Chapter Text
His two-legged form is uncoordinated and clumsy; gangly and loud, unsightly in an ugly way. His old catchers did not like to look at his human face when they were cruel, it made them far more uncomfortable when he’d whimper or cry.
Tommy never really understood why— never got how the two sides could be viewed so differently than one another.
They were still him, under the scales or the skin. Same eyes, same scars, same monster.
When the hatchling wakes up, it’s abundantly clear that although both forms are him, he’s much better at being a dragon than he is at being a boy.
Technoblade is still sleeping, holding him close and tucked around him like he’s being hidden away. They’re at the far side of the nest, the one past the large pile of soft things that prevents others from seeing them— it’s where they sleep when his protector is in this form.
The hatchling is grateful for it now, he’s not sure if he wants the witch or Phil to meet him like this, yet. He’s not sure if they’d appreciate the change.
His hands are still a bit fuzzy, everything’s more sensitive in this form. Softer or rougher, his hands are better at feeling things but his ears are worse at hearing. His eyes stay the same but his wings get more twitchy, flicking every so often with his tail.
It’s hard to balance, even sitting up, everything’s off.
It’s very different, in this form. Everything too much but not enough, walking’s weird, and even just trying to get his arms to move where he wants is a challenge. He thinks they’re longer than they were before.
They have color in them now, as well. The hatchling doesn’t look so ghastly pale, anymore— or, at least, the skin that he can see isn’t.
He sits there, resting against the big dragon’s chest, and staring at his hands.
His scars are different, Tommy notices.
They’re a deep red, like someone stained him with blood. The older ones are a pale pink but stick out against him a lot harsher than they did in his other form.
He wonders if they’ll ever fade.
Technoblade shifts in his sleep, snuffling as he pulls the baby dragon closer to him. A giggle leaves the hatchling’s lips as the other cuddles him, happy that he can finally wrap his arms around him and hug back.
“Hm?” The big dragon hums sleepily.
Tommy presses closer, face into his neck and butting his small horns into the other’s cheek.
“S’everthin’ okay?” His protector asks, voice husky from sleep. “Runt?”
“Mhm,” he hums, throat scratchy from misuse. Good-yes-yes.
It feels different, talking Drakonic in this form than the other. Strange.
Technoblade stretches out his legs slightly, hand coming up to brace the little dragon so he doesn’t get jostled too much— stilling when his hands brush against his wings.
Tommy looks up, blue to red, and he gives the other a slow blink.
The big dragon blinks back and moves his hand a bit over, eyes moving up past the little dragon’s shoulders. His usually calm face twists up slightly like he’s seen something sad.
Tommy doesn’t think there’s anything sad about his wings.
They’re really strong, all things considered. He can fly real high with them!
“Hello,” Techno says, looking back down at him when he squeaks. His gaze softens, a small smile meeting his lips. “It’s nice to see you, runt. I thought I was dreamin’ about you shiftin’.”
That’s… a bit silly.
The baby dragon giggles again and brings a hand up to lightly press it against the other’s jaw, pushing for a couple seconds before bringing it back to himself.
His protector chuckles and his smile grows wider, eyes wrinkling up at the edges.
Techno brings a hand up, brushing through the little dragon’s hair. Sitting up, he takes the hatchling up with him, so Tommy wiggles away slightly to sit cross legged by the other’s side.
He’s watched the whole time but, being used to that, the hatchling just settles down.
Even in this form, his protector is a giant.
“Runt,” he says. The baby dragon looks over, tilting his head curiously at the sheepish grin. “Since there’s no good way t’introduce ourselves in the other form, we use titles ‘n all that, I’ve taken to callin’ you Theseus— which I know is not your name, so uh… I’m Technoblade.”
Theseus? The hatchling pauses, staring up at the other with wide eyes. Then he laughs loudly, hands coming up to stop the sound but it’s so funny for absolutely no reason.
He loves his protector, utterly and honestly, and they haven’t even exchanged names!
That’s so stupid.
It gets to the point where it’s hard to breathe and he’s hunched over, cheek pillowed onto the other’s thigh, staring up at him through teary eyes and a large grin.
He takes a deep breath, giggles, and reaches up to where the big dragon’s hand is still outstretched in front of him. Techno had been chuckling a bit too and his red eyes were gleaming with amusement.
“Te… Techno,” Tommy stutters, not used to speaking, but moves their hands side to side. He thinks that's how you shake hands. “M’Tom. Tommy.”
Their movement switches, now moving up and down. Strange.
