Archive of Our Own

Tommy shook out his hand, hissing as some of the blaze powder he was working with flared up out of his mortar and bit at his fingers. He was working on an experimental poultice based off of some older texts he had found adventuring earlier.

Tommy Innit was going to be the greatest witch in the entirety of the Black Woods, the biggest of men to ever enchant among these trees. And no, witch was not a title just for women, thank you very much. 

He inspected his fingers, running his eyes over the fading marks. Seems like it was just embers, nothing seriously wrong. Although, if he really wanted to cool down the blaze rods while still making them into a fine powder… he could add some glow lichen. 

You wouldn’t expect the two blocks to pair well with each other, but glow lichen naturally ground into a fine dust and was very heat resistant thanks to its own natural faintly glowing bulbs storing heat and thriving near lava in cave systems. It shouldn’t affect the ability for blaze rods to grind into blaze powder, nor would the natural sap interfere with the consistency, like it would if he used a similar ingredient like shroomlights. 

It was worth a try, at least. 

Tommy got up, keeping his mortar and pestle under the heating lamp on his finely coated work desk as he got up to check his stores.

Tommy’s magic studio was the largest room in his house, as was befitting for a witch of his caliber. Shelves lined three of the four walls of the room, holding what looked like a mess but was a carefully organized system. It worked, almost all the time. 

The very top shelves and the shelves on the far right wall were covered in pots and chests. These areas got the most sun from the few high windows, so some live ingredients used them to grow, and other elements needed to be protected from the sun, so chests were the best option to keep them dry and cool. 

The wall that had the door that led to the rest of the house was filled with dozens of containers and boxes, each containing something he would keep in case he needed to use it. They weren’t just standard potions ingredients either, no. He found that other mediums required traditionally unorthodox ingredients… Tommy didn’t care as long as they produced results. Here was where he needed to look first for some spare glow lichen– and the wall he probably needed to organize the most. 

The other wall, on the right, held completed potions, poultices, spells, and all his liquid ingredients, along with the sink. There were grates and ruts painstakingly dug through the stone flooring so that in case something spilled, it wouldn’t leak out to the rest of the room. 

Once he gathered the glow lichen, found in the 28th box he checked (he KNEW he had stored some next to those hearts of the sea!) he turned back to his workstation, which took nearly the entirety of the final wall. With the windows above, his work desk and cauldrons were the cleanest and most expensive area of the whole room. 

When Tommy started out, he quickly learned that while quality of ingredients had some impact on the results of his witchcraft, it was impurities and contrary ingredients that snuck in through poor preparation that were much quicker to degrade the product of his magic making. Hints of dirt, stone, and other materials of the earth wasted no time in killing the shine of his water breathing potions. 

It was a hard lesson to learn, but Tommy kept things separate; if he was going to be the biggest witch, he needed the highest quality after all. 

Tommy carefully separated bulbs and strands of glow lichen into his mortar, taking the pestle and creating a divot in the blaze rod powder. Slowly, he began to incorporate the two together, pushing with a firm downward motion to grate apart the rods, bringing the lichen with it. 

Soon, it was clear to see that he’d guessed correctly. The lichen ground quicker than the blaze rods and began to coat them in dust, helping them separate and not spark against itself. The mixture combined, and it was clear to see that the blaze rods were still hot and powerful, but they had an appearance closer to magma now, duller and more red. 

Tommy decided to set aside some of the mixture later for further testing, but this was just what he needed. Walking over to the purged mixing bowl he was using to make his poultice, Tommy began to hum. His lips were practically buzzing with excitement, wanting to tell someone about his process, someone to smile in success with. 

Alas, part of his sacrifices towards being an absolute unit of a witch was the solitude required to keep magical ingredients close in reach. 

He sighed, rolling his shoulders and grabbing a cloth to let the fats absorb the herbs of the poultice in peace. Like bread rising, he thought. 

Tommy ambled out into the smaller main section of his cabin in the woods, grabbing some milk from the enchanted cold chest. He’d need to do a run into town over the next few days, get more perishable supplies.  

He could probably whip up some potions to exchange too. Tommy was getting good at knowing how to just twist the ingredients ever so slightly for better results. It made shopkeepers willing to buy, and started to build his reputation. It was sad that most people were incredibly skeptical of any other form of magic, but Tommy could work with it well enough. 

Tommy drank his milk, staring out his fogging windows. Winter was getting closer, it would be better if he started stocking up sooner than later. 

For as much as he loved the Black Woods… magic could beguile in the dark and unfamiliar, and hampered by the snow, freezing to death was no way to go. 

Not for Tommy. 

Not yet at least. 

—

The wheel of Tommy’s cart squeaks about every four and a half seconds. Tommy is pretty sure it’ll drive him insane. He’s almost to the second closest town, down and to the right from where he lives, but he may never make it if this damned squeaking forces him into madness, leading him to become feral and live among the wolves and deer. Eugh. 

A small rock on his trail causes his potions bottles, empty milk jars, and lantern to clang together. The sound is actually pleasant, the higher full tones mixing with a metallic tinkle and ringing deep clang. Tommy hums in the top of his throat, trying to recreate the chord. It doesn’t quite work. 

His voice dies as it travels into the thick pines that surround him, dampened by the cooling air. Tommy is glad he brought his lantern; it’s not lit yet, but the sky has been darkening earlier in the day and he will be thankful for it when he comes back. 

The autumn equinox was a few weeks away, and the air started to become the slightest bit cooler, breeze rustling through the trees with the slightest bit of urgency. At this point the coming of fall and winter were just annoying, with maybe a slight opportunity for some cool magic but that was pretty rare.

Tommy’s thoughts dance as he makes a mental list of everything he’s going to need to do and trade for when he gets to the village. He passes by various landmarks and offhandedly shoves some herbs from new patches into his deep pockets, writing down a quick note about where he found each one. When he gets back to his house he’d have time to do more. 

