Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ride to town is painfully awkward

Phil had moved to their current location before adopting, and back then his pattern was always the same: choosing secluded towns and then living twenty minutes outside of them in heavily wooded areas. It was a smart strategy, but after nearly half an hour of terrible small talk and attempts to get his sons to open up, he wishes he'd just chosen to live in town.

There's a few times that Tommy tries to speak up, but the twins quickly hush him, looking terrified of Phil finding out what they're doing. He wants to engage them but when the trust between them is so fragile, he knows he has to keep his distance and let them come back at their own pace. It still twists at his heart.

When they finally pull up outside the market, he puts his best face on. "Here we are!" He says cheerfully, but gently.

He gathers his things and steps out of the car as they follow suit. Wilbur and Technoblade scramble to get out as quickly as they can, and he comes to the back to help Tommy out with his seat belt, as he always does.

He does it without thinking, and Wilbur forcefully jumps out of the way he nears. He stops dead in his tracks and stares at him with hurt ok his face before he has a chance to cover it up. "I was just - his seatbelt..."

Tommy pops out of the car a moment later with a giggle, before Wilbur can respond.

Technoblade guilty sure the doors having helped him out in the first place.

Phil swallows and gives his kids a kind smile. "I put in an order with the bakery. We can pick that up and then head over to the music store? A few errands after that, and then we'll go home."

//

He wouldn't. "Of course," he responds stiffly. He clears his throat and repeats himself, forcing a chirp into his deadened voice, "Of - of course."

~

The trip had been nothing short of a disaster, and Tommy wholeheartedly blames the twins.

They went to the music store first. It was a tiny building with a made of floor-to-ceiling shelves covered in equipment, instruments, books, dust, and knick knacks. No surface was left uncovered. It was Wilbur's favorite place on the planet, and he always adored wandering through and touching every single thing he saw. Even before Phil had taken the trio in, Wilbur had a special place in his heart for the store and the manager was one of few villagers who had treated the children with any level of kindness when they were still orphaned.

Wilbur was visibly sick as they walked in, uncomfortable that this stop was planned for him.

Phil asked if he wanted to follow through, but Wilbur stared at the floor and mumbled a faint "No thank you," that Phil frowned at, but said nothing more to.

Phil left the three brothers at the front and followed the employee further into the store, past shelves and shelves of various equipment and knick knacks.

As soon as he disappeared from view, Technoblade gave Wilbur a sympathetic look. "At least it's just a guitar string..?"

Wilbur nodded, but wouldn't meet his eyes or speak out loud.

They waited several minutes, guard slowly starting to drop. Wilbur even relaxed.

Phil came back soon enough. They heard his conversation with the employee gravitate closer through the cluttered store, and Tommy noticed the twins already tensing up again.

But nothing could prepare them for what actually happened.

Phil appeared closely behind the employee, D-string in hand. And a lovely wooden bass guitar in his other.

Wilbur's mouth fell open. He had been begging for that bass since he was twelve.

Phil pushed it into his hands and the employee ruffled his hair affectionately. Wilbur was too stunned to properly respond.

"There you are, son. Best thank your old man for this pretty thing - it cost him quite the penny." And then he walked off and left the family where they were.

Wilbur stared at the bass with a torn look on his face. The delight was etched into his face but weighed down by the fear of the one handing it to him.

He missed the sad smile on Phil's face.

~

The trip to town had been an utter disaster, and Tommy blames the twins.

It started with the music store.

Phil ushered his boys into the cramped lobby. The creepy old owner rose from behind a shelf and stared the four down without announcing himself, prompting Technoblade to fall over and Wilbur to flip him off. The man glared holes into Wil's skull and opened his mouth to scold, but Phil forcefully stepped in between and gave him a painfully hard handshake.

"Pleased to see you up and about, sir." He didn't know his name.

"And why wouldn't I be?" He shot back. "You calling me old?"

Phil laughed and didn't answer. "Are you stocked up on D-strings?"

The man's mouth pursed unpleasantly. "Depends for who. The brat?" He made a vague gesture towards Wil.

Phil readjusted his stance and took a few steps into the man's personal space, forcing him to refocus on his large frame. "All of them are, but I'd still appreciate it if you shut the fuck up."

The man glared but didn't say anything else. He turned around and stalked further into the store, a slight inclination of his head being the only sign for Phil to follow.

Chapter Text

Tommy finished loading the cart and took a second to breathe.

He heard the beast shifting around in the dark. "Are you doing okay out there, Sunshine?"

Despite his tiredness, the sweet nickname made him smile.

"You know you eat a lot? It's a pain in the ass to load myself."

He meant it as a joke but silence hung in the air a second longer than it should have.

He cleared his throat. "I don't mind it. I'm compensated."

The beast snorted. "Not enough."

Tommy laughed awkwardly and didn't say anything.

He walked over to the control panel and started up the track.

The cart was big enough to fit a barn, and filled to the brim with various livestock, prisoners of war, and whoever else might have found themselves on the king's hit-list. Nothing sent to the monster was alive. It was a point the monster whined about a lot, but Tommy much preferred it that way. It was already disgusting having to spend hours upon hours piling the cart with bloody meat (sometimes human!) by himself, and the day he was handed a living person would be the day he faked his death and fled the kingdom.

He pressed a few buttons, tried not to cut himself on several rusty levers, and the rail obediently started itself up with a few revs and puffs.

The beast hummed contentedly at the noise.

The cart began to run along the track, disappearing from his view and descending into the inky black cave. He heard the gate creak open and he heard it creak close. And then he heard the beast begin to eat.

They weren't nice sounds by any stretch of the imagination - ugly rips and wet squelches of flesh - but Tommy had been at the job for a while and was long used to it. He settled in and waited for the creature to finish its meal.

"So how was your day, Keeper?"

Tommy hummed. "About the same as it always is. My master told me that the king will be coming in soon for a performance review, but I've no idea when that might be."

The beast paused its munching before hesitantly starting again a moment later. "I - why?"

He shrugged, assuming the monster could see him from the dark. "Something about me holding down this job the longest out of anyone before."

"Hm."

"I don't understand why that would intrigue the king. And no offense to you personally - "

"Uh huh," the monster sarcastically interjected -

" - but this isn't exactly the career path I'd have chosen. If I knew how to transfer I probably would have. Honestly - I have no idea how the others could have quit this job. I was under the impression that this is the sort of thing you do until you die."

