Chapter Text
Tommy considers himself to be the Biggest of Men. Even in his current situation, when he is neither a man, nor the biggest. In fact, he’s in the most unsuitable form for his current predicament. Not that he has any choice in the situation; there’s metal digging into his hind leg at an increasingly pressurised manner, ripping into flesh with enough force that he’s pretty sure he’s not making it out of this without losing his foot.
As a shifter, Tommy should have a prominent human side. Most shifters were predominantly in that form, and almost all were born as humans. Learning how to shift came after childhood development, when there were less risks to people by shifting. A shifter usually had two to three forms they could choose between, on top of their human form.
Tommy wasn’t born as a human. And, as he relied more and more on his gifts to survive, to impress, he ended up getting more forms than normal. Now, he had a collection of twenty-four shifts. Not that he could use any of them while he’s bleeding out.
To make this entire situation a whole lot worse, there are other people in the forest. This is further out of his territory than he’d normally travel, bordering into a land that his old keeper called the Blood God’s lands. Not somewhere he wanted to be, but when the alternative was being put back in his cage, he took the risk of transforming.
Apparently, he’s not suited to being on his own. The more he thrashes in his confines, the worse the pressure in his foot becomes. If he doesn’t get free, then he’s going to be caught. Either by the humans getting closer, or his keeper tracking him down. Neither option is one he wants.
‘Do you hear that, Techno?’ a voice calls, causing Tommy’s form to shudder.
Oh, that’s right. He’s stuck in the body of a fawn.
Dappled caramel fur is stained red, his hind leg quivering as he scans the undergrowth. He forces his breathing to even out, tucking his head lower to the ground to try and minimise the chances of being spotted. Tommy’s not great at being quiet; it’s a fault that he’s always told about. Too loud, too brash. Too reckless.
‘Smells like blood,’ the other voice responds, which isn’t exactly an answer. Great, he thinks. One of them can hear him, and the other can smell him. Are humans usually this perceptive?
Boots appear in his sight. Black leather shines in the midday sun, leaves crunching under them as they move directly towards him.
‘Found the trail!’
Fuck. Fuck, fucking shit. Tommy’s so screwed. He can imagine how his friends, dare he call them kin, would react if they saw him now. The chastisement he’d receive from Tubbo, or the silent treatment from Ranboo, would have been worse than the death Tommy’s about to receive.
At least he’ll join them.
‘Oh, hello there, mate,’ the first voice coos, a blond man stepping into view. He’s shorter than Tommy’s keeper, with bright eyes that are focused on the trap encasing his ankle.
Tommy is in the wrong form to snarl, so he has to settle for trying to bolt. Three legs lunge, putting all his weight into trying to break from the trap. More blood rushes from the wound, and the human instantly holds both hands up in surrender, lowering himself slightly.
‘Easy, easy! Tech, get over here!’
If the first man was terrifying, the second is worse. He’s a monster of a man, towering over any animal Tommy can shift into. That, and the red eyes, make Tommy freeze.
‘Phil…’
‘We’ll get you out of this trap soon, mate,’ the man, Phil assures.
The other man is staring into Tommy’s eyes. ‘Phil, look at its eyes.’
A shifter can change any part of them, apart from the eyes. It’s a miserable thing, because a fawn with the brightest of blue eyes quite clearly stands out. What’s stranger, however, is a human being able to recognise it so quickly. Phil goes silent for a second, before looking back to the large human, Techno.
‘I’ll get the trap, if you make sure they don’t try to flee.’
How… human. A rare prize, a trophy that they can snatch, and humans are quick to forget their humanity. Tommy’s not about to roll over and let the humans snatch him, so when the large one reaches for him, he bites. Sure, his teeth are blunt and he’s barely got any power in his jaw, but it’s enough to make the man briefly recoil.
Then, Tommy’s head disappears under a cape. It’s an animal instinct to relax when blind, and Tommy’s almost always been bordering on animal over human. Reluctantly, his instincts halt his escape plan.