It’s a familiar path to Tommy. He has a few villages that he’d consider he’s within walking distance of, but this is one of his favorites. There’s a local church and guild that contains a cleric or two that are friendly with him. 

Some towns have suspicions against witches or magic in general, but thankfully those tend to be few and far between. All the better for Tommy. His own town, before he set off to make a name for himself, hadn’t really been the most welcoming of magic that didn’t come from the church or beyond the portals. 

Tommy, obviously, thought that kind of thinking was akin to having dog water for brains. He wouldn’t even concede the point about his temper, given that he hadn’t chucked his entire cart into the river with this maddening squeaking.

Thankfully, there had been a blacksmith and librarian couple who were long established in the community that took the occasional time to mentor him. They helped establish his basics, at least in feeling for magic and working it into materials. When the blacksmith, Terrence, died, Tommy left town. He was meant for bigger and better things. Not this…. place. His move was for the best, really. 

The trees surrounding him began to thin, signage for travelers began to spring up, welcoming Tommy. 

His feet hit the packed trail, slowly transitioning to a cobbled street, and his potions jingled merrily from their place. The butcher’s daughter looked up from where she was sweeping her patio and waved hello.

Tommy moved in further, ready to sell his goods, trade what he could, and make it back before late. He shivered as a breeze whistled down the street, no longer deterred by trees. For a moment, the natural magic in the earth began to rise, the sun eclipsing a tower to just graze his form. Something was just a little different. Like all the world held its breath, building, rising, overtaking all sight.

A bird caw broke the momentary feeling and the village was just a village again. Tommy started pushing his cart again from where he had unconsciously stopped in the middle of the road. 

It seemed the wind of change was upon them. 

—

Tommy’s little cart trudged back down the familiar path. He was incredibly grateful that he’d had someone take a look at the wheel and it was no longer squeaking like a wheezing animal. 

He’d gotten a pretty good haul, if he did say so himself. More milk, meat, cheese, and sweet bread from a specific villager lady. She had strawberry blond hair and had always given him a discount when he was first establishing himself. (If that meant that he made sure that her potions were always the best, then that was no one’s business. Tommy wasn’t some sort of lovey dovey mushy soft guy, he was a MAN. The BIGGEST MAN-) 

He was able to trade away all of his potions, and most of the villagers he sold to gave him back empty bottles in return, so he wasn’t spending half his earnings trying to make more of a profit. He’d also taken a look in the Blacksmith’s shop, looking at his new blast furnace- which Tommy might be able to bribe him to use for more glass, if Tommy got the sand and molds. 

What was really interesting, though, was the old books the Cleric had given him. Usually, only Librarians had access to magical books, as they could scribe a select few enchantments themselves. 

Cleric Plaud had passed the two tomes over to Tommy mostly because despite the magical names and passages, they weren’t enchanted, and they didn’t seem to work. They’d picked them up off a wandering trader, the annoying scam artists, and ended up with duds. Plaud likely thought that Tommy wouldn’t have any luck either, but then again, Plaud only had generations of training and skill woven into him from a young age from the Church. 

Tommy, was a witch. He had natural talent and just a hint of inborn magic, like the kind that let potions bind together, the ingredients reacting in just a way that became stable. 

Clerics could use magical items, but they mostly made “suspicious stew.” Not potions, not the kind Tommy could. 

If Tommy’s hunch was right, these books were old witchcraft logs; like the kind Tommy made of his own experiments. Sometimes witches weren’t solitary hags who lived in forests alone, and they had families that they wanted to pass knowledge onto. (Tommy wasn’t quite so lucky.) 

If this was one of those, then chances were Tommy could take leaps and bounds in his spellcraft. 

He’d have to be careful with them. Both books were old and dusty, and if Tommy wanted to read the fine thin print, he’d need to examine it carefully, maybe find another spell to help with the aging paper. The last thing he’d want to do is leave it out and find it destroyed by a rogue potion or spell or simple humidity. 

Tommy reached the door to his house, finally letting his cart pegs rest on the dirt. Carefully, Tommy took two fingers and twisted them into the lattice covering the window of his front door. Pressing on the hidden button there, he unlocked his door, ensuring that his defences were down. 

Tommy might have a concentration in magical effects within a human system, but his security wasn’t anything to sneeze at. Unless you were a spider, in which case you’d rather have a severe coughing fit. Tommy loved spiders, when they weren’t free roaming around his house: hence quite a bit of lemon built into his perimeter for a slight natural deterrent. (Shroud, a spider-hybrid child at the local orphanage, wasn’t included in this spell. Tommy had taken time to specifically weave Shroud out of it, just on the very rare chance that the sweet boy would need to visit.) 

Tommy carefully pushed his cart back in, rolling the wheels over the threshold, ensuring that the transition to his floors didn’t jostle the bottles too harshly. 

He went about, stoking the fire and putting his wares back in their proper places. His footsteps were loud in the quiet of the house, no stew on the stove or potions brewing. Carefully, Tommy secured the tomes outside of his studio, just to ensure that they wouldn’t interact with any other magical artefact late in the night. 

Grabbing some oats and seeds from his pantry, Tommy kneaded crushed dates into the mixture, making a simple but sweet dinner. He yawned, rolling his ankles one at a time as he leant on his counter. 

Quickly sweeping his eyes over the room, Tommy didn’t see anything that required his attention tonight. After peeking into the studio one last time, he slipped into his bedroom. 

His bed, raised up slightly off the floor, took up most of the space. Tommy removed his sandals, taking a washcloth to where a bit of mud had splattered onto his legs. He tossed on a softer, baggier shirt than the more professional one he wore to town, and got into bed. 

His hands clasped one of the remaining artifacts of his childhood, long gone by now: a stuffed doll in the shape of a cow he had named Henry. 

The sound of his own breaths, faintly echoed by the fire, carried him to sleep. 

—

Tommy awoke, and started his day as usual. Same chores, same manly responsibilities. He was almost itching to get some time alone with those tomes. 

