Chapter Text
The Wolves
Bleating softly as if beckoning, the snow-white lamb shook on callow legs. It stood just outside the edge of the meadow, past where the fence posts splintered and gave way as if something massive had crashed through. Beyond, the filtering shade of the trees and the tempting taste of freedom. Tommy glanced between the tempting liberty and Dad. He was too big enough to be on his own, even if Dad had recently decided he wasn’t! Tommy had been doing just fine watching over the herd for months. Sure the shine of finally being trusted to shepherd was dulled by months of boringness, but it still meant he was growing up and he felt robbed of the achievement. How was it Tommy’s fault if they recently started finding the mangled corpses of livestock in the morning?! He only worked during the day! But apparently Dad didn’t think he could defeat a bunch of wolves even though he totally could. Dad never let him go anywhere alone, these days.
But now, while he was distracted, Tommy had a chance to slip away. And besides, the lamb outside the fence was calm, so there couldn’t be any predators around. Perfectly safe. He’d be back before Dad even noticed, preoccupied with an unusually clingy Wilbur and the task of sheering. As annoying as he’d been of late, Tommy still had to thank Wilbur for sparing him from Dad’s blistering attention. It had become unbearable recently, and he needed a moment to breathe.
Technoblade caught his movement though, face a stone wall Tommy couldn’t parse. Freezing, he waited for him to say something…but after a long pause Technoblade quirked a grin at him. Tommy smiled brilliantly in response, offering double thumbs up that Technoblade belatedly returned. Excellent. Tommy could totally point fingers at his brother afterward if Technoblade failed to properly cover his absences. As shy and withdrawn as he’d become, Tommy might even be able to bully his way into looking like an innocent child sadly misled and betrayed by his beloved older brother. Yes. Dad would definitely buy that.
Technoblade’s smile flickered into something perturbed as Tommy’s shifted into a smirk. As Tommy scampered off, he could feel the weight of his brother’s eyes right between his shoulder blades. Tommy was careful about not getting splinters as he clambered over the broken fence, dropping over the other side into a crouch to weaken the brunt of impact. At his movement, the lamb bolted, plunging into the woods. Tommy almost chased before remembering not to scare it, instead ducking into the foliage to avoid being spotted and then calmly following. The woods were dense, and the golden flash of his hair and the scarlet ribbons woven in it vanished. Somehow, the sensation of Technoblade’s gaze lingered.
The forest was dark compared to the open meadow, teaming with chittering insects and the small scurrying of mice and birds. His mission was a little less urgent than exploring, and anyway the lamb was never far away enough that he couldn’t glimpse its stark white flank bounding through foliage. The thrill of rebellion hummed in his chest, carrying him deeper and deeper with the childish excitement reserved for all forbidden things.
Besides, Dad was going to be so impressed that he rescued the lamb that he wouldn’t get in trouble for leaving at all. Tommy picked up a big stick, thwacking it against the side of trees and imagining he was fighting off a pack of wolves. No, two packs, Tommy reckoned he could take them. In the other hand he uprooted grasses and pretty flowers, holding them out enticingly for the lamb to eat. But it only shied away from him, clumsy and worried. Tommy laughed a little. Funny how frightened it was of him. Shouldn’t it be able to see he wasn’t a threat? He tucked the flowers into the folds of the crimson bows in his curls, just in case. He could tell Dad that's why he was in the woods before he spotted the run away, and Dad would be so overcomed with Tommy's charm and adorableness he'd forget to get cross with him.
“Slow down,” Tommy told the lamb softly so Dad couldn’t hear. “You’re safe! Big man Tommy’s got you. I won’t let you get eaten.” It was a mistake, the lamb beginning to sprint away, scared by the words. Tommy rolled his eyes and walked after, knowing running would only cause it to panic more. But…it was starting to get too far, and the woods were growing dense. And Dad would be mad if he lost one of their meager flock. Worried about losing it, Tommy began to walk a little faster, and a little more, running, branches and brambles lashing out in his haste.
Tommy let out a pained cry as his foot snagged on a root, crashing into a small ditch. His knee was scraped badly in a mixture of blood and dirt. It stung horribly, maybe the worst pain Tommy had ever experienced. He immediately teared up and clutched it. “DAAAD!” Tommy hollered at the top of his lungs. “DAD HELP!” He couldn’t hear a response, but he hadn’t gone too far. But- but it was really dense, and maybe Technoblade had told Dad he walked home and they never ever found him. Tommy became stricken at the thought. He was going to die alone and no one would miss him! And Technoblade would get his dessert at dinner instead!
Instead of bolting at the ruckus, the lamb took a step forward, the squared slits of its pupils rapt upon the injury. The boy sniffed on tears, reaching for the approaching animal. The wool was soft as clouds, wonderfully warm and comforting like a hug from his Dad. It nuzzled the wound, flecks of scarlet blood staining its sweet pink nose. The lamb blinked at him, then butted against his chest, pressing like a content cat. Tommy buried his face in fluff, drying his blossoming tears.