“Tommy,” Technoblade lowers his head to rest their foreheads together. He pulls back after a moment, moving their hands to his knee. “You’re mine, yes? My treasure.”
His? The baby dragon is his?
His runt, his hatchling? His, fully, completely?
His treasure?
“Yes, yours, I’m— m’yours.” The hatchling flushes and looks away, hiding his face against the other's pants as he gives a slow nod. He doesn’t know why it feels shameful to be wanted. “And… and you’re mine? Or no?” Curious-cautious-uncertainty.
Can he be the other’s without the other being his?
“Of course, we are each other’s,” Technoblade rests his heated palm against the back of his neck, making the little dragon melt against him. Mine-mine-mine, he rumbles. “You are mine and I am yours.”
Tommy nods and squeezes the hand holding his. It squeezes back.
After a couple moments of them sitting together, the big dragon sighs and stretches again. Hoisting Tommy to his feet, it’s only a second before he’s standing too and picking up the hatchling again.
“We,” he says, “are goin’ to give you a bath, new clothes, and then we gotta find somethin’ to eat before Phil scolds me for breakin’ the routine. How does that sound?”
The baby dragon gives him a thumbs up— something Phil does a lot.
Techno pauses before shaking his head to himself and starts to carry him out of the nest.
It’s weird getting carried like this. He’s resting on the big dragon’s hip, hands fisted into his shirt but they don’t provide much support. He has no good way of resting his wings to hook onto his shoulders or a way to grab with his claws without ruining something; he’s completely reliant on the other to make sure he doesn’t fall.
His nose wrinkles as they leave the nest, staring balefully at the wooden floor.
It’s always so cold in the morning and he knows it’d be much worse against his skin than it is against his scales.
They go a different way than they usually do— towards the big bathroom instead of the one with the large sink they usually use to give him a bath. It’s large and very green, tiled floors and shiny walls.
The bath looks like a massive hole in the ground, like a pond that the hatchling used to pick wildberries by, it’d probably be big enough for three— no, four!— Technoblades to fit inside of it.
Maybe a quarter of a Technoblade when he’s on four legs instead of two.
A leg and his tail, or something. Definitely not his wings, though, they would be far too big for the pond-bath thing.
The big dragon doesn’t bother locking the door before walking over to the bath, which makes him a bit nervous, but Tommy doesn’t say anything.
He trusts Wilbur and the phoenix, for the most part.
He just… doesn’t trust them how he trusts his protector.
“Alright, first goal: warm water.” Techno nods to himself, holding him closer as he leans over to some odd rocks on the wall. By now, Tommy knows that when they get turned, water starts to come out from the wall, but no one’s explained what they were and he never had a way to ask.
“Name?” Tommy reaches out and pats it, making the big dragon pause.
“The… bath?” He guesses. Shaking his head, the weird rocks get patted again. “Oh, uh— they’re just called shower handles.” He points to the awkward part of the wall where water is going to come out of. “That’s the faucet, sinks have ‘em too.”
The baby dragon nods and brings his hand back to himself, letting Technoblade turn them this time to make water rush out of the ‘faucet’. It’s a bit loud and as soon as it starts from one, it goes around the bath quickly from the others.
Steam fills the air, thick against the chill the room has before.
There’s no way it got warm that quick. Even in the summer, ponds would take forever to get warm from the sun and the sun isn’t even in the room!
“The bath has its own magic,” Techno says, noticing his confusion. “Phil and I take ungodly hot showers, as Wil would say, so we had to adjust it to everyone’s preferences. The water never runs out ‘n it doesn’t get cold.”
Tommy nods, reaching out with his energy to feel around the bath’s stone and tile surface. The wards there are different, weaker than the ones in the walls. Still fairly strong but not a spell that needs to be renewed often.
It’s stained with Wilbur’s magic and his magic alone, no help from the familiars.
The witch was really powerful. Very few, he knew, could do even the most basic of spells without a partner.
That’s why his old catchers had him.
“I am going to out you down, okay?” Technoblade warns, pausing at the unhappy snuffle he gets in return. “Alright, listen— I need t’get you a towel and some clothes that’ll actually fit you. Yer tinier than we expected, runt. I’ll only be gone a minute at most and be comin’ right back.”
Tommy hesitates, he doesn’t want to be left alone in a large room, but nods.
The big dragon sighs and gently places him on his own feet; the floor in here isn’t cold. He gets a pat on the head, his cheek cupped, and a forehead kiss that makes him smile.
