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Breathe.
Breathe Tommy, breathe.
He hated this, hated feeling like this. He was supposed to be better, he was supposed to have this under control. Keep a lid on it, seal it away. If he couldn’t see it, than surely no one else could either.
They couldn’t see it. Tommy wasn’t going to allow himself to be vulnerable again, to be beneath someone ever again. Keep it locked up, keep it pushed away, and it couldn’t show.
But he could feel the freakout coming. He could feel it in the way energy thrummed beneath his skin and his heart raced so quickly he could barely even feel it. He felt it in the way the center of his chest seemed to have a yawning chasm in it. The way his hands refused to still their incessant trembling and the way everything seemed too much, too much.
He felt the oncoming freakout in the way his wings were spreading outwards defensively, the way he could feel his feathers puffing out in an effort to make himself bigger to predators. He felt it in the way his thoughts ran together and blurred to the point that he couldn’t discern what they were. He felt it in the way no matter how much he breathed, there wasn’t enough oxygen to satiate the burning in his lungs.
Tommy was in Snowchester, with Tubbo and Ranboo. He was supposed to stay the night, leave tomorrow morning for the hotel. He was supposed to have a good time, visiting his friends.
But he wasn’t.
Maybe it was the fact that even though Tubbo was the one who invited him, he hadn’t made an effort to speak to Tommy at all unless the blonde initiated a conversation himself. Maybe it was the fact that Ranboo kept staring at him as if he was a ticking time bomb, with furrowed brows and something unreadable in his expression. Maybe it was the fact that Tommy was about to have a freakout, for seemingly no reason, out in the snow with his two friends.
Snowball fights were supposed to be fun, and they were. If he was being ganged up on a bit, that was fine. He deserved it He could hold his own. So what if he was about to slam his head repeatedly into a tree just to get the freakout to go away? He was fine.
He had to be fine.
He wasn’t going to freak out on them and cause more problems. He wasn’t going to put himself into a place where he could be hurt. Not again, never again. Not with Tubbo, not with Ranboo, not with anyone.
“That’s fuckin’ cold!” Tommy yelped, shimmying in vain to try to get the snow out of his jacket. Ranboo had thrown a lucky shot, hitting Tommy on the side of the head and sending crumbled snow down his coat.
“Get fucked!” Tubbo shrieked, throwing another snowball that the blonde just managed to duck under.
The younger teen forced a grin in triumph, only to get smacked upside the head by another snowball thrown by the brunette.
The blow sent him reeling, blinking dizzily. The simple hit had launched him into another time, another place. Where there was no snow on the ground but it was just as cold, with a green sweatshirt and smiling mask and an explosion of pain on the side of his head when he refused to put his food in the hole.
Tommy was never more glad for the wing covers he’d been forced to wear due to the snow, because when he snapped out of it a second later, he was sure his feathers were twitching and fluffed up in fear. Tubbo knew how his wings reacted to what he was feeling practically as much as Tommy himself did. If the brunette could see his feathers, he would know something was up.
He shook his head to clear the sticky threads of freakout-inducing memories, dodging another snowball thrown by Ranboo.
He saw how Ranboo paused, his face forming a look of concern as he halted his projectiles. Tubbo, however, kept coming, tossing ball after ball of snow and laughing in joy.
Tommy forced his own laugh, scooping up snow and throwing it back at the brunette with trembling hands. His aim was terrible, mostly because he felt like the fragile strings of calm he was trying to hold onto were fraying. Just a bit longer, he could stave it off until he could go inside and freak out in the spare bedroom he’d been given for the night.
Breathe.
He was so focused on breathing he didn’t notice Tubbo rushing him until it was too late.
A body slammed into his, arms locking around his midsection and bowling him over. His wings flared out, and he shouted in alarm, but he still sank backwards into the snow, the smaller boy weighing him down heavily.
The chasm in his chest threatened to swallow him hole, leaving him teetering on the edge. His breathing immediately quickened, and he knew instinctively that he was about to fall in, that his vision was about to give out and he was going to plummet down into that hollow part of his chest.
No no nononononononnoonononono—
Please.
He couldn’t— He wouldn’t—
Please no.
Just a few more minutes, that’s all he needed.
Please.
It didn’t matter what he wanted, because before he could try to drag himself away from the edge, he was falling into the canyon.
His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms so hard that they stung, and something warm rolled down them. His eyes squeezed shut and he began to unknowingly hyperventilate, teeth grinding together painfully. His whole body went rigid and stiff, and he had to get away.
Get off, get off. You’re smothering me. Get off. Pinned. Trapped. Can’t fly. Weak. Trapped.
“Tommy?” Tubbo sounded muffled, far away, but he was still practically on top of the blonde. “Are you alright?”
Tommy had to struggle to get his voice to say one thing, had to force even one word to crawl its way out of his throat. “Off,” he choked.
Tubbo immediately complied, releasing him and scrambling away.
Tommy rolled onto his side in the snow and drew his knees up to his chest, wings wrapping protectively around his body until he was concealed under the black cloth that protected his feathers from the freezing temperatures.