The trap is released. Tommy makes a sound of pain, even if he tries to hide it, ignoring the hand that’s soothing his flank. Muttered apologies are whispered, promises that they’ll find whoever set the trap, not that he cares. His bodyweight it picked up, thrown over the man’s shoulder, and Tommy can do nothing but hope he has the chance to shift before they take his head.
‘Stop squirming,’ Techno warns him, as he weakly tries to break free.
A chuckle comes from the other man. ‘Wilbur’s going to be delighted that he’s not the only non-human.’
**
The cape is replaced by a bag. Tommy doesn’t know whether to be horrified, or annoyed, at the fact that they’ve basically blinded him. Unable to see what they’re doing, he wasn’t able to stop them from injecting him. A sharp pinch at his flank is the only warning he gets, and thrashing does nothing but make the larger man hold him tighter.
Tommy’s going to die in a building he can’t even see, with strangers.
‘Shh, easy mate. It’s just so we can fix your foot.’
Yeah. Of fucking course it is. Nothing to do with how much money a shifter can sell for, dead or alive. Nothing to do with his eyes, which are proof of his status. Tommy doubts he’s going to wake up with a head.
He tries to put up a fight. The table beneath him is cold, and he wriggles against it to try and stop the drug from working. The bag means he can’t see where he should be kicking, but he flails in the hope that he manages to hit one of them. It works for around ten seconds, before his limbs begin to protest. Weighing him down to the table, with a fog settling over his mind.
Numb.
There’s pressure at his foot again. The bad one that got caught in the trap.
Tommy giggles internally. It’s funny. He’s faced far worse than a stupid bear trap, yet here he is. As he giggles, warm air puffs out into the bag, making it harder and harder to breathe. Suffocation might be the lamest way a man as Big as Tommy could go, the fawn thinks.
A third voice joins the other two. They’ve been speaking slowly, voices warbled like they’re underwater. Tommy wonders how they’ve managed to do that, considering humans are usually land-based animals. Perhaps they’re going to drown him?
The third voice gets closer. The fur on his neck is touched, before a hand moved closer to his ears. Tommy reluctantly loses his bag of suffocation, the light blinding as he tries to stare up at whoever’s about to hurt him.
A set of brown eyes meet his. However, they’ve got a grey glint in them, telling Tommy that this man isn’t actually human. He’s some sort of nymph creature. A siren, maybe. Or a water spirit. Something that makes Tommy hesitate in his thoughts, watching as fingers trace down his muzzle.
Then, the non-human sings. Even if the others are underwater, this voice is clear. It pierces through the drugs in his system, coaxing him back into consciousness. With every word the man sings, his fingers trace patterns onto Tommy’s fur, like he’s trying to lure him into the deep, dark waters.
Tommy’s a shifter. It may work on a human, but a nymph’s power has no hold over him. So, he uses the relief from the drug to turn his nose into the man’s chin. The non-human smiles, which makes it even more hilarious when Tommy bites.
The song breaks. The nymph yelps, cradling his hand and glaring at Tommy like he’s personally offended him.
‘He’s feral,’ the non-human says, as the drug begins to creep back in on Tommy’s system.
Rude. He isn’t feral. He just… he’s been out of his human form for a while.
A very long while.
**
‘There you are,’ a voice murmurs.
Tommy grimaces. He hates his cell, and he hates his keeper. Hates him, and loves him, because there is nobody that knows Tommy like his keeper does. Nobody that can make Tommy submit, nobody that can make Tommy afraid.
‘Wake up, mate,’ the voice urges, as Tommy becomes aware of a soft padding under his body.
Unusual. His cage doesn’t have anything other than straw, so he noses at the fabric and wonders why he’s been gifted this blanket.
Then, he tries to rise. The pain in his rear leg reminds him of the sprint through the woods, the terror, the trap.
Fuck.
He pulls back sharply from the figure crouched in front, hooves getting tangled in the blanket as he tries to collect his thoughts. The man in front – Phil, he reminds himself – looks on in amusement as Tommy gets his back pressed to the wall.