“Y-you won’t tell Dad I was crying, will you?” he asked the lamb plaintively. It bleated at him, and he carefully stroked through its wool. “I’m not a baby anymore, but he still thinks I’m too little to do stuff on my own. He hasn’t let me out of his sight in weeks. It’s not fai-“ Tommy hissed as a hidden sheep horn scraped across his hand, sharper than the sword his father used to hang on the mantel. It hurt far more than his scraped knee, pulsing with each heartbeat and radiating heat.
When Tommy jerked his hand away the lamb chased it, head pressed against the palm. Scarlet soaked into pure wool, streaking down its soft muzzle. A shallow cut, yet it wept blood bitterly. “Ouch- stop that.” He snatched his hand away, cradling it protectively as the lamb licked the sanguine trickling across its muzzle.
And then the little lamb’s lips peeled back on sharp, vicious lupine teeth. Tommy scrambled back, shrieking for his father, but it was far, far too late. Fangs snapped around his wrist with the sickening crack of bone, ensnaring him in a vice of mangled flesh. Tommy screamed as smoke poured out of the “lamb’s” snarling smile. Fire glowed between sharp sharp teeth, inferno racing up Tommy’s broken arm. Tommy howled as bright hellish fire consumed his form. His dark silhouette twisted and writhed in an unholy pyre. He crumpled as the flames grew brighter and crueler, devouring him bones and all.
The sharp staccato of the “lamb’s” bleating contorted into cruel laughter, wolfish rictus wide. It pranced upon Tommy’s ashes, limbs growing long and uncanny, four twisting horns spiraling out. Fire and gold poured out from where Tommy’s blood marred the wool of the “lamb,” fur giving away to flesh and hooves to clawed hands. The “lamb” picked itself up from the dust, golden sheep eyes blinking away to match the cobalt eyes of the child. “Tommy” licked the boy’s blood off his new teeth, scraping his tongue across jagged fangs as they dulled and shrunk into something non-threatening. Good. A sweet thing like that boy was would draw no suspicion. “Tommy” found when villagers began to discover the visceral remains of their own, few heads turned towards the innocent children.
“Tommy?” A man’s voice called out, barely hiding the panic in it. “Tommy’s” long ears flattened, then receded to a human length, dulling the crashing coming towards him. Must be the father that “Tommy” had such a hard time luring his mark away from. Tommy had been right, the man was insufferably overprotective, but while it might make his schemes more difficult it was that exact trait that would give “Tommy’s” rouse protection in the long run. Humans were so incomprehensibly defensive of their broods, an unbreakable blood oath woven into the veins of the parents pouring into their spawn. “Tommy” scoffed at it, since such a useless alliance would get you eviscerated in hell, but it would serve him well enough. If he could trick the human into protecting him as fiercely as he would his real cub.
If not, well, it would be fun to rip Philza to shreds in the form of his own son. He wondered if the threat would be enough to override the blood oath, or if he’d be incapable of fighting back even then.
Still, he wanted to get some use out of this new body before it became useless, otherwise all the effort of stalking and luring in the whelp would be wasted. “Tommy” rolled his shoulders, arranging the joints into something more natural. With a ripple the skin remolded itself to erase the bite marks, foreleg bones snapping back into place. The blood could stay.
A blond human burst through the trees, his terror-stricken visage instantly recognizable from days of stalking Tommy. “Dad!” “Tommy” wailed immediately, artistically clutching the wounds. He was intimately familiar with how humans acted when in agony.
Philza dropped to his side, pulling out a handkerchief and water skin. “Hey, hey, it’s okay sunshine,” “Dad” soothed as he cleaned out the wounds, “crying is natural for big boys. That’s how you let me know you need help.” “Tommy” touched his new muzzle, his claws coming away damp. Oh right, the pathetic kit had been mewling for his father before the fire consumed him. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you?”
As way of answer, “Tommy” began to sob since it seemed so effective at controlling the human. When he threw his hands up, “Dad” knelt down, falling into his waiting claws. He threw his forelegs around the human’s neck, burying his snout in the nook of his shoulder. Easier to hide his malicious smile, that way. Philza scooped him up, still murmuring assurances. The thrum of his human pulse throbbed tantalizingly close to “Tommy’s” teeth, and he savored the thought of ripping the man apart. But it wasn’t much of a cover if he couldn’t trick unsuspecting mortals into vouching for him. So kind and supportive- oh this was the perfect victim to twist to his whims.
Eventually, Philza inquired after what transpired. “Tommy” vaguely talked about the lamb, and the human’s brow knit. “A lamb? This early…?” He shook away the thought. “While I appreciate you trying to look after the flock, your safety is far more important than theirs. You shouldn’t have snuck off, especially after I told you to stay with me. I need you to promise to never do this again, okay mate?”