He was finishing up in the garden: checking on what could be harvested and what had already been taken by the bugs and the birds. Tommy was onto his fruit patches. He had started taking cuttings of plants that looked edible and crossing them with a field guide and a spell or two before leaving them in a pail of water for a few weeks. Once they got roots on the end, he’d make the soil where he wanted them muddy and slide the plants right in. Over time, they would fight each other for space and take what they needed from the elements for the most part. 

He was picking sweet berries, getting angrier by the second. 

“Stupid berries, stupid thorns,” Tommy muttered under his breath. 

Sweet berries tasted delicious and they grew quickly, but they had awful thorns that pricked deep if you hit them right. The berries easiest to reach were also the safest for the birds, and thus weren’t viable for Tommy himself. He had to reach further into the bush to grab the berries, but he had to go slow to avoid the thorns. 

He, however, was perhaps the tiniest bit impatient– he wanted to read those tomes so badly! But the quicker he hurried, the more his hands and arms got pricked. If he wasn’t more careful, he wouldn’t be able to read them at all for fear of bleeding and ruining the pages. 

Tommy took a deep breath in, and released it slowly, letting the air whistle out his mouth. He had time this afternoon. He’d be able to take a look then. 

He turned his attention back to the berry patch, working back into a section and carefully pulling branches out of the way. He was just about to reach the last ripe one deep behind a particularly large stem when a loud squawk startled him. 

“MOTHER of-” Tommy hissed, jolting as he flinched directly into another string of thorns. He jerked his head to the left, where he heard the noise from. 

A large crow was perched on his watering can. 

“What do you want,” he snarled, before softening. The crow wouldn’t have known he’d get hurt in doing so. “Haven’t seen you around before, I guess. Introducing yourself, eh?” 

Tommy knew several animals in the surrounding area. They were neighbors, after all. It was only good manners to know who you lived by, and help them out in a pinch. 

Tommy reached down to the pile of discarded berries, pecked open or spotted with bug holes. “Here you go, a nice treat. Good to see you around,” Tommy said at the crow. 

The crow tilted its head curiously as he tossed the berries closer, across the grassy patch between them. The crow inspected them closer, crying out when it found the pecked holes. 

“Oh don’t give me that. Your friends may have started chomping on them, but there’s a perfectly fine other half,” Tommy groused, turning back to the patch and starting to work on pulling more berries out from underneath leaves. 

There was the rustle of wings. “Hey!” Tommy cried, waving his hands over his basket of pristine berries. “Those are not for you. Get your own!” The crow, understandably, did not listen. It was a crow. 

The two tussled for a bit, before the bird hopped away, crowing victoriously with a prime juicy berry in its beak. Tommy groused, but ultimately smiled and laughed it off. 

“Yeah yeah, you won that one. And only that one,” he said. “Better remember it, though.” 

The crow bobbed, beak still holding the berry. With a few hops, the crow took off, heading back into the depths of the forest. Tommy turned back to his gardening, almost finished. It was light work after he got over his impatience, and he was soon tucking the last of his carrots into his pantry. 

Putting aside the incident, Tommy made a beeline for the tomes, settling himself down on his favorite chair, scootched away from the fire. Just in case. 

—

Tommy held back a whoop. He was right! At least partially. After a few days of careful restoration, his two books yielded their rewards. They were both from the same family, written across a few generations each. They were witch written and kept, but only one was a tome of family magic. The other was just as fascinating: a cookbook. 

Given that it was written by witches, most of the recipes included common herbs that imbued some slight effects, and even a few suspicious stew recipes snuck their way in, but the focus wasn’t on the magic the food provided, but rather making easy and good tasting meals out of ingredients witch families had a surplus of. 

Tommy always needed sage on hand. It was incredibly helpful in healing salves and he never knew when some idiot troupe would attack a dragon and be forced to seek reprieve from magical burns ( cough DreamTheManhunter cough- ) so he kept a stock dried inside, and fresh in his half kempt plots outside. When that didn’t happen however, he ended up tossing huge piles of it on a fire outside. Apparently, though, it was really good cooked with butter and served crispy with pumpkin. Who knew! Tommy might have to try his way through the recipes- especially as winter drew near and his knowledge of cooking without fresh vegetables dwindled. It wasn’t a book of magic, but it may have a magical effect on his lifestyle. 

The other book, though, was a family tome. The book had been contributed to and edited by six generations of witches. SIX! It was so cool to see their writing change, extinct elements scribbled out for modern substitutions, the book just felt like the souls of the witches were poured into it. 

Out of respect, Tommy had tried his best to offer up prayers for their souls in the afterlife. They were doing him a huge blessing here. 

He had started evaluating each piece of magic. There were a few that were quick, easy for him to try out or test right away. A braid in his hair here, a notched rune set on the shed there. Other spells and poultices would need certain scenarios or ingredients he didn’t have yet. 

He wanted to try them all, of course, but they would come in their own time and place. The effects had to be measured against each other: Tommy needed something big, something that would stake his claim. 

Tommy was surely the biggest witch in the entirety of the Black Woods. At least, he sure had the potential to be. There were other witches who had been here longer, and thus had more of a reputation. If Tommy wanted to be truly secure, he had to push the boundaries of what the surrounding area knew magic could do. In a good way of course. 

Tommy knew he could do it. All it would take was the right spell: he’d been working on one for years, but if he could pull off one from the book, maybe tweak it slightly, then he’d have a real showstopper on his hands, and he’d start getting jobs from beyond the local area or whatever travellers stumbled across his ring of influence. 

It was slow work. Many of the spells in the book weren’t applicable right now. He was copying one of the promising potions when a glow lit up in his peripheral vision. Tap tap tap. Ah yes. His daily visitor. 

The crow Tommy had come across in his garden refused to leave him alone; just a few days after the incident Tommy was startled leaving his house to grab more firewood. The crow had returned and started fluttering around Tommy’s face. 