‘We fixed your leg. You’re waking up from the anaesthesia, which is why you’re feeling a bit funny. We’ve got some food for you, if you want it?’ Phil gestures to the plate that’s by his side.
Human food. They expect him to shift?
Tommy warily puts some weight on his back leg. It protests, but only mildly. Whatever they did, it worked. That, combined with the fact that the door behind Phil is open, are the mistakes that Tommy needs. Seriously, how stupid could they be? Underestimating him, Tommy the Big Man, who doesn’t hesitate for a second.
He shifts. It fucking hurts. The muscles in his body haven’t had the chance to recover from almost bleeding to death in the woods, and he hasn’t eaten in days. Regardless, Tommy isn’t going to be a captive again. The fur changes shade, from a light brown to a dark grey. Ears become pointed, and flat teeth turn pointed.
Tommy has never actually seen a wolf before. He’s heard of them, read about them in the books that his keeper would show him. The first time that his keeper requested he change into one of them, Tommy almost broke his back. Without seeing the animal, without touching the living, breathing creature, a shifter should not be able to transition into that form. All Tommy had was an image, and some drawings on anatomy that he desperately studied.
It works now, however. The man in front is too stunned to do anything but stare as Tommy slips past him, quicker and stronger than before. Outside the room, the building he’s in is a blur of smells. The non-human is the strangest scent, so he avoids it as he scampers down a flight of stairs. A shout tells the other occupants of the house that Tommy is breaking free, not that he slows down.
In fact, he speeds up. The door is in his sight, left slightly open so he can break through it in one quick motion and bound down the steps towards the grass.
The house borders on the forest. A thick canopy stretches out, offering the undergrowth that Tommy needs to hide. He’s almost made it, when his eyes snap to the side. Just for a second, out of curiosity, to try and identify whatever he’s just scented.
Perched on a stone wall is the large man. Techno. He’s dressed in breeches and a shirt that’s drenched in blood, Tommy’s blood. Pink hair is thrown back into a braid, contrasting the crimson eyes that meet his own.
Blood God.
How did he not notice it before? His muzzle tilts to the side slightly, scenting the air around the man. He means Tommy no threat, not yet, at least. Whoever this creature is, he’s content to watch Tommy’s dilemma.
The Blood God is the enemy of Tommy’s keeper. That, ultimately, is probably a good thing. But this man, this creature, is also a soldier. Tommy tries to recall everything he’s been taught about the Blood God, but his mind keeps bringing him back to the scent.
‘I’ve never met a shifter before,’ the man says curiously, still leaning back against one of the pillars. One leg is kicked up on the wall, the other dangles uselessly over the side.
Tommy debates biting it.
‘But I know that transitioning takes effort, pup.’
Tommy bristles at the nickname. He feels his hackles rise, tail flicking dangerously as he debates challenging him.
He should just run. There’s nothing stopping him. Not the two people that have just made it out of the door, watching the interaction. Not the Blood God, who smirks at Tommy’s defiance. No anger, no wanting to hurt. His scent doesn’t change, and so Tommy decides that he can keep his leg. For now.
‘Take the food. Stay in the garden until your leg has healed,’ Techno says, rising up and moving in the direction of the house like this is all the interaction he needs, ‘Or don’t. Run back off into the woods. I hardly care.’
Anger rushes through his body. He goes to snarl, but the man has already made it to his companions.
‘Give the dog a bone, Phil. He’s mostly feral, anyway.’
It isn’t true. Tommy’s not feral. But the way he says it, the careless dismissal of Tommy’s humanity, it makes him pause.
The nymph follows the Blood God into the house. Phil lingers, studying Tommy for a moment longer, before he disappears as well. None of the trio are forcing him to stay. None of them care. To them, he is a beast that wandered onto their property.
His legs give out under him. Trying to make it look like his own idea to collapse, he tucks his tail in and watches the house warily.
A while later, Phil reappears. He’s got a plate in one hand, which he places on the grass, before putting a blanket by the side.