Huh. If “Tommy” had been bracing for a punishment for Tommy breaking “Dad’s” express rules, he was certainly disappointed by a mild verbal reprimand. It left him a little uneasy to have nothing to set his expectations by. He needed to know the risk to weigh what mistakes in his disguise were permissible. “You’re not…mad? I’m not in trouble for running off?”
“Of course I’m not mad. Just…worried. And anyway, your injuries are discipline enough for disobeying me, anything more is just cruel.” “Tommy” frowned, unsure why he was being lied to. Perhaps to lower his guard so it would hurt worse? Well it wouldn’t work, and “Tommy” was confident he’d endure the eventual punishment. “It looks rather nasty even if the wounds were shallow. How were you hurt?”
“I– tripped?”
“And became that bloodied?” “Tommy” agreed quickly with more confidence, but if anything the mortal grew less convinced, humming a note as he considered the evidence. “Any normal predator would’ve finished the job… Sunshine, did one of your brothers hurt you? And threaten you to not tell me?” Philza asked quietly. Delighted at the chance to sow discord, “Tommy” quickly nodded, though didn’t give any concrete details as to who since he didn’t know which was the bigger threat to his rouse yet. Luckily Philza didn’t prod too deeply into why he was certain despite a lack of evidence. Scapegoats were they? That was useful. At least it distracted from the reprimand “Tommy” was expecting. “That’s…worrying,” he muttered. “I almost thought they were s- no. Doesn’t matter. Thank you for telling me. I’ll do something about that,” he promised grimly. Philza seemed pensive, a distraction which would certainly make infiltration easier. Out here in the forest he looked like an exhausted man, so unlike his constant cheer with the rest of the family. A bone deep weight wore him down. “Tommy” wondered if it was bleeding through as a consequence of his brood being hurt, the suspicion upon his other offspring, or if the family only looked perfect from afar during the stalking phase. Either way, it was a vulnerability ripe for exploitation.
When they got back to the meadow, “Tommy” half expected “Dad” to snarl and attack Technoblade and Wilbur for the perceived threat to his youngest, but alas he was disappointed. Mentally he sighed and crossed out a long list of horrible tortures that befell any who touched a demon’s treasure since APPARENTLY children weren’t property. “Tommy” was suddenly less convinced in the merit of parental protection if there weren’t going to be any visceral displays of power, but consoled himself with the thought that the blood oath surely extended to them as well as littermates. And if the “brothers” were alive they could potentially be manipulated into serving “Tommy” too. He wanted as many humans under his thrall as possible before the villagers inevitably started pointing claws at one another.
At once a brother raced to them at their return. He was a gangly youth, curls pulled back in a short ponytail interspersed with yellow ribbons. “Is he okay?” Wilbur worried. He checked over “Tommy,” offering soothing words and to help carry him. But the demon stuck his tongue out and demanded he be put down, since he was sure that was in character after watching Tommy for so long. Although, it didn’t save him from being fussed over by his concerned “brother” despite repeated attempts to throw Wilbur off. Hackles raising, even his snarling wasn’t particularly effective. Luckily, by the slight crinkle of Philza’s brow he was interpreting the excessive concern as suspicious. “Tommy” was infuriated he’d ever be considered so fragile, but maybe this kinda stuff was lethal for humans. And Wilbur’s worry over his injuries was perfect to exaggerate his pain to and garner sympathy from all parties.
Or. Most parties. Technoblade had elected to continue sheering sheep instead of paying attention to “Tommy,” which was completely unacceptable. The moment the ewe he was working on was released, “Tommy” limped over. He latched onto Technoblade’s flank, blinking up at the teenager. “I wish you’d be there to protect me,” “Tommy” opined, words picked carefully to imply an instead of bullying me to Philza’s ears. The approving nod and smile “Dad” gave him caused “Tommy” to pause as something sparked in his chest. Confused, he elected to ignore the flicker of emotion.
Technoblade paused, then glanced at Philza. He hummed an off-key note, then pulled the demon closer, a shade of a smile ghosting across his muzzle. The curtain of his long dark mane closed around "Tommy" like a veil, heavily laced with intricate braids and weaving pink ribbons. “True. You wouldn’t stand a chance against a wolf. Or a tree root, as the case may be.” His foreleg hooked around “Tommy’s” neck, locking him in place despite struggle. Panicking sparked as he was ensnared. Technoblade attacked ruthlessly, clawing through golden fur. Horns jutted up to ward off the assault. “Tommy” screeched and jerked back, pouring a little too much strength into breaking out of the trap and scrambling away. He glared daggers at Technoblade, hackles bristling. “Tommy” was supposed to be the top dog around here, shouldn’t have to be constantly on guard for an attack.
