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It was hardly even seven in the morning, and Tommy felt like trash. He had woken up really early, scrolled on something dumb for a while on his phone, then fell back asleep for half an hour, at least.
He felt like two day old roadkill. Like he had been flying, soaring through the skies, then he was flattened under the unforgiving tire of some car or van, and now was nothing more than a rotting corpse on the roadside. Gross.
His first thought was that he was ill, but that was quickly dispelled. He was the great TommyInnit, and he was much too manly to ever get ill. The diseases fear him, not the opposite.
His second thought was that he was just tired and being a wuss. Yeah, that sounded about right, so he would just get up and go downstairs for some breakfast-
Upon standing up, the tell-tale sparkles began to fill in his vision with black, his head feeling light and floaty, and before he had even noticed it he had flopped backwards onto his wings, splaying out over the bed.
Well. Looks like he had to try again.
Standing up slowly this time, Tommy gripped onto the post of his bed frame, his knuckles going white. Carefully, he stumbled over to the door, supporting himself on the wall as he did so, the deep tiredness in his joints willing him to return to bed.
It was the summer holidays, not like he couldn’t just sleep in until midday. Wilbur did, most days. The last few days of the summer were the most chilled of them all, the late August afternoons perfect for a light meal in the garden. Maybe a quiche, or some pepper tart. Tommy longed for that kind of carefreeness right now.
“Tommy, mate?” Phil’s voice cut through the haze. He was standing on the landing, wings out behind him and brow furrowed in concern.
Before Tommy could assure Phil he was fine, his knees wobbled just a little, then they just stopped working, giving in and landing him on the floor.
He whined a little as Phil hoisted him from under his armpits, but put up no fight as he was returned to bed.
“Tommy, are you okay? You look pale as a sheet, kid.” Phil asked, gently laying a hand on his forehead. The touch was slightly cool.
Humming, Phil kneeled down by the bedside and sighed, “I think you’ve caught something, Toms. You’re gonna rest here, and I’ll get some water and some toast.” His arm was patted gently, then Phil walked out of the room.
Had he really gotten ill? On the last week of the summer holidays? It was the summer, you weren’t supposed to get ill when it was warm weather, or at least that’s what Tommy knew. The soft sounds of conversation echoed through the old house, Tommy could hear Techno’s deep, rumbling tone and Wilbur’s more musical and light voice exchanging words with Phil. They were obviously concerned, he could tell that much, although there was no way he could pick out what they were actually saying.
His bedroom door creaked open, and a head of black hair poked through it, “Tommy?” Ranboo inched into the room, having to duck under the low doorway, “Are you alright?” He loitered in the middle of Tommy’s room, wringing his dual-toned hands together in poorly concealed nervousness.
“Don’t worry, big man. I’m fine.” He said dismissively, “Just a little weird this morning, nothin’ the huge TommyInnit can’t handle-”
Phil waltzed into the room, carrying a plate of toast and a small glass of water, “Mornin’ Ranboo!” He greeted the other boy, then turned his attention to Tommy, “Okay, there’s just some plain buttered toast there for you, mate. Try see if you can keep that down, yeah?” Phil had that kind tone again, the one that he spoke with when any of his kids were scared or hurt. Tommy was too tired to protest against the obvious doting, some part of his brain being satisfied with the knowledge that Phil was watching over him.
Ranboo was still standing in the middle of the room, wings drawn up to his sides and watching Phil with an indistinguishable expression, something deeply melancholic and wistful lingering in there.
“Sit down, Ranboob, please!” Tommy invited, sitting up to grab his toast from Phil, then pointing at the now free end of his bed, “What is wrong, my friend?” He asked, then took a big bite of the toast.
“Uh? Nothing, I was asking if you were alright.” Ranboo explained, perching gently on the end of Tommy’s bed, watching Tommy very carefully for any indication that he wasn’t supposed to be there.
With a sigh, he leaned forward a little, “Come here Ranboo.” He whispered, then drew his wings around them like he was telling Ranboo some kind of secret, “I might be a little sick, big man.” There was an awkward silence, in which Ranboo pulled away slightly, then Tommy grinned, “Now, I know what you’re thinking. The great and huge-est man ever, TommyInnit, is sick? How could this ever happen?”
