Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Ah, pizza's here," said Phil, Tommy's newest foster parent. He'd been dropped on the doorstep only a few hours ago, getting the grand tour of the man’s portable house.

He grunted, hardly looking up from his Clash of Clans. Tommy’s account was only six months old—a foster parent fucking deleting his old one, but he used to be glorious.

Phil moved the pizza boxes to the table, the scent of melted cheese wafting towards Tommy. "Now, the other kids will be arriving soon. If you want to meet them you can eat out here, or you can eat in your room," said Phil, grabbing a stack of plates from a drawer.

"I'll meet 'em," said Tommy, wings tensing as Phil walked behind him. His wings weren't anything like Phil's plain grey, his allay genes left his bright blue and sparkly as shit, just like the blue glitter freckled across his face.

"Alright," he said. "I've got two boys, one is seventeen and the other is fifteen, just older than you."

Tommy nodded, pulling open the pizza box and grabbing a slice.

"They're both good kids, but if you ever have any issues just let me know—there's a lot of hybrids in this house, but we can work through any instinct clashes."

The pizza in his mouth soured, but Tommy forced it down. "What hybrids are they?"

"Piglin and enderian—hang on a sec, I forgot my notepad."

While Phil scrambled through the kitchen, Tommy took a slower bite. Piglins were very social, forming multiple complex bonds with people, and they got very defensive over them. He shouldn't have any issues if he minded his own business—and that was easy when the other option was get his nose broken again.

He didn't know anything about enderians. Sure, they were tall as shit—everyone was tall as shit compared to Tommy—but their triggers? Communication, bonds, aggression? Enderians were just as exotic as he was, but that left him in the dark.

"Ah, here it is," said Phil, returning with a notebook and pen. "Firstly, I know it's been a quick turnaround for you—we've been rushed to set up your room, so I can only imagine what you're feeling."

Tommy scoffed. This was an emergency placement—but he knew it was coming. Niki always had a thing with fire, it was only a matter of time before she burnt that shithole of a group home.

"I'm just checking if you have any concerns you want brought up with your caseworker. School work, anything you left behind—I know you've already left the state, but if it's something important I can push for it."

"I've got my shit," said Tommy, watching Phil's reaction.

He didn't even blink. "Glad to hear it, mate. I understand you've been in the system for a while, so you probably know the whole caseworker rigmarole. But if there's any areas you want more support with—or any professionals you want out of your life, I'll pass that along for you."

Thank fuck Phil was talking to him normally. Despite how many fucking wankers thought otherwise, Tommy was fourteen, he knew all about therapy and court rights and what counted as fucking abuse.

Phil hummed, turning over a page. "This is normally where I'd ask if there's anyone you want me to make contact with—friends, siblings, teachers—but that's mostly for the younger kids."

"Siblings?" said Tommy, before he could stop himself.

The doorbell rang, Tommy mimicking the chime.

"Right, that'll be the boys," said Phil. "Sorry, can we finish this talk after tea?"

"Sure," he said, slumping back in his chair.

Phil smiled, ducking over the door and opening it. Tommy listened to the newcomers' entry, bags thumping and keys jingling.

"—the pizza's just arrived, come and say hi to Tommy."

Tommy turned to the doorway, his wings shuffling as he waited for Phil's kids.

The first kid was buff, rocking braids and piercings that marked him as piglin before Tommy even spotted his teeth. His intricate plaits sent a pang through Tommy, but he shoved it right down.

The other was the most obvious enderian Tommy had ever seen, towering above the piglin and as thin as a beanpole. He was at least twice Tommy's height—this kid was fifteen and already taller than Phil.

"Tommy, this is Techno and my other son."

"My name's Ranboo," said the enderian.

"Ayup," he said.

Silence fell between them, but Tommy didn't give a shit.

"Don't let the pizza get cold," said Phil, pulling up to a chair.

The family joined Tommy at the table, talking about school subjects and football, dodging landmines like why are you in foster care? (parents didn't give a shit) why did you leave the group home? (Niki burned it down, the cool motherfucker) and the most dreaded of all; I've never met an allay hybrid before. (We tend to avoid wankers)

Phil and his kids kept the conversation light—well, until they'd eaten the final slice.

"Before we crack open the ice cream, I thought we'd have a quick talk about boundaries," said Phil. "We've all got different hybrid needs, and we have some common courtesy rules to avoid stepping on toes."

He couldn't help but wince. He'd farmed too many of these conversations—carers, therapists, foster parents—and every time they meant jackshit.

"I'll start. I'm an avian hybrid, so I have a nest in my room. Please ask for permission before entering, except in case of emergencies. Techno?"

"Have you been around piglins before?" When Tommy nodded, he said, "Just the basic stuff, then. Don't touch my jewellery, and try and stay out of my den."

"Thanks, Techno," said Phil. "Ranboo?"

Tommy turned to the enderian.

"I'm an ender hybrid," he said. "Uh, please don't look at my eyes like that."

He dropped his gaze.

"Eye contact is painful," he said. "Water, too. It burns. other than that…" He paused. "Please don't tell people my name, just call me your—your foster brother or your roommate or something."

Tommy's brow furrowed.

"It's part of enderian culture," said Phil. "Names are precious, and can only be handed out by the enderian themselves. It might be a bit confusing to get used to, but I can send you a video about it, if you like."

He just nodded, picking crumbs off his plate.

Phil cleared his throat. "If you're up for it, you can share any hybrid traits we need to be aware of."

Tommy glanced up, catching Phil's hopelessly open expression.

"No pressure, of course. Just say the word and I'll bring out the ice cream."

Fucking pushover. "My boundaries are simple," he said. "Don't touch me, don't touch my clothes, don't touch my bed, and don't fucking give me anything."

The table fell silent, Phil blinking.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm going to bed."

Nobody protested, so he marched all the way to his new room, shutting the door behind him.

Two Clash of Clans battles later, there was a tap on his door.

"Hey Tommy, I brought you some ice cream, didn't want you to miss out."

Tommy peeled himself out of his double bed (the too-empty bed) and opened the door.

He found Phil with a bowl of ice cream in one hand, and that bloody notepad in the other.

"Here you are," he said, handing out the bowl.

Tommy stepped back. "I said don't fucking give me anything."

Phil's brow furrowed. "I—I thought you wanted some?"

Tommy sighed. "Just put it on the desk."

Phil did so, stepping back into the doorframe when he was done. "I noticed you said something about siblings, earlier," he said. "We got interrupted during dinner, but I said I would check in afterwards."

Tommy bit his lip. "You said some shit about contacting people, right?" When Phil nodded, he continued. "It was years ago but… well, I lost my brother."

Phil's eyes widened. "Your brother? What was his name?"

Tommy's wings shuffled, soft clinks filling the space. "Tubbo. His name is Tubbo."

Chapter Text

Tommy ate his cornflakes as fast as possible—he was the first awake in the group home, and if he played it right he could leave first, too. Cornflakes were hell with a wobbly tooth, but far better than the dipshits that would soon be after him. He tipped back the porcelain bowl, guzzling the last of the milk.

When he lowered it, Clara stood in front of him, her rosy lips curling into a wicked grin.

Fuck, why was she already awake? Tommy's wings twitched, the crystals attached clinking against each other. Clara moved and he quickly stood, only to get blocked off.

"What do you want?" said Tommy, crossing his arms as tight as he could. He knew what they were after, the only reason Clementine and Clara looked at him is when they wanted to fucking torture him.

"I just wanna play, Clementine loves playing with you," she said, looking over her shoulder.

Clementine appeared in the doorway, and his stomach boiled. "You can't, Sam said you're not allowed to, bitch."

"Well, you're not allowed to swear, so why can't I break the rules?"

Tommy's hands tightened into fists. "I'll knock you out, don't fucking start—"

"You can't hurt me," she teased, stepping closer once again. "You're too small to do anything."

"I'M TALL FOR AN ALLAY!"