“Dad’s” features twisted in worry, but the wrong sort. Worried about “Tommy,” not his real sons. Technoblade paled, as if in some small recess of his tiny human brain he subconsciously sensed pure murderous intent. Bad. “Tommy” had meant to deflect attention, but his instincts- whatever. He’d kill them. He’d kill all of them. Had to before they took advantage of the sliver of vulnerability. His pupils thinned to ovine slits, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Tommy” shook with the effort of keeping his form human, everything in him screaming to transform into something fierce and too big to ever be hurt. His human body rocked with each heaving pant, paws curled in fists so his claws wouldn’t be seen. “Tommy” took a deep breath to cool the fire in him. He spent so much effort infiltrating this family and it would be a waste to destroy it before he’d had his fun. Still, he wanted to shred Technoblade for nearly blowing his cover. It would have been over if Tommy’s mane wasn’t fluffy enough to hide growing horns.
“...Tommy?” Technoblade shook off the premonition, turning to address his father with upset coloring his typically steady tone. “Sir, I swear only attempted to noogie him.”
“I think he’s spooked after the woods. Here-” “Tommy” shied away as something thumped before him, ensnaring forelegs pulling him in. Trapped in place once more. “Dad” rubbed his back, asking if he were okay. What? Of course he was. Stupid, ignorant mortal. He should kill “Dad” for the umbrage of the implication alone.
He kept waiting for when “Dad’s” trapping hold became a pulverizing vice. For the claws cradling the back of his neck to rip his scalp off. For the attack when he was vulnerable. But no matter how long he waited it never came. It didn’t feel right, to be treated with softness when his exposed weakness could be so readily exploited.
Well. Not like the humans had a chance of hurting him. Right. R-right. That must be why they didn’t attack. And- and wasn’t he so clever for manipulating their human empathy? They’d all be eating from his palm at this rate. Not his fault, after spending nearly every second in the family pantomiming affection for the chance to attack, that he should expect violence.
“Tommy and I are going to head back to the house. He needs proper tending for his wounds, and I need to skirt the fleece anyway. You two can keep sheering, come back in before sunset.” Philza’s tone brooked no argument, though his real sons certainly tried. Technoblade’s had an urgent tinge to it, desperate to clear his name. But despite the blatant rebellion, Philza met them with a kind yet firm tone, dismantling arguments. He shifted bundles of fleece over a shoulder, but left one paw free to hold “Tommy’s,” guiding the demon on a well trod path leading to a home unfamiliar to him. Perhaps it was stupid to let their fingers interlock in case “Tommy” lost grasp on the form and the man began to feel his talons, but the human was so insistent on constantly touching him that there wasn’t much he could do.
It was a long time before “Dad” spoke. “Tommy, what happened in the woods? What did you see?”
“I don’t know,” “Tommy” responded immediately, knowing he couldn’t afford to reveal a source of fear lest it be exploited. No. No, because he wanted the ruse to be vague so evidence couldn’t be contradicted. Keep it straight. He was the one in control here. “Why didn’t they get in trouble?” “Tommy” demanded, trying to shift attention away from his potential behavioral changes towards scrutinizing the real human litter.
“They threatened you into silence, didn’t they? Revealing it hadn’t worked would only net retaliation. And I want to handle it carefully, avoid a confrontation.”
“You could at least flay them a little,” “Tommy” muttered in disappointment, too quietly for the human’s tiny ears to catch it.
“Dad” rubbed his dew claw in circles across the back of “Tommy’s” hand. A sympathetic note growled in his throat. “They scared you pretty bad, didn’t they. And there was so much blood…” Philza rubbed his face haggardly. “Tommy” just felt weird. It didn’t make sense why someone would be so upset over him being hurt. What a stupid mortal, both for believing him, and for caring for something weak. “I didn’t want to believe they could do something like this. But you don’t have to worry about any of that, okay sunshine? I’m working on it. And until I can convince them to change I want you by my side always, understand? That way I can protect you.”
“That’s unfair!” “Tommy” spluttered. “You’re punishing me more than them!” How was he supposed to be a plague upon mankind the likes of which never before imagined if he were trapped by a dotting mortal!?
Philza stopped completely. He knelt down to be at eye level with his kit. “Look at me, mate. I’m doing everything I can to protect you. That might mean things you don’t like, things that I don’t like either. I have to juggle what your brothers need, too. Me shouting and punishing them or what have you won’t solve anything.”
“Yes it would. Just scare them into obeying and be done with it.”
“I- I can’t do that, Tommy,” he said slowly, a strange expression on his features. “And that won’t help your brothers in the long run.” Of course it would. All it took was a little force for long term compliance. Far less effort over time than what Philza proposed. Either Wilbur and Technoblade would never cross “Tommy” or they’d get better at hiding it, and either way it wouldn’t be Philza’s problem anymore.
“Why are you making a big deal out of this? Not like I died.” He’d thought when Philza immediately jumped to the assumption of the others being to blame that violence was an expected and shrugged off part of life, but apparently it was an Ordeal. Just his luck. It was going to be far harder to terrorize humanity when kept under the thumb of an overprotective mortal. A useless, feeble, dumb mortal at that, insistent that violence wasn’t a panacea. If Philza could be tricked into protecting “Tommy” but said aegis was worthless, what was the point of him? With each passing minute “Tommy” found less merit in continuing the ruse. He should just slaughter them all and move on.