The nerves dissipated a little from Ranboo’s drawn up shoulders, and he glared at Tommy with a hint of exasperation, “Seriously not what I was thinking.”
Ignoring him, Tommy continued, “So, how is the world going to recover from this? What possibly could anyone do to fix this utter travesty?” He clapped his hands together, and half-shouted, “Drugs-” He was cut off by a violent cough, which sent him curling up into his chest and almost dropping the plate of toast. Only now did Tommy realise how raw his throat felt, maybe shouting ‘Drugs’ at Ranboo wasn’t the most intelligent thing he could have done.
“I- Tommy?” Ranboo had sprung from the foot of the bed and was crouching by Tommy’s bedside, cautiously resting a hand on his shoulder, being mindful as to not touch his wings.
Not daring to speak, Tommy just raised a thumbs-up to the other teen, who glanced at it, then pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly unimpressed. The glass of water was handed to him, and despite himself he took it gratefully and sipped at the cool drink, sighing as it calmed his throat, even minutely.
He felt very tired, actually, now he wasn’t focused on anything else. His limbs still felt heavy, and his thoughts were foggy and edging towards delirious.
“You should probably rest, Tommy, we can watch a movie or something if you wanted.” Ranboo offered idly, taking the glass of water from Tommy’s hands and setting it down on the floor next to his bed.
Pulling his duvet and cushions around him, Tommy ordered Ranboo to put some kid’s cartoons on his laptop, and the boy obliged, then left him alone.
It was a bit shit being stuck in bed, curled up in a mess of duvet and pillows (his nest, his bird brain supplied), watching dull cartoons. But y’know, at least it wasn’t school.
About half an hour of cartoons later, Tommy started to feel his instincts getting restless. He had a massive headache and his throat was dying, he had drunk all his water too. With a quiet little high-pitched bird sound, he settled into his nest of blankets, though it felt empty. He needed his flock, he needed something to remind him of them at least. Maybe Wilbur’s yellow sweater, or one of Phil’s green jackets, just something to remind him of his flock.
He didn’t realise the little chirping noises he had been making had been getting louder until thunderous footsteps came running up the stairs and Phil burst into Tommy’s room, wings flared out behind him and his feathers ruffled.
Instantly, Tommy stopped the sounds, covering his mouth and remembering himself. What the hell was wrong with him, why couldn’t he control his instincts?
Instead of asking if he was alright, Phil trilled out a bird-like call that set Tommy’s bird brain into hyperdrive. All of his rational, human thoughts were replaced with ‘flock’ and ‘father’, a string of slightly painful chirps escaping him without any attempt at repressing them.
Wordlessly, Phil rushed to his side, gentle smile adorning his face, and he picked the empty glass up from the floor. With a soft trill, Phil mindfully began running his hands through Tommy’s hair, and he leaned into it with more high pitched peeps and chirps, letting his urges take over completely. Surrendering to the bird brain wasn’t as bad as Tommy imagined it to be, actually, he felt calm and content here with Phil running his hands through his hair with a kind of care that Tommy had missed so deeply.
“Want me to fill this up?” Phil asked after a while, and Tommy just hummed in response, still high off of his hybrid instincts being satiated. With that, Phil got up and left the room, and Tommy was alone again.
Slowly, he came to awareness, and the warm feeling was quickly replaced with embarrassment and shame. Had that actually just happened?
Old impulses from being in the foster system, pervasive as ever, demanded that he stop opening up to these people, and that they would just get rid of him soon enough, and how getting attached and hoping was just a recipe for pain and disappointment. He was comfortable with Phil running his hand through his hair, how could he let that happen? Where was the old Tommy, why had he gotten soft-
Cutting off the toxic thoughts, he focused on how he would resist the urge to pull Phil into his nest and have his foster father preen his wings. It would be so lovely, but embarrassing and tarnishing.
Well, he didn’t have any time to come up with any ideas, since Phil was already here with a full glass of water, smiling affectionately.
“Here you go, mate.” He handed the water to Tommy, “Take it in sips.”
He did so, focusing on the sensation as to not give in to his instincts. Right now, his hybrid side was screaming at him to get Phil to preen him. He suppressed it, until Phil trilled happily at him, and that broke the dam.