Tommy shooed it away, but the crow stubbornly returned. If Tommy had lived nearby a village clock, he’d perhaps say like clockwork . If Tommy wasn’t outside at the time, the crow would rap on his windows. At some point, Tommy gave up and threw a handful of seeds straight at the crow. It did a cackling caw that sounded oddly like laughing as it fluttered and dodged, seemingly delighted at provoking such a reaction. 

Since then, Tommy had (begrudgingly) given the crow food in the most violent way possible. The little stone he had enchanted to notify him when a crow entered the clearing where his house sat only worked half the time, but it was enough for Tommy to pull himself away from time sensitive potions work before the crow started harassing his magical protections again. 

Tommy rooted through his pantry, grabbing the watermelon seeds he usually threw away. He strode over to the door, throwing it open and chucking the bag out– surely the crow could find his own way to the seeds. 

“Hello, nuisance, here’s your-” 

He stopped, bag primed in his hand, arm wound up behind him. His eyes trailed up from metal clad legs up a battered tunic covering a large torso, before finally reaching the eyes of the very tall, very muscular, very wartorn man in front of him. The crow, cackled merrily on his shoulder. 

Huh. 

“Seeds. Uh. Not your seeds, his seeds, Mr….. pink warrior man.” The man raised an eyebrow at his fumbling. “Can I… help you?” 

The man ran his hands over the satchel he wore. 

“That depends. You know the witch who lives nearby?” The man said, and glanced away from Tommy back into the house behind him. 

At this, Tommy broke out of his socially awkward haze. 

“Witch? If you’re looking for a witch in this area, that's ME, got it?” He lowered his hand, crossing his arms and puffing up in front of the man. “You’re dealing with ‘im right now. Nobody else for ages.” 

The man muttered something like well aware under his breath but ultimately sagged. “Sounds about right. Rumor has it that you’re good at the body magics, right? Spells for people?” 

Tommy gave a proud, short nod. 

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to need a spell for Phil. Name your price and I can start on it, just need him healed.” 

Tommy narrowed his eyes, wrinkled his nose, and it was his turn to examine behind the stranger. There was a horse in the clearing, with several bundles of clothes on it. The garden was chaotic but devoid of new faces, and Tommy did glance down and around in case Phil was this guy’s small child toddling about.

“Is Phil the horse? He doesn’t look sick to me, though I’m not an expert. I don’t do horse bodies as well as I do human bodies though,” Tommy said, considering. 

“What, no,” the man said. “The horse is Carl. This is Phil,” he said, and plucked the crow right off his shoulder to hold him at eye height. 

“Oh you smarmy little fucker,” Tommy said, eyes narrowing. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you stole those berries.” 

—

Tommy let the two of them, Phil and just call me Technoblade, yes that’s my real name inside his house. Technoblade sat, looking huge on his tiny chairs, as Phil enjoyed exploring the rafters. 

“Lay it on me,” Tommy said. He’d been living and breathing in the magical community for ages. Hearing the wild stories was always the best part. “What’s the deal with Phil, and what deal do you wanna make with me?” 

Technoblade shuffled, twisting the bottle of water he held in his hands. 

“Me an’ Phil are adventuring together. Have been for the last age, y’know?” 

“So Phil’s usually… Human?” Tommy interrupted, just to make sure. He knew a lovely rabbit named Gerald, and there was always Kevin the pig running around the upper forest. Tommy didn’t judge! 

“Yeah,” Technoblade said. “Short, blond, chatters away at all hours.” Tommy snorted at the description. “We were at an old temple. It was weird, because the architecture and murals all seemed like they were classical vex depictions, but there were absolutely no woodland mansions for leagues around. We have no clue how they could’ve heard about ‘em, so we tried to go poking a little deeper.” 

“It had been looted through a few times already, but Phil and I have a few tricks up our sleeves, slipped into a corridor that’d been missed. I was busy looking at a depiction on the wall, when this idiot,” he gestured broadly at the ceiling, where Phil was hopping around, “got himself cursed. Shiny object. He touched it, and then,” he waved his hand broadly, “crow.” 

Tommy hummed. 

“Did you happen to bring the object with you?” Tommy asked, thinking at the various magics that would be needed for such a transformation. 

Technoblade shook his head. “Shattered. I don’t know what shape it was in, best guess a jewel or vase or something, but it fell apart and I didn’t want to touch the powder in case it happened to me too.” 

Tommy nodded. Better to retreat when you had a large unknown for the uninitiated. He stood up, and walked to the kitchen. 

“How long has it been?” 

Technoblade paused, considering. 

“Probably a moon and a half. We’ve, uh,” he paused, looking slightly embarrassed. “We’ve been to a few witches before. Couldn’t solve it.” 

Tommy paused, mid reach for a dish, before continuing. This might not be as simple of a fix as he had hoped for then. Still, he’d do his best to try. 

“Well, best eliminate the easiest method first. Come here and drink this,” Tommy said, eying Phil up in the rafters. He had plunked down a shallow dish of milk. 

Phil let out another caw-laugh and swooped down, hopping on the table. His beak dipped into the dish, and he drank once, twice, and hopped away. No change. 

Tommy sighed. Why couldn’t it be that easy ? 

— 

Technoblade and Tommy parsed out the details and settled into a routine over the next few days. Tommy would commit to healing Phil, doing tests and making spells until it was no longer safe to do so. In exchange, Technoblade would supply him with materials as needed, and help out around the house as he could. 

The situation was tougher than most Tommy had encountered, but it would be a great chance to practice his diagnosing skills. So far, he’d done a minor charm to test Phil’s mind and intelligence, ensuring that he wasn’t slowly going to lose his humanity. Luckily, it seemed like the foreign magic had only sought to change his shape, not his soul. 

After ensuring that his deadline wasn’t quite as tight as he feared it might be, Tommy set about with three distinct magics. 

Firstly, he ground plants and materials into a fine powder that would help cleanse and purify, and started mixing it in with the water Phil drank from. Hopefully this would “lift the edge” of the curse and make it that much easier to remove. 