And then ever so gently, “Dad” reached for him, capturing his face despite his automatic demure. He cupped “Tommy’s” cheeks, carefully tilting till their eyes locked. Soft. It was the only way to describe it. His touch so light, a brush of fingertips and nothing more, and yet somehow it suddenly felt like the entire world hinged upon it. His expression pained, brow knotted, yet his smile was tender. Philza was so soft, and thus he was weak. Now would be the perfect time to strike. Yet “Tommy” was frozen, incapable of breaking the expression because it was trained solely upon him. No one had ever looked at “Tommy” like that, made him feel like…like… “Tommy’s” breath hitched, unable to comprehend the emotions surging up inside his stolen chest.
Oh. So that’s what love looks like.
“They don’t have the right to hurt you,” Philza swore, cradling what he thought was his son.
It…didn’t compute to “Tommy”. “But they’re stronger, so they’ve the right to do whatever they want. Only the weak are kind.” And thus they were slaughtered. Hell and earth differed little in that regard.
Philza laughed bitterly. “We have to be. And the powerless have ways of protecting themselves, protecting each other. We shouldn’t have to, but unfortunately it’s the world we live in. So it’s up to us to put things right.” Head swirling, “Tommy” buried himself in the embrace to hide his scarlet eyes and growing horns. But he was only pretending to be human, to be Tommy. He wasn’t- wasn’t weak. He was more powerful than this wretched human ever would be. And yet how often had he been scared and hurting? He’d replaced Philza’s real son in a bid for power, but it was never going to protect him, was it? There would always be someone stronger.
“How?” the demon begged.
“By being clever, and patient, and most importantly kind.”
Great fortune had smiled down upon “Tommy” because it was abundantly evident that Philza was mentally defective in some fashion. He couldn’t understand how kindness would supposedly protect him, as it was mostly a manipulation tool to “Tommy”. When he cuddled with “Dad” and laughed with his “brothers” it was a dastardly evil trick and a sign of his prowess, not because he was weak. The fact he needed the shelter of a ruse at all was irrelevant.
After a day spent being sickeningly sweet, the demon was itching to crawl out of his skin and run amok. Unfortunately Philza was rather persistent in keeping him under thumb, which made it hard to terrorize mortals and curse babies and eat virgin sacrifices. But Technoblade and Wilbur were clearly dying to talk to him without Philza overhearing, and “Tommy” found bountiful joy in sticking his tongue out at them behind “Dad’s” back and daydreaming about inverting their internal organs. Luckily Philza was well adept at inventing tasks to send the pair off on, so he was unbothered.
Night would be his only respite given how long humans needed to sleep. He was spared getting cornered by the “brothers” by the fortune of not sharing their cramped bedroom in the attic amongst the clutter of preserved food already being stored up in preparation for a winter that seemed impossibly far off. Yet it was still a humble cottage, and it appeared his sleeping arrangement was to be either with Philza or the cradle in the corner of his room. Judging by the way “Dad” laughed at “Tommy” trying to crawl into it and then opened his arms expectantly, the habit was too entrenched. After a day enduring random plagues of physical affection, “Tommy” scarcely startled any more given the severe risk to his disguise. But they were ephemeral. Here, the possibility of danger waited as patient as a guillotine, just as swift to descend suddenly upon him.
Cautious, he crawled into bed, back to the wall so he couldn’t be snuck up on. Anticipating eyes always on Philza, ready for one false move. He tensed as he was reached for, but Philza only pawed through his golden pelt, nimble talons unravelling the blood red bows that blossomed in "Tommy's" fur. Tolerable enough, he supposed, at least till the closest were undone and Philza tried to turn "Tommy's" head, breaking the gaze trained on the potential threat. "Tommy" jerked away, scrambling back to stay out of reach.
"You can't evade bedtime that easily, mate." "Tommy" yelped as he was scooped up and firmly plopped in Philza's lap. He braced for attack, back fully exposed. But he was to be disapointed, as instead of starting a bloody fight Philza just undid the ribbons, combing through fur in a not unpleasant raking motion. By the way he instinctively pressed into the gesture, humans must be fond of being pet. It felt nice, actually. But ultimately was rather boring given the time it took.
Philza undid his own half do quickly, the hairstyle far less complex than the ribbons woven in his sons' hair. He dropped the simple black ribbon next to the piles of scarlet on the bedside table, picking up a book set beside and cracking open worn pages. Reaching his spot, he resumed, tracing a claw beneath the words as he narrated. “Tommy” didn’t understand the point of the exercise, mostly vexed his escape was delayed. But he pretended to be invested in the tale of adventure, forcing himself to relax for the sake of appearances.
Philza stopped, tapping a claw beneath a word. “What does this one say, Tommy?” The demon squinted at the ink scribble, but cared little for what humans had to say and had ever bothered learning to read.
“It says bollocks.”
