Chapter Text
Tommy never wanted to manifest his hybrid traits the same way Wilbur had.
It had been three years since he’d woken up one morning to the sound of his brother screaming. Tommy hadn’t known what to do, watching Wilbur bleed out on the floor of their shared bedroom.
He hadn’t known what to do either, once it was finished and the social workers were telling them they couldn’t be placed in the same foster homes anymore.
Because Wilbur had manifested as something poisonous, a type of butterfly that could kill anyone upon a single touch. A pipevine swallowtail butterfly, with bright blue and orange wings that were beautiful but so easily could kill someone.
They had told Tommy that his brother was now unadoptable, because who in their right mind would ever adopt a foster child who could kill them so easily? What kind of sane person would want to have a teenager in their house who, if they ever got angry, could decide to kill them in cold blood?
So they’d forced them apart. They’d dragged them away, into separate cars, ignoring the way Tommy had been screaming his brother’s name and Wilbur had been crying silently.
It’s been three years.
Three years since Tommy saw his brother. Three years since he heard his laugh, saw his smile, or even got to talk to him.
Tommy knows that by now, Wilbur would’ve aged out of the system. His eighteenth birthday would’ve been four months ago. Tommy had wondered that day, how he was doing somewhere out there, undoubtedly alone.
The social workers said that Tommy could manifest any day now. Most people receive their hybrid traits before they’re sixteen and Tommy’s birthday was only one month away.
It terrified him, the thought of ending up like Wilbur. Becoming something terrifying, someone that nobody could ever trust, somebody that society said nobody should ever love.
Tommy didn’t want to become something like that. But he supposed he didn’t have much choice. Nobody ever got a choice.
But he couldn’t help but wish that he never manifested. And that, someday, he would get to see Wilbur again.
———
The sky outside was bright blue, filled with puffy white clouds. It was warm, nearing the peak of spring. Blurs of houses, businesses, and sidewalks full of people all passed by.
Tommy sighed, leaning further back into his seat. The scratchy material of his social worker’s car irritated his skin.
“I think you’ll like this house.” She said from the driver’s seat, sounding artificially excited. Like she actually cared where Tommy ended up. “You’ll have two older siblings, both adopted. So you won’t have to worry about fussing over any younger kids.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. She clearly didn’t understand that older siblings weren’t exactly any better than younger ones. Older siblings were usually stronger and if they got angry, which they almost always did, they could beat Tommy up a lot more easily.
“I don’t care.” Tommy grumbled, glaring at her.
Sure, she might not be one of the bitches who separated him from his brother, but that didn’t mean he liked her. She was always fake with her excitement for him and she had sent him to several terrible houses in the past few months.
His social worker sighed, dropping her false enthusiasm. “Well, you’ll care when we get there. I want you to at least try at this house, okay? They seemed very happy to have you staying with them.”
“What did you not understand about ‘I don’t care’?” Tommy snapped in response. “They can be happy about this all they want. It doesn’t mean that I’m happy.”
She sighed again but didn’t reply, continuing to focus on the road as they drove. Tommy wanted to feel bad but he honestly couldn’t. He still thought she was a bitch.
Eventually, the houses around them began to thin, getting into more of a suburban-countryside feel. With big backyards and the occasional patch of uncharted forest thrown in.
It was, admittedly, kind of pretty. Especially since most of the houses were those nice, big ones. The kind of houses that aren’t mansions but were definitely only a few small extensions away from being one. All ridiculously fancy and stylized.
Finally, they turned down a side street that was almost entirely consumed by forest. Tommy wouldn’t have thought this was a real, public road, if not for how confidently his social worker had turned down it.
The forest cleared a few minutes later and revealed a clearing with a house, a vegetable garden, and a small barn in it.
The barn was painted a classic red color and was small but sturdy, with a metal roof and large doors. The garden was surrounded by a wooden fence that had vines snaking up it in several places. The plants were clearly well cared for and flourishing in the warm spring air.
The most important bit though was the house. It was big, like all the other ones they’d seen around here. It was styled like a cottage, even though it was too big to actually be one.
Wooden beams framed its entryway which had a dark green door and several flower pots surrounding it. The bottom part of the walls were made of an assortment of brown-grey stones that as the walls went further up, transitioned back into being unimpressive wood panels that were painted dark brown. The roof was pointed in all kinds of places, sort of reminding Tommy of a castle, with the way it sloped, dived, and climbed.
“This is it. Get your stuff.” Tommy’s social worker said, parking her car in the gravel driveway.