Snap out of it. Snap out of it. You’re vulnerable. They can kill you so easily right now. Snap out of it. Get up. Snap out of it.
He reached up and yanked on his hair with his bloody palms, finding the slightly painful sensation to be grounding. So he did it again, and again, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and tugging so hard he was nearly yanking the strands out of his scalp.
Snap out of it. Snap out of it. Snap out of it. Snap out of it. Snap—
“Hey, hey hey hey.”
Fingers were interlacing with his, forcing him to release his hair and grab onto their hands instead. Squeezing someone else’s hands wasn’t nearly as effective at pulling him out of his freakout as the hair pulling had been. The pain was easier to focus on, to think about. Death-gripping someone’s hands didn’t work nearly as well.
Tommy whimpered, low in his throat, as his wings drew tighter around him.
“It’s okay, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay? It’s okay. Just hold onto me. Breathe.”
Another whimper, this one louder, as a third hand is tentatively placed on his back, between his shoulder blades in the bit of his body that was not covered by his feathered wings.
“Breathe with me, yeah? In and out. Slow.”
The hand on his back lessens its pressure as he hears someone inhale, and then it presses down more firmly as they exhale. Inhale, less. Exhale, more. Inhale, less. Exhale, more.
He tried, he really did, to follow that breathing pattern. But his own breath was wrong, shaking and stuttering and not making it to the deep, even inhales and exhales that were around him.
Despite that fact, though, his heart rate was slowing, the chasm was becoming less deep. Both of these things were happening at a snails-pace, but they were happening at least. Tommy was pretty sure this was the fastest he’d ever been able to pull out of a freakout.
His grip on the hands that intertwined with his lessened as he managed to calm his heart rate down. His breath was starting to even out, and the tension in his body and wings started to subside considerably.
You’re vulnerable. They can kill you easily.
He immediately tensed at the thought, yanking his hands away from where they had still been gripping someone else’s and forcing himself upright, trying to shake off the last hints of his freakout. Which, obviously, didn’t work, but it was easier to stifle now.
Tommy scrambled to his feet, shaking the snow off of his wings and trying to hide the trembling of his hands by stuffing them underneath his armpits, making it look like he was warming them up.
Ranboo and Tubbo were staring at him, still kneeling in the snow where he had been laying. They had matching concerned looks, which looked too much like pity for Tommy be comfortable with them.
“Well that was awkward,” Tommy announced, ignoring the way his voice shook as he tried to force himself to be brash and loud so they didn’t have to talk about it. “Anyways, uh, snowball?”
“Tommy,” Tubbo’s voice was soft, non threatening, as if he was speaking to an injured animal, but there was a hint of worry, and Tommy hated it.
“I’m fine,” he snapped automatically in response, though the brunette hadn’t asked. He immediately switched to his normal loud tone instead when a ping of emotion he couldn’t describe (like fear, but not. He got it a lot when he had his freakouts, but he didn’t know what it was exactly). “All good up in the Innit brain, big man. You just startled me, is all. Should we resume?”
“Tommy, that—” Ranboo started, but the blonde cut him off.
“I’m fine,” Tommy hissed with a bit more venom to it.
“You’re not,” Tubbo insisted. “Tommy, you just had a panic attack. You’re not fine.”
“I think I would know more about how well my brain is doing than you, yeah?” Tommy retorted. “I am, y’know, the one who owns my brain. I think I know it a bit better than you do.”
“You just had a panic attack and you’re insisting you’re fine!” Tubbo sounded exasperated. “No one’s fine after a panic attack!”
“It wasn’t a “panic attack”,” Tommy made the quotes with his fingers, scowling. “It was a freakout. It happens sometimes, alright? I’m fine.”
“Do you not—”
“Tubbo, calm down,” Ranboo put a hand on the brunette’s shoulder, cutting him off, before turning to Tommy. “Listen, I know you’re not okay, Tommy. You’ve been off all day, and you’re clearly not at one hundred percent after... that. So, let’s all calm down, and go inside to warm up, alright? You don’t have to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Tommy insisted, feeling his wings twitch in disagreement. He levels a glare at the appendages, mentally cursing them for being indicators of his emotion at any given time.
His wings and feathers combined almost constantly broadcasted his emotions, no matter how much he tried to stop it. Tommy as at least thankful that only specific people who had been around bird hybrids enough (or bird hybrids themselves) knew how to read into the behavior of his wings and feathers and use their actions to figure out what he was feeling all the time.
As far as Tommy knew, only three people around who weren’t bird hybrids knew about wing body language, Techno, Wilbur, and Dream. Techno and Wilbur because they grew up with him and Phil, and Dream because he forced Tommy to tell him about it during exile under the threat that his primaries would be clipped if he didn’t.
At least his feathers were covered, so they weren’t displaying his emotions too much. Not that either Ranboo or Tubbo really knew how to tell what the body language of his wings meant.
“Regardless, let’s go inside. Warm up,” Ranboo offered.