It laughed at that.

Tommy sighed.

He was quiet for a few moments, a question sitting heavy on his tongue.

He shouldn't ask. It's impolite.

The monster shifted around. "Spit it out."

He gave the darkness an accusatory look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a huff of laughter. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're doing that thing where you want to say something but are worried about what I'll think. It would be adorable if I wasn't desperate for decent conversation."

"Fuck you." He said it with a smile.

"Well? Are you going to say or not?"

He scrubbed at his face. Fuck it. "What were your other keepers like?"

The beast went silent for several long moments.

Shit. "You don't have to answer if you - "

"I didn't much care for them."

Tommy didn't say a word.

"The feeling was mutual." It sighed heavily. "You're a much better replacement, Sunshine."

"I'm sorry for asking."

The beast purred. "Don't be, dear. I pressed you. And I don't mind answering." It jostled the cart. "And I'm done eating."

Tommy nodded and powered up the control panel again. The cart began to recede. 

It appeared from the darkness, picked completely clean and shiny as if it never been covered in blood at all.

It scared him a little, how quickly the monster could eat such a large amount, but he dismissed those thoughts as easily as they came. When would that ever affect him?

He checked the clock. He still had a few hours before he had to report back. "Do you mind if I stay with you longer?"

The monster laughed conspiratorially. "Oh, but that's against the rules," it said in a high mockery of his voice.

He flushed.

He had been terrified of the monster when they first met. He gave any excuse to leave the beast as soon as he could, including that the rules specified that spending unnecessary time with it was prohibited. That was true, but no one would have known if he chose to linger. In hindsight, it had been terribly obvious how afraid he was and he's only embarrassed that the monster pretended to believe him.

"You're the worst."

"And you still want to spend time with me?"

Tommy blew a raspberry at the darkness, earning a few laughs.

It was comfortably quiet for a few seconds before the monster spoke again. "Why are you curious about my old keepers?"

He tugged at his fingers. "Do you know how I ended up here?"

"You never talk about it."

He frowned. "And I never will," he responded coldly. It never gave up asking. "But do you know, generally, how someone ends up working this kind of job?"

The monster was quiet. "Yes."

Tommy didn't say anything for a minute. "The king is very angry with me. I don't want to see him again. However the other keepers escaped..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying. If the king requests an audience with me, it isn't for any good reason."

~ 🕸 ~

When the king acquired his monster, he hired out help to feed the thing and keep it under control. He made sure the beast ate lavishly, but now matter what they fed it, it never seemed like to satiate the creature. But it hadn't died of starvation and that was good enough. When its caretakers started to disappear, it wasn't difficult to guess what happened.

But acknowledging the problem would mean addressing it too, and the king simply didn't care. In the end, he realized he had the perfect way to quietly do away with those he needed gone. He sourced this job, with its one hundred percent rate of 'job abandonment' to political adversaries or people growing affluent enough to take his throne.

Which takes him to the present day, and a rather interesting problem.

When some servant boy had spilled a bottle of red wine down his front during a gala several years prior, the king had been so angry that he threw the child in a dungeon and left him there. When the monster's then-keeper inevitably disappeared, the king came to the boy and grimly informed him of his punishment.

He hadn't expected the child to last more than a couple of days. He'd even picked out his replacements.

But lo and behold, the boy remained present at his job post for a week. And then that week became several, and those several became months, and those months became a year and a half.

The king couldn't understand why it hadn't eaten him yet. He was fifteen at this point, certainly the youngest to feed the monster. Was it waiting for him to grow up? Did it want to watch him sprout up before it made its attack? It was perfectly sentient, and the king knew this even though he denied it upfront. Shouldn't the monster trust that the sooner it finished its current keeper, the sooner he would be replaced by another?

Had there been someone who had managed to bring this creature to subservience? If so, then the king took special interest.

And if not, then it was long overdue that the servant boy be put to death.

~

Being a human's lapdog wasn't a dignified experience, but it was a fed one. Driders were megafauna, making it hard to get enough food. It certainly didn't help that the human kingdom believed everything was its rightful property and saw driders as a threat to them owning more than they could eat.

Wilbur certainly didn't enjoy his life, and he was almost always hungry anyway, but at least he was alive.

He lived in a dungeon below the castle, but he wasn't sure what a castle was and he barely understood the concept of a dungeon. He hadn't seen the sunshine in years, and his keeper was his only company.

He liked his keeper. The boy was kind. He didn't threaten to pee in Wilbur's food or throw rocks at him. He asked him how his day was, and even made it a point to handle the meat carefully as he transported it into the cart. He seemed lonely, and made up excuses to stay. He was a cute little thing, and Wilbur wanted to stick him into his brooding pouch and keep him there.

~ 🕸 ~

The cart rolled into Wilbur's enclosure, and he greedily snatched it up and began to eat.

His keeper sat at a table in the light.

Wilbur finished his food in a few seconds and toyed with the cart. He always made it seem as if it took him longer to eat than it did.

"Do you have a family?"

The boy froze at the question. "Why do you ask?"

Wilbur pouted even though he knew he couldn't be seen. "We've known each for so long. I don't even know what your name is. Can't I know just a little?"

His keeper awkwardly laughed, fidgeting with his fingers. "Oh... I guess you're right."

Wilbur's heart leapt.

"I don't have a family."

"Oh." Shit.

"Yeah."

What was he supposed to say?

"I don't have a family either."

His keeper peered into the darkness. "What are you?"

Wilbur smiled. He skittered to the bars of his cage and leaned against them, towering over the boy, though he had no idea. "Would you like to play twenty questions?"

"You're so lame, seriously, what are you? I don't even know what you look like."

I could show you, he wanted to say.

Coming out of his cage was easy. The king assumed it could hold him but no one actually checked. And aside from his keeper, no one had been in his dungeon for years. In reality, the bars had long been bent open and Wilbur could get out whenever he pleased.

It wouldn't be difficult to come through the bars and present himself to his keeper. Pick the little figure up in his hands and take him into his cage with him.

When he'd eaten his previous keepers, they'd always been replaced. If he captured his current keeper and stored him away in his brooding pouch, then he'd never be lonely again.

It was tempting.

"That's probably for the best," he said. He stepped away from the bars of his cage and curled up on the floor.

He liked his keeper. He wanted him to be happy. Just because Wilbur was stuck in a cage didn't mean he had to be as well.