Tommy did as he was told, only because he knew that delaying the inevitable would be completely useless. All he had was a single trash bag of stuff anyway, so he didn’t have much to gather.
They both got out of the car and Tommy followed her up the stairs to the front door. She rang the doorbell and as they waited, Tommy glared at the stupid bird themed doorknob. Birds were dumb and he didn’t know why a stupid rich person would waste money decorating their house with them.
After a few moments, the door swung open and Tommy’s train of thought was cut short.
He hesitantly looked up and made eye contact with the man who stood in the doorway.
The man seemed to be somewhere in his late thirties, with blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, icy blue eyes, and a kind smile. He was wearing a bulky green cloak, which looked slightly out of place and old-fashioned. Based on the shape of the fabric as it fell down his back, alongside the black feathers on his face and the talons on the ends of his fingers, the cloak was definitely covering wings. It was odd, but Tommy chose not to question it.
Tommy narrowed his eyes. The man seemed nice enough and relatively unassuming. But Tommy knew that first impressions weren’t always accurate in the foster system.
“Hello! You must be Tommy and Clara, correct?” The man greeted cheerily, only adding to Tommy’s bad mood.
“That’s us!” The social worker replied, matching the man’s chipper tone.
Tommy honestly hadn’t known his social worker’s name before this. He was certain he’d been told over and over, but he didn’t care to remember. She’d only been assigned to him for a few months and he was certain she’d be replaced soon. They never lasted long, especially not as Tommy got older and there was less hope of him being adopted.
“Great! Come inside then!” The man said, stepping to the side to let them into the house. “My name is Phil by the way.”
Tommy and his social worker followed Phil inside, towards the living room.
The living room had light, spring green walls and a wooden tv stand and bookshelf against the wall to the left. The tv stand’s shelves- which were underneath the actual tv itself- were full of trinkets and what looked like video game consoles and their controllers. The bookshelf was, of course, full of books. The books looked old and worn, like they’d been read a hundred times and would be read again soon.
The wall straight ahead of Tommy was covered in large windows, which presented a view of the large backyard and forest behind the house. Sunlight streamed into the room from them, lighting up the space without a need for any of the actual lights to be turned on.
To his right was a dark green couch, a wooden coffee table, two dark brown armchairs, and a few end tables scattered about, with the large, open-concept entrance to the kitchen right behind them.
Nervously, Tommy made his way over to one of the chairs, sitting down and trying his best not to show how quickly his anxiety was rising.
Just a moment ago, he’d been confidently insulting this house. But now, he couldn’t help but feel like saying even one word could end poorly.
His social worker and Phil both sat on opposite ends of the couch, beginning a conversation about the paperwork that she pulled out of her bag. Tommy tuned them out, his thoughts quickly spiraling away from the room.
New houses always made him anxious. Even if initially, he could thoroughly cover it up with bravado and frustration, his nervousness would still inevitably creep back in.
He didn’t know the rules here. He didn’t know what this house would be like. Would they be neglectful, forgetting meals, making him sleep on the floor, and ignoring his existence? Would they be abusive, hitting him when they were angry, expecting him to be perfect, and giving him too many chores?
Or, would they, for the first time in Tommy’s life, be kind?
He didn’t allow himself to hope much. It hurt, to be hoping for a family that would actually care about him, only to end up having the opposite outcome.
Hoping hurt worse after Wilbur was gone.
Eventually, the conversation must’ve finished because all of the sudden Tommy’s social worker was getting up from her seat.
“Be good.” She said, staring him down with a stern expression from the center of the living room. “As long as you behave, I think this will be a good home for you, Tommy.”
Tommy nodded, still too nervous to say anything. His leg bounced anxiously and he found that he couldn’t meet her eyes.
Phil didn’t say anything either but when Tommy risked a glance at him, the man looked at Tommy’s social worker like she’d said something wrong. Like there was something bad about what she’d said, even though Tommy had heard her say it a million times before.
With an empty enthusiastic goodbye, his social worker was walking out the front door, leaving Tommy and Phil alone in the living room.
Tommy forced himself to take a deep breath.
It was quiet for a minute after Tommy’s social worker left, before Phil suddenly spoke. “Well, since that’s all out of the way, do you want me to show you around?” He asked, his voice gentle, never wavering.
Tommy shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” He tried to be nonchalant but he was well aware of how obvious his anxiety was.
“Alright, let’s go then.” Phil replied, standing up with Tommy quickly following his lead.