Then Techno’s going out of the room, long strides graceful but quick.
Tommy churrs sadly to himself and sits himself on the ground, waiting.
His wings fold behind him, tail lashing back and forth. He stretches his fingers apart and then back together, trying to get used to them.
Hands are funky, he thinks he likes his paws better.
Not even five seconds later, he hears footsteps in the hall, towards the door, a knock— it opens, carrying the heat out of it just a bit.
“Techno?” Wilbur peeks his head inside, glasses fogging from the steam and hair falling in front of his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t see anything, why do you always take baths with so much hot water? It can’t be good for your skin.” There’s a pause. Tommy doesn’t dare to speak. “Oh! Right. I had a spell I can’t quite get correctly. Y’know the one I have for the shop’s beads, to make them move out of people’s way— ?”
The witch takes off his glasses as he enters the room full, squinting around as he hooks them onto his shirt. His gaze locks onto the empty tub and his face goes all confused.
“Tech?” He calls, looking around. “Where— oh.”
Tommy sees the exact moment the witch spots him.
Wilbur’s eyes go all wide, his mouth drops open, and he takes a half step back in surprise. Then he looks around again before settling back onto the little dragon’s frame, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He looks really stupid like that.
Tommy waves.
“What the fuck.” Wil breathes out heavily. He still waves back, though. “Alright, this is fine. Just a random child in my… my— you have wings.”
The hatchling looks behind him at his own wings, flexing one. He turns back and nods, he does have wings. They are still very much attached.
Technoblade doesn’t carry them over to this form, which he’s confused about, so it makes sense that Wilbur would be confused about it, too.
“And a tail,” Wilbur says, voice high pitched. He’s still gaping. “And horns.”
The witch looks ready to, honestly, cry.
It’s very unsettling.
Tommy doesn’t know what to do. What did Techno do when he saw him in the morning? Oh. Oh! They still don’t know each other's names!
“Wil!” The little dragon blurts, pointing at the witch, who visibly startles. He then points to himself. “Tom-my, To-mmy, Tommy!”
“Your, your name is Tommy?” Wilbur says, eyes still all wide and goofy. “That’s uh, fuck, shit, wait, I can’t swear— I’m bad at this. Tommy, that’s a nice name, sunshine. You’re, just to be sure I’m not going crazy, you’re Techno’s runt, yeah?”
The hatchling beams, nodding.
He is Techno’s. Techno’s his.
“Oh... kay?” the witch squints at him again. “Where is he?”
Tommy shrugs.
He doesn’t know where they keep the towels, or the clothes. Maybe they're in the same spot?
“Right.” He nods, pursing his lips. “And he left you by yourself?”
“I was gone for less than a minute, stop doubtin’ me.” A deep voice rumbles from the doorway and oh!— there Techno is, holding stuff in his hands, giving a scowl to his witch. “Only forty-six seconds and yet, you still manage to have bad timin’.”
“I just wanted to ask you a question!” Wilbur defends himself. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, Tommy likes me. He doesn’t mind.” He waves towards the little dragon.
Both sets of eyes turn to him.
The hatchling gives both of them a thumbs up, Technoblade snorts.
“Well,” Wilbur says, staring at him still. Tommy can’t tell if he’s okay with the shift or not. “At least Phil will be happy he picked up that instead of a different hand gesture.”
And, because he’s proud of himself for knowing what the witch is talking about, Tommy lifts his hand higher, puts down his thumb, and raises his middle finger.
The witch gives a startled laugh as his protector sighs, coming over to him and scooping the little dragon up. He easily settles against the other’s chest, hands coming down to clutch onto the shirt below him.
“Don’t do that unless you’re tryin’ to offend someone, runt,” Techno says. “Or if that person is Wil, since he knows you don’t mean it and he’ll deserve it.”
The baby dragon laughs at the witch’s offended ‘hey’ and lays his head on Technoblade’s shoulder.
Wilbur’s expression slowly goes back to normal as he begins a conversation with the big dragon, eyes a bit more squinty without his glasses but shoulders relaxing and hands gesturing more as his posture loosens.
He’s alright with seeing him like this, without the scales.
There’s nothing upset in the way he moves or talks.
“Alright,” Technoblade eventually says, setting the clothes and towels down onto a counter next to the pond-bath, holding the baby dragon closer to his chest with the other hand. “Gotta get him in the bath, so get out and lock the door after you.”
“Yeah, yeah, you overprotective softie,” the witch grin widens at the half-assed glare the big dragon throws his way. “I’m leaving.”