Without even noticing it, Tommy had started chirping again, and had gripped Phil’s arm to guide him into his nest. Phil didn’t seem to resist, happily crawling into Tommy’s nest, and running his fingers through his feathers when Tommy presented his wings to him.
Soon enough, Phil was gently realigning each feather with careful ease, and even though Tommy had been preened by Phil and Wilbur and even Techno before, many times, he would never get used to the wonderful sensation of his feathers being carded through by loving hands.
He whined, and leaned into the gentle hands that petted his wings, too tired to feel embarrassed. Little happy trills escaped him, not even noticing the second figure walking into the room.
A hand cupped his cheek, and sleepily, he opened his eyes and saw Wilbur’s kind smile. With a happy chirp, he guided his flock member into his now no longer empty nest, curling up next to Wilbur.
Phil had finished preening him, and was now just stroking his feathers sofly, leaning against the wall and sitting cross-legged. Tommy crawled into Phil’s lap without hesitation, needing to be close to his flock, craving that feeling of being safe under Phil’s heavy, dark wings. He needed to feel loved, pressed up against Wilbur’s side, his brother’s long fingers teasing through his hair.
And, well, what Tommy wanted, Tommy got.
Wilbur swallowed two paracetamol tablets, taking a sip of water and grimacing at the foul taste. He had a terrible headache, his sinuses were throbbing in pain, and his throat had started to hurt. It wasn’t ideal, since he had a mountain of homework he should get started on soon, it being the last week of the summer holidays, but he couldn’t focus.
He blamed Tommy, since he had been holed up in his room with a bug since yesterday morning. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have cuddles with a sick teenager, but Phil and him were both big softies, so they ended up spoiling Tommy with all the affection he wouldn’t usually accept.
To be honest, it was nice to see the boy finally give in to his hybrid instincts, he had been repressing them greatly, not on purpose of course. Ranboo did, though, Wilbur had noticed. Ranboo repressed his hybrid instincts to the point where he would probably react even stronger to catching Tommy’s illness than the man himself.
That was what Wilbur theorized, since both Phil and him had developed similar symptoms over the course of today, and since both of them were rather relaxed in showing their hybrid behaviours, neither of them had reacted quite like Tommy had.
Although, Wilbur had noticed some heightened protectiveness on his part, and Phil was acting a bit overbearing in places. He had been spending most of his time with Tommy, making sure he was alright, even though Wilbur could see that it was taking a toll on him.
A yelp of pain snapped him out of his musings, and it triggered his heightened protective instincts, taking over and forcing him to sprint in the direction of the sound, thundering down the stairs from the bathroom and into the kitchen.
Ranboo was there, looking slightly panicked, holding onto his right hand with a pained expression.
“What happened? Are you alright?” Wilbur asked impatiently, taking Ranboo’s hand in his own, too lost in his protective instincts to notice the boy’s slight flinch.
“I was making some, uh, tea and I splashed a little bit of hot water on my hand.” Ranboo explained, and Wilbur sighed, feeling the rush of hybrid instinct triggered adrenaline leaving him.
He sighed, “Sorry if I scared you, had a little bird brain moment there.” Wilbur laughed gently, releasing Ranboo’s hand.
“Oh. Oh, that’s okay, that’s okay.” Ranboo assured him, sounding less panicked now. The scald was hardly anything, no reason for Wilbur to sprint down the stairs anyway.
Wilbur tentatively reached a hand to ruffle Ranboo’s hair, smiling fondly when he didn’t flinch, and instead leaned into the contact, “Such a sweetheart.” He said affectionately, earning a little laugh from the younger teen.
Phil couldn’t sleep. He had been looking after Tommy for two days straight now, and had been struggling with the symptoms of whatever illness Tommy had for the worst of today. Wilbur had told him that he was in ‘super Dadza mode’, whatever that meant.
The sounds of laboured breathing alerted his paternal instincts, heightened by the stupid illness. It sounded like Techno was having another nightmare, and Phil had stumbled through the dark to his son’s door before he could even notice it.