Tommy threw the first punch, but Clara blocked him, pushing him to the side. He darted away.

Clara grabbed his shirt.

"YOU BITCH!" He scratched at the hands grabbing him.

Clara pinned him against the bench, and Clementine giggled. "What should we make him grab today?"

"Check inside the bin—" Tommy kicked, getting her square in the shin. "—Fuck!"

"Let me go, bitch!" he yelled, struggling against her hands.

"Oh shut up." She pulled a drawer open, grabbing out a spoon.

He pushed harder, words spilling from his mouth. "I'll shank you—I've got a fucking knife in my room and I'll put it straight through your—"

The spoon was shoved into his hand, the words dying on his lips. A spoon. He had a spoon—he was given a spoon. Where were the others? He was ready to gather, ready to bring every spoon to—

The hands let go of him, and he glared at Clara, his instincts whispering gather, gather. Find more gifts.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," said Clementine.

Kill yourself, Tommy tried to say, but only chimes came out, gentle and rhythmic and fucking overwhelming. His blue wings fluttered, finally light enough to fly. Just as always, Tommy aimed straight for the door, ignoring his screaming instincts.

Nausea washed over him as he got further away, but he made it all the way to his bed before he heard the clang of a teaspoon, turning around before he could help himself. Gathering! his instincts cheered, as the rest of him tried and failed to pull away.

Clementine sat on the bench, holding a single spoon. "Ready to play fetch?"

His eyes locked onto the spoon even as anger burned through him. Fuck Clementine, fuck Clara and fuck his instincts. He could be in bed right now, or getting to the bus stop early, but instead he was stuck looking at how the light hit a fucking teaspoon, his hands twitching in longing.

When Clementine threw the spoon, Tommy dove for it.

The two burst into laughter, Tommy seeing red even as his chest jumped at the extra spoon in his hand. He would kill her, stab that fucking spoon into her stomach and twist. Tommy's chimes grew discordant and loud, and he flipped them off as forcefully as he could, every muscle burning.

The two laughed harder.

Clara threw a spoon, and Tommy gave chase.

The game stretched on and on until there were spoons scattered across the kitchen floor, twenty sitting in Tommy's arms. He couldn't help but pick up more, the two cackling when he dropped them.

A car door slammed outside, and Tommy sagged with relief.

Clementine and Clara stopped, running out of the kitchen without another word. Follow bring-gift gather, his instincts sang, and for once Tommy agreed, flying after the two girls. Sam would set them fucking straight. The three ran into the girl’s bedroom, Clementine slamming the door behind him.

The front door squeaked open, the group home carer stepping inside. Sam moved with firm footsteps, a clunk sounding when he reached the kitchen. "What is the meaning of this?" he called, Clementine flinching.

Tommy stared directly at them, jingling as loudly as possible, discordant clangs like someone fist fighting a wind chime.

"Tommy?" he said, following the noise.

Sam pushed the door open, his face dropping into a scowl. "Clementine and Clara, what are the rules about instincts?"

"We were just playing—"

"—It was Tommy's idea!" added Clementine.

You motherfucker, he tried to say, only chimes coming out.

Sam sighed. "Crap, not again." He moved closer to Tommy, plucking the spoons from his grip one by one. His wings grew heavier as the spoons were pulled from him, and he planted his feet back on the ground.

Tommy's tongue loosened the second his hands were empty. "Clara did it."

"It was an accident! I'm not used to allays," she said, voice wobbling with distress.

"Fucking bullshit," he said, crossing his arms.

"Tommy, watch your language. Clementine and Clara, say sorry to Tommy. It doesn't matter if you forgot, you still broke Tommy's boundaries."

"Sorry for giving you a spoon," said Clementine.

"Sorry," said Clara, the two looking completely sincere. If this wasn't the fourth fucking apology this week, Tommy might have believed them.

"Good. Now Tommy, say I accept—"

"I accept your apology, bitch." He threw a punch straight into Clara’s jaw.

Tommy won that fight, at least. Clara broke her nose, and all he got was a couple ripped feathers—oh, and his tooth fell out. Most kids didn't have their molars fall out until they were eleven, but Tommy always knew he had superior dentures—how else would he get almost all his adult teeth when he was nine and a half?

The best part of the fight was staying home from school—even if he was stuck in his room. Well, room was a bit of an overstatement. After too much bullying in the main bedroom, Tommy had been moved to one that was more hybrid-friendly. He never knew walk in wardrobes were designed for hybrids, but he'd take a private room—even if it was just a box with a bunk bed. Tommy slammed the door as he entered, squeezing through the tiny walkway between the bed and the wall and climbing onto the top bunk.

He dug through his clothes, sniffing at a sock before pressing it to his wing. His blood was a shimmering blue—which was kinda cool, except that it blended with his wings and that he couldn't see how bad the injury was.

Fuck group homes. Fuck everything about them.

Tommy sat in his bedroom, peeling at the wall's paint and letting it fall to the carpet. The group home was loud this afternoon—doors opened and shut, countless adults talking as more cars pulled into the driveway. It was probably another kid getting dropped off, as if they weren't full enough already.

Whatever. He wasn't leaving until dinner—a busy house meant if Clara went at him Sam wouldn't notice for way too long.

He wedged his fingernails under another paint flake, tearing it back until it was the size of his palm—fuck yeah, that was a good one.

The voices grew closer to him, and before he knew it the door was pulled open.

"This is where you'll be sleeping," said Sam, guiding in a timid brown-haired kid. Oh, and he was a hybrid, if his floppy ears and horns were anything to go by. Of course they put all the hybrid kids together, stupid fucking humans.

"Dinner is at six, make sure you're all set up by then. I'll be out in the lounge room if you need me." He closed the door, leaving the two of them behind.

the boy looked up, and Tommy cleared his throat. "Don't touch my wings, and don't give me anything."

"Don't touch my bed," the boy returned, instantly. So he'd been in the system for a little while—good, Tommy was sick of hearing every hybrid kid's sob story. All he wanted was the instincts, so that if either triggered the other they knew it was on purpose.

The boy arranged his sheets on the bottom bunk, Tommy returning to peeling the paint on his wall. Neither said another word.

Clementine grabbed him from behind, shoving a sock into Tommy's hand. She and Clara sat and laughed as Tommy was forced to dig through the laundry, pulling out every sock he could find, no matter how dirty. It was Saturday morning—the home's wash day—and the place was full of clothes, with piles of bedding still to come.

Tommy let out a discordant chime as he dug another sock from the pile, a putrid scent coming from it. Clementine snorted, but all Tommy could do was flip her off.

Clara smirked, reaching down to her shoe.

Tommy's stomach dropped. She wouldn't.

When she pulled at her laces, Tommy squeezed his eyes shut—if he couldn't see it he couldn't grab it, he wouldn't—

"Come on, open your eyes," said Clementine.

Tommy jangled loudly, flipping them off.

Silence followed.

His heart raced, blood roaring through his ears and muffling the sound in the laundry.

Cold fingers grabbed his head, prying his eyes open. He tried to pull away, but his eyes locked onto Clara's foot, soft chimes overtaking his thoughts. He needed that sock—he needed every sock, he just had to—the sock was moving. Gather gift—gather sock—gather the gift, his instincts cooed, and he followed after it, peeling it off and adding it to his—

Tommy blinked, and Clara's sock was in his hand, still warm and sweaty. Disgust writhed through him even as his hand tightened around it, Clementine and Clara howling with laughter.

He looked away, cheeks burning.

The new boy stood in the doorway, watching Tommy in silence.

Shame burned through him, but all he could do was reach for the next sock.

Sam eventually found him, pulling the socks away from Tommy and sending the girls to their room. Tommy could hardly look at the carer, instead staring at his bare feet as Sam asked him to strip his bed. He did so as quickly as possible, dumping his sheets at the laundry door. He was ready to curl into a ball, curl so tight that he became nothing but stone. Cold. Unmoving, unbreathing, and ignored. Nobody ever laughed at stone, nobody forced stones to pick up socks or go to school or to talk about his emotions or any of the bullshit adults kept asking him.