“Dad” snorted. “You can’t imagine how many times I wanted to tell my superior that when they were trying to teach me my letters in the militia.”
A soldier? “Tommy” tensed slightly, having encountered rather nasty soldiers in his time. On the other hand…that implied Philza was dangerous and respected. Delighted, he pounced on the idea. “Were you any good at it?”
“So an accolade or two would say. And the village is still standing.” Well. Until “Tommy” rectified that little problem. “I served my fifteen years, though am a militia man for life. Or I suppose till I can’t hold a sword anymore. They check old training every year or so.” Perfect! So a trusted member of the village, and him vouching for Tommy’s innocence would carry weight. Training, but not actively a combatant “Tommy” would encounter and have to keep safe for the sake of his disguise. Not that he wouldn’t kill Philza in a heartbeat if he felt like it, obviously.
“And what was the most powerful thing you slaughtered?”
Philza laughed. “Boredom, mostly. Wolves will usually shy if you’re in a group, and there hasn’t been any raiders in a long time. Armies, adventurers, whatever they prefer to call themselves.”
The same instinct that warned “Tommy” to always be ready to scramble away when so close to Philza spurred him now. “I meant monsters.”
“Sometimes an imp or a sprite, but honestly I think it mostly protects the town from young men looking to pick fights by giving them something more productive to do. Frustrating, given- well. I’m praying the training is enough to deal with what’s causing the recent problems. The point was more becoming a contributing member of society than a hero. Don’t tell Technoblade, he was set on joining the Cossacks once he’s fifteen. I think the rules would’ve chaffed him, though…” Philza trailed off, as if disquieted at the thought of one of his sons becoming more independent and drawing away. Made sense, as tight as he kept his chicks underwing. The conversation died, “Dad’s” expression pensive.
“You’d still have me.” Wasn’t that more than enough? After a beat: “And Wilbur. With three whole kids you can probably spare one,” “Tommy” offered charitably to console the human. If Philza angsted too much he’d take longer to fall asleep, and that would leave “Tommy” less time to kill people. Sure.
Though he’d never given someone comfort in his entire life, “Tommy” was fairly confident that his logic was flawless and Philza would immediately praise him as the best comforter ever. Except, instead of becoming cheered, he was crushed. “No,” he said roughly. “I can’t.” There was a deep hurt in his eyes, tantalizing in a way that “Tommy” instinctively wanted to exploit. He could almost taste the sweet cruelty of informing Philza he already had.
In that split, impulsive second he would’ve, just to see the way Philza’s countenance became stricken with grief. But the bedtime story resumed before he could. Later, then. One day “Tommy” would force Philza to realize just how erroneous it was to care so deeply and openly about his brood.
“Tommy” didn’t let himself be lulled by the narration, since that was by luck exactly when he’d be pounced on. But he did allow it to be amusing, that so tender a moment would be unknowingly shared with a wretched fiend. Might as well, since he couldn’t escape. “Dad” underscored each word, spelling out longer words and telling “Tommy” what they meant, doing different voices for the characters and imbuing each with passionate emotion. It became harder to daydream his way through the interaction, thoughts of evisceration intruded upon by loving descriptions of a rather bloodless fight scenes and tales of daring heroics. Without the context of previous chapters, “Tommy” was rather lost, and got sucked in trying to figure out what was happening. He even risked a few questions, not sure how much he could prod before getting snapped at, or Philza growing suspicious. But he patiently answered each one, and didn’t try to tear off “Tommy’s” head even once.
The twilight seeping through the window waned until the room was dim. With it, too, the story dwindled, until Philza abruptly stopped. “Tommy” protested before remembering his real goal, but luckily “Dad” didn’t indulge him, deciding he couldn’t see enough to read. Which alerted “Tommy” to the bizarre fact humans had little night vision. Oh he was going to make terrible use of that fact…once Philza finally fell asleep. Anticipation buzzed beneath his skin even as Philza unwound, ready for the violence to come.
Said buzzing anticipation nearly exploded as Philza reached out, dragging him closer. When putting his back to the wall, “Tommy” had only considered the ability to see any attackers coming, not how easy it would be to corner him. There was nowhere to scramble back.
But though ensnared, the attack never came. “Tommy” scowled. His instincts were all mismatched for the situation, leaving him feeling stupid and tricked. It wasn’t his fault Philza defied how the world was supposed to work. “Tommy” had seen what hugs looked like, but was hesitant with inexperience. Tommy usually complained through them from what he’d seen, wriggling and shrieking with laughter. But always in the bright glow of day, not when the brief glimpse of hidden worry his father held still lingered in the air. He didn’t know how Tommy should act, let alone “Tommy.”
His experience with humans was always antagonistic, pain from both ends. He was familiar only with their screams. But those days stalking Philza’s family shifted something, showed him how peaceful humans were amongst themselves. This softness was…normal. Unremarkable, for humans. Gentle touches that never hurt and kind words with no ulterior motives. It only made “Tommy” hate them more, if he were honest. Stupid, every last one of them. If they weren’t constantly on guard, then they deserved for that illusion of safety to shatter. It had to be an illusion. No one could have it that good. It wasn’t fair. Why should peace be so easy for them, and never for him?
