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The seasons, Tommy has come to find in his measly twenty five years of living, are fickle and ever changing. They sweep in like a particularly rude family member coming to visit, and leave with just as much abruptness, uncaring for the mess left in their wake.
Tommy watches wistfully as spring strips itself from the trees, summer blooming in the flowers rising in the small meadow adjacent to his home, in the green of the leaves and the childish giggles of two of his three sons as they run through the wheat and grass, five and seven respectively and filled with an energy that reminds Tommy of his youth.
They remind him of years by the sea, of a brother figure and a bone white mask, of a best friend and the laughter they’d share. He leans further back against the tree he sits by, a satisfied grin on his lips as he watches and reminisces. It’s peaceful, as calm as it can be. He relishes in the warmth on his skin and moisture in the air that speaks of a late night thunderstorm.
And then his sons, adopted but still dear to his heart even if they annoy the shit out of him half the time, tumble to the ground, twin heads of untamable hair disappearing between the reeds.
“Oi! Ge’off, you’re heavy!” An indigent voice calls and Tommy leans back further, the startling chaos nothing but sweet sweet music to his ears. “Techno get up. Get up!”
There’s the sound of wriggling and the rustle of flora, a bubbly giggle Tommy thought he’d never have the chance to hear when he’d appraised the youngest not even a year ago. A pink head of hair, braids messy and cheeks flushed pops up between the grass, seeking out Tommy in the afternoon sun.
His smile is toothy, tiny pointed teeth full aside from a single gap at the front. He doesn’t need words, the joy in his eyes a beckoning call to the young adult, pulling Tommy up from his nestled seat and dragging him over with their imploring gaze.
“Nice job bucko, you caught an annoying little shit” Tommy cackles, peeking at Wilbur as he squirms, face red and brows knotted, his frown more like a pout as he seethes.
“Dad, Dad” Wilbur wriggles, unable to escape the pin from the younger. Techno’s ears, pointed and slightly sunburnt wiggle. “ Tommy , get him off, get him off. Fatass, lazy ass. Get off Techno I hate you!”
“Oi dick’ead, don’t go lying to him like that, you want him to pull the puppy dog eyes on you?”
“You lie all the time!”
“Well yeah,” Tommy crouches down, tilting his head with a smile that could light the stars. The two boys pause to watch him, Techno’s grip on Wilbur’s wrists loosening. “But I’m an adult so I can get away with that shit. You can’t.”
“Urghh!” Wilbur’s head falls back against the floor, a dramatic eyeroll accompanying the scrunch of his nose as his pout only deepens. “Urghhh” He repeats, as if to accentuate his frustration.
“There there” Tommy snickers and Techno mimics the noise with a breezy smile, leaning down and pressing his forehead against Wilbur’s, grass tickling their cheeks. The brunette lets out a long suffering sigh, looking disgruntled and annoyed, and yet Tommy sees him nudge back, sees the warmth in brown eyes and the grin threatening to break out on his cheeks.
“You two done? It’s uh-” He glances up at the sky, squinting at the slow moving sun. A second passes, he squints harder, mind racing. “It’s…” He blinks several times, painfully aware of two sets of eyes back on him. “It’s bitch ass o’clock which means Green Bitch’ll probably be here soon”
Sue him, he doesn’t know jack shit about figuring out the time using the sun. The sun is in the sky and it shines real fucking bright, that’s as far as his brain goes.
“Dream?” Techno asks, voice slightly slurred, the words still an unfamiliar dialect to him.
“Yeah, your favourite Uncle”
Techno beams harder, straightening up, only to topple over at a harsh shove from below, a small squeak leaving him. Wilbur huffs, sitting up, Tommy cackles .
“No, no. Tell him to leave, I hate him” He hisses, arms crossed. “I don’t want him to come over”
“You can tell him that yourself” He wipes at his face, at trickles of tears that fall from his laughter.
“Don’t wanna”
“Not my issue then, brat”
Wilbur sticks his tongue out, wiggling on the spot and pouting again. Tommy reaches over, past him, and pulls Techno towards him, from his position in the dirt where he’d been laying comfortably, unperturbed by his brother's rough play.
The youngest wriggles in his grip before settling, wrapping small hands around his neck and butting his forehead gently against Tommy’s jaw.
Tommy wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but the small gesture warms him, sparks heat inside of him that grows to an inferno. It’s different compared to the love he feels so viscerally at his other two sons.
Wilbur reminds him of himself a lot; a boisterous child, larger than life with a presence that fills rooms. He’d been, out of the three, the most accepting of Tommy when they’d first met, had been the first he’d connected with when he’d coaxed them to his small unassuming home.
Phil is quieter, though no less chaotic. He’s painfully mature, strikingly smart and has a protective streak a mile wide. He’s gentle nudges in the kitchen filled with trust, careful preening on a soft summer noon. Out of the three, he’s the only one not to refer to him as a father, but the bond is there no less.
It’s tentative, it’s fragile, but that doesn’t make it any less dear to Tommy.
Techno has perhaps been the hardest out of the three, through no fault of his own. It hadn’t been his attempts at gentleness, his rare patience or careful words that’d coaxed him from a shell of fear no four year old should feel. It hadn’t been Wilbur’s encouraging words or Phils sweet hugs.
It’d been Dream; Dream and Ranboo to be more specific.