Unfortunately, his youthful body continued breathing. He returned to his room, curling up on the bare mattress and tucking his hands beneath his arms. Nobody could give him things if they couldn't reach his hands, nobody could force him to gather and get stuck until a fucking carer rescued him.

He stared at the wall again—not to peel at the paint, but to distract him from his tears.

He was interrupted at midday, Sam stepping into his room to put new sheets on the edge of his bunk. Tommy stayed silent as the man muttered about court appointments and worker visits, stripping the bed below his.

A shriek sounded from the lounge, footsteps pounding to the bedroom.

The new kid threw the door open. "Stop!" he shrieked, pushing Sam away.

"I—Tubbo, what are you doing?!"

"GO AWAY! GO AWAY!" he yelled, pushing Sam again. His back hit the wall, and Tommy just winced, blocking his ears.

"I'm not stealing anything, I'm just changing your sheets," said Sam, struggling to keep his voice even. "It's wash day, calm down!"

He stepped over Tubbo, but the second he touched the sheets the boy screamed again, punching Sam square in the chest.

Sam stepped back to the doorway. "There will be no violence in this house, young man," he said.

Tubbo kept crying, bleats slipping out in between—shit, this was a hybrid thing. Tommy rolled over, watching Tubbo bunch his blankets to his chest.

Sam pulled at them and Tubbo screamed, tears streaming down his face.

The two wrestled over the bedsheets, Sam eventually managing to rip them away, Tubbo fighting back until the door was slammed on them.

Tubbo cried for hours. Long and loud, his chest shaking with the exertion. Tommy didn't bother moving—the less of a threat he was, the better. He screamed when Sam brought in fresh sheets, throwing them back at the door and continuing with his crying, bleats sounding whenever he got enough air into his lungs.

Tommy only left when it was time for dinner, sparing half a glance at Tubbo before continuing out. He was still crying when Tommy returned, sniffles lasting long into the night.

The whole way through it, Tommy didn't say a single thing. Sam was fucking awful.

Chapter Text

Tommy quickly settled into Phil's house, months slipping by before he knew it. While Phil’s house was small, it sported a large garden, vegetables and flowers spilling from beds and fighting for space. Each afternoon Tommy and Ranboo were picked up from their respective schools, the duo heading straight into the sunshine. They talked for hours about the plants and nintendo and whatever else came across their minds. Ranboo wasn't one for rough and tumble, so the two just balanced on the wooden beams of the beds, hopping between them and walking round and round. It was Tommy’s favourite part of the day, and Ranboo always made him smile, the sappy fucker.

After living in the house for so long, Tommy could certainly say Ranboo was the oddest. There was the whole name thing—which still sounded like a fae thing, no matter how much Ranboo insisted it wasn't. Names were only for his haunting, but Tommy quickly adapted. When talking about the enderian, he simply said my foster brother, and Ranboo did the same for him. It was harder when Ranboo tried to talk about his classmates, but Tommy grew used to hearing about his study partner and his avian friend. Ranboo's haunting was a guy in his class, one that was intelligently dubbed as his school friend.

But the thing that threw him off the most was that Ranboo sleepwalked.

Like, a lot. Almost every night Tommy heard some kind of thumping and crashing, but each time he stumbled out of bed he just found Ranboo, moving pillows and furniture and whatever else he could get his hands on.

He also sleepwalked with his eyes open, which freaked him the fuck out the first time it happened. But eventually he grew used to it—besides, even while asleep Ranboo made no move for his wings.

Tommy finally brought it up when Ranboo sat on his bed, trying to figure out a rubik’s cube while he played more clans.

Ranboo flinched. "I—I didn't do anything to you, right?" he said, fingers tapping on his beanpole legs. “While sleepwalking?”

For some reason, he was the nervous one.  "Nah, you just stared at me like a fucking weirdo. I felt super violated and harassed and I'm going to sue you for a million dollars."

Ranboo sighed. "Thank Ender—I—When I sleepwalk I usually try and give people things, but you don't—"

"—Can't have 'em," said Tommy, upgrading his elixir storage.

Ranboo was the first to adapt to Tommy's instincts, leaving things on his desk or bed or whatever surface was closest rather than shove it in Tommy's hand. Phil had been slower in the uptake, but after he watched a facebook reel on allays he took Tommy to the thrift store, the two buying as many stools as they could get their hands on. They spent the afternoon dotting them around the house, so Tommy never had to think about where he could safely receive shit. Phil asked more questions about his instincts, and then called the school and got it all written in his paperwork. It didn’t stop teachers from trying to hand Tommy shit, but now they couldn’t give him detention when he rightly told them to fuck off.

That particular gesture prompted Tommy into extending his placement with them, but it was none of Phil's business.

"Is the sleepwalking a hybrid thing?" he asked, switching his phone off.

"It's not an enderian thing, no," said Ranboo, flicking the rubik’s cube around again. "Well, I'm more instinct-y when it happens, but it's more of a trauma thing. Not from my instincts, if that makes sense."

Tommy hummed, a soft chime accompanying it. "So your instincts are just to move books and shit?"

He huffed. "Basically, yeah. You know when you're building a lego set and you get a piece and click it down in just the right spot? I'm basically doing that with everything in the house."

His chest tightened. "Not with everything," he said, quickly. “You can’t touch everything.”

Ranboo frowned, then snapped his gaze towards him. "Wait, did I grab your clothes while sleepwalking?"

“No, no,” said Tommy. He bit the tip of his tongue. "Well, it's not all my clothes," he said, remembering the night Ranboo took all the shorts from his cupboard and walked out the room. "You can touch most of them, but there's—I have one you can't fucking touch, okay?"

"Which one?" said Ranboo, his voice hushed.

He pushed off the bed, digging out his spare backpack. He unzipped it, pulling a tattered green jacket, a logo of a mountain sitting in the centre. The mountain had originally been white but had since faded to an ugly yellow, stains so frequent it made the jacket print look like camouflage.

Ranboo's tail flicked. "What—um—what is it?"

Tommy held the familiar fabric close, fingers brushing across it as if it were as delicate as cobwebs.

"A gift," he finally said. "It was a gift."

Tommy and Tubbo never spoke, both just climbing into their beds at the end of the day and leaving the following morning. Honestly, Tommy respected how much the boy minded his fucking business, most of his previous roommates couldn't shut up.

Even if they weren't talking, it didn't mean they didn't notice each other. Tommy's wings were constantly clinking, and Tubbo often let out tiny bleats as he woke in the mornings, and the metal bunk bed screeched any time the two of them moved.

So when it rolled around to Saturday again, Tommy noticed Tubbo's shoulders rising. He saw the boy flinch when he climbed down the ladder, clinging to his blankets so tight his knuckles were right.

Ah, wash day.

Tommy sighed, taking pity on Tubbo and his wide eyes.

He reached beneath the bed, prying up a loose panel and exposing a cavity beneath. He kept whatever cash he found down there—and also a butter knife, in case things went really pear-shaped.

"You can hide your sheets in here," he said, quietly.

Tubbo met his eyes, but didn't respond.

Tommy shrugged. "Doesn't bother me."

This time, he didn't wait for a reply, leaving Tubbo behind and going out to find some breakfast.

Sure enough, Tubbo didn't scream when his sheets were changed, or when he was given fresh ones. That night he pulled out a dirty sheet and tucked it over the clean ones, falling asleep without complaint.

The table was full, kids chowing through sandwiches and getting ready for Sam’s return.

Before Tommy could sit, one of the kids jumped him, shoving a paper ball into his hand—fuck paper, he hated paper.

Despite himself, his chimes grew louder, wings lightening and threatening to lift him into the air.

The kids around the table giggled, Tommy's cheeks burning as he grabbed the papers on the bench, bundling them into his arms. He managed to stomp on Clara's foot as he floated past, before spotting a scrap of paper on the ground.