He knocked, and the pained whimpers coming from inside were enough to force him through the door and into Techno’s room. There, tangled in bedsheets and curled up in a ball, was his usually stoic and calm son, sobbing in his sleep.
Phil sat down on the bed, whispering gentle reassurances to Techno, then once the shaking subsided, Phil draped a wing over his son. He knew not to wake him up, and to let the nightmare leave him. He just kept talking to Techno, and he always wrapped the teen in his wings. It was to ground him.
“You’re here, Tech. This is real. I’m real.” Phil kept repeating, not yet rewarded with a response from Techno, “Everyone is safe, Wilbur, Tommy, Ranboo, me, and you.”
Techno finally responded, curling into Phil’s side with a quiet bird-like sound, and he just held Techno close, not once stopping reminding him how he was safe and far away from that cursed place.
It was Ranboo’s fourth day of living in Phil’s attic, and well, he had gotten ill. Tommy had probably given it to him, since on the second day that Ranboo was here Tommy got really sick with some mysterious bug. It made sense, but it didn’t make Ranboo feel any better.
He shouldn’t really be a bother to Phil, the man had been kind enough to let him stay here whilst his grandparents converted their attic into a bedroom for him. Officially, Ranboo’s grandparents on his mother’s side were his guardians now, but as they live around forty five minutes from his high school, they had come to a conclusion that on the weekdays Ranboo would stay with Phil, and during the weekends and holidays he would stay at his grandparents’. It wasn’t ideal, it meant that he wouldn’t be able to cycle down to his friends’ places at the weekend, but it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
His uncle was gone from his life, and Ranboo had never felt so conflicted. On the rational side of things, he felt relieved, incredibly so, that his uncle could no longer abuse him. That’s what it was. He knew, deep down, that it was abuse, but it was still a shock to hear the word said aloud. It didn’t feel like it, it just felt like a parent figure punishing their son. Now that he was living with the Watson family, Ranboo finally had a healthy - albeit slightly chaotic and strange - family to base off of. Phil wasn’t like Uncle at all - he was kind and understanding, didn’t yell or grab, only drank at the weekends and never got actually drunk, he was the opposite of Uncle.
Ranboo, though he knew his uncle was a horrible person, still sort of missed him. It was totally ridiculous, but Ranboo found himself questioning whether his uncle deserved to be locked away. He was only coping with the death of his brother in a very human way. He had found someone weaker than him to point the finger at, and then forced them to shoulder the blame and be used as a punching bag for all of the pent up emotions.
His uncle had looked after him and protected him when no one else could, or would, and he took him over to England where they were safe. At first, Ranboo had hated his uncle for taking them to England, but in retrospect he saw the necessity. It was safer here than America, by far, and it was a lot of effort for his uncle to move to England, so Ranboo should be grateful that he put in all that effort.
He sighed, grabbing his phone, in need of a distraction. Was it really almost midnight? Jeez, he should go to bed.
Bundling his duvet into a messy nest, Ranboo curled up under his wings, trying to clear his mind of the annoying thoughts.
Maybe he was more ill than he first thought. His throat was in shambles, he doubted he’d be able to talk without it hurting, and his limbs felt heavy and shaky and he had a killer headache. There was no way in heck that he was getting to sleep like this, he at least needed a drink of water and some painkillers. There was paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, he knew that much, so he’d hopefully be able to carry out this little mission without waking up or disturbing anyone.
With a momentous amount of effort, Ranboo sat up on his mattress, then grabbed one of the beams of wood that ran down the centre of the attic and held up the roof, using it to pull himself up to a standing position. His knees shook, and threatened to give in for a moment, but he managed to stay upright. Blood rushed from his head and sent a wave of dizziness and nausea through him, the brief lightheadedness nearly enough to topple him. The grip on the beam kept him safe though, even if he did sway violently for ten or so seconds.
Each step felt like a battle, trying his best to be silent, his instincts began to cloud over his mind. He should be silent, if something heard him it would undoubtedly kill him in his weakened state.
Cautiously, he descended the ladder, taking ultimate care to stay silent. If anything heard him, he’d never be able to fight it off. He needed to finish his mini mission and return to his nest as efficiently as possible, lest he be spotted by a predator and eaten.
