoblade behind.
After a silent moment Techno also stood up, “I’m going to go to the front of the ship, double check our system,”
“Didn’t you do that four times already?” Wilbur mused.
“Preventable mistakes are exactly that, preventable,” He says knowingly. Wilbur sighs.
Technoblade returns his pouch cap into his pocket, stepping out of the room with heavy feet.
Wilbur hummed lightly, caught in thought of the human, so complex and different with each person he had met, going from rabid to fearful in less than a second. He couldn’t imagine their hormone levels jumping from such extremes so quickly without causing some neurological damage, maybe even physical if their tendons and nerves could be sensitive.
He stood, rubbing the sleep out of his face and checked the time. He still needed to catch up on the final run down of his sections of the ship. Maybe it was true he had gotten sidetracked with their mystery crate, but he could always catch up on room inspections later, this human was only with them for a short time and he wanted to get the best out of them.