"Do you think I'd be scared of you?"

Wilbur looked down at himself, at his large stature and eight legs. His fangs came down to his mid chin. "I think you'd be terrified, dear."

His keeper smiled. "I don't think so. I have a suspicion that you're just harmless."

His heart melted. Oh stars, he wanted to eat this kid.

He massaged his aching brood pouch. "You're sweet, Sunshine."

~ 🕸 ~

The cart was left in his cage while he was sleeping. He woke up confused, spying it in the corner of his enclosure and wondered why he'd been fed overnight. Where was his keeper? His mind jumped to the worst conclusions.

He found him inside the cart. Bound and gagged and looking terrified beyond all reason.

"Oh, Sunshine," he murmured.

His words had the opposite intended effect, his keeper starting to panic and writhe at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, hey... Calm down, okay? I'll get you out of there." He reached into the cart and picked him up in his hand.

Despite the circumstance, his heart soared. This was the closest they'd ever been.

The figure was tiny in his palm, and still struggling.

Wilbur quickly undid his bounds, being mindful of his sharp claws against the human's body. As soon as his hands were free, he was clawing at the gag around his mouth.

"Don't eat me! Please, do not eat me..."

Wilbur's stomach dropped.

"What? Sunshine, why would I eat you?"

The boy continued to sob.

Wilbur cupped him to his chest and headed towards the bars of his enclosure. He expertly clambered through and came out the other side, his skin exposed to the light for the first time in more than a year.

"Dear? Can you talk to me?" He stroked his head with his thumb and brought him eye level. "Why were you in my feeding cart?"

His keeper stared at him in shock, and it was then that he remembered his keeper had never truly seen him before.

A hot wave of embarassment and self consciousness overtook him.

He awkwardly set his little human on his table and receded back into his enclosure.

"Sunshine?" He prompted once back in his cage. "Are you..."

"Could - could you get out the whole time?"

Wilbur's mouth went dry. "I - well, yes, I could but - "

His keeper stumbled off the table and hit the ground with a nasty sounding crack.

Wilbur sprang to his claws and scrambled forward. He popped his head out between the bars and stared down at his little keeper. "Are you okay?"

The human stared up at him with terror on his face and scrambled backwards, running for the door.

"Shit, shit, wait, I'm sorry! Please stay, please, Sunshine - "

The door slammed behind him with a resounding crack and Wilbur flinched backwards.

~

It had been at least a day since his Keeper fled and Wilbur couldn't stop replaying the events in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the human's face, twisted in horror and disgust as he craned his neck to meet Wilbur's gaze.

The hunger was becoming as unbearable as the mounting shame, and he wondered to himself if the king intended to leave him in the dungeon to starve. He could leave his cage, but he had never tried leaving the room. He wasn't sure he could, though there must have been an entrance he came through when he was brought there in the first place.

Accompanying his shame and hunger was a deep, unshakeable fear. His Keeper had been left in his cage on purpose. Someone had put him there, and Wilbur had a terrible suspicion that this someone was the king. It was just his little human's luck to piss off the most powerful man in the land.

Oh stars.

He should have held onto Sunshine instead of letting him go. Despite what he thought, the boy was likely much safer by Wilbur's side than anywhere else in the kingdom.

He cursed himself under his breath, a sharp pang of cringe shocking his system as he thought back to all the sick jokes he made about wanting to eat live humans. They were true jokes. He did feel that way, but he shouldn't have said those things. 

... But how could he not? Humans stole Wilbur away from the sun and locked him in some dark, smelly, underground shithole for years. Humans weren't his preferred prey, not by a long shot (that title firmly belonged to cattle and sheep), but the catharsis he felt whenever he downed another screaming asshole more than made up for that. 

Another sharp wave of shame hit him. In all his fantasies of eating live humans, the live human in his fantasies would never have been the *one* human he cared for. And he wished he'd had the foresight to actually clarify that to his Keeper when he had been going on and on and on about how much he wanted to eat a living person.

Oh... 

Oh fuck.

How much fear had he been in as he ran? As he found himself in the feeding cart, when he realized Wlibur was awake? When Wilbur started handling him?

Shame. Shame shame shame shame shame.

Sunshine would never come back now. 

His brooding pouch gave a sharp stab of pain at the thought and Wilbur dug his nails into the skin outside of it. Tears sprang to his eyes. 

His Keeper was being hunted. And Wilbur, the one person who might offer him reasonable safety, was the one person he surely had no intention of seeing. 

~

Tommy was seriously considering going back to the beast. The drider, apparently.

The big ole scary drider that ate a lot of people, apparently including people who worked Tommy's exact position for years before he was placed with it. 

He shuddered at the thought, remembering its giant looming face and those giant looming fangs

Tommy made it to the castle grounds before he finally stopped running.

The monster had eaten everyone. The king tried to execute him. The monster hadn't eaten him.

His head spun and his skin felt like it was on fire. Why had he been chosen to die? And why had he been chosen to live?

Chapter Text

Wilbur's stomach dropped as he scrolled the blogpost. He could feel the piece of shit in front of him smugly taking in his horror, but he could not find the capacity within himself to mask his pain.

A year and a half ago I lost my brother. There are a thousand things I could say about it and I'd still never fully express that kind of grief. The points that matter are the same ones we're all familiar with: I loved him, he's gone, and I wish all the time that we could have one more perfect moment together. 

I didn't give myself a second's time for it, except for when it snuck up on me and I'd have to pull the car over to cry on the side of the road. I can't ignore it anymore (trust me, I've been trying), and I'm taking a pause on my career. Possibly a permanent pause. I'd like to come back one day. I wish I could say that I will.

I learned a very painful lesson and it feels wrong not to share it. 

He was a deeply flawed person. We argued all the time. When we weren't arguing, we sat together in a car full of shitty music loud enough to cause hearing loss, and we did not speak to or look at each other. The last time we hugged must have been a decade ago, when we were both significantly smaller, and I can't recall a single time he told me he loved me even though I'm convinced he must have said it at least once when we were children. 

He was completely perfect and I'd give so much to sit with him.

It doesn't really matter what the context is, we love each other's presence. 

If I could see him one more time, I don't think I'd break down, or cry, or tell him how much he means to me. I think I'd ask if we could take a drive and listen to music. 

As flawed as you are, you're perfect, and your loved ones are also perfect, and the things you'll regret the least are the casual, boring moments where you should have said a lot more than you did. 