Over the next few minutes, Tommy was shown the kitchen, which was horribly fancy. All of the appliances were clearly expensive and fairly new. The countertops were all made of nice, shiny stone, and even the dining table was expensive, made of ornately carved wood.
He was also shown Phil’s office, which was in a little room next to the kitchen. It was hardly notable, filled with bookshelves, a single desk with a computer sitting on top of it, and a few paintings hung on the wall. There was also a bathroom next door, but Tommy hardly paid any attention to it.
It was only when he was led upstairs, that Tommy began to take more note of what was going on. He’d definitely be staying somewhere up here, so it was best that he memorized the layout and where the best escape routes were, just in case this ended up being an abusive house.
The stairs were covered in soft beige carpet. The upstairs hallway had light grey walls which were occasionally covered by paints of birds, butterflies, and flowers. There were five doors, two on the left and three on the right. There was also a small window with dark green curtains at the end of the hall. Light filtered through the fabric, casting gentle shadows against the walls.
Phil motioned to the first door on their left. “That’s the bathroom, which you’ll probably be sharing.” He opened the door to reveal what was, in all honesty, a pretty basic bathroom. It looked nice, even though the counter surrounding the sink was absolutely covered in a variety of stuff.
“Nice, I don’t mind sharing.” Tommy replied simply. He was used to sharing, it was the norm at most places.
“That’s Techno’s room.” Phil continued with a smile, pointing to the first door on their right. The door was painted white and was completely plain. Tommy assumed ‘Techno’ must be one of his foster siblings. He hadn’t been paying much attention when his social worker had talked about them in the car.
When the door to the room was opened, Tommy glanced inside. It was neat and organized, everything seeming to have its place. Books were perfectly lined up on the bookshelves, papers were stacked tidily on a desk, and the bedsheets were nicely made. There was a fencing sword hung on the far wall, next to what looked like various awards and trophies on a shelf.
“Why does he have a fuckin’ sword?” Tommy blurted out without thinking. He immediately cursed himself internally. He hadn’t meant to break character and ask such a stupid question.
Phil didn’t seem bothered though. “He’s been in a few fencing competitions over the years. It’s actually an award, from when he won one of the largest tournaments in the state.” He responded.
“Oh.” Tommy said, nodding slowly. “I guess that makes sense.” He was surprised that Phil wasn’t upset over the sudden question.
Phil shut the door to Techno’s room and led Tommy forward, towards the middle of the hallway where the other doors were.
“My room is over there.” Phil stated, opening the second door to their left. Inside was what was essentially a basic parent room. A nice master bedroom with a large bed covered in green sheets, photos and paintings on the walls, and what looked to be a bathroom connected to it from the right side.
Tommy took a deep breath. This whole tour felt extremely awkward. And since Phil hadn’t cared about his slip up earlier, he decided to let his walls down a little bit, if only to make things less tense. “It’s awfully fucking big.”
To Tommy’s shock, Phil laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is a pretty big space for one person. But I feel like I still use it pretty well. I’ve got a lot of stuff, so it makes for good storage space.”
“Storage space? That’s all you use it for?” Tommy countered, forgetting momentarily about what he should be doing. Which was trying not to piss Phil off too much. “There’s so many better things you could be doing with all that room.”
Phil smiled and shook his head. “Techno tells me the same thing all the time. He said I should use the space for all my books instead of keeping them in the living room.”
Tommy nodded. “He’s right. You’ve got a fuck ton of books down there. You could turn your room into a library or some shit.”
“I’ll get right on it then.” Phil responded, although he was clearly joking. “Anyway, let’s finish up this tour, yeah? That way you can see your room and start unpacking.”
“Oh- uh yeah. That would be good.” Tommy said, abruptly thrown out of the temporary banter. Internally, he started panicking at the realization of what he’d been doing. Insulting Phil’s bedroom, cussing excessively, and just insulting Phil in general. He really hoped none of that came back to bite him later.
Phil turned to the second door to their right. It was painted white, but Tommy could barely see the paint with the amount of stickers and the massive, most likely stolen, ‘Road Work Ahead’ sign that covered it.
“This is Wilbur’s room.” Phil said, as if that were a perfectly normal name to say. As if it didn’t mean much of anything at all.
But Tommy was frozen.
There was no way Phil just said that, right? There was no way that one of Phil’s sons was actually named Wilbur. That would be ridiculous. Because there wasn’t any possibility that Tommy’s brother could be here.
Tommy shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as subtly as he could. Wilbur wasn’t here. He wouldn’t be here. It wouldn’t make any sense.