"You bitch!"

Tommy let out a triumphant jingle, only interrupted when Clara barrelled towards him.

Someone stepped between them. Tubbo.

His cheeks burned with shame, but Tubbo just pulled the paper away from him, Tommy's feet thumping on the ground. His chimes died, his tongue loosening as he met Tubbo's brown eyes.

"Oh, piss off," said Clara. "You're spoiling the fun."

Tubbo stayed at Tommy's side. "It's cruel," he said. "You're being cruel."

"Yeah Clara, fuck you and your bitches."

Clara scoffed. "And? It's not your problem. Give me the paper."

"No."

She lunged for Tubbo, grabbing his floppy ear and pulling.

Tubbo shrieked and Tommy swung, fist colliding with Clara's cheek.

Her head snapped back, and she went stumbling.

"HEY!" Clementine jumped into the fray, grabbing Tommy's shirt.

Tommy swung and missed, Tubbo shoving her to the side.

Someone kicked his shin, and he kicked back, Tubbo losing his balance and taking a chair down with him.

Tommy didn't hesitate, jumping straight on Clementine.

Sam and another caregiver eventually pulled them apart, sending them to their respective rooms.

Tommy and Tubbo marched into their prison with heads held high, Tommy slamming the door behind them.

Tubbo sprawled out on his bed. "That was fucking awesome."

"Did you see Clementine start fucking crying?" said Tommy, instantly. "I barely even tackled her."

"And I nailed Clara with that chair—Sam didn't even see it."

"Yeah, you looked just like Robo Knight."

Tubbo bleated, ears perking up. "Robo Knight from Power Rangers?"

"Duh—wait, you like Power Rangers? Who's your favourite ranger?"

"I like the blue one," he said.

"Really? Fucking Noah?"

"Oh yeah, then who's your favourite?" said Tubbo, an ear flicking.

"Emma is clearly the best."

"What, the pink one?"

"Hey, women are cool!" he said. "Besides, she can fly when she uses her Phoenix Shot."

Tubbo shrugged. "I guess. Your name is Tommy, right?"

"Yep, and you're Tubbo?"

"I think we should be friends," he said.

Tommy's wings fluttered, crystals clinking. "Well, you're wrong about Noah, but I guess we can make it work."

From that moment onwards, the two were inseparable.

Chapter Text

On June fourth, Tommy awoke not to his alarm, but to a gentle tapping on his door.

"Tommy, are you awake?"

Phil's voice was hushed, but it still pierced through the quietness of the house.

Tommy rolled over, his wing crystals clanking.

Phil huffed. "Happy birthday, Tommy."

Excitement raced through him, Tommy's eyes flying open. He was fifteen, the first birthday he'd had under Phil's roof. He stumbled to his feet, pulling the door open with sleepy fingers.

"Good morning," said Phil, giving a bright chirp. "I'm just making breakfast now."

A few weeks ago, Phil explained how the day would play out, but that only added to Tommy’s enthusiasm. The scent of pancakes wafted down the hallway and he raced to set the table.

He sat down just as the first batch was done, perfect golden circles with crispy brown edges.

"Fuck yeah," he said, as Phil piled them onto his plate. Not only was he getting pancakes for breakfast, he was getting the day off school—a household tradition Tommy was more than happy to take advantage of.

By the time Tommy finished his first plate, Techno and Ranboo made their way to the table, Ranboo chattering away as Techno yawned.

Ranboo picked at a pancake while Tommy wolfed through his second batch, his tail brushing against Tommy's back.

"You're gonna choke," said Ranboo.

"I'm gonna get to my presents faster," said Tommy, his mouth still full.

He'd seen Techno's birthday in his first month of the placement, and he knew how good the day was. Sharing presents and playing video games, no shitty discount toys or arguments with kids in this house, it was all just fun.

When Ranboo finished eating, Tommy jumped to his feet, letting out a delighted chime.

"Hey, I haven't had seconds," said Ranboo, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"If I have to wait any longer I'll start pulling feathers," he said. "Lead me to the presents."

Ranboo grabbed his hand, tugging him down the hall. "You have to do presents in the lounge—that's where we all do it, because it's the cosiest spot in the house—" He continued to talk as he sat Tommy down in the centre of the couch, taking the spot to his left.

Techno and Phil marched in soon afterwards, wrapped boxes piled high in their arms.

Excitement and dread swirled through his stomach, Tommy's fingers twitching. He rubbed them against his pants—there was nothing to worry about. Everyone in this house knew not to mess with his instincts—especially with gifts.

"Alright, I'll do the first gift," said Phil, grabbing a decent-sized box.

Tommy tensed, but Phil placed it on the couch beside him.

Relief washed through him—not a gift, it wasn't a gift. He snatched at the present, tearing through the paper as quickly as possible.

Inside sat at least ten fidget spinners, each with a unique pattern, the box labelled collector's edition.

"Holy shit," said Tommy. "I'm gonna be the swaggest kid in the fucking school. He ran a finger over the box, eyes catching on an oil-slick fidget spinner.

Phil laughed. "I'm glad, mate. You go and make all your friends jealous."

Techno placed down the next present, Tommy unwrapping it to find countless chocolate bars and a pair of power rangers socks.

Tommy slowly but surely worked through the pile of presents, getting clothes and snacks and even a nintendo switch.

When one present remained, Ranboo stood. With a nervous smile, he placed it beside Tommy.

His hands twitched again, but Tommy shook the feeling away, instead tearing through the brown paper.

Inside sat a green jacket, a large pocket stretching across the front. A logo of a mountain sat in the centre—a familiar mountain, a brilliant white that oozed comfort and familiarity.

"You—when you showed me your brother's jacket I realised you were too big to wear it and um—it sounded pretty sad, so I thought why not get one you can wear?"

Tommy reached a tentative hand forward, rubbing a hand over the sage cotton.

"It's okay if you don't like it," said Ranboo, quickly. "I kept the receipt in case you wanted to change it. I—I don't know much about scent items, but my school friend told me all about them. I know it's not the same as the original, but—but hopefully it can comfort you—or be cosy, at the very least." Ranboo cut himself off, jaw closing with an audible click.

His throat tightened. "Thank you, Ranboo," he said. "It's—" He cut himself off, tilting his head back before the tears could escape. "Thanks."

A tear slipped down his cheek—fuck.

Tommy stood, but before he could leave Phil interrupted. "Ranboo and Techno, can you clear the table and get the dishes done?"

More tears spilled down his face, and the boys rushed out without another word.

Phil remained.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" said Tommy, swiping at his tears.

"You're allowed to cry," said Phil.

He scoffed.

"Seriously, crying can release built up emotions in a safe way, and it lets everyone around you know how you're feeling," he said. "Everyone in this house cries—even Ranboo, but his water allergy adds a few complications to that."

He turned for the door, but Phil just tossed the remote at him.

Tommy caught it, then frowned. The fuck was he doing?

"Birthday boy gets to choose the first movie," he said, slowly getting to his feet. "I'll make the popcorn, you've got about ten minutes before we're all ready, okay?"

What the actual fuck was he—why was he—

Phil smiled, resting a hand on Tommy's shoulder as he went past. "You're doing well, mate."

Tommy shuddered, managing a soft chime. He held back his tears until Phil left the room.

Why was Phil so—why the fuck was he like that? Kindness oozed from him even as Tommy had ruined the present opening, and he was fucking fine with it.

The tears came all at once, Tommy pressing his face into his new jacket until he could breathe easily.

He got his emotions under control by the time the others returned, sliding on his new jacket and shoving his hands in the pockets. The thing was roomy enough that it didn’t need wing slits, encapsulating Tommy in a warmth that twisted into a painful homesickness. He chose the movie Up, sitting back on the couch as the others returned.

And if Tommy’s throat tightened when Ranboo sat beside him, he’d just blame it on the movie’s tragic start.