But it could be, “Tommy” realized.
This peace could be his, for as long as the lie lasted. He had the opportunity to steal it, to rob the real Tommy of every last drop of love he ever would have received. All wasted on a brat who couldn’t see the value of it. All given by a man that would be eviscerated when he realized. Surely that was an evil enough justification.
Here in the dark there was no audience, human or demon. No one would know his one moment of weakness save a man who could be dead in seconds if “Tommy” willed it. Save a man who couldn’t even begin to apprehend the danger he was in, and so never knew to draw up walls to protect himself. And since “Tommy” was the biggest, baddest monster around, surely he needn’t guard himself. Besides, Philza’s blood bound him to take care of his spawn, and only the most powerful of devils could break their oaths. As long as “Tommy” was convincing enough, Philza would be incapable of harming him. So if truly “Tommy” wasn’t in any danger…maybe he could afford to the same.
Everything else could be a lie, “Tommy” decided. Everything before, everything after. For just one second he wanted to know what it was like in truth.
Shaking slightly, he slipped his forelegs around “Dad’s” sides. His claws automatically unsheathed as they wrapped around his back, ready to tear into unprotected tender flesh. But if he murdered “Dad” now he would never get another chance. Surely Philza had to be uniquely stupid in his careless love. With effort, “Tommy’s” claws faded, fingers curling into “Dad’s” shirt in fistfuls of fabric. In response, the human squeezed him lightly. The heat of his body was so gentle, so unlike the hellfire burning in “Tommy’s” soul. Maybe he could get used to this, where every touch from another didn’t burn. “Tommy” buried his muzzle in “Dad’s” chest, pressing closer, closer. “Dad” rubbed circles between his withers, soothing his trembling. He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this, never needed it. Only the weak were kind, needed kindness.
Lips pressed against “Tommy’s” forehead. It wasn’t a bite. He didn’t know what it was, other than weak. That’s all this was. “Love you, kid,” Dad murmured.
Something stung in his eyes, burning like hellfire but trickling away into pure ice. Oh. The pathetic human form was crying. “Tommy” didn’t know much what crying was, other than the fact dying humans did a lot of it, and it forced “Dad” to coo over him. Fear, maybe. But why would he be scared?
It was easy to tell when Philza was finally asleep, the heartbeat “Tommy” was pressed to waning. It would be so easy to slow it to pure silence. “Tommy” wanted to, maybe. Acidic shame trickled in for his moment of vulnerability. In the halls of Hell, he was familiar with being a pathetic weakling. That was okay. That was the proper order of things, ambitions vying to claw together enough power to ascend the hierarchy, and that meant stepping on others to get out of the cesspit. “Tommy” was so achingly used to losing over and over and over again, but here in the mortal world everyone was beneath him. It was supposed to be different here.
And it was. Some traitorous, revolting part of him wanted to be weak. Now, when he was finally at the top of the food chain.
It was stupid. He was stupid, and confused, and conflicted, and he should just rip Philza into infinitesimal pieces so he never had to feel any of this shame ever again. He hated how badly part of him resisted the idea of proving he was stronger than the puny mortal forcing him to feel this. Whatever. Philza was asleep now, so “Tommy” could sneak off and kill people instead of thinking about any of this. Sounded like the perfect plan. But as he tried to leave, “Dad” instinctively pulled him closer. Instincts, that’s all it really was. It wasn’t real. Philza didn’t actually love him. His parental instincts were just too overwhelming for the simple animal to realize his chick had been replaced with a cuckoo. Philza was biologically programmed to treat his brood like this, snuggling tiny cubs because they weren’t made of hellfire like demons were and would die in the cold. Human kits were so puny the species wouldn’t survive if they weren’t compelled to care for their own blood. Best argument for their extinction if “Tommy” ever heard one.
That would explain why he felt like this, too. The human body was tripping him up with its fawning instincts. That’s why he didn’t want to escape the cage of Philza’s embrace despite it being the one obstacle between him and terrorizing the countryside. He’d feel better once in the skin of something else. Yeah.
Bones contorted as “Tommy” shrunk within Philza’s cradling forelegs. A held breath, but the human did not rouse. The small “rat” scampered off, launching off the bed and landing silently on the padded paws of a “panther”. His long back arched, settling into a new body. Much better. The moonlight seeping through the window beckoned him, a gentle night begging to be sullied. “Tommy” didn’t look back as he dove into it.
In the light of day, “Tommy” was a wonderful son, doting and precious, and in the cloak of darkness he was the scourge of humanity. The nightly escapades to inflict utter havoc on their neighbors made behaving tolerable, though after word got back Philza only got clingier. C’mon, what ten-year-old couldn’t handle a few razed houses and livestock/pet/human assorted bones spelling out demonic curses?! “Tommy” learned quickly to travel greater distances before causing problems.