“Fine,” Tommy grumbled, forcing himself to relax the muscles in his wings enough to pull them in close. He could feel the way his feathers were twitching nervously underneath the wing covers, and despite trying to make them as normal and relaxed as possible, they were tucked stiffly on either side of his spine.
Both Tubbo and Ranboo were staring at him with pity all over their features, and Tommy resented the look.
The trek back to the house was short, and while Tommy was silent, he could hear Tubbo and Ranboo whispering as they trudged through the snow behind him. He could feel his wings twitching angrily, and he fought to still them, unsuccessfully.
Finally, he stopped just short of the house, stifling the scowl on his face. “Maybe I should just go home,” he suggested, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Nonsense,” Tubbo said quickly. “It’ll be dark by the time you get back.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow at him, demonstrating his disbelief and suspicion to what the brunette was saying.
Ranboo hurried past the blonde and into the house, immediately dashing into another room and sounding like he was searching for something.
Tommy just stared after the enderman hybrid, one eyebrow quirked as Tubbo shooed him into the house. “Why are you guys acting so weird?” he asked the older boy as the door was shut behind him. “I’m fine.”
Tubbo hummed noncommittally, sounding like he didn’t believe him.
“I’m fine,” Tommy insisted.
“Didn’t say you weren’t,” Tubbo shrugged. “Hot chocolate?”
“Sure, if you want.”
Tubbo retreated to the kitchen, pulling out three mugs and filling up a pot with milk before placing it on the stove. “You should take those off. Once the snow melts on them it’ll only get wet and make you colder.”
The brunette hadn’t specified what he was talking about, but Tommy knew that Tubbo meant the wing covers.
He wasn’t exactly... thrilled... with that idea. His feathers were probably a disaster right now, from all the twitching and fluffing they’d been doing recently. Plus, he hadn’t had a proper preen in ages, he’d been doing it himself ever since Wilbur died.
Tubbo used to help him, back in Pogtopia after Wilbur went insane, but had been too busy with rebuilding L’manburg after the war. Then there was exile, and Tommy sure as hell wasn’t letting Dream of all people touch his wings, willingly anyway. Ghostbur hadn’t counted, because his hands went straight through him.
When he was with Techno, Tommy frankly didn’t trust either him or Phil enough to preen him, which turned out to be for good reason. After Doomsday and the Final Disc War, no one had been around to do them.
This was the first proper time him and Tubbo were hanging out after the disc war, so Tubbo probably hadn’t gotten a chance to look at the disastrous state of his wings properly.
His scapulars were probably messy, considering he couldn’t straighten them properly when he couldn’t see them. His primaries and alula were much to far away for him to groom properly (the one downside of having a sixteen and half foot wingspan). He could only really reach a little less than half his secondaries and coverts, so they were the only ones that were properly preened.
“You’re right,” Tommy agreed, turning his head to stare at the covers. “I— yeah, you’re right.”
They needed to come off, Tubbo was right. Leaving them on would only dampen his feathers and make his wings feel all soggy and gross. Plus, it would be suspicious and uncomfortable as fuck to be wearing them around the heated house.
Well, at this point, he couldn’t give two shits.
It’s not like either of them knew wing body language. The worst he’d get was probably a reprimand from Tubbo about his lack of preened feathers.
Tommy pulled off his coat and hung it up on a stand by the front door. Wing covers were often worn underneath coats, even though coats had holes in the back for easy movement. It was so the laces didn’t get caught on anything while flying, Tommy thought.
He reached behind his back and searched for the knot in the laces, fumbling to latch onto it when he felt it. No matter how much he pulled on the knot, it wouldn’t budge. Fuck, how did he even tie this thing?
Tommy gritted his teeth in frustration and yanked again, trying to wiggle his fingernail in the right place to undo the tangle.
“Here, let me.”
Tommy jumped about a foot in the air when Ranboo’s spoke, not having heard the enderman hybrid come in. His wings flared outward defensively, nearly knocking a vase off of the nearby dining table and colliding into Ranboo, who made a soft “oof” noise when it whacked him in the stomach.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized immediately with a tinge of fear to his voice, a habit from his exile days with Dream. “Sorry.” He pulled his extra set of limbs closer to his back slowly, making sure not to hit anything this time.
“It’s fine,” Ranboo said calmly, seeming unfazed. “You still want me to help?”
“Yeah, sure,” he lied. He didn’t want anyone near him right now, not with the pit in his chest forming again. But Tommy had just smacked him, letting the taller boy do what he wanted was probably for the best at the moment.
He held perfectly still as he felt Ranboo tug on the knot in the laces experimentally. His breath hitched, and he could see Tubbo watching as he poured hot chocolate into the three mugs he’d gotten out earlier.
“Aha,” Ranboo said triumphantly, managing to pull the knot free.
Tommy felt the laces loosen enough for him to pull off, which he did quickly before tucking his wings up against his back stiffly, not wanting Tubbo to notice the nightmare that was the condition of his feathers.
“Thanks,” he says quickly, almost too quickly. He can practically hear the nervousness in his own voice as he hangs the wing covers over his coat to let them dry.