‘There’s water in the pond over there. It’s filtered,’ the man says, shrugging to himself before turning his back on Tommy.
Turning his back on a wolf, that could easily rip him to shreds.
Tommy stays silent. Once the garden is empty, he waits until the sun is setting before he approaches the plate. A slab of what looks to be beef sits on it, uncooked. Raw meat, for a wild wolf. A feral wolf. Tommy grimaces, cautiously nudging at it with his snout. None of his senses can pick up on the food being tampered with, so he licks it to check.
He eats it quickly. As darkness begins to swallow up the garden, he grips the blanket in his teeth and drags it over to the wall where the Blood God had perched. With his back to something, he can curl up without feeling… exposed.
He’s not feral. He isn’t. Because, as he sits alone in the garden, he can hear the people inside the house. Someone, the non-human, is laughing. There’s the sound of chatter, and a fire crackling, and the smell of cooked food.
Tommy isn’t a human, but he wants human things.
**
‘Morning, gremlin. Dad told me to leave your food here,’ the non-human says chirpily, placing a bowl down on the last step up to the house. He’s wearing a ridiculously oversized sweater in the most disturbing colour that Tommy has ever seen.
The wolf observes. He flicks his ears to show that he was listening, but gives no other sign of interest in the situation.
‘I’m Wilbur, by the way. Half water-nymph.’
Hah! Tommy knew it. He almost wags his tail in happiness at getting that correct, but quickly stops himself when he sees that the man is watching him.
‘So, uh,’ Wilbur hesitates, then shrugs, ‘I get the whole being not-human.’
Tommy wants to point out that Wilbur looks human. He’s got the complete form of one, save for the slight tint in his eye. His scent is probably the only thing that would give him away, but you’d have to be non-human to notice it. In comparison, Tommy has fur. And teeth, which he debates using on the man.
‘Door’s always open, if you want to come inside,’ Wilbur finishes, turning back to his home and leaving Tommy to stare.
He eats the food. It’s replenishing his energy, which he decides he’s going to need if he wants to continue with the plan forming in his mind.
Clearly, these humans aren’t normal. They live in the middle of nowhere, with a half-human, on the edge of a territory that belongs to Tommy’s keeper. The Blood God is a soldier, so it is likely that he is Tommy’s biggest threat. But, if Tommy wants to stay on their land, then he might need to get in their favour. Or, at the very least, figure out if they’re a threat. Staying on their land is his best chance of avoiding his keeper.
With his decision made, he slinks off in the direction of the trees.
**
‘I wonder where he came from,’ Phil muses, perched in a chair with a book on his lap. Across from him, the non-human halts his music-playing to look in the direction of the window.
‘North of here? The wastelands? Or maybe he got lost from the Empire,’ Wilbur postulates, abandoning the strange instrument on his lap to tuck himself back up in a blanket. The room is warm, with the fire crackling away. The interior of most of the house is wooden, with a cluttered mess taking up the spare space. Three floors, one above and one below the main one. Bedrooms to the top of the building, and storage below. An old set of armour, with some weapons that are covered in dust.
‘I doubt anyone could survive in the wastelands,’ Phil says as he tags the edge of the page, ‘He could just be an animal, roaming the forest. Feral for too long.’
There’s that word again. The one that he hates.
‘There’s a human form somewhere in there. Or perhaps a human mind,’ Techno corrects himself, in the far corner of the room. He’s also reading, but he hasn’t halted it to join in the conversation. Red eyes skim the pages of a worn book.
‘You were the one that said he was feral,’ Wilbur pipes up, scowling at the man.
Techno chuckles. He then raises his eyes from the book, looking right at Tommy.
‘If he were an animal, he wouldn’t have gone to such effort to sneak in.’
Tommy’s been caught. That hardly ever happens! Not even his keeper noticed him in this form, not for a while. It’s the perfect disguise, a mouse that can slip through unnoticed. However, the Blood God has found him.
Phil and Wilbur both follow his gaze, to where Tommy cautiously peeks out from behind the vase.