If I could change one thing, I wouldn't, but if I had to, I would tell him just once that I love him.

Wilbur made a grab for the computer, slamming backward into a wall as he desperately started to write a terribly typo'd comment under the post. The collar around his neck sent powerful shocks through his body. He lost control of himself, falling to the floor and convulsing wildly. Did he piss himself? The laptop hit the ground, jumped up with a spin, and came down harshly once more. He didn't see it land.

The general strode across the room with a set in his jaw and kicked him in the chest, elicting a yelp.

Despite the nausea, tingling pain, and almost worst of all - the humiliation, Wilbur desperately reached for the laptop, only to realize that it had snapped in two.

No no no no no -

"What the fuck were you trying?"

He was lifted by the collar of his shirt and tossed harshly against the table.

"Your brother thinks you're dead. He's better off that way. You are too, Soot."

Chapter Text

The cave was dark and silent, save for Phil's light snores. Wilbur crept closer, terrified. This was his fourth night in a row doing this, but the risk wasn't lessened and he could only imagine the renewed distrust if they learned what he did.

He reached their nest. They were protected on all sides by a moat of luxurious pillows and comforters, and a generous tangle was sprawled out over the bodies. Phil and Techno sandwiched Tommy, who managed to acrrue fifteen of the twenty blankets while unconscious. He had a peaceful look on his face. 

Wilbur gathered his courage, more willing to face his fear than deal with another night of crippling loneliness, and slunk into the nest. 

He brushed against Techno's foot.

He shifted in his sleep.

Wilbur could see his life end before his eyes.

"F... F'ck off, Wil, go to s'eep."

Techno buried his face in his pillow, and within seconds his breathing was steady and even again.

Wilbur waited with bated breath. But nothing more happened. 

Still cringing hard, he curled up at the edge of their feet. 

It wasn't pleasant.

There wasn't a lot of space in the nest.

He squeezed himself as far from them as he could, but he couldn't help it if they moved while sleeping and accidentally brushed against him.

Several times a night he would awake with panic and buzzing skin, convinced they found out he was there and were tossing him out, only to realize someone's leg had harmlessly brushed against his wings or back. Tommy in particular was a reactive sleeper and occasionally he kicked out, scoring Wilbur in the chest or face. It was an unconcious habit from the orphanage but everytime it happened Wilbur assumed for several horrible seconds that it was deliberate, and he shamefully accepted his punishment.

Nonetheless, he pressed himself against the edge of his nest. He relaxed, so much calmer and easier now that he was surrounded by the sweet sounds and smells and warmth of family, and it wasn't long before he drifted off. 

~

He woke up to a hand on his shoulder. 

He exhaled irritably and snuggled closer to his blankets, mumbling tiredly under his breath, "Jus' five more minutes, dad. It's not even light outside."

There was an adoring chuckle and the hand migrated to his hair. He melted into the touch, lovingly snaking his tail around his father's leg as the fingers pleasantly scratched his scalp.

There was a quiet, fearful intake of breath and the hand on his head stiffened. 

He froze. His tail trembled as it loosened, sliding off meekly and fearfully tucking itself between his legs. 

He was wide awake, perfectly aware of where he was. What he was doing. 

Oh stars. Was this how it ended?

Hands gently reached for his, rubbing small patterns into the knuckles. 

He numbly wondered what Phil made of the claws that currently protruded from his nail beds, but he couldn't bring himself to put them away. He was completely frozen. 

"Wilbur..." His heart dropped. "Mate, I'm not mad at you." 

One hand still on both of his, a few fingers came and delicately tilted his chin to the left. He finally opened his eyes and met Phil's gaze. 

There wasn't any hatred or contempt, just a soft compassion. 

Phil brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. And then he lovingly stroked the scaly, draconian ears poking out of his curls. 

Wilbur swallowed tightly, still transfixed on his father's gaze. 

"Why don't you come up here?" The hand on his tugged imploringly. 

He was convinced it was some kind of trick, and although he obediently rose and let his father guide him next to Tommy, his mind raced the while as he tried to form a plan. 

But then blankets were being spread out over him, and Phil was lying beside him, pressing him into a hug and lovingly stroking one of his wing claws, and it was over before he had a chance to make anything of it. 

He lay there for several tense minutes, waiting for the cloth to be pulled from his eyes as Phil remembered he was a dragon. But Phil started snoring again.

There were no consequences.

Maybe ten minutes later, Tommy stirred too. He was barely conscious as he shoved himself into Wilbur's chest, calling him a bitch under his breath as he snuggled into a wing. 

He has no idea when, but he fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

There's angry screaming at the cave entrance for an hour before Phil finally rises from their nest.

"You shouldn't go out there," Technoblade says blandly. "He might eat you or something."

Phil sighs. "You know how he gets. He'd cough me up before lunch and then spend the next few hours pleading for my forgiveness."

"If you want to get soaked, be my guest."

Muffled from under a pillow, Tommy helpfully chimes in, "What the fuck?"

Techno scoffs and shoves at his shoulder. "I thought you were asleep. You know we were trying to be quiet for your benefit?"

A particularly violent death threat echoes through the cave.

Tommy pulls the pillow from his head and gives him a deadpan look.

Technoblade ignores it. "So what were you 'what the fuck'ing at?"

He throws his hands up and rolls to the side. "How are you okay with this? How are you guys so nonchalant about the idea of Wilbur eating Phil? Why is that something that he's okay with?" 

Phil presses a brief kiss to his forehead. "It's not like he'd digest me. He's done it enough to your brother and I that we know it's safe."

"Oh God, 'cause that makes it better, right?"

"I'm not the one to convince. If you can get Wil on the same page as the rest of us, let me know. I've been trying to explain the concept for months and all that does is encourage him to eat me again."

Technoblade takes a sip from his mug. "Maybe we should try family therapy."

Phil ignores him, staring down the cave with trepidation. Wilbur has forbidden them from going near the entrance and he knows venturing closer will rile him up all over again.

But the yelling hasn't ceased. Who could possibly be here? They aren't half dead or terrified, and Wilbur is presenting himself as human rather than dragon. Everyone else was eaten without second thought, but this person is alive and well enough to scream insults. Whatever altercation is taking place doesn't seem violent. Only  passionate.

He's afraid of whoever is here. He walks through the cave. The biting chill starts to reach him as the argument grows louder.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"So help me God, Wilbur, I am trying to help you but you are making it fucking DIFFICULT!"