“...no problem...” Ranboo was staring at him with a concerned expression, and Tommy grimaced at the awkward situation. His feathers were twitching in the faint nervousness he was still feeling, and his wings still trembled in residual fear from the freakout.
A sharp gasp made Tommy jump, and he turned to find Tubbo staring at him as well. Or, more specifically, his wings.
“Oh come on, they’re not that bad,” Tommy chuckled nervously. A quick glance at his wings, though, made him grimace. The feathers were dull, and a large amount of them were bent or broken. A few, including some of his primaries, looked like they were barely holding on.
“That’s it,” Tubbo put the three mugs on the counter with sharp clatters, spilling some of the steaming liquid, but he didn’t seem to care. There was fiery determination in his sapphire blue eyes, one that held a slight hint of playfulness but was still enough to make Tommy’s feathers twitch again out of nervousness. “Emergency preening session.”
Tommy scoffed, pulling his wings impossible tighter against his back. A dull pain radiated throughout the limbs. “No. They’re fine. I’m fine.”
“They’re a disaster,” Tubbo corrected, a hint of sadness in his tone. “You’ve never let them get that bad before.”
“I preened what I could reach, dickhead,” Tommy retorted. “Yeah, it’s bad, I’ll admit, but I did the best I could.”
Realization dawned in the shorter boy’s eyes, before fading away to guilt.
“Emergency preening session, then,” Ranboo jumped onto the bandwagon of Tubbo’s idea.
Tommy wanted to protest. He didn’t want them touching him, much less touching and preening his wings. Bird hybrids were at their most vulnerable during preening, and he didn’t want to be vulnerable.
But he still kind of owed it to Ranboo for whacking him in the stomach, and he didn’t want to piss Tubbo off by saying no when he was inside his house.
“Fine,” he relented, pulling out one of the dining chairs and plopping himself down on it backwards. His chin rested on top of his arms, which were crossed over the backrest.
He held himself completely still, the muscles in his back and wings stiff in anticipation. The dragging of chairs on the stone floor made him flinch, but he hid it the best he could to keep it hidden.
“I don’t think tensing them is going to help,” Ranboo said wryly, sounding a lot closer than he had been before.
“I’m not tensing them,” Tommy lied.
“Yes, you are. You don’t have to be nervous, or scared. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Tommy froze, craning his head sharply around to stare at the enderman hybrid. “Who taught you to read them?” He demanded, projecting his voice as loud and angry, but there was a bit of fear that he couldn’t hide away.
“Techno did,” Ranboo admitted. “So I would know when Phil might not want any company. I have it saved in my memory book.”
Tommy was so fucking screwed.
Because even though his wings had been broadcasting his emotions this whole time, as they usually did, it was different when someone actually knew what the twitches and shivers and fluffing meant.
“We’re not going to hurt you, it’s okay,” Tubbo reassured, his voice thick with tears that Tommy couldn’t see because he turned away, heart racing. “Can we start?”
Tommy grunted, before rolling his shoulders and extending his left wing out for them stiffly. He heard the screeching of the chairs sliding against the floor again, and his wing jerked at the noise, nearly folding back again. He forced it to stay open, though, staring straight ahead and breathing out sharply though his nose.
A hand rested lightly on his back, between his shoulder blades, between his wings. Tubbo’s. It was meant to be comforting, Tommy assumed, but it only made his heart beat faster and his veins thrum with anticipation and fear, as if those two emotions were beating along with his blood.
Breathe.
He inhaled shakily, and gripped the back of the chair tighter as the hand withdrew, and something brushed against his outstretched wing.
Tubbo, who had preened his wings before, was murmuring to Ranboo, just low enough that Tommy couldn’t hear him. It only made him more tense, not understanding that they were saying.
Tommy felt a soft, familiar hand brush down his scapulars, the touch just barely grazing the white, blue, and gold feathers.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to pull away, heart beating so hard he was almost sure it was about to beat out of his chest. The touch repeated in the exact way, Tubbo running the tips of his fingers down the shortest of his feathers.
Tommy registered, distantly, that Tubbo was trying to get him used to the feeling of someone touching his wings, in an effort to help him calm down and relax a bit more. It was helping, just a bit, as the motion repeated again and again, becoming less light as his tense muscles began to involuntarily relax.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Tubbo said encouragingly, and Tommy nodded wordlessly, allowing himself to breathe slowly. In, out. In, out.
His outstretched wing, which had begun to droop as he relaxed, was gently guided down to rest on Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s laps. A soft twinge of fear went through him, at first, but he shoved it away.
Breathe.
Tubbo started speaking to Ranboo again, whispering in low enough tones that Tommy couldn’t make it out. His feathers twitched slightly out of nervousness, but another soft stroke of his scapulars made the movement cease.
“Watch me,” Tubbo told Ranboo, just barely loud enough to be heard. That was the only warning Tommy got before what had essentially been petting became firm yet gentle movements instead. The soft tugging sensation of feathers being moved until their barbs interlocked correctly. The sense of relief every time a bad feather was pulled. The overall light, tingling feeling as dirt and dust and down was flicked from his wings and discarded somewhere below them.