Which eventually led to him returning late. The “crow” landed on the branch outside his cracked open window, catching the dark shape of Philza upturning his room while Technoblade badly attempted to calm him. Or- distract him, “Tommy” realized. He swiftly flew around the house, stumbling as he hit the ground in a tangle of running human limbs.
Rounding a corner, Wilbur’s head whipped around to him at once. Wilbur dragged “Tommy” into the house while glaring daggers at him, hissing “if you get caught ever again– OI DAD! FOUND HIM! I TOLD YOU HE WAS NEAR!” Something was clearly working if the “brothers” were working to help him. “Tommy” beamed, and then tackled Wilbur in a giant hug and thanked him brightly. Positive incentive really worked wonders on humans, even if threats were far more effective and fun. Rolling his eyes, Wilbur scooped “Tommy” up to carry on his hip. After days, the proximity didn’t bother him at all. He clung onto the human’s flank, snuggling in.
As Philza burst into the main room, “Tommy” smiled brilliantly at him, holding out a loose handful of cake. Best not to ask what it used to be before the shape-changer got to it. “Morning Dad! I got you an offering!”
For a second pure fury defined the human’s countenance, so palpable “Tommy” could almost forget how pitifully weak he was. But then Philza took a deep breath, closing his eyes and allowing a few seconds to collect himself. Philza laughed weakly with relief, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t ever do that again, sunshine. My old heart can’t take it.”
“Tommy” looked at the cake. “...what am I supposed to do with it if you won’t take it?” He’d thought it would be sufficient as far as grovelling went. Usually it was more along the lines of heads of enemies, but as often as Philza gave him sweets he figured it was a more human take on the subject. Maybe Philza was angrier than he thought, and worry bubbled in “Tommy’s” gut. He wasn’t sure how to make a human friendly version of peeling off one’s own skin to appease a greater demon.
“No- your disappearance, not the dessert. It’s lovely, thank you,” Philza said distractedly, accepting the tithe. Confused, he blinked at the fistful of cake, then decided it didn’t matter. “Do you know how many kids have gone missing recently?” “Tommy” wagered he had an exact count, even. “Only by the grace of the gods have I kept all of you.”
“We can protect him, too,” Technoblade offered. “You already trust us to be alone.”
“Together, I can. But if it was just one of you and Tommy I’d start worrying since you’d have to pour more attention to keeping him safe.”
“Then he can come with both of us,” Wilbur suggested. “We really need help in the field, Dad.”
“I don’t want to be alone, either. It seems to be targeting stragglers, and until they round up enough men for a wolf hunt none of us should be alone. Sorry, I know you’re missing time with your little brother. But I’m trying to keep us all safe, alright?” Despite his aching sincerity, “Tommy” tried not to snicker at how belated his concern was.
“You two behave, alright?” Philza warned, wagging his talon at the “brothers” despite his grin. “The house better still be here when I get back or else I’ll be very disappointed.” Only stupid mortals found comfort in the place they lived, and it was ever so easy to rip asunder that sense of stability and protection. Their fault, for thinking themselves safe. “Tommy” knew better.
“Yes sir,” Technoblade replied steadily, “we will remain vigilant.”
“When will you get back from town?” Wilbur asked nervously.
Philza held out a map, tracing out a route to the nearest town. He bent so that the jumping “Tommy” could see it, explaining how human maps worked. “Tommy” snarled at the affront, well aware of an aerial depiction of the area given how often he flew over it. Philza was unfazed, shrugging that it wasn’t necessary to get cross with someone trying to help. He folded his map into saddlebags, hooking up a chestnut horse to a shoddy covered cart. “We should be gone about two days. Maybe three, depending if I have trouble selling the fleece. I’m willing to stretch negotiations to ensure we’re not swindled.”
“Let me go with you,” Wilbur demanded.
Philza ruffled his fur fondly. “You’re also old enough to watch over the house. And Tommy hasn’t been yet. He’s been pestering me for years.” But really, he hadn’t let “Tommy” out of sight ever since he was replaced. Not really a shock.
The demon grinned, shoving the fleece he was carrying at Technoblade since he wasn’t tall enough to get it in the cart. The teen studied him, glanced to Philza, weighed how desperately he wanted to speak before “Tommy” absconded versus whatever risk he saw in Philza overhearing. “Tommy” didn’t particularly care about getting a tongue lashing for throwing Technoblade and Wilbur under the cart for the bloody symptoms of Tommy’s disappearance. He flashed a smug smile that was all serrated teeth. With a quick turn he marched off to where “Dad” waited to help lift him onto the horse.
But first, a hand landed on his shoulder, human fingers digging into his flesh and dragging him back. Technoblade leaned in close, expression dropped to something chilling. “You’re going to have to be a far better actor than that, “Tommy,”” they murmured icily in his ear, the faintest hissing echo to their inhuman voice.