Chapter Text

Tommy and Tubbo were inseparable. They went to class together, they ate together, and they spent every waking moment talking to each other. Even the teachers were unable to split them up, the two refusing to attend different classes.

The only time they were apart was to take a shit, or when Tubbo had more court stuff. However he'd ended up in foster care hadn't been pretty, and it felt like he was out for appointments every fucking week. Tubbo was always quiet when he returned, letting Tommy fill the silence.

Eventually, Tubbo’s quietness thickened, he stuck closer to Tommy, speaking hardly louder than a whisper. Tommy was more than happy to pick up the slack—with Tubbo around he didn't have to worry about Clementine shoving shit into his hands, or teachers giving him papers, or even going to the cafeteria. Tubbo always stepped in, putting stuff on tables, in his pockets—even on his own back for Tommy to pick up, the latter always making him laugh.

He still fucking hated group homes, of course, but it wasn’t nearly as shit with Tubbo around.

One day, Tubbo was pulled out of school early for another session—court or therapy or whatever it was, Tommy lost track weeks ago. He spent his last classes bumming around, only glaring at one student when they tried to give him a pen. He kept his hands in his pockets when he sat on the bus, eyeing off the other foster kids.

When the bus pulled into their stop, Tubbo was sitting on the bench.

Tommy didn't think, getting halfway down the aisle before the doors even opened. The driver grunted, but Tommy just shot out, stopping right in front of the goat hybrid. "What's wrong?"

Tubbo grabbed Tommy's hand, pressing it into his head.

"Tubbo?"

"They're gonna move me," he said, quietly.

"You got a placement?" said Tommy. "We can—you can get yourself kicked out. I've done it before, you just have to—"

"—It's not a placement." Tubbo swallowed, still not letting go of his hand. "They found my cousin and he—he said yes to having me. I'm getting adopted."

"You have a cousin?"

"His name is Quackity," he said. "He lives near the ocean."

Tommy's heart raced. "The what?"

"The ocean," Tubbo repeated.

The ocean that was fucking days away? Tubbo wasn't just moving states, that was the other side of the fucking country. "You sure you're not talking about Ocean Alive Aquarium?"

The bus drove away, but neither moved, hands tightening on each other’s arms.

Tubbo sighed. "I'm sure."

Tommy's chimes became discordant, and Tubbo pushed his head into his shoulder. His wings stretched around him, trying to cover Tubbo from the dangers of the world.

They were too small, glittery tips only just meeting on Tubbo’s back.

He held him regardless, the two refusing to let go. Tommy drunk in Tubbo’s every detail, determined to remember this moment for the rest of his life. Everything from the gentle curve of his horns, his forest-green jacket and his chapped bottom lip. The two breathed in tandem, sharing the moment together like it was their very last.

They only pulled apart when the sky was tinged pink, a cold wind curling through the quaint street.

"We should go inside," said Tubbo, no louder than a whisper.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

"This weekend."

Four days.

"Fuck."

He bleated, grabbing Tommy's hand again. He let him, pulling Tubbo to his feet and staring at the cotton-candy sky.

Four days.

They walked to the group home in silence, neither letting go of the other's hand.

Tommy laid in bed, his stomach churning, sloshing round and round like Tubbo's sheets in the washing machine, water and soap ripping away any remaining scent as it spun faster and faster.

Sam had turned all the lights out hours ago, but Tommy was nowhere near sleep. All he could think about was the kid lying below him, the kid who couldn't handle new sheets—fuck, what if Quackity tried to touch Tubbo's bed? He didn't give a shit about blood, that fucker knew nothing about Tubbo. He didn't know that Tubbo went quiet or that he always laughs at dick jokes, or even his favourite colour (Blue like fucking Noah, and blue like his wings)

Quackity was a stranger. A stranger who was going to whisk Tubbo away from him, forever.

"Are you awake?" whispered Tubbo.

Tommy rolled over, peeking his head over the edge of the bunk bed. "Can't sleep," he said, staring at Tubbo's vague outline.

"Me either."

Tubbo flicked on a torch, flooding their room with harsh light. Tommy shuffled into a sitting position. His cerulean wings let out soft chimes, the sound filling the space.

"I don't want to leave," said Tubbo. "I don't—what will you do about Clara?"

Tommy's stomach churned, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

Tubbo bleated, a mournful sound that had Tommy chiming in return, an ill attempt to soothe him.

Wait, that was it! Tommy hurried down the ladder, letting out a triumphant jingle.

"What is it?" he said.

"Tubbo, they're moving you so you can be with your family, right?"

"Yeah?"

Tommy chimed again. "So what if I made you my brother—they're not allowed to split up families."

His eyes lit up. "What, you become my herd?"

"And you'll be my covey!"

Tubbo jumped to his feet, stopping just short of grabbing Tommy's hands. "Will it work? Will humans understand—"

"—they have to," said Tommy. "I've seen it happen before, it's a proper law and everything. I knew these piglin and strider hybrids—they always had to be placed in the same home, because they were a sounder."

He beamed, knocking his head into Tommy's chest. "So we can be brothers?"

Tommy hesitated. "…Do you want to be?"

"Yes!" said Tubbo, headbutting him once again.

Tommy chimed, his wings fluttering in anticipation.

"Come on," said Tubbo, pulling him onto his bed.

He resisted. "Can I—"

"You have to!" said Tubbo, tugging again.

Tommy beamed, climbing onto the bed and diving beneath Tubbo's blankets, letting the goat hybrid pull him close. He giggled as Tubbo's cold legs wrapped around his. "Shh—" Giggle. "Shush! They're gonna—" Giggle. "—hear us."

He continued to squirm, his horns slamming into Tommy's ribs. Tommy just rolled his eyes, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

Tubbo pulled back.

He jingled, tugging them back again, and the game was on. The two wrestled over the bedsheets, giggling more and more as they played tug of war, Tommy eventually winning, the whole quilt bundled in his hands as he pressed against the wall.

He let out a satisfied jingle, pulling the sheets closer. He scanned the room for more like them, his wings as light as air. He had sheets, but he needed more, needed to gather and gift and spoil his—

Tubbo paused, tugging the sheets form his hand.

Tommy blinked, the urge instantly fading.

"Sorry," said Tubbo. "I didn't mean to—to give you them."

"Well, covey are allowed to give me things," he said. "I can fly around help you find shit.”

Tubbo's eyes lit up, but Tommy continued before he could. "I have to mark you first, though."

"Like a scent mark?" said Tubbo.

His wings twitched in excitement, and he pulled them inwards, reaching for his glitter membrane and releasing a handful of allayan glitter. None of the airy stuff that drifted from his feathers, but glitter that clung to everything in sight, lasting for weeks. "Like a glitter mark," he said, wings chiming behind him. His instincts grew louder with the glitter in his hands, a call of covey, covey, covey, filling his head.

Tubbo's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward.

It was all the permission Tommy needed—he dipped his finger into the shimmering dust, smearing it across Tubbo's nose—across his covey's nose—every instinct satiated by the radiant glitter. He spread the glitter further, delighting when Tubbo's eyes fluttered shut.

He smeared it across his cheeks and chin, rubbing it into his forehead and through Tubbo's dark hair over and over. His covey leaned into his hands and Tommy jingled loudly, he wanted his covey’s cheeks as blue as his own.

Tommy reached for his wings again, but someone caught his hands.

"Okay, that's enough glitter," said his covey. He pulled Tubbo's hands up to his cheeks, letting out a pleased chime.

Tubbo bleated, pressing his glittery forehead against Tommy's. He beamed, running a hand through his covey's hair—his covey's hair. The glitter marked them as family, as brothers, it marked Tubbo as Tommy's in all the ways that mattered.

Tommy let his chiming grow louder, he'd spent years without covey, years without someone to rely on, someone to gather for and gift to, someone who—

His covey pulled away his hand.