And he’ll admit that back then, it’d stirred something dark and jealous inside of him.
He couldn’t reach out to hold the youngest, couldn’t hold his hand or coax a laugh from him. He felt like a failure, had spent nights pacing, frustrated at his own frustration, at his waning patience. He’d tugged at horns, yanked at his own tail, anything to distract himself from it all.
He’d stretched his already low patience, a rare display forged through a stubborn streak in him wanting to do right by these three wayward kids. He’d watched from the sidelines, watched Dream handle Techno with a grace he’d envied, watched Ranboo and his gentle beseeching nature teach trust to the shapeshifter so untrusting.
He’d nearly cried the first time he’d had that small tentative smile turned on him, had turned away to hide the embarrassing grin on his lips and water wetting his eyeline, ignoring Dreams barking laugh and Techno’s confused whine and he’d been so happy.
Fuck, he’s a sap, okay? He’d flat out bawled when Techno had first snuck into his room at night, startling to youngest and ending up with a dogpile of two confused children and one knowing teen who’d grinned and tugged at Tommy’s tail playfully, enduring the playful ruffle against blonde locks he’d goten in return.
His love for Techno is gentle and sweet, it’s not playful teasing or quiet moments of bliss, it’s an explosion of colour.
It’s a careful kiss he presses to soft hair as he sits in the blooming fields, letting himself simmer in peace once again, in a few seconds that trickle by yet last a lifetime.
“Tommy? Dream’s here, he said to come get you”
“Speak of the Green Devil and he shall show himself.” Tommy scoffs, the end of his sentence interrupted by Wilbur’s loud protests.
“Phil, Phil. Tell him to go away”
“Not on your life mate, he’s got cupcakes.”
Tommy cracks an eye open, snorting.
“Oh yeah? They better not be Sapnaps, cause if so tell him to take them back. Dumbass can’t cook for shit.”
“Nah” Phil settles into view, eyes gleaming. He nudges Wilbur with the tip of his foot. “They’re Niki’s ”
A pause. The wind flutters the barley stalks, brushing against his own folded legs, against Wilburs sides and Phils bare feet.
And then…
“Dibs”
“No!”
Tommy springs to his feet, bringing the shapeshifter in his arms with him.
“You can’t do that, I called dibs first!” Phil looks betrayed, throwing his hands up. The adult, though in that moment he acts more like a kid than anything, grins sharply, taking several steps back towards the house. He watches Wilbur scramble to his feet, watches Phil shuffle, eyes narrowing and wings, so tiny and small, fluffing out behind him.
“Oh, what’s that? Techno and Tommy called dibs first? I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard, right?”
Techno, in all his glory, nods once, a hand tugging idly at a thin messy braid in Tommy’s hair, nearly pulling out the tie as he does. Fuck, he’ll have to rebraid it later. Whatever.
“Right,” He says, sounding so serious. Oh fuck, he’s adorable, really fucking adorable. “Dibs ‘cause we’re not ‘ losers ”
“Techno!”
“Tech you little shit, what the fuck-”
Phil laughs, exasperated, stepping towards them both. Tommy flicks his hat, laughing as he squawks in indignation, chasing after it, losing a battle against the wind. He dodges Wilbur’s attempt at sabotage, taking another step back, Wilbur falling into the soft grass instead of into his legs.
Tommy makes his way through the reeds and the bushes, towards a tall figure leaning against the garden’s fence. There’s more laughter behind him, the sound of play as Phil and Wilbur follow.
“Having fun bullying small children?” Dream asks, reaching out instantly for Techno, who reaches back with eyes wide. Tommy let’s go, only semi-reluctantly, shooting the other a crooked smile.
“It’s not bullying. Think of it like… character growth”
“What?!” A familiar kettle wheeze, the crinkle of warm green eyes. Dream wraps his bare arms around Tommy’s youngest, allowing the insistent hands to tug at his hair and press against his cheek lightly. “Character growth?”
“They can fight over the cupcakes,” Tommy shoots him a grin, nudges the shoulder not currently cradling Techno with his own and breezes past with a skip in his step. “It’ll be good for them.”
“Inciting violence in children. Tsk Tsk, why am I not surprised.”
“Oi Bitch! Shut the fuck up, yeah?”
The sun shimmers in the sky, peeking from behind clouds and shining its presence unabashedly on the small mismatched family below.
It peeks through a large opened window as they move inside, shines upon a bowl of gems brought back by Sam during many visits, gifted to Techno if only to see the awe in his young gaze every time they catch the light.
It illuminates the wind chimes singing their victory in the outside breeze, crafted together by Tommy and Phil, together, several made over many months and intertwined with shed feathers of black and grey.
It brightens an old worn guitar gifted by a bespectacled man claiming to have no use for an instrument he can’t even play, often held lovingly in Wilbur’s deft fingers, now sitting ignored against a kitchen cabinet.
Children laugh, there’s a crash of breaking glass, cursing and cackling. Cupcakes, baked to perfectection as always and decorated with gold are shared between small grabby hands. They end up together, curled together on a worn sofa in a pile, Wilbur asleep to Tommy’s right, Dream taking up half the seat as he sprawls peacefully, Techno half against his side, half against Tommys.
Phil sits at his feet, leans his head back against Tommy’s knees. His wings shuffle, settle.
They share a glance, share a smile.
And outside the sun crests, reaches its peak, before slowly starting it’s descent.