"That is fucking rich coming from - "

Phil accidentally kicks a rock and it clatters across the cave floor.

The two figures go silent.

Phil squints at them. He can't tell whom is who. He hasn't seen the sun in months, and it reflects off the white snow and silhouettes their figures, obscuring their features. He turns away, worried about sun blindness.

"What's going on?"

"Mr. Craft?" He knows that voice.

"Don't talk to him! He isn't yours to talk to! Phil, why are you- ?!"

The person cuts him off with their laugh, their voice mischievous and triumphant, and in spite of himself, Phil feels a rush of relief.

"Mr. Craft, can I come inside the cave?"

"No!" Wilbur howls. "Phil, tell him no!"

"That depends," he responds slowly, ignoring Wilbur. "Quackity, why doesn't Wilbur want you in his cave?"

Wilbur gasps. "No! No, you can't - "

"Because he's lost his goddamn mind. Sir, I'm sure you must have noticed."

Phil scrubs at his face. "Wilbur, if I let Quackity into your cave, will he hurt anyone?"

Wil is silent for a moment. "...No," he says petulantly.

"Will he destroy anything?"

"No."

"Then why don't you want him in here?"

"It's my cave, and if I don't want him then - "

"Liar," Quackity says gleefully.

"What?"

"It isn't his cave, Mr. Craft. At least it's not just his cave. It's yours too! Which means if I have your permission, I can enter."

It's a gamble. Maybe Quackity will enter the cave and immediately rip Phil's guts out of his body.

Last year, if someone had tried to convince him that one of his sons was a dragon in disguise, he'd solemnly accept the news and prepare to confront Technoblade about why he felt the need to lie. He definitely has no internal species discerning radar to point him in the right direction, but whatever Quackity is, it's something that can arrive at the top of the mountain perfectly intact and ready for a screaming match. He could just as much be a bloodthirsty chimera or generous unicorn, there is no way to tell.

Fuck it.

"Yes. You can enter the cave."

Wilbur howls and stomps his foot, but Quackity gleefully laughs in his face.

"Thank you, Mr. Craft!" He bounces into the cave excitedly. As he grows closer, Phil can start to make out the features in his face. There's frost in his eyebrows and hair, and his lips are slightly blue, but his eyes betray him. The irises of his eyes are just slightly too large, and the pupils are catlike. Just like Wilbur's.

Another dragon?

Wilbur sullenly follows him deeper into the cave.

"What are you doing out here?" He snaps.

Phil flinches.

Quackity's smile drops like a stone and Wilbur softens, a look of shame crossing him.

"Sorry," he says meekly.

Quackity eyes him. "You really went off the deep end, didn't you?"

Wilbur glares at him. "Inside. Phil looks like Hell freezing over."

~

Quackity isn't allowed near the nest and Phil isn't allowed out of it.

Technoblade breaks the silence. "What's... going on?"

"Wilbur's lost his mind and I'm here to put it back," Quackity says easily.

"I feel fine. We don't need or want you here."

"You're speaking for them." His voice takes a softer tone. "Wilbur, would you speak for them if you were in your right mind?"

"I am in my right mind, Quackity. I'm not losing it, I'm not lost in my instincts. I feel fine."

He eyes him. "If you feel fine, then do you particularly care if I share the way this works to them?"

"You are free to do whatever you want."

"Good!" Quackity fixes the three humans with a look. "I'm assuming you don't know much about dragons, do you?"

Tommy glares at a wall. "I thought I at least knew much about Wilbur, but no. I guess we don't."

To his credit, Wilbur seems to wither under the weight of the words.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that, Tommy." Quackity's voice carries sympathy. He's quiet for a second. "Dragons are - we're complicated. As complicated as humans, but we don't work the same, I'm sure you know that now. But we are extraordinarily similar, much more alike than your monarchy would have had you believe."

Phil scrubs at his face. "Yes. They taught us that dragons' souls are more similar to geckos' than humans'. After spending so much time here... No, no. I can't believe that at all. Wilbur is my son."

None of them miss the slight smile that crosses Wil's face.

Quackity nods. "In reality, our souls are identical, save the personality variants that occur between any two souls. I've read what your royals published on us and it was disturbing. That our natural forms are reptilian, and only a few of us have human skins we wear like disguises to infiltrate and eat."

He fixes Wilbur with a stern look. "They haven't figured out it was you, but they're starting to catch on that it was one of the villagers who started this mess."

He addresses them all again. "In reality, all dragons have two natural forms. And there's a lot more of us living among you then I'm sure any of you would want to believe."

Chapter Text

Phil was awoken by alarms blaring and a message filtering through the ship -

VENTS COMPROMISED, LOCKDOWN IN MEDBAY

He tore through the ship from dorms, still half asleep.

when he arrived to medbay, he was horrified to see Wilbur standing over Red - in his alien form - with a bloodied crowbar. he smashed it into the boy, the curved end getting stuck in his flesh and painfully ripping out with horrible squelching noises. red howled in pain but never retaliated.

horror climbed Phil's throat, and before he knew what he was doing, he was slamming Wilbur's face into a wall and blasting him in the face with an airhorn.

"DIRTY BITCH!" he cried. "YOU SMELL LIKE SHIT AND YOU TREAT ANTS BETTER THAN WOMEN!"

He have Wilbur a few sharp bonks on the head with the crowbar until he died. uh oh bloody bleeding blood blood mess.

techno blade appeared in the door. 'damn Phil,' he said, surveying wilbur's corpse. "isn't it fucked up how I died? and Wilbur confirmed he abhses women? I sure do hope you and Tommy stay alive and keep your noses clean."

"ditto," said Phil.

together they carried Wilbur's dead body to the airlock. "I have made... a severe and continous lapse in judgment" he somehow rasped out, despite being dead. "I'm a good YouTuber. a soft boy. I loooooove respecting women. please don't put me in twitter jail. 🎶 toxic gossip traaaain 🎶"

they air locked him out of the ship and he died (again).

they went back to medbay and oarhces yo tommy. the three of them liced happily ever after. the end

Chapter Text

Tommy's troubles started in a bookstore. He had been browsing one of their trinket aisles, fucking around and half looking for a bookmark when a loud, grating voice, sounding as if the speaker was on the phone, started to approach.