As he walks away, the hatchling waves, offering a small smile and a tail flick.
Wilbur pauses at the doorway, steam slightly blurring his frame.
“Tommy?” He says, the little dragon looks up— brown to blue. “I’m glad that you’re here and… that you felt comfortable enough around us to shift. You’re always welcome here, in our home, in this form or not.”
Tommy’s eyes widened and so did his smile— he made a grateful little growl towards the witch. Wil’s not angry. He’s okay with Tommy like this.
Scales or skin, he’s welcome here.
Wilbur dunks his head, his own smile on his lips and a light pink to his cheeks as he slinks out of the door, the lock clicking behind him as it shuts with a soft thunk.
“See, treasure?” Technoblade says, a low chuff in his throat as he nuzzles his nose into the little dragon’s hair. The hatchling gives a curious snort and turns to nuzzle the other back. “We all want you here, four legs or two. Besides, I’d fight anyone who has a problem with you and Technoblade never loses.”
Tommy purred, warm and content, pleased with the words.
He didn’t doubt that his protector never lost a fight.
Taking a bath in his human form is weird.
The foam of soap clings instead of sliding off and his hands are softer, smoother, the skin wrinkling at his fingertips and feet. Shampoo stings his eyes and makes his hair darker, the conditioner sticking to the strands even after he rinsed it out with water multiple times.
The dirt streaks instead of clumps, it needs to be scrubbed off instead of wiped. His wings are a lot harder to wash in this form, his neck doesn’t turn as far as it can as a dragon.
Hair tangled, soap slips, eyes sting— being a human sucks, sometimes.
Technoblade keeps him focused, though, sitting on the edge of the tub and reading a book. He scrubs between the little dragon’s wings and gets the suds out of his hair when Tommy’s clumsy hands fail to do so.
He’s there, mostly, to make sure that the hatchling doesn’t hurt himself.
Apparently, a lot of children can accidentally drown. Water in their lungs is deadly but he’s been swimming before— thrown into ponds or shallow pools. He’s caught fish, before, when salmon came through a small river last summer.
Despite this, his protector stays. Tommy’s grateful for the company.
After he’s all clean, and smelling greatly like the soap the big dragon uses, the baby dragon watches as the water is drained. The steam leaves with it, leaving damp stone and thick air in its wake.
He climbs out of the pond-bath once there’s no water left and is immediately wrapped up into a fuzzy towel.
It’s soft and was given to him, so even once the hatchling’s dry, the big dragon has to bribe him with equally soft— but not as fuzzy— clothes for the little one to wear before he agrees to let go of the towel.
Underwear is weird. Even when he used to stay more boy than monster, Tommy didn’t see the point in having clothes under clothes.
But they’re soft and the pants he pulls over them are too.
They’re too big, though, and Technoblade has to bundle it up around the waist and tie it so they stay up. There’s a hole in the back for his tail and the back of his shirt’s bare to let his wings out.
His sleeves are long as well but he refuses to get them rolled up, not wanting them fixed.
He likes the feeling of them over his hands, it's like a blanket he gets to wear.
The clothes are thick and keep the heat in but his protector still scoops him onto his lap to make sure he’s warm as a different towel is grabbed to dry his hair.
Being mindful of his horns, Techno moves it through his curls until they’re no longer dripping, brushing them out of his face. Tommy opens his eyes, peeking up at the big dragon past the towel’s edge.
An eyebrow gets raised at him, so he tries to do it back, but all he succeeds in is accidentally crossing his eyes. Technoblade laughs and drops a kiss to his forehead, smoothing down a wrinkle with his thumb when the hatchling frowns up at him.
“C’mon, runt,” his protector says, setting the towel to the side. “Let’s get some food into ya.”
Tommy makes a face as he realizes he’s going to have to use silverware.
That seems complicated and he’s convinced that the knives don’t belong in the kitchen.
“What?” The familiar says, seeing his expression. “What’s the face for?”
Tommy shrugs. He’ll figure out how to hold a spoon, it can't be that difficult.
Or he’ll just eat apples, those don’t need spoons. Or forks.
The big dragon stares at him for a moment before looking away, eyes lifting to the door as he picks Tommy up and places the baby on his feet. He stands too and offers a hand, which is taken in a light grip. Technoblade grabs his book and the socks he had for the hatchling.
They make their way to the door and he steps back slightly as it opens, cool air smacking him in the face.