It was taking a while, longer than Tommy remembered. That was probably due to how messed up his wings had gotten with the lack of care. It took several minutes just for Tubbo to finish the scapulars, when it usually took him a minute at most.
Tommy let out a soft sigh as Tubbo’s hands roamed towards his coverts, gently correcting the tiny feathers towards the top of his wing. A second pare of hands, these ones larger and nails sharper than Tubbo’s, clearly belonging to Ranboo, also joined in, albeit hesitantly.
The sensation of two pairs of hands preening his wings nearly made Tommy slump completely against the back of the chair. The tingling had gotten stronger, spreading down his wing and up his back and through his limbs and head. His body felt like jello, and his head was growing fuzzy.
He was so fucked.
Tommy had never been preened by two people at once before, and he was not expecting this. It was just on the edge of overwhelming, teetering back and forth on the cliff face as he desperately tried to keep himself on solid ground.
If he wasn’t vulnerable before, he definitely was now. He was pretty sure that even if he tried to pull away, his limbs would not obey him.
Man, if he was feeling like this and they were still on his coverts, he had no idea how bad the fog was going to get by the time they reach his primaries and secondaries.
Tommy’s teeth sank into his bottom lip in effort to suppress a soft chirp as Tubbo started making his way down to his coverts towards larger feathers. He tasted blood, but he didn’t care, feeling a shudder go through his entire body as a particularly bothersome broken feather was pulled. He fought to keep his feathers laying flat as they worked, the white and gold and blue wanting to fluff up in contentment rather than fear or anger.
YES yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyes—
His thoughts were growing less coherent as the two pairs of hands preening him drew nearer to his secondaries. Tommy felt like his blood was moving sluggishly through his veins, eyes drooping and threatening to close.
The moment that he felt Tubbo grab the first secondary and painstakingly wiggle it back into its correct place, Tommy knew it was all over.
He sank bonelessly against the chair, fighting down content chirps as his grip on the back loosened considerably. A soft whine managed to worm its way up his throat and out of his mouth though, blinking sleepily straight ahead as he heard Tubbo’s quiet laughter. Ranboo followed suit a moment later, and Tommy could practically envision their twin amused smiles.
Yes yes yes yes!
Flock
Safe
Don’t stop. For the love of everything, don’t stop. Please, please don’t stop.
Flock. Yes. Safe.
Safe safe safe safe safe safe safe safe safe—
He felt exhausted, but in a good way. Preening always made him tired, but he wouldn’t fall asleep during it. No, that was stored for after. After, when Tommy would bury himself in a nest and try to reciprocate the grooming the best he could to those who did it to him. But considering only Wilbur and Tubbo had ever preened his wings before, and they didn’t have wings, he normally just forced them into the nest and hugged them while scratching their heads.
Wilbur would always call it “bird brain moments”, since Tommy had admitted to him once that he couldn’t stop himself from returning the favor after a preen. Neither him nor Tubbo had ever complained when Tommy grabbed them and basically held them captive for a couple minutes while he scratch their heads, at least, not in serious way.
Much too soon, Tubbo and Ranboo finished with his secondaries and started on his alula and the rest of his coverts. The adjusting of these feathers didn’t feel nearly as good as the secondaries had, but the best, his primaries, were always saved for last.
He sank his teeth further into his lip to stifle the chirps bubbling their way up his throat. The pain from it threatened to drag him out of the pleasant fog that had surrounded his brain and invaded his limbs, making his entire body feel heavier then it should be. Ranboo and Tubbo hadn’t even reached his primaries yet and Tommy was already struggling to suppress his chirps. He was fighting a losing battle.
Despite his hatred of feeling vulnerable that had grown increasingly prominent because of exile, despite how he wanted to hate every second of this, he just couldn’t. He was internally cheering at the fact he was being taken care of, his flock was taking care of him, and that he had needed this for so long and had just ignored it.
He didn’t want to let go of this feeling. His flock was here, he was getting preened, that’s all he could ask for.
Tommy was so wrapped up in his incoherent, sticky thoughts that he didn’t notice that Ranboo and Tubbo were at his primaries until the first one was grabbed and started to be moved where it was supposed to be.
The moment that he felt Ranboo slip the feather correctly, his brain lit up and a strangled, half-suppressed chirp spilled from his mouth. A shudder wracked his body as he chirped again, squeezing the back of the chair as if it was a pillow pressed against his chest.
“There it is,” Tubbo whispered, just barely audible. Tommy could hear how relieved the brunette sounded, and how pleased he was.
That wasn’t what he was focused on, though. What he was focused on was how amazing he felt, how everything was slotting into place and he was mentally cooing in satisfaction.
Another chirp, louder this time.
Yes flock. So good. Flock. Warm. Safe. Flock. Yes yes yes.
“I bet you’re feeling better,” Tubbo murmured encouragingly, leaving Ranboo to finish the primaries as he gently ran his fingers down over the smooth, corrected feathers.