He felt a prickle of annoyance. A bookstore wasn't a library, but didn't the same etiquette apply? Shut the fuck up, or leave? He stifled a sigh as the man shuffled into his section. They made eye contact, and the stranger at least had the decency to look embarrassed and lower his voice. The guy awkwardly mouthed a sorry at him, and promptly hung up the phone. The tension was thick, in no small part because of Tommy's silent hostility and he would be damned to leave.

"I was quite loud, wasn't I?"

"Yeah." He didn't care to lie. "What were you on about? Sounded intense."

The man laughed. "My brother is hard to shop for, and his birthday's in two month."

He raised an eyebrow. "Two months? Isn't it a bit... soon? To start looking, I mean."

"He's hard to shop for," the man reiterated with a smile. "My dad and I, we're scrabbling."

"Hmm. I take it he's a reader?"

"Yeah... But you know how that it is. Everyone says to buy a book, but that would mean finding something he hasn't read and would enjoy enough to keep. It's doubly difficult 'cause he works in a library. So..." The stranger trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the trinket aisle.

Tommy couldn't help a small smile. "Sounds like a bind. You've already considered bookmarks?"

The guy gave him an exhausted look. "We get him like, two or three of those fucking things a year. He's accumulated a collection. Somehow the bastard hasn't lost a single one, and he uses three or four at a time because that's how many books he'll read at once."

That drew a laugh from him. "Yeah, then... I guess-- I guess you're fucked."

The stranger sighed. "Well. Thanks. I'm Wilbur, by the way."

"Fuckass name."

"What?"

"Sorry," Tommy said immediately, a guilty look settling over his features. "I have this... condition."

The man's gaze softened. "Oh. I'm sorry, that must be--"

"Yeah, when someone has a fuckass name, I can't help but to insult it. It's called fuckass-name-itis, and it's contagious."

He burst out laughing, surprising Tommy slightly. "Abrasive, and unfunny! You're the full package. But really, what's your name?"

The stranger stuck his hand out, and he eyed it warily. What was this guy's deal? Tommy had insulted him at every turn, and here he was, still conveying an air of friendliness.

He slowly put his hand forward. "My name is--"

There was brilliant flash of light, and momentary heat from where their hands touched, painful and unpleasant, and then it was gone. They blinked the brightness away, focusing on each other's faces, hands still grasping each other in a semi formal shake. The stranger smiled widely. Tommy felt frozen to the spot.

He broke into a laugh, and pulled him roughly into his arms for a tight hug. "Well! It's a good thing I told you about my brother, 'cause I guess he's your problem now too--"

Tommy pushed him away, falling backwards into the display behind him. It hurt as he collided with the ground, with the sharp metal spikes of the display, and a worker clad in polo shirt started making their way over with all the right noises and words.

He couldn't make a damn thing out.

The man-- his soulmate, apparently, was apologizing, reaching down with a look on his face, and it broke him from his shock.

He sprang up and ran. He didn't realize he was running for the back of the store until he was in the bathroom, splashing water on his face. And he only realized that much, when the heavy door creaked open behind him and he caught sight of the stranger looking blindsided and hurt behind him. He pushed past and ran to the front, escaping and intent on never coming back.

He got home feeling like a wreck. He couldn't bare to look at his hand until the next day. There was a small, pretty depiction of a sunflower in the center of his palm, signifying the bond he and this person named Wilbur shared. It didn't take long for him to track the guy down on most major social networks. He didn't keep many accounts, and what he did was locked and private and hidden and barely showed any personally identifying information, but a few blocks here and there didn't hurt.

His thumb hovered over the block button on Wilbur's account.

The tiny tiles below showed pictures of him in concerts, with friends, a few with animals, some with guitars. He had a happy face. He looked friendly. It made Tommy scowl. He blocked without a second thought and deleted the apps for good measure.

Chapter Text

Tommy never went back to that shop. He pretended it was because he hated corporate bookstores, but while that was a true statement, it was an unnecessary lie. As a loner snob who made it a goal to be unpleasant, it was a given he would be too much of a hipster for a Barnes & Noble and too much of an asshole to have friends he could lie about his soulmate to. No one would have cared but he still couldn't stand the idea of people seeing his mark. He constantly wore fingerless gloves. He had a few pairs, switched daily, and he only took them off to shower or eat. Even in his sleep he wore them, because he was worried he might catch sight of the mark first thing in the morning and catch a panic attack before breakfast.

He loved libraries. There were a few in his area and even though he knew his soulmate's brother worked at one, he couldn't resist going in. He just switched to placing books on hold these days. Better to pop in and out than browse. He never went in without his gloves for the paranoid fear that the mark on his palm might identify him to someone.

It was a day like any other when he visited the library and walked into round two of bullshit. It had been weeks since the incident in the bookstore, and barring nightmares, nothing had come of it. He was feeling calmer than usual, and so found himself feeling comfortable enough to ask a librarian where the bathroom was. It was a gothy, almost punk looking guy with pink hair who directed him where he needed to go. The bathroom was in the back of the library, but he followed the walls until he got there and finished his business in just a few minutes. Hands still wet, gloves temporarily in his pockets, he exited the bathroom and started making his way back to the front. Passing by, he caught the librarian's eye and nodded shortly to him in thanks. The goth was mid conversation but still gave him a slight tilt of the head in acknowledgement. Caught up in the prospect of his books, Tommy didn't notice as their attention became fixed on him, and their talk died off. 

He was kneeling before the shelf when a wet, shocked voice behind him choked out, "Soulmate?!"

He dropped everything and scrambled backwards, falling twice before properly righting himself.

There he was again. His soulmate. A tall, gangly idiot with glasses and an aesthetic that screamed 'I listen to midwest emo even though I might vote for the tories!'

Tommy wasn't having it. He turned tail and ran, his hand clenched in a fist around his mark.

"Wait - wait! Please!"

It's a library, he thought hysterically. Can't you shut the fuck up?

He ran into an obscure section and curled into a ball on the ground. He didn't know what to do. His soulmate was at the front, but that was the only exit. He could run through the fire doors, but that would trigger an alarm, and that was the last thing he needed right now. His mind raced so quickly that he didn't notice soft footsteps approach, until someone was kneeling before him. He flung himself backwards with a gasp, but calmed immediately when he saw it was the pink-haired librarian with a concerned look.

They stared at each other for a second.