“You cold?” His protector asks. Tommy looks up at him, tilting his head all the way back. He shrugs. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
The little dragon points to the socks.
“You want to put ‘em on before we go out?” Techno guesses. He nods. “Alright, c’mere.” Tommy drifts closer, easily letting himself get moved to sit on the other’s thigh while the big dragon crouches to show him how to put them on— unlike the pants and shirt, socks are really easy.
He never wore socks before.
After they’re on and he’s done the experimental toe wiggle and kicks, he’s set on his feet. His protector holds his hand again, having to hunch over kinda far to do it, and then they’re walking to the kitchen.
It feels a lot farther to walk than it feels to be carried but at least now the floor isn’t so cold.
Technoblade holds the door open for him so Tommy gives him a thankful headbutt. Spotting Wilbur hunched over the table as he eats something from a bowl, brown eyes pinned onto an object in front of him, the baby dragon points at him.
Silently, the familiar walks them over to the witch.
The hatchling lets go of his hand and tugs at the witch’s pants, easily startling him and getting his attention in one go.
“Oh sh— crap, you scared me,” he breathes, moving back in his chair as he sets his spoon down. Tommy shuffles closer, not bothering to reply as he clambers up Wilbur's chair and sits down in the witch’s lap. He wraps his arms around him, head over his heart. “Oh.”
He’s hugged back, under his wings but over the base of his tail, tight but not restrictive.
“Oh wow,” Wilbur says, sounding awed. “I can see it now, Tech, why you’re such a softie.”
Technoblade doesn’t dignify that with a response. He pats Tommy on the head and rumbles something soft at him before pulling away to make them food.
Tommy’s alone again when Phil comes home from running errands.
Technoblade went off to clean the kitchen and Wilbur’s closing down the shop even though it hasn’t technically been open all day. He’s sitting in the nest, fiddling with long and thin pieces of metal that his protector said he could make into anything.
Phil comes in and he stills, not yet spotted by the phoenix carrying a couple books.
The other blond hums as he walks over to one of the shelves and starts filing the books away, wings lax and smooth behind him, little sparks flickering off of the feathers.
The hatchling is a bit nervous but, shouldered with the confidence that Wilbur’s and his protector’s actions created, he’s not really scared. Besides, he’s in the nest. Nothing can hurt him in the nest.
He hesitates, takes a deep breath. “Phil?”
The phoenix jumps, wings flaring out on either side of him, one smacking the shelf as he whirls around. The little dragon winces in sync with the familiar, knowing how that had to hurt.
Blazing blue eyes are wide and pinned onto him, mouth shaped into an ‘o’.
“Phil?” Tommy sits up, wings twitching behind him as his tail wraps tight around his own waist. He raises a shaky hand, pointing. “Phil?”
“That’s me,” Phil says, voice all scratchy and tight. “You’re…”
“Tommy.” He twists the metal in his hands. “M’Techno’s.”
“You’re his little dragon,” the phoenix breathes out, wings folding in on either side of him, though his eyes don’t leave the small boy’s frame. “You shifted.”
The hatchling nods, a whine crawling up his throat.
“Oh, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” he rushes to apologize as he sees Tommy’s wobbling lip. “It’s okay, I’m not angry. Just— surprised. I’m not mad, mate. You’re safe with me, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Tommy rushes to nod, fingers abandoning the metal to grip onto a pillow instead.
Words are— difficult. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Hey, little one.” Phil croons softly. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Registering the burn of his lungs, the little dragon takes a gasping breath in, curling around the pillow. He squishes his face into the fabric, wings coming up to wrap around his frame, tail tightening in its place.
He breathes in pace with the phoenix until his heart calms down.
Without the blood rushing through his ears and the curl of panic in his chest that likes to twist things up, he can smell the phoenix’s scent— worried, relieved. No anger.
Peeking out of his self-made hidey hole, Tommy finds himself blinking slowly at Phil who’s at the edge of the nest and giving him a patient smile.
“You with me, sweetheart?” He gives the hatchling a slow blink back.
Tommy snuffles a yes, extending a hand over the edge of the nest.
Moving slowly, the phoenix leans closer and holds onto it, warm fingers slightly calloused as they brush over his knuckles.
“You’re doing great, little one,” Phil says softly. “Are you feeling better?”
The little dragon gives him a thumbs up with his free hand.
The phoenix laughs, pulling back a bit in surprise. His hand tightens softly before relaxing, not enough to hurt but just enough to send a flare of heat down his arm.