Beneath the panicked instincts, Ranboo knew that he wasn’t going to get hunted and eaten, but the illness seemed to cloud over his thoughts, letting his hybrid instincts take full reign. It was a shame that his instincts were just as, maybe even more, panicky than he was usually.
In his chest, his heart hammered from the adrenaline that his instincts caused to pump around his body, heightening his senses and setting him right on edge. If a pin dropped, he would probably scream at it and bolt all the way back to his nest. At least the adrenaline drowned out the pain and fatigue from his illness.
He had reached the bathroom now, and only had to fetch the tablets from the medicine cabinet before filling a glass of water in the kitchen. Simple, he could do that without making a single noise.
The tremor in his hands was enough to send the small box of paracetamol tablets flying out of the cupboard and tumbling to the ground, where they made a terrible loud sound. It jolted through his body, the moment lasting longer than anything else.
He froze, deer in headlights, hunched over in the bathroom and eyes fixed on the tablets. Panic seized him, and his hearing sharpened on the silence, ready to bolt at the sound of footsteps.
Heavy, but soft footfalls came from Techno’s room, and Ranboo scrambled to get out of the bathroom and up the ladder, he was going to die, he was going to get killed and eaten, he was done for. He needed to get to the nest as quickly as possible-
There was a thud, then pain registered distantly in several different limbs, but in his head especially. The world was spinning, his balance was gone, everything felt tingly and shaky and so numb…
Techno had been lying down on his bed, scrolling through Twitter for fifteen minutes before he returned to playing Minecraft when he heard the clatter from the bathroom. Intrigued, he heaved himself up and trundled across his room, feeling the annoying fatigue that came with illness making his limbs heavy. Techno didn’t really get ill, but when he did it was mild. So far, whilst Tommy, Wilbur and Phil had all suffered with sore throats, headaches, fatigue and other things, Techno only felt a little tired. Sure, his hybrid instincts had been noticeably harder to control, but that was nothing Technoblade couldn’t handle. Until now.
He was crouched over the poor teenager, inspecting him for any obvious wounds, finding none. Ranboo seemed to have passed out on the landing, just next to the ladder, after sprinting out of the bathroom. He was still panting.
“Ranboo, kid? You there?” He asked, hoping to maybe get a response. He took one of the teen’s hands, gently squeezing it, “Ranboo, give my hand a squeeze if you can hear me.” Techno barely kept the urges to scoop up the boy and hold him in his nest down, knowing that if he woke up whilst in Techno’s arms he might freak out.
The faintest grip on his hand assured him that Ranboo was at least somewhat present.
“Okay, okay, I’m not gonna hurt you kid.” He held onto Ranboo’s hand, for both of their sakes, “It’s me, Techno. Is it alright if I pick you up?”
There was a brief moment where he waited for ‘yes’ or maybe a nod, then he realised he was being dumb, “One squeeze for no, two for yes.”
Two distinctive grips pulsed through their joined hands, and Techno wasted no time in wrapping the boy up in his arms. His instincts were dangerously close to taking over now, little reassuring trills escaping him as he carried Ranboo back to his room. Carefully, Techno deposited the teen in his nest, smiling proudly at the sight, another bird-like sound slipping out at the sight.
This time, Ranboo returned the sound, in the form of distinctly juvenile and slightly distressed sounding chirps. All hold Techno had on his instincts crumbled, and he crawled into his nest with Ranboo, wrapping the boy up in a hug and shielding him with his large, pale pink wings.
Ranboo clung weakly to the contact, still chirping, though it was quiet and reluctant.
Forcing human speech, Techno pulled Ranboo even closer and said softly, “It’s okay, you can let it take over.”
The chirps started up with new vigor, sending Techno’s instincts into a frenzy. This was his flock, he had to keep them safe here, he had to protect his flock.
Soon enough, the chirping trailed off, and Ranboo calmed down, letting out content trills as Techno lightly petted his wings. Obviously, Techno returned the boy’s trills with his own reassuring bird-like vocalisations, not even consciously aware as to what they meant, but hey, his bird brain seemed satisfied.
Within an hour, they fell asleep curled up in Techno nest, Ranboo burrowed into his older flock member and Techno holding his flock safe and sound within the blanket of his wings.