Normally, when Tubbo was the only one preening him, Tommy would’ve taken offense to being pet, but he didn’t mind now. Not when everything was knitting itself back together.
For the first time in months, Tommy’s instincts were sated, even with only one wing being done.
The loudest chirp yet passed through his lips unrestricted, sleepy yes, but loud.
He felt the last of his broken feathers be plucked without so much as a prick of pain, and a shudder ran through him again, sinking even further against the chair and eyelids fluttering.
“What’s up with him?” he heard Ranboo ask. “I didn’t think his reaction would be that strong.”
“I didn’t either,” Tubbo whispered back. “I think ‘cause there was two of us, maybe it was a bit stronger than usual, or maybe its because it hasn’t been done in a while. I imagine the bird brain moment’s gonna happen soon.”
““Bird brain moment”?”
As if their discussion had triggered it, Tommy felt a familiar rush of instinct, making him peel himself off the chair and sit upright.
Gotta give back. Gotta give back. Protect flock. Yes.
“Hey big man, do me alright? Leave Ranboo alone for now,” Tubbo offered, having noticed his reaction and connecting the dots. The brunette’s words managed to register through the fog in the blonde’s brain.
Tommy mumbled some kind of incoherent response, unsure of what he himself said, but knowing it was an acknowledgment and an agreement, even if they didn’t. He turned around in the chair grabbing for Tubbo and pulling him in.
The brunette wrapped his arms around the younger teen as Tommy buried his face into Tubbo’s hair. His wings embraced them both protectively and he hummed in contentment.
One of his hands came up and threaded through the brunette’s hair, nails scratching lightly across Tubbo’s scalp.
Gotta give back. Protect flock.
This went on for several minutes, Tommy making satisfied rumbling chirps every now and then, before he was finally able to force his fingers to still and pull away.
“That was the bird brain moment,” Tommy told Ranboo tiredly, a yawn stretching across his face. “Bird brain demands I preen someone back, but Tubbo doesn’t have wings, so I just scratch at his head until it subsides.”
“How’s your wing feeling?” Tubbo asked, disentangling himself from Tommy.
The blonde glanced down at his left wing, the one that had been preened. He flexed it experimentally, finding no uncomfortable tug coming from it as he’d grown used to feeling in the months since he’d last gotten a proper preen.
“Much better,” he admitted. His wing wasn’t the only thing feeling better. The pit in his chest seemed to be gone, at least for now. Preening wasn’t only good for cleaning up his wings, it seemed.
“Do you wanna take a nap and do your right wing later? You seem... tired,” Tubbo sounded like he was coaxing an injured animal, voice pitched low and his tone soft as if he was scared Tommy would run off otherwise.
“Mm,” Tommy grunted, taking a deep breath as slight annoyance rippled through him. He was exhausted, Tubbo was right. Freakouts always left him tired and numb, and preening also made him warm and sleepy. Both back to back was just making it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.
But man, he desperately wanted his other wing done, just so the discomfort and soreness went away.
“No,” he mumbled. “Can you do the right one too? Please? You don’t have to, obviously, but please?”
A twinge of nervousness went through him, making his feathers twitch. He was afraid that they would say no, even though it most likely an irrational thought because why the hell would they do one wing and not the other? Tubbo wasn’t cruel, and from what Tommy knew about Ranboo, he wasn’t cruel either.
“Of course,” the enderman hybrid in question reassured him.
Tommy lit up, eyes shining, before turning back around so he was sitting backwards in the chair again. His previous hesitation with having them touch him was gone, and instead of nervous anticipation, excitement pulsed through his veins. Half of it was because he was still high on satiated hybrid instinct, and half was because now that one wing was preened, the pain and discomfort in his other one was unbearable.
He heard the chairs screech against the ground, and he involuntarily flinched at the volume of the noise, but allowed his muscles to relax after a moment. His wings drooped once more, and he felt his right one being guided into Tubbo and Ranboo’s laps as his left brushed against the floor.
“Should I...?” Ranboo trailed off, the question not directed towards Tommy. The blond peeked over his shoulder anyway, finding Tubbo by his primaries while Ranboo was closer to his back. Their roles had been reversed when they worked on his left.
“Yeah, just to get him used to it,” Tubbo confirmed. Tommy silently wondered what they were talking about for a moment as he turned back around to look ahead, before he felt Ranboo hesitantly run a hand down his scapulars.
His wing twitched, the limb unused to the sensation even if his other one had just experienced it a few minutes ago. Ranboo withdrew his hand for a moment, before repeating the motion again.
This time, his wing arched into it, and a soft whine tore itself from his throat. He buried his head in his arms from where they were cross on the back of the headrest, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. With his left, he had managed to stifle all the noises until they got to his secondaries. It took five seconds for him to start whining once they started on his right.
Oh man, he was so screwed.
He thought he’d been screwed with the other one. Oh how he was wrong. He was making noise before they even started the preening bit. Shit.
Ranboo repeated the petting a few times, and after each one Tommy was giving off involuntary shivers and desperately trying to suppress the noises threatening to crawl out of his mouth.