The contact still does not hurt, it’s as nice as it’s always been.
Tommy loosens his grip on the pillow, edging his wings back as he leans towards the older.
“Phil?” He says again.
The phoenix’s eyes light up. “Yes?”
The hatchling sticks out his hand, not letting go of the one he’s already holding.
Phil laughs softly and reaches out, clasping their palms together, fingers overlapping. He happily shakes their hands together, up and down like Techno had done so to him earlier.
“Tommy,” the little one says once their hands drop.
“Tommy? Is that your name?” He asks. The hatchling nods and gets a bright smile in return. “I’m glad to know, calling you ‘dragon’ in my head was getting a little weird.”
The baby dragon laughs, palms coming down to squeeze Phil’s hand, merrily kicking his feet against the blankets. He lets himself tumble forward, clumsily falling into the hug that the phoenix is quick to wrap him up into.
A hand gently combs through his hair, a hum following the action.
Tommy huddles closer, a happy purr in his chest.
There’s no anger here, either, there’s just a solid acceptance and a welcoming embrace.
It’s nice to be wanted, no matter if he’s wearing his scales or his skin.
Phil and Technoblade are tending to the garden in front of the shop, the phoenix humming as he lets his wings spread slightly to catch onto the sunlight as his protector sits on his knees, elbow-deep into dirt.
Wilbur’s sitting behind the little dragon, softly singing under his breath in tune to his familiar’s humming, hand threading through Tommy’s golden curls.
There’s no magic being used, no spell or wards etched into any of the coven’s skin.
“Wil?” The hatchling says, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?” The witch turns to him, warm brown eyes squinting open. “What’s up?”
“Question,” he says, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
“Answer.” The other playfully replies, nudging their heads together.
“Touch… there’s no hurt,” Tommy awkwardly waves his hands around for a second before resting them over one of the witch’s. “See? No hurt. Why?”
Wilbur stares at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape. “You’re— asking why touch doesn’t hurt?”
“S’meant to,” he explains.
Just like magic’s meant to.
“No, it’s not.” Something angry, then, flashes through those brown eyes. Tommy shrinks back but doesn’t run away. Anger’s terrifying but he’s safe here. “It’s never supposed to hurt, no matter what. Hurting someone when you touch them is a choice and whoever hurt you, sunshine, chose wrong.”
He pulls back slightly, looking up at the witch incredulously.
It feels like everything’s just shifted slightly, it’s off.
Touch isn’t supposed to hurt?
“Oh,” the hatchling whispers, turning back to look at the two familiars.
Something aching and sad twists up into his chest. It’s cold, achy.
He wraps his arms around his knees, pulling them close as he rests his back against the witch. An arm gets lightly placed around his shoulders. No pain comes with it.
Wilbur says nothing more and neither does he.
Touch isn’t supposed to hurt but for a long, long time, it did.
Tommy didn’t deserve that.
“You up for talkin’?” Techno asks, hoisting the little dragon off of the kitchen counter and onto his hip, bouncing him lightly to make him laugh. “Or do you just want to go play?”
“Hm,” he hums, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck. “Both.”
His protector has been very patient with him, no matter how many times he freaks out or shifts back into his dragon to hide mid conversation, he never gets angry. He just waits, lets Tommy explain anyway he needs to, and moves on.
Talking is still difficult, making any noise past a whisper makes him really antsy.
Everything else that comes with being in his human form is a bit easier.
He’s able to get dressed by himself, able to brush his teeth without getting the foam everywhere, and he can use silverware without making a mess.
He still thinks hands are weird, though.
“Alright,” Techno bounces him on his hip. “What are we talkin’ about, then?”
That’s another thing they’re doing— having him make decisions. Something about getting him to be ‘independent’ and ‘comfortable sharing his wants’.
Tommy wrinkles his nose, thinking. “Rocks?”
“Sure,” the big dragon nods, carrying him towards their destination. “What’s your favorite type of rock ‘n why?”
Purely because the little dragon knows it will unnerve his protector, he looks him dead in the eye, blue to red, and says: “Crunchy.”
Technoblade pauses.
Turns to him.
Takes a deep breath.
“Crunchy,” he slowly repeats, eyes closing with a sigh. “You sayin’ that ‘cause it worried me when Wil said he ate sand?”
The hatchling giggles and kicks his legs, laughing louder when Technoblade hoists him up to his chest— lifting him in the air before catching him again.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, you crazy child.”