His jingling stopped, watching his covey carefully. Tubbo was speaking, but the words jumbled together, his brain struggling to keep up. "Covey okay?" he chimed, a slow and careful note.

Tubbo bleated, knocking his head into Tommy's shoulder. Tommy relaxed, returning the gesture.

Then, he slid off the bed, saying more words that went right over his head.

Tommy gave a curious chime, but before he could follow his covey returned with a large green jacket. Tubbo held out the jumper, and Tommy put out his hands, singing his joy at receiving the gift.

He chuckled, pushing Tommy's glittery hands away. Tubbo slid the jacket over Tommy's head, his eyes uncovered by his covey's gentle hands.

Oh, it was a present! Tommy met Tubbo's eyes and chimed his thanks, tugging his hands through the gigantic sleeves.

Tubbo just stared at him, his glittery lips ever so slightly parted.

Covey upset? Hurt?

He voiced his concerns with a questioning chime, moving closer.

Tubbo just bleated, the sound quick and loud. He pushed his head at Tommy, horns narrowly missing his eyes.

"Covey, covey, covey," he jingled, pulling Tubbo close.

Tubbo bleated in return, burrowing in Tommy's side.

With his covey so close, Tommy fell into a deep and restful sleep, the best he'd had since joining the foster system.

As with every sunny afternoon, Tommy sat in the garden with Ranboo, the enderian picking at grass while Tommy talked his ear off. Despite only being a few months younger than him, the school year cut-offs put Ranboo in the grade above him—and on a completely different campus. Once he made it home, it took Tommy at least an hour to catch up with him, getting through all the bullshit he put up with while Ranboo chimed in with his own stories.

"I think you'd like my haunting," said Ranboo. "He's full of chaos, you know?"

"You don't know what I like," said Tommy, hopping from one garden bed to another. "I bet your school friend is a bitch."

Ranboo snorted. "I'll tell him you said that."

"Wait, no!" he said. "Tell him—" He smirked. "Tell him I called him a shitass bitch."

Ranboo laughed, tossing grass blades at Tommy's wings.

He threw them back, the two flicking grass at each other as they continued talking.

"Would you like to meet him, though?" said Ranboo.

"Sure—You better have good taste in friends, though. I'm not playing nice."

"That's fine!" said Ranboo, quickly. "I'm asking because—well, I really like you. It's been eight months since you arrived and—and it's like I have a new brother, you know?"

"Good old Ranboo," said Tommy, ruffling his split-dyed hair. "Just as sappy as ever."

"Wait, I—"

"—and I love you too, boob boy. Bla bla bla, friendship bullshit."

Ranboo warbled. "Tommy, can you just—"

He stopped, his heart racing. "What's wrong?"

He warbled again, and Tommy bit back a chime, instead going over everything he'd said to try and find the trigger.

"Nothing's wrong! I—I just wanted to ask you if—ask you something important."

Alright, this was serious. Tommy sat himself in the grass, doing his best to shake off his jokes. "Is it about me leaving?" he guessed. " 'cause you don't have to worry. I told my caseworker to extend the placement again, so I'm good at least until—"

Ranboo grabbed his hand, cutting him off. "I like you, and I know you belong here," he said, warmth seeping beneath Tommy's skin. "And—well, because of those things, I was wondering if you… if you wanted to be part of my haunting?"

Haunting.

Haunting.

The words echoed in his head, and all of a sudden he was ten years old and burrowing into Tubbo's sheets, neither knowing what they were about to lose. Any warmth Tommy felt was long gone, Ranboo's hand cold in his.

He refused—he promised to never do it again. Never peel himself open and let people tear him apart, never to let his heart shatter.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, stomach tightening.

Never again, never again, never again.

"M-M-My haunting?" he stuttered. "I kn-know you haven't m-m-m-met my school friend, but I prom-prom-promise he's—"

"—Who gives a shit about your haunting." The words spilled out before he could stop them.

Ranboo flinched, and he pulled his hand away.

It was too late to back down.

Tommy stood, pulling his wings close. "I don't know your school friend—and why would I want to? I'm not in your haunting, and I'm not doing instincts, so fuck off!"

Ranboo's tail dropped, and Tommy dared to meet his face.

Fat tears rolled down the enderian's cheeks, his lip wobbling.

… Fuck.

Tommy ran. He barrelled inside, pushing past Techno and going straight for his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood in the wide space, hands shaking as he pushed his toes into the carpet.

He…

He made Ranboo cry—made him fucking burn his face—and then he just left? He insulted him, cussed him out after Ranboo was so—so—

He swiped at his face, tears running down before he could stop them. A distressed chime slipped out of him, followed by another, and another. What the fuck was wrong with him? How had he—Ranboo wasn't—he didn't deserve any of that. Not the yelling or the insults—Ranboo was being nice and Tommy just—just blew up in his face.

Tommy's middle name wasn't Danger, or Kraken—it especially wasn't Careful, no. His middle name was Coward. He was fucked in the head, messing up yet another friendship. And all because Ranboo asked to bond with him. Asked.

Sobs burst from him, Tommy barrelling for his bed and wrapping himself in his jacket—the jacket Ranboo gave him. His wings twitched and shuddered, but Tommy made no move towards them. Stupid fucking wings and stupid glitter. Fuck allays.

Chapter Text

Tommy awoke to something heavy on his legs. He peeled his eyes open, coming face to face with Tubbo.

—A very glittery Tubbo, his instincts cooing at the sight.

He let out a soft jingle, trying not to wake the boy. Tubbo's cheeks were as blue as his own, glitter dusted through his hair and clinging to his eyelashes. Now he was Tommy's brother, and nobody—not Sam or the police or the courts or anyone could separate them.

Tubbo's eyes fluttered open, smile spreading when he saw him. "Hi," he said.

Tommy grinned back, "Hi, covey."

While their room had no windows, no light crept beneath the door yet. They had time before Sam came rushing in, time to talk and cuddle and relax as a covey. The two stayed curled together, whispering to each other as the house slowly stirred.

"Do you like it?" said Tommy. "The glitter, I mean."

"It's pretty," he said. "Pretty like you."

He chimed, running a finger over Tubbo's cheeks. The glitter had properly set—it would last for weeks without needing a touch-up. Tommy pressed his head into Tubbo, and was rewarded with a bleat. He smiled, pressing in further, satisfaction oozing through him.

Something wet hit the top of his head, leaving a trail of moisture behind it.

He sat up. "Tubbo, did you—did you just lick me?"

Tubbo's eyes widened, and he let out a giggle. "I think I did."

"What the fuck." He swiped at his wet hair while Tubbo giggled more.

Light flooded from beneath the door, Sam's cheery voice echoing through the house.

Tubbo groaned, the two climbing out of bed just as the foster carer opened their door.

"Everyone up—ah, already done," he said, "Time for breakfast, the bus will be here in half an hour."

Tommy stepped out, but Tubbo grabbed his sleeve. "You have to take off the jacket."

He blinked.

"It's—nobody can touch it except us," he said. "It messes up the smell."

He slipped off the jacket, throwing it onto his bed and stretching out his wings. When he caught Tubbo staring, he said, "You can touch them, by the way. You're covey, so it doesn't matter. Come on, there's gonna be no Captain O's left."

Their bond didn’t only make Tommy happier, Tubbo was a completely different person with his herd. He was bubbly and talkative, not even his appointments managing to quell him. Tubbo delighted in showing off his glittery cheeks, Tommy preening at the constant praise he gave. And Tommy himself got to learn what being herd was all about. Scent items were incredibly precious, with only the herd allowed to touch them, but physical touch was everything. Tubbo clung to him at every opportunity, grabbing his hand in the schoolyard, leaning on him during breakfast and pulling him into bed every night. Tommy lapped up the contact, teasing affectionate bleats out of the boy before falling asleep on his chest. Every night he slept soundly, never feeling as safe as when he was in Tubbo's arms.