Next, he started brewing a potion of rebirth. It wasn’t an ideal potion because it took a whole season to make: from the start of an equinox or solstice to another. It would hopefully be a last resort, but he wanted to start on it now, just in case. What it was, however, was powerful. Tommy would use it as a ‘last resort’ if needed, as it could almost completely heal someone from an affliction, as long as it hadn’t left a mark on the soul.

Thirdly, he started gathering materials needed for a spell of change. This was his “ideal” option, where he’d tie together a related offering, burn it, and offer a similar poultice for Phil to choke down. Ingestibles were the most reliable way to help give an effect to the body, after all. By eating some, it’d be easier for the spell to wind its way through the pathways of his body, rather than burning their own energy trying to find them all itself. Tommy had a lingering suspicion that it wasn’t going to work, though. 

Tommy’s hunches are usually right, even if he couldn’t track down a tangible reason for why certain magic would or wouldn’t work. A spell of change might work in most situations, and with a lift from a diet with a bit of cleansing magic in it, it had a chance of success. Something about the way Phil moved though; his hops, flutters, and vocalizations. 

They were a touch too natural, if Tommy had to put a finger on it. He sighed. Chances were, the person who’d laid the enchantment down on the artefact in the first place probably had some semblance of what they were doing. The enchantment likely wasn’t a blanket “turn everyone who touches me into a crow,” type of magic. That’d be weaker, as it would sit like an oily film on a stew sits over the soul of the person under it. 

As it was, Phil likely had some crow-like tendencies or characteristics himself. 

As if on cue, Phil fluttered into Tommy’s workshop, heading directly for the rafters. Once he checked around and found Tommy alone with a list, cauldron and mortar pushed off to the side, he dropped down to land on Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy froze at the unexpected light weight, his mind narrowing in on the point of contact, small little claws digging slightly into his shirt, phantom heat escaping from his puffed up little body. 

Tommy stared straight ahead as Phil adjusted himself on his shoulder, looking briefly at Tommy’s work before hopping a little closer to his head. Tommy didn’t dare take too strong a breath, scared of perhaps hurting Phil, despite seeing how the crow-man had handled the swift movements Technoblade made all the time. 

Phil didn't care for this worry and immediately stuck his beak into Tommy’s hair. It was an awkward, short period of time, Phil’s beak made for preening birds and not witches. Tommy hoped that he wasn’t looking for bugs or something, that would be a bit insulting. 

Thankfully, the moment was cut short as Technoblade’s heavy footsteps wandered in. Tommy slowly began turning, only for Phil to launch himself off of Tommy’s shoulder towards Technoblade. Technoblade, of course, was unruffled by the quick motion. What a man. 

Technoblade stood tall and sturdy, face cold and unmoving. He looked instinctively to his right, glancing at the cauldron, before they returned to looking at each other. Technoblade drew out a yellow apple, curiously unblemished and with a sheen under the candle light. He tossed it to Tommy who caught it, glancing between the apple and the other man. 

“What’s this… for?” Tommy tried asking. He started inspecting a little closer, feeling a tingle at his fingertips. “Wait a second… is this a golden apple?” He asked. 

Technoblade shuffled, “Yes,” he said. “It’s good.” Tommy looked at the man with a degree of incredulity. 

“Of course it’s good, it’s a bloody golden apple! I don’t need this for any of my spellwork though, being enchanted themselves, they’re good for rituals and offerings,” he explained. “Not my general wheelhouse.”

“Not for that,” Technoblade said, avoiding direct eye contact. “They’re good. For eatin’.” 

Tommy stared. 

“We eat 'em a lot, where I’m from,” Technoblade said. “Good for health, good for luck, and pretty easy to get.” 

Tommy had never once heard of golden apples being easy to get, but he wasn’t going to pry further. That wasn’t any of his business . 

Tommy put the apple down gently on his work desk, moving to grab the list. 

“Well, it’s good that you came in. I’m going to need to know what on this list you already know about and or know how to get, so we can narrow down some of our options.” 

Phil fluttered onto Tommy’s shoulder again, causing him to pause, before he reckoned the bird wanted a better look at the list. 

“Right. Ever seen a torchflower big man?” 

—

Tommy eyes Phil carefully. Technoblade is out gathering another ingredient for the potion of rebirth, but it’s much easier if Phil stays behind, so the man turned crow is keeping him company. Tommy’s still at his workdesk, idly keeping an eye on some marinating ingredients as he starts to run calculations for his modified potion. 

Tommy was right about the wealth of knowledge from that family tome: he’s picked out exactly what he wants to perform to establish his name. The book contained a potion for eliminating salt from water, and Tommy would be reworking it for disease. 

The potion was already impressive by itself, and clearly would be useful in turning saltwater lakes into freshwater ones in areas with limited water supply. Tommy lived in the Black Woods, so there were no shortages of rivers and ponds of freshwater. The only issue was, local villages still had to haul the water from rivers and boil it to clean it, or they had to use limited wells dug deep in the ground. Neither were helpful in times of crisis or for the poor. 

If Tommy could correctly change the focus of the magic from salt to the little creatures of sickness inside the water, Tommy could not only do a bunch of good, but clearly define the borders of his influence. It was the perfect piece of magic for his purposes, but it was a bit tricky. 

The potion wasn’t like normal potions imbued by humans or animals, but more akin to a spelled stew. Tommy wasn’t sure if anyone had ever figured out how this type of magic, just that it did, evidently. 

Tommy was picking out ingredients that he didn’t think were tied to the salt target and that he hopefully wouldn’t need to modify at all. He’d be running a few tests to check for magic manipulation, checking the compatibility to see if it matched what the tome recorded. He might even need to swap ingredients entirely due to the region difference, but having a baseline and previous testing actually gave Tommy quite a bit to work with than if he was trying to make the magic up from scratch. 