“No!” The hatchling protested, still smiling all goofy. He kicks his legs again, shrieking as the big dragon tickles him, before falling still. “No child.”
“Runt,” Techno says, giving him a doubtful look that he doesn’t appreciate. “You are very much a child. My child, no?”
Tommy only blinks at him.
He doesn’t like it when his age is pointed out. Being young has never been a good thing. It has only served to work against him, to play into his pain.
But now, here, with someone to take care of him…
“Yours?” The baby dragon tilts his head.
“Yes,” his protector nods. “My child.”
“Oh,” Tommy says. “Then— dad? You’re my dad?”
He is fairly confident that’s how it works, to non-dragons, at least.
The moment he was accepted as the hatchling’s protector, Techno was already in charge of him. He’d be a part of the big dragon’s clutch, if there had been any more hatchlings.
Now, though, he’s the only one in the clutch.
Technoblade’s only runt— his only kid.
And well, child is the witch (and human) word for hatchlings. Dad is the human word for protector, he thinks. But then there’s also moms or grand-things. He’s not sure.
“Yes— yeah,” Technoblade clears his throat, hugging him close as he chuffs and growls. Safe-safe-safe, love, mine-mine. “That would make me your dad, treasure. Are you okay with that?”
Safe-loved-yours, the little dragon purrs back, wiggling to be able to hug around his protector’s neck, wings over his shoulders. “Mhm! Dad!”
The smile on his face makes his cheeks ache by the time they get outside and to the grass fields. The warmth in his chest rivals the sunlight and the hatchling can’t stop giggling everytime he looks over at the familiar.
His dad smiles back at him, all fondness and in that small, shy way he does.
Wilbur thinks they look ridiculous when the witch joins them playing out in the field, but Tommy doesn’t care.
This is his home, his hoard.
What more could he need?
Technoblade finds his runt’s abusers six hours away from their home in a broken-down town half hidden into a mountain side.
The ancient dragon burns it to the ground without hesitation— the witches try to stop him and barely get out with their lives. They have power, yes, but they are not powerful enough to even have hopes of stopping him.
They should’ve let themselves burn, they should have known being alive means nothing when survival only entails pain.
He’s no witch. He cannot use spells or create wards.
But his magic is raw and as angry as he is.
By the time he is done with them, they don’t remember who they are.
By the time he has released them to Death’s hands, he smells of iron and stings of his magic wrap around him in threads.
There is nothing left of them when he flies back home.
The only thing that remains is a burnt husk of a town and charred skeletons.
Phil tilts his head when he walks in, blue eyes blazing as the ancient dragon nods. He grins, sharp and deadly, and watches Techno wash the blood off.
Later, Wilbur will laugh so hard he cries after hearing of their deaths.
He’s a witch but he has no sympathy for those of his kind who choose cruelty, who choose power over compassion.
Technoblade, once he’s fully clean, curls around his runt and falls asleep— a rumble in his chest that doesn’t fade for days. He takes no satisfaction in gore or inflicting pain but to destroy those that hurt his child…
Well, that’s a joy he won’t ever forget.
It’s a month later when Wil comes to him, nervous and pacing in front of the nest.
Tommy watches him as he speaks, head tilted and tail swaying behind him in a mixture of amusement and anxiousness.
Finally, the witch turns to him, face all scrunched up weird.
“Look,” he says, hand running through dark curls. “I know you don’t have a good history with magic, or uh, witches but— no, not but, I’m not ignoring that. Shit, um…”
The hatchling shifts, two legs just a bit wobbly as he makes his way over to Wilbur, who’s still in his spot and was just watching him with wide, brown eyes.
He hugs him, arms, wings, tail and all, a small reassuring squeak leaving his jaws.
“You’re good.” He pats the witch’s back. “Breathe.”
“Breathing,” Wilbur mutters in reply, a heavy inhale expanding his chest as he hunches over to hug the little dragon back, being mindful of his wings. “You’re good too, Tommy, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Making a curious noise in the back of his throat, the hatchling pulls back to be able to see the other face to face.
“I wanted this to go smoother,” Wil avoids his eyes but his hands pull the little dragon closer. His scent was strange— hopeful, worried, a bit of panic in the mix. He didn’t know what to make of it. “I actually wanted Phil or Techno to be the one to ask but they refused, saying I had to be the one to do it because well… it’s, uh, tradition. You know that as the witch, I am technically the leader of the coven? I’m at the top of the hierarchy. In a traditional way only, not that I think my familiars are below me by any means.”
“Leader,” Tommy says, ignoring the other bits. “That’s you.”