His instincts to gift and gather grew stronger with a covey, so Tommy coached Tubbo on exactly how to help him, and Tubbo followed the rules to a letter. Tommy became giddy with excitement the first time he handed him a pillow, the two building an entire blanket fort. Tubbo gifted dandelions and chocolate chips and sticks for building tree forts, Tommy delighting in gathering for him.  

But no matter what he gifted, he always asked Tommy first, and he never forgot to remove the item afterwards. Tommy spent more time flying than ever, his wings staying light even once he finished gathering, allowing him to glide wherever he wanted, joy filling him from the tips of his wings to his toes.

His joy was short lived.

On Saturday morning, the two packed their clothes into plastic bags, ready to leave Sam's group home forever. They chattered loudly all through breakfast, talking about the plane and the beach and their new school and did you know Quackity has a pool? Straight after breakfast they went out to the front steps, rambling about plane food and diners and playing with a worm on the sidewalk.

The two cheered when Sam came out, but his smile dropped. "Oh, boys…"

"We're ready!" said Tubbo. "How long until the worker gets here?"

"Can we get McPuffy's on the way?"

Sam sighed. "Tommy, buddy, you're staying here."

The two stopped.

"Tubbo is moving in with his cousin—but there's no room for you, too."

"What do you mean?" said Tubbo.

"We're brothers," said Tommy. "You can't split us up—"

"—he won't take up any room, he can share my bed and—"

"—I'm sorry," said Sam. "I didn't realise you two didn't know."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" said Tommy, his wings tensing.

A silver car pulled up in front of the group home.

"Come on boys, time to say your goodbyes."

"No!"

"I'm going too!"

Tommy pulled Tubbo close, his hands tightening to a death grip.

Tubbo's caseworker stepped out of the car, kneeling beside them. "Tubbo, you'll be late for the plane," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Quackity is waiting for—"

"—We're brothers!" said Tommy, slapping the hand away.

"I'm not leaving," said Tubbo, his voice wobbling. "You're not allowed to split us—we're hybrids!"

Sam's eyes softened. "Oh, you're talking about the hybrid children separation laws, aren't you?" He hummed, the sound anything but soothing. "That rule isn't for hybrids who are friends, unfortunately. It's for kids who bond together, ending up in the same flock or sounder. Sorry, boys."

"But we are bonded!"

"He's my covey!"

Sam shook his head. "If you two were really bonded, you'd braid each other's hair."

The two were pulled apart kicking and screaming, one locked inside and the other locked in a car, never to see each other again.

Tommy's bed had never felt so empty.

Tommy's wallowing was interrupted by a tap to his door.

"I noticed you missed dinner," said Phil. "Want to have a plate in your room?"

"Ye—" Tommy's voice cut off. He swallowed. "Yes please."

Phil returned a few minutes later with a bowl of mac and cheese.

"Knock, knock," he said, as he opened the door.

"Thanks," he said, voice still raw. His stomach twisted as Phil looked at him, but he just placed the bowl beside him. Always beside him, never giving it to him. And sure, he asked for that—he needed that—but his stupid fucking instincts were kicking a fuss over it, wanting to gather and all that stupid shit.

Phil stepped back, and Tommy's throat tightened.

He stopped in the doorway. "You haven't come out of your room all afternoon, and you've been awfully quiet," he said. "It sounds like you're feeling pretty distressed."

He scoffed, unable to help himself. "You think?"

Phil shrugged. "Well, just a reminder that you can tell me anything—I'll listen to everything, big and small. Is there anything I can do for you tonight?"

"Shouldn't you be asking Ranboo that?" he snapped. "He'll tell you the shit I did." Tommy pressed his fingernails into his arms, wings betraying his mood.

"Ranboo asked me to check on you, actually," said Phil.

His throat tightened, vision growing dangerously blurry. "Don't lie to me, bitch."

"I don't ever intend to lie to you," said Phil. "I'm not interested in hiding things from you, or trying to manipulate you, I just want to understand. Can you tell me what happened?"

The tears finally fell, carving through his cheeks in fiery trails. Tommy turned away. "Don't you already know?"

"I wanna hear your side of things," said Phil. "Can I sit?"

"Whatever."

Phil sat on the edge of the bed, Tommy pressing his jacket sleeve into his eyes.

"How about I give you my understanding?" he said. "I didn't witness it, but Ranboo said you two were out in the garden. He asked you if you wanted to join his haunting, and you cussed him out. Then you came into your room and you haven't left since."

Shame burned through him, Tommy staring at the carpet.

"That's what happened, but it doesn't explain what's going on in your mind," said Phil.

"I was being a shithead," said Tommy. "Pretty straightforward."

Phil hummed, glancing across the room like it fascinated him. "That's really interesting. You know, when I'm being a shithead, I usually have a good laugh about it afterwards. Or even brag about it, but don't tell my mother that."

Tommy didn't move.

Phil sighed. "Tommy, I know when you're being a shithead. It's when you give me a heart attack by jumping off the roof, or when you insist Techno holds your hand while watching movies. I know you, and I know there's more going on, okay?"

For the first time in his nine-month stay, Tommy broke. Tears poured out of him before he could stop them, sobs ripping away any air he could get.

"I'm here for you," said Phil. "Can I hug you?"

Tommy dived forward, Phil's dark wings wrapping around him. His chest shook with sobs, but Phil just ran a hand on his back.

"Just let it all out—I'm not going anywhere, alright?"

His crying grew louder, but Phil stayed with him, riding the wave of emotion until Tommy finally eased.

"I didn't want to hurt him," he said, hardly louder than a whisper. "It was an accident. I just—it just happened, I swear."

"I believe you," said Phil. "I've seen how you care for him."

"I don't know why I did it," he confessed. "Ranboo isn't—he's my friend."

"And Ranboo knows that."

"He asked about haunting and I—" Tiny horns pressing into his chest every night. Tommy swallowed, keeping his voice even. "The last time I did that stuff it… it fucked me over."

A jacket slipped onto his shoulders, one he outgrew far too quickly.

"Fucked you over?" he repeated.

"They split us," he said, numbly. "Said we 'weren't bonded,' the fucking wankers."

Phil stilled, Tommy's gaze snapping towards him.

"Sorry, I—" Phil forced his wings to lower. "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at your former carers. Separating bonded kids is fucked up."

Tommy was pulled away screaming, his throat ruined for weeks afterwards.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it is."

"That must make forming new bonds difficult," he said.

"I—I don't know," said Tommy. "I promised myself that I wouldn't, but now there's Ranboo and I—I don't fucking know what to do."

"That makes a lot of sense," said Phil. "Have you asked Ranboo about what being haunting means?"

"It means he can say names around me," he said. "And that he—" Tommy frowned, cutting himself off. "I guess not."

"Well, that might be a good place to start," said Phil. "It's worth finding out what would happen if you said yes, the more information you have, the better.” He nodded. "There's not much I can say about hauntings, but I can explain the paperwork side of things. Since Ranboo isn't in the system, joining his haunting would solidify your place in this family. Your caseworker would probably push for me to adopt you, but if you want to stay with the system I'll push back," he said. "I'd get Ranboo marked as a sibling on your file, getting everything in writing so you don't need an adult to back you up."

"And tell my caseworker?" said Tommy. "Just in case he doesn't believe me?"

"Of course, mate," said Phil. "I wouldn't let anything like that happen—with any services that work with you, got it?"

Tommy nodded, biting his lip.

Phil sighed. "Well, I guess you've got a lot to think over," he said. "I've got some laundry to get through, but feel free to pop out and ask me more questions." He patted him on the shoulder, then got to his feet, knees cracking. "There's no rush for you to make your decision, alright?"

"I know," he said, wiping his face once again. "Thanks, Phil."

Phil just smiled. "Any time, Tommy."

Chapter Text

Tommy apologised to Ranboo as soon as he awoke. With Phil's help, he explained what happened and how horrible he felt afterwards.