"I- I'm sorry," he finally gasped out. "I know I shouldn't run in here, I just got really -"

"Don't apologize, kid. You're fine." He had a strong American accent, and Tommy desperately tried to focus on it, grounding himself. "I asked him to leave."

The kindness gave his panic pause. "You - you did?"

He nodded.

"Did he?"

The librarian nodded again, coming fully onto the floor and relaxing into it. Tommy slid onto the carpet with a shaky breath.

"I - thank you. So much."

It was quiet for a second.

"I'm Technoblade," he introduced. "And... you're Thomas? Innes?"

"Tommy," he instantly corrected, peeved. And then he thought about it more and felt a growing suspicion. "How do you know my name?"

A smile twitched across his face. "From your holds - calm down. You know I'm the one who shelves them? You put the Communist Manifesto on hold last week, and then never picked it up. I was really curious about that."

Against everything that happened, Tommy felt a hysterical laugh fall out of him. "I wanted to read it, but only in theory."

Technoblade smiled. It seemed sincere.

They lapsed into silence.

"Can you tell me why you're avoiding your soulmate?"

Tommy looked up sharply.

Technoblade steadily met his gaze. "I'm not going to pretend I don't know that's what's going on. But I want to hear your side of things."

He felt deep hesitation, and his nervousness must have shown in his face.

He sighed. "Look. I sent him away, no questions asked. And I even like the guy."

Guilt, and a slight sense of obligation formed in Tommy's chest. He swallowed with some difficulty. "Is it enough to say that I don't trust the whole soulmate business? It's a bit odd, innit? To have magic bonds that dictate some of the most important relationships in your life. And it's too vague. You don't know if someone is you're universe ordained soulmate or nemesis until it's too late."

Technoblade's face was carefully closed off. "So you think Wilbur is your nemesis?"

Happened to me once before.

Instead he said, "Doesn't that scare you at all?"

There was an amount of sympathy in his eyes. "I understand you better."

Tommy focused on his hands, still exposed and still wet from the bathroom sink. His happy sunflower lay in the center, over the lines of his future, looking out for everyone to see.

"Sunflowers mean joy. Adoration."

Tommy scoffed. As if he wouldn't know what it means. "Yeah, they also signify arrogance and greed."

Technoblade was quiet. He almost looked sad. "I suppose."

For some reason, it made him uncomfortable.

"I want to leave."

"Yeah. I suppose you do."

Technoblade rose up and regarded him carefully. He was still sitting on the ground.

"Do you remember where the exits are?"

"Yeah."

He had said he wanted to leave. Why was it suddenly difficult?

"We won't look for you. And you're free to go. But I hope you won't be a stranger."

He looked at him in slight confusion. 'We?'

"We're nice when you get to know us." He offered him a hand up. Tommy looked at it warily.

He hesitantly put his left hand out, his right hand clenched around the sunflower. He put it in Technoblade's hand just as he continued, "We'd really love to have another soulmate, you know."

Another brilliant spark of light. Another flash of pain. The third time he's ever felt it in his life.

He ripped his fingers from Technoblade's grip and sprang backwards.

Technoblade met his gaze evenly, a little sadly. "We won't look for you," he repeated. "But I hope you seek us out on your own."

Waves of horror and betrayal hit him. Wilbur's brother worked for the library. This was him, wasn't it? They had different accents, but that must be because they were fraternal soulmates, not really blood brothers. He couldn't bring himself to look at his left hand, at the twin soulmark that would inevitably be there.

He stared at Technoblade. At the person who would be his brother now too.

And then he turned, and he ran.

Chapter Text

He spent a lot of time listening to music, drawing, knitting, fucking around with embroidery - anything to keep himself attached to this reality. He had brought three cookbooks with him in a hysteric grapple for control. He told himself that he would leave his haven once every recipe had been attempted, but it turned out a quarter were impossible to make with his limited resources, and he'd made the rest at least two times over. His terror hadn't improved a bit, and as horrible as it was to be stuck inside all the time, alone, the idea of leaving only seemed worse with every passing day. How long had he been here? He diligently marked in a calendar, never making a mistake, but the idea of totaling it all up and coming face to face with the isolation he inflicted on himself made his stomach flip. Although his phone got charge from the solar panels, it was only useful for his downloads.

In the end, it was the yarn that did it. He only realized he was out of the red when the tip slipped through his needle and poked out of a half done glove. He stared at it for several seconds before letting the thing fall to the floor. He stepped on it on the way to his shitty little kitchen, where he desperately choked down a single piece of dry bread. He splashed water on his face and took a sit on the floor.

"Fuck." Even his voice lacked energy.

What would he do now?

He stayed there for a few minutes longer, viciously remembering everything that had happened to him since the cafe fire. He had been through this too many times. He sighed heavily, and shut his eyes. Maybe if he was a different person, he would have a cry about it. But he was him, not someone else, so instead he pulled himself off the floor and drudged towards the miserable calendar on his wall. He tugged it down sharply, ignoring the nasty rip of paper, and he flipped the pages back.

...

Months. He had been gone months. And he still felt like piss. He tossed the calendar carelessly onto a counter, suddenly wishing very much that he had brought some kind of substance to abuse. But he didn't. So he left the kitchen. Only to see the half finished glove lying on the floor. He turned back again, towards the kitchen, but did a double take at the glove when he realized it only had four fingers. Had he finally lost it? Only four...

So it was the yarn that did it.

Forty-five minutes later, he pulled up to the nearest supermarket. He had a list with him, assembled over the past month and a half of random things he slowly started to realize he needed or was running out of. It usually took him longer to snap - there was only four items on the list this time, but he couldn't take it anymore.

He sat in the car for something like fifteen minutes, letting it idle as he contemplated if he really wanted to go in or not. People probably thought he was a freak. They didn't know the half of it. His phone rang - there must have been service here - and without missing a beat, he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Tommy?!"

He immediately froze. What the fuck?

"Uh. No. Wrong number."

For some reason, he didn't hang up.

"Toms," And fuck, Angel sounded like he would cry, "Toms, it's really you."

Still on autopilot, he pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed End Call.

Damn.

He was checking out when his phone rang again. He eyed it warily, seeing Siren's caller ID. The phone rang until it shut up on his own, the cashier shooting him a curious look as they accepted his cash. He gave them a vacant smile and walked out to his car as his phone started to ring again, this time from Blade. He was staring at the screen as the call ended, wondering how he'd ever been stupid enough not to make the connection between Technoblade, the librarian and soulmate, and Blade, the superhero. They both had bubblegum pink hair, for fuck's sake.