“Yep,” the witch nods. “That’s me and uh, I’m formally inviting you to the coven.”
When the hatchling tenses and begins to pull away, Wilbur lets him retreat back to the nest before he begins to further explain.
“I’m not asking you to be my familiar, I’m not asking for your magic,” he says. “I’m simply asking if you’d like to officially be part of our family. The bond is… reversible if, later, you decide to leave, it’s not like a familiar bond. I’m just— you’re family, sunshine. We love you, we love having you here. I know your past with witches is horrible, I know that magic still makes you uneasy. I know this and hell, I’d never use it against you.”
When Tommy doesn’t give a response, too overwhelmed, Wilbur gives him a soft smile and leans back onto his heels, rocking slightly in place as his hands fiddle with his shirt.
“You don’t have to decide right now, we’re patient people. Just— know the offers there, okay? If you decide you don’t want to, we’ll respect that. It won’t change anything.”
The little dragon nods and slowly raises a hand to sign love at the witch, a language he’s picking up to use when being verbal’s just a bit too much or too difficult.
Wil gives him another soft look before slowly edging away.
Tommy relaxes fully once he’s out of the room, alone in his nest and mind whirling.
He already thought of them as his— why is the offer so scary?
It takes a week to decide.
The night of the next equinox, the four of them sit knee to knee and hand in hand in the middle of an open field, moonlight shining down on them.
Technoblade’s hand in his is warm and reassuring, a gentle squeeze and a purr filling him to the bones with comfort every time he tenses. The little dragon was told he can back out at any point but he doesn’t, more scared to lose them than to do this.
It doesn’t take long— starting with Wilbur, each other until their magic gets gently pushed against each other, spinning and twirling until they’re blurred around the edges.
Where Phil’s magic is sharp with creation and the witch’s is wispy with nature, his protector’s protection and healing is thick and soft, wrapping around him like a shield. The feeling is warm, all encompassing.
They all hold it there, when the moon is at its peak, and slowly bring it back to themselves as it dips in the sky.
Emotions, light and not his own, twist in the back of his mind, laying over his heart like a second layer of skin. It’s weird, having them there, the coven bond solidifying as the hours pass by.
Curiously, Tommy pokes at Techno in his mind, an ecstatic laugh leaving his lips as his dad pokes him in return, bouncing happiness and love back and forth until Wilbur joins and everything blurs— Phil’s amusement settling over them all as he calmly nudges their emotions back to themselves.
They stay like that, all laughing and smiling and full of joy as the little dragon plays around with the bond.
Finally, when the moon falls and dawn takes over the sky, Wilbur gently takes his hand back and pushes himself to stand up, groaning as rolls his neck.
Tommy can still feel each of them, easily letting them float in the back of his mind, their emotions growing sharp and clear only if he focuses on them. It’s easy and it’s not nearly as scary as he thought it would be, not nearly as suffocating.
As relief makes his shoulders slouch, the rest of his coven look over to him with matching, beaming smiles.
“Happy, mate?” Phil questions as if he couldn’t feel that he is.
Tommy nods, hiding his grin into his protector’s side. “Happy.”
“Good,” the phoenix said, standing as well. He swats playfully at Wil when the witch calls out an ‘old man!’ at the way his back creaks. “I’m happy too, mate.”
The hatchling could tell— this fact made him start giggling all over again.
Love-love-love, Technoblade rumbles down at him. Mine-protected-mine.
Yours-yours-yours, the little dragon snuffles back. Loved-protected, safe. Love-love. Mine?
Yours, his protector affirms.
On the edge of the town, across from a bakery and a blacksmith and centered at the front of a large forest, is a little shop owned by a witch.
It’s tall and large, with big windows and shiny red bricks half-hidden behind a magnificent garden. Inside, there are hundreds of things to catch someone’s eye— trinkets and gadgets and useless lovely things. Feathers and unlucky rabbits’ feet and dire wolf fangs, there’s seeds and hand-crafted jewelry and beautiful glass windchimes.
It’s everything a witch, human, or other could possibly need.
Tommy, though— he already has everything he needs and everything he wants.
The hatchling, though once hurt and scared, has more safety and care from his coven than he knows what to do with. He never fears a cold night or a lost meal. He sleeps curled up with a protector he thought he’d never have, happy and warm.
He is still young, still without a strong heartfire, still with his scars but he never has to worry about being lost again.
So here Tommy is, a loved little dragon, stuck exactly where he wants to be.