He didn’t understand why everything felt so much more with this one. Not with the pleasant fog that had invaded his brain when they preened his left wing that was growing thicker with every soft pet.
Oh.
Wait.
Dream had always clipped Tommy’s right wing. Not both, just the right one. The masked man seemed to have enjoyed how off-balance it had made Tommy at first, until he’d grown so used to having his feathers clipped on that side that he compensated for it when he walked. Growing them back and having to get used to having that weight again made him unbalanced again for days.
So... he was having a stronger reaction on this side because it was the first time he was having them preened properly since his feathers grew back? That’s the only thing he could come up with, at least.
Oh fuck.
Tommy’s jaw, which had been unclenched and relaxed for the past few minutes, snapped shut with audible click when he felt Ranboo start on his scapulas. A shiver wracked his body, harder than before, and he slumped forward against the chair.
There was a quiet, nervous laugh from behind him. “You good?” Ranboo asked.
“Mmmm...” Tommy hummed in response, his ability to be coherent having left him once again. His eyelids slipped shut, shivering again as he tried to bury his head in his arms further.
“Do you need us to slow down?”
“Don’ you d’re,” he murmured sleepily, pushing his wing against their hands with a huff.
He heard Tubbo giggle as they made their way to his coverts. The last of his rational thought was entirely focused on keeping his feathers laying flat and not fluffing up in contentment. That’d just be embarrassing, even more so considering Ranboo knows what that means.
He was back on that cliff face, teetering on the edge of the sensation being too much but also not enough. He could no longer stop the rumbling chirps crawling out of his mouth, the constant strum of noise making him sound like a fledgling, but he didn’t care.
Don’t you dare fucking stop. Don’t you dare stop. Please.
Tommy clung to the back of the chair tightly, the wood digging into his arms and chest. It grounded him, helped him stay down when he was on the verge of floating away. He wanted to stay awake, but the rhythmic motions of his feathers being preened was threatening to lull his already exhausted mind to sleep. The chair pressing uncomfortably against him kept him semi-conscious, trilling contently despite wanting the sounds to cease.
They were getting closer to his secondaries now, and if his other wing had been any indication, he had no doubt that he was only going to get a stronger reaction once they started on those. Tommy took a deep breath and shut his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the rush that he was surely going to get.
However, instead of feeling his secondaries being maneuvered back in place, he felt the smaller feathers of his alula being fixed.
His eyes snapped open, brows furrowing in confusion as his still uncomfortable secondaries twitched. Tommy purposely twitched them again, glancing just over his shoulder at Ranboo to see if he noticed.
The enderman hybrid seemed unfazed, helping Tubbo with the alula and not even looking at the secondaries.
Tommy huffed, twitching them again. Nothing.
He turned back to face forward, a half hearted scowl on his face that was ruined by the fact he was still trilling softly. “Not fair,” he grumbled, putting his head in his arms once more.
Laughter from behind him, and he scowled further, but even he knew that he didn’t really mean it.
“What ever do you mean?” Tubbo hummed in response after a few moments, stifling his giggles.
“Not fair,” Tommy repeated, twitching his secondaries again to prove his point as they moved down to the rest of his coverts, just above his itching primaries.
“We’ll do them in a moment,” Ranboo promised. “We wouldn’t do your entire wing and then leave your secondaries and primaries the way they are. Well, at least I wouldn’t. I’m not sure about Tubbo. Ranboo had a playful lilt to his voice as he spoke, and Tommy could practically hear the smirk that must be adorning the enderman hybrid’s face.
“Oh piss off,” Tubbo had a similar tone, and Tommy could picture the grin that the brunette must be making.
Tommy could feel them inching their way to his secondaries again, and he took a deep breath to prepare for the wave that would surely crash down in a moment when...
They stopped. Just before they started on his secondaries their hands stilled and didn’t continue preening him.
Tommy let out an involuntary whine. “You’re just being mean now.”
They were so close. Tommy was so close to having the last of the discomfort from his misaligned feathers melt away. So what if he’d been on the edge of overwhelmed this whole time, and his secondaries and primaries might finally shove him over? They were so close to being done, he just wanted the itchiness and the pain to go away.
“I just...” Tubbo hummed uncertainly. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it. I know you handled it fine with your left, but you’ve been reacting so much stronger with this side. We don’t want you to get overwhelmed, especially not after earlier.”
“I’m fine. I won’t get overwhelmed. Just please,” Tommy was aware of the hint of pleading in his tone and he didn’t particularly care if they could hear it or not. Hell, his feathers were probably broadcasting to Ranboo that he was desperate for them to keep going and finish his wing.
“Alright,” Ranboo agreed, something odd in his tone that Tommy couldn’t quite place, but he knew that it meant that Ranboo understood.
He took another deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew was coming and burying his face impossibly further into his arms. Anticipation, the good kind instead of the nervous kind, flooded through his veins, but he hummed slightly to try and ease it regardless.