Not to mention: the final ingredient listed is love. What even is that– could it be an old slang term? Maybe Tommy has to really love the area he’s blessing with the potion. Sometimes old beliefs like that trickled down, could even evoke the attention of something Higher to get the magic moving correctly… 

Tommy pushed back his chair, thoughts running rampant. Phil cocked his head at the action from where he was perched on the windowsill. Phil had evidently learnt his lesson about messing with magic in process, but his natural curiosity couldn’t keep him out of the room entirely. 

As Tommy pushed his chair back away from the active magic and calculations on his desk, Phil deemed it safe to flutter down to his shoulder. 

Despite the weirdness of thinking about a man perched on his shoulder, it seemed to be the crow man’s favorite spot to hang out. Tommy had no clue why, but it didn’t hurt, and he’d gotten used to just keeping moving. If Phil wasn’t balanced when Tommy moved, he’d just flutter back and reestablish himself. 

Tommy started going through his wall of supplies, poking open chest after chest to see if he had any blessed salt from a cleric laying around. He’d need to do a town supply run here again soon and even with Technoblade’s help it was just easier if he could inspect things in person. 

Phil’s beak had at some point worked its way back into his hair, as it was wont to do, and now he was tugging lightly on the shell of Tommy’s ear. 

“Quit that,” Tommy said, turning his head to where the bird couldn’t reach his ear. This had the benefit of stopping the tugging but put him in a staredown competition with a bird. Tommy felt silly rather quickly and turned back to the wall, examining what could be a harmless stain or some sort of wood decay.

Phil didn’t care, and started right back on the ear. When Tommy turned his head to give the crow a flat look, Phil took off gently, avoiding the walls to sit straight on the top of the open door. 

Tommy raised an eyebrow. Phil let out a drawn out caw. 

“What? If you’re that bored you’re free to leave. I should be here to monitor this,” Tommy said with a nod to the active magic tests that were running on his workbench. 

Phil let out a chatter. When Tommy didn’t move, he swooped down and out into the main cottage area. Tommy shrugged and went back to categorizing items. 

He was working through some bundles of grass that had slipped loose when a clatter and thump echoed from behind the door. That would be fine… probably. It could be dealt with later that night. Tommy continued, then stepped back to tie some twine around the grass. 

He could hear tiny little claws on the wood of his floors, hopping around. When the sounds quieted Tommy could feel beady little eyes focused on him, but he couldn’t spot Phil through the narrow opening of the door. 

Tommy finished up retying the grass and he moved to write down a note. The second he pauses in the middle of the room, poised to write, Phil strikes. 

A flutter of wings precursors the attack before a sweet berry is thrown with not insignificant power from above, Phil letting out a string of chirrups when it hits. 

“Hey!” Tommy exclaims, annoyed. He catches and eats the berry in retaliation, his stomach rumbling. Oh. 

Tommy glances out the window, and he’s worked right through lunch. Again. 

Phil hops in triumph as Tommy eyes the stable magic before heading to the kitchen for food. 

“Yeah yeah, you win this time,” Tommy says under his breath. He refuses to admit that it comes out a little fond.  

—

Tommy slowly rises up out of sleep, drifting softly. There’s a light tug on his hair, as if it’s caught on a hook. He rouses, waving a hand to feel around for whatever it’s caught on.

“‘T’s too early for this,” he mumbles. His hands hit only the air, and he ignores the faint sounds he can hear of things in his room shifting gently. 

There’s another tug, more insistent, and Tommy opens his eyes to beady black ones right in front of him. He lets out a small yelp and falls back. 

Phil churrs, hopping after him, fluttering to sit on his chest. 

“Hi, Phil,” Tommy says. “What are you doing in my room?” 

Phil, predictably, does not respond. He cannot respond. He’s currently stuck as a crow. Tommy feels a bit stupid for even asking, but he’s going to blame it on the sleep still clinging to the edge of his thoughts. 

Instead, Phil flutters over to the window, lined with frost in the morning light. Tommy sighs, knowing this day was coming. Now that frost was here, winter would soon be arriving in full force. He had been gathering as much as he could into the house for storage in the colder months, and tossed spare sheets over what he had left to harvest. 

Tommy gently rose, letting Phil slide off, as he got out of bed to change. He had a long day in front of him. 

Tommy didn’t even bother cooking breakfast, just taking a small loaf of bread from the pantry and eating it straight as he shucked on his shoes. He grabbed his coat and hat, old, but carefully stitched with warmth runes by an old friend. 

Once outside, Phil hovered around the area perching on fence posts and pumpkins alike. He was pleasant company as Tommy took a sickle to his herbs, lopping the stems off in loose handheld bundles. He listened to Phil’s chatter as he trekked from his small growing lot to the house, the sun steadily rising. He wished this could be done with magic, but not only was he not precise enough for that kind of maneuverability, he desperately didn’t want to accidentally contaminate his magicks.

Phil was generally pretty quiet, so him making a sudden ruckus drew Tommy’s attention. He rose from the berry bushes he was cutting down for the winter, his nose still stuffed with the scent of lavender. 

Blearily he looked around for what had drawn Phil’s attention and heard the sound of hooves over the wind, and soon Technoblade’s figure separated from the trees. Phil flew off to warmly greet his friend and Tommy tried to pull himself together a little. 

“Hey,” he said once they were close enough that not saying anything would be pretty awkward. 

“Hey kid,” Technoblade huffed. “Let me put Carl over by the shed and get his tack off.” 

Tommy nodded awkwardly before bending over the crops again. He worked through the berries and started bringing in the last of the squash and other vegetables he grew only for the sake of bulk to eat. 

Technoblade returned, rolling his shoulders and getting to work, putting the haul inside away from the frosty air. With two hands it was much lighter work than Tommy expected, and soon he begged off to wash himself off in the warm water he was able to heat with a touch of tricky spell weaving. 