‘Hello, pup. That’s your third form,’ the God drawls, looking amused at Tommy’s size.
He decides to move. They couldn’t catch him in this form, anyway. He’s too small, too agile for hands to grab at. So he heads across the dresser, jumps across to the table, then makes his way in the direction of the Blood God’s chair. When he reaches it, he climbs up onto the arm and sits there for a moment.
This is a big human.
‘What were you searching for, I wonder?’ Techno inquires smoothly, fingers drumming the seat as Tommy fidgets.
Evidence that they were going to trap him. Evidence that they would send him back to his keeper. Evidence of anything.
All he found was a family home.
‘He’s so tiny!’ Wilbur coos, leaving his chair to move in his direction. Tommy stiffens, but the non-human only crouches down and pokes one finger in his direction.
Challenge accepted. Tommy leaps, ignoring the shriek from the nymph as he races up the man’s arm, heading towards that ridiculous amount of hair. Once he’s got hold of a strand, he transitions again.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tommy knows he’s trying to impress them. That, if they think he’s special, they might not hurt him. It’s a phrase that he repeated again and again with his keeper, as he learned forms that shouldn’t be possible.
Phil bursts out laughing, and even Techno chuckles as Wilbur falls still. After all, there’s now a cat perched on his head, claws retracted so they don’t dig into the nymph’s scalp.
‘Wilbur, mate, you shouldn’t have challenged him,’ Phil says with amusement. Wilbur scowls, from what Tommy can tell, and tries to look up.
‘You’re a menace to society,’ the man tells him, as Tommy bats at his head lazily.
‘Stop booping me! This… You’re on my head!’ the nymph protests, which only makes the other two laugh harder.
Figuring that he’s taught Wilbur a lesson, he gracefully descends to the arm of the chair that Wilbur had been perched in. The nymph takes his seat quickly, before cautiously studying him.
‘That’s four forms. I didn’t know a shifter could have that many,’ Wilbur murmurs, as Tommy studies the instrument.
He bops it with a paw. When that does nothing, he nudges at it with his nose.
‘I think the pup wants to know what it is, Wil,’ Techno remarks.
Tommy hisses when Wilbur moves too quickly, reaching for the instrument and almost elbowing him in the process. ‘Sorry, sorry. I just don’t get a new audience very often,’ Wilbur tells him happily, placing the thing on his lap.
‘This is a guitar,’ Wilbur says. His fingers move to the strings, like they did earlier when Tommy was watching, and he begins to play.
The shifter wonders why the other two aren’t affected by the nymph’s music. He doesn’t say that, obviously, but he hops away from Wilbur and heads back to Techno. For some reason, his instincts tell him that he’s safest around him. That, if his keeper tries to come for him, Tommy would be better hiding behind the giant.
‘I’m trying to read, pup,’ Techno mutters under his breath, as Tommy tries to see the pages without actually touching the man. Eventually, he nudges at the cover with his nose.
‘I’ll kick you off this chair, fleabag,’ the man warns, only to be scolded by Phil.
‘Play nicely, Tech. He’s curious.’
Techno grumbles, but turns the page towards him. Tommy can’t actually read that well, so the words mean nothing, but he likes the look of one of them. It’s got a big first letter, swirled delicately onto the page. When he noses it, the Blood God huffs out an amused laugh.
‘Theseus. You like that?’
Theseus. He tests it on his tongue, only for the word to come out as a yowling sound. Phil chuckles to himself again, and Wilbur’s music pauses for a moment.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Techno says, leaning back in the chair and resuming his reading.
‘You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, Theseus,’ Phil chimes in.
Tommy observes the three of them.
It wouldn’t hurt, to stay for a little while. Till he’s fed up enough to shift constantly. Till he can find a way to communicate with them, to ask if he can stay within their lands so that he isn’t hunted.
Tommy just flops onto the arm of the chair, tail curling in the air in a warning when Techno’s arm got too close.
For now, he tells himself, as his eyes shut.