A soft gasp pulled itself from his lungs when he felt Ranboo pull at the first broken secondary, causing the enderman hybrid to pause. But when Tommy didn’t react further, he continued.
An embarrassingly loud chirp came out of his mouth the moment that the secondary Ranboo had grabbed was pulled, not even with the slightest prick of pain. He rumbled contently as they started straightening out his secondaries, strong shivers going through both his wings.
Fucking yes.
Tommy all but melted against the chair, thoughts running slow and sticky like honey. It was so hard to keep his feathers laying flat, from the soft rhythmic movements of his feathers being wiggled into the right spaces to the way time seemed to inch by at a snail’s pace.
There was no place he’d rather be than right now, in this moment, being preened by his friends. Maybe that was the bird brain talking, but he wasn’t sure and he frankly didn’t care either.
The tingling feeling was back, stronger than before and only becoming more intense. He wasn’t teetering on the cliff of being overwhelmed anymore, he was dangling over the gap, clutched at the edge desperately with both hands trying to haul himself up.
His fingers dug into the wood of the chair to the point it was painful, desperate to keep himself grounded in reality. What little was left of his conscious attention was focused on the pain flooding his nails and fingertips, forcing himself to focus on it so he didn’t either fall asleep or float away. Everything else, so about 80-90% of his brain, was latching onto the feeling of being preened and cooing gratefully.
Honestly, he was probably cooing too, but he was too out of it to realize, or care.
The closer they got to his primaries, the foggier his brain was getting, to the point he was barely even aware of the pain in his fingers anymore. He was barely aware of anything at this point. TNT could go off outside and Tommy probably wouldn’t even notice because of how deep in the fog he was.
He’d never really dealt with the bird brain getting this bad before, not to this degree.
Being almost completely out of it, he didn’t even noticed when he fell asleep, slumped forward on the chair, chirping and rumbling contently with his friends preening his feathers. The bird brain told him he was warm, safe, with his flock. The fear and nervousness had been smothered down by the bird brain, completely gone from his consciousness as he drifted off with a sleepy trill.
Tommy woke up slow, peeling the fogginess away from his brain at a snail’s pace. He was no longer sitting in a chair, rather, he was laying down on his stomach in a bed, with his wings spread and covering two large, warm things that were also pressed up against him.
Faintly, he recalled he was in Snowchester, not his base, which explained why the air was cold. What it did not explain, however, was what he was laying with and how he had gotten here. The last thing he remembered was Ranboo and Tubbo preening him after his freakout in the snow.
That was embarrassing.
Tommy cringed slightly at the thought, remembering how he’d curled up into a ball with his wings covering himself as if he was a fledgling who’d been spooked by a nightmare or thunderclap.
More embarrassment flooded through him as he remembered how much he’d chirped when they were preening him. What was wrong with him? They’re never going to let him live that down. Fuck.
Tommy peeled his eyes open, finding them still sticky with sleep. There is something wet on his shoulder, and he doesn’t know what it is because all he can see is the green and blue duvet and a mop of brown hair. There’s also something laying on his leg, which was fucking weird. It wasn’t heavy or anything, just weird.
Okay, that’s enough of this.
Tommy shifts his body weight, trying to gather his elbows underneath him despite being squished against from both sides. He refuses to admit that the contact is nice, because he’s barely able to move with whatever is crowing against him. The bird brain wasn’t even freaking out about being trapped or pinned, the traitor, just relatively silent other than a soft hum of contentment that it often did after preening.
He presses his face into his pillow in order to gain slightly more leverage and he raises his wings off of the two lumps on either side of him, trying to maneuver himself to at least prop his elbows underneath him.
A whine stops him, immediately making him still as his wings instinctively plop back down over the lumps. Tommy turned his head until his face was away from his pillow and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
Ah, right. Brown hair.
He glanced down and found that his movement had caused the duvet to slip down, revealing Tubbo pressed up against his side, seemingly asleep.
That meant the other lump was most likely Ranboo.
What has his life come to?
He did not like this. He did not like it all. He definitely did not close his eyes and curl his wings tighter around them. He definitely did not chirp smugly when he felt them press further against him when he did. He definitely did not do any of those things. He definitely did not like this at all.
He could definitely get used to it though.
The bird brain was humming louder, and Tommy’s throat vibrated as he echoed the noise subconsciously.
The last inklings from his freakout (had they been calling it a panic attack earlier? He’d have to ask if those were similar) had drifted away, smothered and stamped out by the preening and this as well.
This was nice. Not as nice as the preening had been, but still nice. Tommy was still probably high off the satiated instinct from the grooming, but regardless, he felt safe here. He was warm, and it would be cold if he got up. Plus, Ranboo and Tubbo were both really clingy and not letting him go, so Tommy was being very generous, in his opinion, by staying instead of shoving one of them off the bed so he could get up.
He was content to stay here for a while, though he would never admit it. He secretly hoped they wouldn’t wake up soon, that way he could stay just for a bit longer.
Tommy quite liked it here.
Maybe he should stay, if they let him.
Man, he hoped they would let him stay for a while.