When he returned, damp but clean, it was to a strange sight. Technoblade by the stove, stirring a pot of stew, fire fully stoked. The herbs Tommy had harvested all morning were tied with the twine he had set out and were drying in the rafters right next to the ones Tommy had harvested over the past few days. Tommy got a funny flipping feeling in his chest, a slight stinging beginning in his eyes. It was so simple, but Technoblade finishing what he had started brought an odd light sensation to his stomach: as if he were walking up the side of a large hill and didn’t know if the rocks below him would fall. 

Technoblade turned around, hair loose, wearing just his long sleeve tunic, pants, and thick socks. Like this, lit by the light of the fire, he looked warm. Soft. Nothing like the imposing image Tommy was first introduced to. 

They sat by the table, cleared of herbs, and Tommy watched as Phil stubbornly dogged Technoblade’s hands as they ate together, wanting to be close. 

Technoblade finished his stew much more quickly, evidently hungry from the ride. 

“So kid, how have things been going here? Final harvest of the year?” Technoblade said, nodding at the collection of fruit, vegetables, herbs, and grains. 

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded. “Phil woke me up to the frost. No plants will survive the night unless you’ve got them insulated.” 

Technoblade hummed, rattling deep in his chest. 

“Didn’t mean to be back so late,” Technoblade said. “If I’d taken much longer I may have had to deal with snow.” 

“I forgot about that,” Tommy said. When he’d plotted out how long it would take Technoblade to gather everything he totally forgot that mother nature would impose her own deadlines in his schedule. 

“It’d be much easier, granted, if I had some better directions,” Technoblade said. 

Tommy narrowed his eyes slightly, scraping his spoon on the bowl as he finished his stew. 

“My directions were fine, evidently,” Tommy said.

“Hmmm… I don’t know,” Technoblade said. “It would have helped to know which way down left was in the middle of the forest.” 

“Hey!” Tommy exclaimed. “We’ve talked about this! Your stupid names for directions don’t matter. You go down and to the left to get to Tals.”

“I think you mean southwest,” Techno said with a glint of humor in his eye, rising from the table. 

“No, I mean downleft, screw you kindly.” 

“Very mature,” Technoblade commented, starting to wash their dishes. Phil started up his crowing laughter as Tommy puffed up his cheeks. 

He carefully didn’t stomp as he walked over to the couch, tugging on his notes that could only have been written by the biggest of men , very clearly of the magically powerful. Technoblade walked past him to the bathroom, but whisper silent returned behind him, tossing one of his capes over Tommy’s shoulders. 

“You-!” Tommy bit his tongue. He wouldn’t respond like a child, no, he would take this act of offence in grace and beauty. He tugged the cape around him, hands drifting over the soft fabric and brushed fur lining. The thing easily swamped him and it smelled of campfires and leather. Techno wore it while riding Carl, evidently. Tommy used it as a blanket over his legs, ignoring the other two members of the cabin. 

The gesture to shield him from the cold was just one born from pity, after all. It didn’t mean anything in the long run. 

—

Technoblade raps his knuckles gently on the door, Tommy jerking his head up from his notes. He’s freshly washed as Tommy asked for, and his hair is still dripping slightly. Phil had also been submitted to a bit of a bath, wanting nothing to interfere with the spell. 

It’s only been a week since the first frost, but Tommy is ready for his first real bit of magic in the deal between himself and Technoblade.

They’re all here, ready for Tommy’s first attempt at the spell of change. It’s simple, really, and he used it once a few years back. The two bundles, identical in every way Tommy can make them, are ready for the spell to start. 

Technoblade stands watch by the door, ready to run and grab Phil’s supplies or any medical aid if needed. If this all works. 

Tommy carefully takes a bundle and focusing on a deep heat that resides in his soul, starts forming it into a fresh poultice. He takes equal amounts of oil to ease the grind, incorporating the herbs as best he can. The other one is doused in oil by his other hand, working as quickly as he can. 

Once the poultice is of the correct consistency, Tommy catches a sheen to it that can’t be explained by the plain oil. Quickly he nods and pushes it towards Phil. Phil starts pecking at it, eating as quickly as he can manage. Tommy managed to impress on him the importance of consuming as much of the magic as he could handle. 

Tommy strikes his fire rocks together, over the other bundle. The oil soaked dried herbs quickly catch the spark and alight. Once they’re reduced to ash on the stones, Tommy watches as the last embers die, and the magic ignites in Phil. 

To his credit, Phil managed to get a lot of the poultice in his system, and it’s working to his benefit now. Tommy and Technoblade watch as the magic starts to pull - ever so slightly. For a second, Phil’s form shifts, grows– some feathers are varied in color. The sheen of his eye lightens. It’s a little grotesque, Phil shuddering as the magic fights over his form. Then the spell slows… stutters, and like oil on water the magic slips back over Phil, leaving him sapped. 

The spell didn’t work. 

Tommy lets out a sigh– it’s not like he couldn’t have predicted this, couldn’t have seen it coming… he’d even started the potion of rebirth. But his pride aches, knowing that his magic couldn’t fight the foreign magic away. 

Tommy could try another spell, one of magic erasure, but it would need perhaps another month to prep. Technoblade would probably need to head out further for another ingredient that Tommy didn’t even know the whereabouts of off the top of his head… not to mention, given that he was undoing magical effects on the body, Tommy’s sense of the time aspect was slippery. 

It wasn’t something he dealt with often, and it was harder to control the more magic you were pouring into it– that’s why spells for youth overshot so often, taking away too much time and putting the acursed to a point they hadn’t been born yet of, effectively killing them. Tommy wouldn’t run into that issue here, more an issue of a few years, but Tommy had no clue what magic Phil had undertaken in that time. 

If Phil had a burn, illness, or wound that had been healed with magic and Tommy removed it, he’d need to reapply a similar magic right away or Phil’s life would be in forfeit. 

It wasn’t worth it. 