Phil, meanwhile, was opening the door to the bedroom. The first thing Tommy noticed about it was that it was messy, the exact opposite of Techno’s.
Papers were scattered across the floor around a desk that was covered in even more papers, journals, pens, and pencils. The closet was open and clothes were spilling out, some barely hanging into hangers positioned inside. Several guitars were sitting on stands in front of a window across from the door. Water bottles and dead plants lined the windowsill. The bed was unmade, yellow sheets spilling onto the floor.
“Does he ever clean his room?” Tommy asked, trying desperately to hide his shock and spiraling thoughts. This time, he hoped he was doing a good job. He couldn’t afford to have Phil ask any questions. He didn’t know if he could answer them.
Phil laughed. “Sometimes, when Techno tells him to. The only person Wilbur ever seems to want to listen to is his brother.”
Tommy jolted at hearing his brother’s name again. He repeated to himself, for what already felt like the hundredth time, that Wilbur couldn’t be here. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that one of Phil’s sons shared his name.
Even though some part of Tommy screamed that this bedroom felt exactly like the kind of space his brother would have. Wilbur was always messy, terrible at organizing, and was just generally horrible at keeping anything in its right place. He’d always been interested in playing guitar, despite how neither of them could ever afford an instrument.
Tommy took another deep breath, trying to steer his mind away from all the conclusions it so desperately wanted to draw. He couldn’t let himself continue down that route. Hoping was useless, as he’d learned so many times before.
“Moving on,” Phil began, closing the door and opening the third and final door on the right side of the hallway. It was completely plain and looked unused. He opened the door to reveal a plain, empty room. “This is your room.”
Their was a bed against the right wall, covered by grey sheets and pillows. The walls were painted a light brown and the carpet was the same shade of beige that it was in the hallway. There was a closet on the left wall, alongside a desk and chair. A fairly large window was in the center of the wall directly across from them, shining light into the empty room.
“I know there’s not much in here yet, but I was hoping I could take you shopping for decorations tomorrow?” Phil offered, entering the room and motioning for Tommy to follow.
He hesitantly did as he was asked to, loitering awkwardly beside the bed. Tommy’s nervousness was returning in full force and suddenly the confidence he’d had before was gone.
Tommy shrugged, dropping his trash bag of stuff- which he’d been carrying with him for most of the tour- onto the bed. “That’s fine.”
“Oh, also one last thing before I leave you to unpack.” Phil said, moving to stand beside the door. “You’ve noticed how my wings are covered up, yeah?”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well that’s because I’m a pitohui hybrid. They’re not a bird that’s from around here and… they’re poisonous.” Phil continued, sighing. “My feathers can cause some irritation if you touch them, so if you happen to come across one just leave it, alright? Somebody else will pick it up and throw it away.”
“Oh, okay.” Tommy replied, absolutely reeling internally. Because the only other poisonous hybrid he’d met was his own brother and this new information was making things add up in his head in a way they definitely weren’t supposed to.
Phil smiled reassuringly. “I’ll leave you for now. I’ll come get you when it’s time for dinner, alright? Techno is at work right now and Wilbur is at school, but they’ll both be home in around an hour, so you can meet them then.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.” Tommy responded, despite knowing he probably didn’t have a choice.
Phil nodded and shot him one last smile before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
Tommy sighed, feeling a bit like a deflated balloon as some of the earlier tension suddenly left. He felt completely depleted of energy.
This whole house had already been extremely confusing. Confusion wasn’t exactly unfamiliar, but the things that he was confused about definitely were.
Most of his confusion had to do with Wilbur, his brother, who definitely couldn’t be here. Because even though part of him hoped he was, Tommy knew that he wouldn’t be.
It just didn’t make sense even if a part of his mind screamed that maybe it would.
His internal conflict made his head spin and not for the first time, Tommy wished that his brother had never manifested. And they’d never been separated.
Not for the first time, Tommy hoped he never manifested either. Even though it was inevitable.
———
What must’ve been an hour later, Tommy heard the front door slam.
Two new voices were speaking somewhere below him as their footsteps headed deeper into the house. He could hear Phil responding to them, although the words were indecipherable.
Tommy layed in bed, listening to them as they went about their normal evening routine. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the texture of the white paint that covered it.
He could feel himself drifting, in a weird state between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes kept wanting to close, but they couldn’t stay that way for long, forced open by twisting thoughts and nervousness.