Ranboo, the fucking bastard, instantly accepted the apology and steered the conversation back to normal things. Well, not quite normal—Ranboo was withdrawn both socially and physically—but it was civil. peaceful.

School that day was a marathon, Tommy unable to concentrate on the conversations around him, let alone on his worksheets. No matter what he did his thoughts were filled with Ranboo—his reaction to the apology, the classes he had today, his tears the day before. Tommy imagined keeping things as they were, a little more distant and a little more polite, no room for throwing grass and chatting for hours. Then he imagined Ranboo with blue glitter smeared across his cheeks, the picture alone stealing all the air from his lungs. He longed for it, longed to gather and bury Ranboo in whatever he asked for, to fly with wings as light as air and to share his bed with another, gentle fingers running through his hair when the house grew loud.

…He longed for Tubbo. Fuck, it had been five years and he still woke up aching.

Tubbo wouldn't mind if Tommy found a new covey, would he? That Tommy was—well, he wasn't replacing him, but a promise was a promise. He'd done the whole covey shtick, before, did he really want to go through it again?

Yes! his instincts screamed, but Tommy just bit his tongue. He meant his promise, sticking to it for years and years. He'd always ran at the first twinge of instincts, running from carers and foster siblings and fucking group home kids.

But he wasn't in a group home anymore. He wasn't bouncing from placement to placement, his life was normal. He took a lunchbox to school instead of getting the free cafeteria food, he went to the cinema on the weekends, and he played the new Mario Kart on his switch. Tommy was normal—more than that; he was safe. Happy.

His fingers twitched, and Tommy knew he had his answer.

He didn’t bring it up to Ranboo on the bus. Or when they sat and watched a movie. He didn't mention anything during dinner, either—he could just wait until tomorrow. Or maybe the day after—fuck it, he may as well hold off till the weekend, right?

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

Every time he drifted off his wings would flinch, or his hands would twitch, keeping him soundly awake. Whenever he relaxed he'd picture Ranboo's face covered in glitter, or the two curled around each other, or gathering piles and piles of sweets for his covey. It left his stomach tied in knots, Tommy holding back longing chimes.

He peeled himself out of bed sometime after midnight, using the toilet and splashing his face with water. He stepped into the hallway, spotting light creeping from beneath Ranboo's door.

Fuck it, now was as good a time as any. He pushed open the door, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Ranboo’s bed was empty, blankets tossed aside.

Where was he?

Tommy left the room behind, moving further down the hallway. The lounge room was empty, the kitchen silent. He grabbed a glass, standing on his tip-toes to fill it up. He glanced out at the backyard—wait, who left the light on?

He took a sip of water, then crept to the back door—unlocked—and slid it open.

Ranboo laid outside, staring up at the sky. He startled, sitting up.

"What are you doing out here?" said Tommy.

"Couldn't sleep," said Ranboo, crossing his legs.

"Me either."

A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, the crystals in Tommy's wings just barely clinking. He swallowed. "Can I—Can I sit?"

"mm-hmm," he hummed.

Tommy sat, Ranboo's tail curling towards him. The tail stopped an inch away from him, then flicked backwards. Silence uncurled between them like a ball of yarn, spinning out further and further the longer they left it.

"I've been thinking about what you said." He stomped down on the yarn, string pulling tight.

"You have?" said Ranboo, glancing towards him. "Does that mean you want to—I mean, what have you been thinking?"

"I can be in your haunting, if you’ll have me," said Tommy. "But you—you have to braid my hair, okay?" He held back his chimes, waiting for Ranboo's reaction. This was his choice, and he wasn't going to play with his emotions.

Ranboo chirped. "Are you sure?" he breathed. "Phil said you might not want to bond because of you—your past and that I should give you more information to—"

"I want this," said Tommy, quietly. "Like, I really fucking do."

Ranboo chirped again, his tail wrapping around Tommy with newfound confidence.

He chimed, sliding in front of Ranboo and flicking back his hair.

"I—I do want to talk about everything, first," said Ranboo, running an ebony hand through his golden curls. "I don't want you going in blind."

Tommy quickly nodded, relaxing as Ranboo parted three strands of his hair.

"Haunting isn't just a word for family, it has a super specific job," he said. "I—enderians used to teleport, right? They can't now, but we still get all… drifty. It makes me forgetful and—and I get lost super easily. Things just blur together, y'know? Anyways, spending time with my haunting tethers me back down. It makes me feel—well, alive."

"That explains the sleepovers," said Tommy. "And here I was thinking you were fucking your school friend."

Ranboo snorted, hands momentarily pausing. "No, not quite—Oh, and once we bond I can tell you his name! I just need to look at your eyes—although, I might be a bit grabby once it sets in."

"That's fine," he breathed, holding back sheer giddiness. "I—I’ll just tell you about my shit, too. What do you know about allays?"

"You can't accept gifts in your hands, you have scent items…" He hummed, finishing the braid. "Oh, and you're all—uh—short."

Tommy snorted, turning around. "The first one is kinda bullshit, the second is complete bullshit, and the third is painful but true."

Ranboo frowned. "It is?"

"Yep. Come on, turn around.”

He obliged, and Tommy ran his fingers through his flowing hair, resisting a coo at how silky it was. “I'm supposed to gather gifts for my covey," he said. "All my instincts are fucking perfect for finding lost things or gathering food and stuff."

"So I would—"

"You'd give me things to gather, but I’ll explain all that later. To make you covey I—" He paused his braiding, cheeks heating. "There's a lot of glitter involved. Like, a lot."

"I—I know," said Ranboo. "After Phil talked to me I just thought—I thought looking it up might help."

He finished the braid without a word. How horribly thoughtful of Ranboo, he fucking hated how kind it was, how he just cared for—

"The website also—" Ranboo cleared his throat. "—The website also said I could touch your wings?"

His mismatched fingers tied themselves in knots, and Tommy had to hold back a coo. Instead, he turned Ranboo around, resting a hand on his knee. “Of course you can, Boo.”

Ranboo just chirped, reaching forward. He stopped just short of his feathers, giving him another look.

He jingled, fanning out his wings and urging Ranboo on.

Gentle fingertips touched his feathers, sliding along them like the softest of breezes. Tommy melted into the touch, pressing harder into his hands.

He cooed, Ranboo’s fingers dancing from the tips of his wings all the way to his back. They moved downwards, suddenly pulling back when they reached the base.

Ranboo warbled, staring at his fingers. Allayan glitter sat on top of them, the diamond powder almost glowing against Ranboo's dark skin.

Tommy beamed, grabbing his covey’s hand and pressing it to his dark cheeks, smattering a constellation across the skin. mark-covey mark-covey covey safe covey happy!

"I—okay," said Ranboo, letting Tommy use his hand like a paintbrush.

He just huffed, the sound more chimes than voice—words were well beyond him, his entire world narrowing to the sparkles on Ranboo's face—on his covey's face. Tommy reached for his wings again, getting a handful and wiping it across Ranboo, letting out a pleased jingle.

Ranboo warbled in response, meeting Tommy's eyes as he added more glitter, the two diving headfirst into their instincts. The enderian pulled Tommy closer and closer, until their noses were touching, not even enough room for Tommy's hand to sneak past. Eyes met eyes and glitter met glitter, their foreheads touching as Ranboo beamed.

"Covey," he chimed, resting a hand on Ranboo's cheek.

Ranboo responded instantly. "⌇☍⟟⏚⟟⎅," he chirped, scooping Tommy into his arms. He pulled him against his chest, Tommy embracing the closeness.

Covey, covey! Covey safe!

He curled his wings around Ranboo, delighting when the chest beneath him rumbled. Oh, Ranboo was a purrer. He pressed in deeper, letting the sound rattle through his head.

The enderian suddenly stood, lifting Tommy up with him.

Tommy let out a pleased jingle, letting him adjust his grip around him. Ranboo ran a hand down his back, and he relaxed. He was with covey—was safe with covey, Ranboo could take him anywhere he wanted and Tommy wouldn't have a care in the world.