He meant to drive out of the car park, but it felt wrong. He needed to say something, didn't he?

He dialed Angel's number. The call picked up before even a single ring.

"Hello?!"

There was commotion on the line, and he knew all three of his soulmates were listening in. He supposed he was on speaker phone.

"Hello," he blandly greeted. "Why are you calling me?"

The silence was deafening.

"'Cause... because we were worried about you. You just - up and disappeared. We were starting to worry our calls weren't even going through."

He nodded, before remembering they couldn't see him. "Hmm. I'm gonna put you on speaker for a second." He tapped the screen and started to pull out of the parking space. 

"Are - are you with someone?" Angel's voice was full of barely held back emotion. Confusion, hurt, probably disoriented from how low energy Tommy was being, but what could be expected?

"No. Why?"

There was hesitant stuttering. "You - you just said we're on speaker."

"Oh. Yeah." He paused a bit, turning out of the park and onto the main road. "No, I'm alone."

"Oh."

He grunted vaguely and let the conversation lapse into silence.

There was hissing and whispering and a soft argument on the other side of the phone.

"What are you saying about me?" He felt exhausted.

There were more sounds, shuffling, angry words - and then Siren was on the phone. "Tommy, I know you're pissed at us -" more noises, and he could tell the others were trying to wrestle the phone away, "but you're really scaring us, mate! Please just tell us where you are."

He stared at the phone, probably for too long given that he was driving.

"I'm... in the mountains?"

Chapter Text

It wasn't even four days until something else happened to him. Sitting on the upper floor of his favorite cafe, it was with dawning horror as he peered through the windows and saw a super fight taking place in the distance. The ground shook, car alarms wailed, and when he saw a lime green flash of electricity, he grabbed his shit and backed away from the windows. He must have been the first to notice the commotion, but as quickly as he got up and fled to the back, other customers followed, yelling and taking cover. There was a barista on the floor, and as soon as they corralled everyone to the designated safe zones, they went behind a small work station set in the corner and powered on the security systems. Thick metal shut behind the windows, blocking out all the sunshine, and the cafe crowd stayed silent until the whirring of the backup generator turned on and fluorescent lights came on overhead a few seconds later.

With trembling fingers, Tommy hastily pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder and tugged his hood up over his head. He didn't know if Dream had picked this city because he finally found him, but he didn't want to find out. All he could do was hope that the Sleepy Boys had already arrived on the scene.

The crowd turned towards the staircase as footsteps started to rise. A second barista poked out and met the eyes of the first with a short, affirmative nod.

"Hello, everyone," they said to the crowd, voice only a little shaky. "Five at a time down the stairs. Everything will be fine, and authorities will be on the way for evacuation."

They briskly stepped forward, directing the five nearest to follow them. It was two young children, their parents, and a terrified looking teenager escorted out first. The teenager was obviously unrelated, tears streaming down their face as they stared at the floor and kept their distance. One of the parents lightly tapped them on the shoulder. They gave them a kind smile and guided them closer with a hand on their shoulder. The other directed them to put on their over ear headphones. Tommy regarded the barista. They couldn't have been much older than the teenager, or even himself. He wondered where either of their families were. The six went down the stairs as another BOOM sounded outside, barely muffled for the window shields, shaking the ground with it. Some of the cafe's hanging plants shook as an amount of dust rained down from the ceiling.

He closed his eyes and waited.

It took two more rounds of staircase evacuation before the only people left were himself and two others. They couldn't see what was happening outside, but they could hear it, feel it. It only grew worse with every passing second. Every person was thankful to get the fuck out of there. It was as they were halfway down the stairs that another horrible noise sounded from outside, closer and scarier than any of the others. Everything shook violently and the lights flickered. Someone yelped, a few others gasped or cried. But what caught Tommy's attention more than anything else was a yowling squeal from the upper floor.

Everyone stopped where there were, horrified.

"Was that a fucking cat?!"

He didn't even need to think about it really. He just bolted up the stairs as the two baristas and his three cafe companions yelled at him to turn around and come down.

The cat was perched precariously on a shelf, one that didn't seem to be bolted to the walls given how violently it shook.

"Holy shit. I'm going to name you Clementine."

The orange tabby meowed loudly, confused and obviously a little stupid. He loved it already.

There was another horrible boom outside. This time it was accompanied by screaming metal as one of the window shields came undone. Sunlight fell into his eyes. He saw silhouettes moving outside, someone fly by on great wings, more green sparks, yelling, blood, charmspeak. He ran towards Clementine. It mewed in panic and started to raise its hackles at him with a hiss, but he didn't give a single shit. He grabbed it around the middle and tore off towards the stairs as it screeched and sank claws into any available flesh.

Another great boom, more screaming. Concrete and old wooden planks caved in from the ceiling above, right where he'd been running towards, and he flinched back. The stairs were blocked off. A dust plume rose up from where the debris landed, and he forced Clementine into his hoodie before zipping it up all the way and tightening the straps around his face. He stepped away, considering his options. He readied himself to jump over the fallen debris when something large and flaming green soared through the window behind him. It crashed into the wall next to him and immediately set alight half the shit in the cafe. He started to consider how fucked he really was.

He picked a corner, unlit by flames. Curling into it, he hoped that the hoodie would be enough to hide his identity should Dream decide to peek in and see exactly which random civilian he was terrorizing. Clementine had gone very still and quiet at this point, only shaking against him. He hugged the cat close to his chest and whispered words to it. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours before a hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

Tommy tensed up, looking sharply through the tied off hole in his hoodie's face to who had come for him. With great relief, he spotted the wings before anything else. Angel gestured at him to rise, and he stumbled to his feet, still supporting a little animal in his clothes. The heat was unbearable, and the smoke choked him and stung his eyes. Strong arms came around him and pulled him closer into the fiery building. He panicked and began to struggle, probably squeezing the poor cat to death, as a horrible thought occurred to him that Angel meant to kill him too.

Angel held steady and pushed forward. Tommy cried and wrestled, but he didn't have the super strength to match this superhero's, and it wasn't a few seconds before they were standing beneath a hole in the cafe's ceiling that overlooked the sky. Angel spread his wings and took off. Tommy's stomach fell out of his ass and he would have screamed if his lungs weren't full of smoke. He must have passed out in the sky.