Another hour must’ve passed with him stuck half-asleep. Because all the sudden he blinked and the sun was further down in the sky and orange beams of sunset were reflecting off the door to his bedroom.
“Dinner’s ready!” Phil called up the stairs, pulling Tommy from his exhaustion with a harsh jolt.
Tommy hesitantly left his bed. It was comfortable and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be forced into another awkward conversation yet. But it seemed the universe, as usual, didn’t give a fuck about what he wanted.
He left his room, walked down the hallway, and headed down the stairs. He tried to be as quiet as possible. A lot of foster parents didn’t like it when he made noise.
Tommy reached the bottom of the stairs rather quickly and found himself back in the living room. It was the same as it had been earlier, although he noticed that a few of the video game controllers on the tv stand had been moved.
Taking yet another deep breath, Tommy turned the corner and entered the kitchen.
Immediately, he felt three pairs of eyes on him.
Phil was standing in front of the stove, looking about the same as he did earlier. He was smiling, seeming to be in a fairly good mood. Which was good news for Tommy, since it meant that dinner wouldn’t go too horribly.
Tommy turned his gaze to the other two people in the room.
The first one he spotted was a man, looking to be somewhere in his late teens or early twenties. He had long, pastel pink hair and brown eyes so dark they almost looked red. He had wings that were a soft tawny brown color and feathers around his face. Although, just like Phil, his wings were covered in a cloak, this one being dark red. Tommy assumed that like Phil, he must also be a poisonous bird.
The next person that Tommy spotted was much more notable. Because…
He wasn’t sure if they were real.
“Tommy?” Wilbur asked. His brother who was standing right there, next to the dining table, looking just as shocked as Tommy was certain he also was.
Wilbur looked different than he had when they got separated.
His hair was still brown, still long in the front and curly. But it wasn’t greasy or tangled anymore, it looked well cared for. His eyes were still the same light shade of autumn brown, but they didn’t look as tired or as troubled anymore. He wasn’t nearly as skinny anymore, no longer as obviously starved.
He was wearing a yellow sweater, one that looked warm and was clearly a size too big. His pants were long and dark grey. His hands were covered by black gloves and he had round glasses, even though Tommy knew they could never afford vision tests before. And no foster parents ever cared about how much Wilbur struggled to see.
There were thin butterfly wings sticking out of his sweater, and although they were mostly covered up by a long brown jacket that he wore over his clothes, Tommy knew that they were a sparkling shade of turquoise blue and sunset orange underneath. There was a beanie on Wilbur’s head and Tommy also knew that there were soft, black antennas under it, kept hidden from sight.
It was odd. Because even though this was still Tommy’s brother, he had clearly changed in the few years they’d been separated. He was different. But not in a bad way. He seemed happier.
“Wilbur?” Tommy replied, still not believing what he was seeing.
There was a pause. Tommy could feel Phil and the other person, who he assumed must be Techno, staring at them.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Wilbur breathed. “Hi, Tommy.”
Tommy’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say but he forced himself to speak anyway. “Hi, Wilbur. It’s uh… it’s been a long time hasn’t it?” He offered a half shrug and a tiny smile, which were the only things he could manage through his shock.
“Yeah it has.” Wilbur laughed, although it sounded strained.
Tommy blinked and suddenly there were tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He sniffled and tried to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. But all he managed to do was make himself cry more.
He heard footsteps heading his way and Tommy looked up. Suddenly, Wilbur was standing directly in front of him. One of his gloved hands was outstretched between them.
“Do you trust me?” Wilbur asked, uncertainty glittering in gaze.
Tommy met his brother’s eyes steadily, despite how many emotions were swirling around his head. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
Then, before he could say another word, Wilbur had pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. The kind that their social workers had said he’d never be able to do again after he manifested.
But, Tommy realized that he could, even if it wasn’t the same. Wilbur was covered in enough layers that there was no way he could poison Tommy, even if everyone else would be terrified and claim otherwise.
Tommy wasn’t scared though. He didn’t think he ever could be.
Afterall, he finally had his brother. In the most unexpected way possible.
For a moment, he opened his eyes, having not even noticed when he shut them. He found himself meeting Phil’s gaze from over Wilbur’s shoulder.
Phil smiled and somehow, Tommy knew that he planned this.
Tommy smiled back, even though he didn’t quite understand why Phil would do this.
But maybe, Tommy didn’t have to understand. As long as he let himself enjoy what he had now and what he’d hopefully have forever.
Sighing, he pushed aside his fears of the future. He let himself live in this moment as best as he could.