Tommy scooches over to the wall, watching out of lidded eyes as Technoblade carefully sweeps the last bits of ash away, one hand cradling Phil’s form to the warmth of his chest. The giant man stands, leaving the room, presumably to put Phil in his little nest and go to bed himself. Tommy knows they were on the cusp of nightfall when they started, and he doesn’t know the time at all now. 

Tommy stands on shaky legs, unused to channeling his own magic, and hobbles back into his magic studio. He sets down the special bowl he used for the poultice and starts running water. Idly, he runs through a brief chant for purification in his head. Once his energy levels even out he’ll need to go back and cleanse the room of any magic that might be lingering. If they’d done this outside it wouldn’t be an issue, but leaving spare magic uncontained in your house was just asking for a vex egg to pop up in your house sooner or later. 

Exhaustion is starting to set in his body, but his mind is still wired. What made his magic fail to overcome Phil’s curse? Is Tommy right about Phil’s affinity, or is he simply not the big witch he thought he was? 

Tommy’s eye catches on his latest attempt at changing the water purification potion. It hadn’t gone well either. Tommy’s other, similar failures had been tipped down the drain or vanished. None of them sat right, worked right. He’d learnt from a few of the mistakes, and slowly the potion steps were straightening out to look more like the original spell, but it wasn’t quite right and Tommy didn’t know why . Maybe this was too big of a project for him, maybe he wasn’t meant for anything else but small villages and the occasional traveler. 

Maybe- Tommy stared out at the rising moon, silence ringing in his ears. Maybe it was time he tell Technoblade and Phil he couldn’t do it, send them on their way.

No, no he couldn’t do that to them. They’d already been to most witches in the area, and didn’t carry enough traditional cash to get them treatment at the capitol. Even if there were another witch willing to complete a spell or potion of rebirth for them, it could take months, and Phil might not have that kind of time before the changes became permanent. 

Tommy looks over at the potion of rebirth slowly brewing in the corner of the room. He was already working on it, he couldn’t stop now. If the potion of rebirth didn’t work then Tommy’d just have to learn to accept his limits. Like a man, not a boy. 

The bowl is long clean and Tommy sets it out to dry, settling down on a stool to look over his list of latest runs for the water purification potion. He could probably fit in another trial tonight before he crashed. 

The gentle noise of his oiled door gliding open brings Tommy’s attention to it. Technoblade is standing there, backlit by the fire into the darkness of the room. The man stands aside propping the door open, and tilts his head to the main body of the cottage. 

Tommy stands hesitantly, before following him. Maybe there was a complication with Phil? 

Technoblade leads him to the kitchen, sitting him down on a stool there, something rich heating the air from the fire. 

“Have you ever had chocolate?” Technoblade asks, stirring the pot on the stove. 

“No,” Tommy replies. 

“A pity,” Technoblade says. “It comes from a bean and is pretty bitter, but that’s fixed with a bit of sugar. They grow it in the jungles like crazy, and it’s not hard to steal some pods for yourself and grind it with a bit of work.” 

Tommy hums. 

“This right here is a drink derived from it, popular further north,” Technoblade says. He gets out a ladle and starts gently spooning the drink into cups for them both. “It’s not hard to make: some sugar water or sap, mix in the cocoa powder until it’s not clumped anymore, add milk over heat and stir until incorporated. Takes minutes if you have everything on hand,” he adds. 

“Really?” Tommy asks. It smells both delicious and exotic, you think it’d be harder. 

“Yeah,” Technoblade says, handing a mug to Tommy. “Blow on it to cool it down before you drink, like tea or stew.” 

Tommy shoots him a look that screams well aware and waits for it to cool down a tad before sipping. The hot chocolate is good. Really good. It’s thick and creamy, warming the back of his throat with a rich sweetness that sits on his tongue after each mouthful. 

Technoblade relaxes with the drink, and they sit and enjoy it together. Phil is up in his little nest, conked out from the spell, and the air is filled with the sound of the fire, wind howling outside. It’s cozy, and the silence between them doesn’t feel heavy. 

Technoblade has been in and out of the cabin, and although Tommy knows he has quite a few words to say, they’ve not had many conversations. Tommy’s spent much more time in silence with Phil, though that was through a bit of necessity. He’s not had people around for this long in a while, but it’s feeling less and less odd each day. 

Tommy finishes his hot chocolate, and Technoblade takes his mug without saying a word. He rinses them in the sink so the mess won’t stick and Tommy tosses another log onto the fire for the night. 

As Tommy climbs into bed he can hear Techno moving around outside, hear little whistles from Phil. His eyelids are heavy, and the noises ignite warmth in him. It’s terrifying. Tommy feels like he’s at the edge of a slope, and tonight will push him down with no way to return. 

His heart hurts. His magic is tired, but it perks up and scans around. Nothing unusual. Tommy can’t quite put a finger on why that thought is both reassuring and devastating. (He ignores the part of him that knows that it won’t last.) 

—

Tommy stretches out his fingers, cold despite the heat of the room. The potion of rebirth is over the fire, and they’ll need to take it out tonight to receive the blessing of the solstice. Given that it would be a winter solstice, the light of the sun would be the furthest away it could in the early hours of the morning. Tommy didn’t know the exact timing, so the three of them would be out there almost all night. 

The potion is almost ready: Tommy has felt the magic inside it swell as the past few months have gone by. Once the solstice hits and the potion matures fully, the magic will settle and be safe for Phil to consume. 

If Tommy’s done everything right, they could be on their way tomorrow evening at the earliest. 

Tommy’s emotions are pretty mixed on the whole manner, to be honest. He’s of the manliest of men, so his emotions are valid and don’t impede his decision making at all and Tommy certainly won’t cry tomorrow, no matter what happens. 

If he’s done his job right, he’s done what no other witch in the area could do; earning him some street cred and serious thanks from the adventurers he’s been living with. Maybe Techno and Phil could even send some people his way in thanks. 

If the potion doesn’t work… then he’s going to need some serious training. He’d lose any reputation he might have gathered, and there’s no way he’d make the jump to the water purification potion: his career as the biggest witch of the Black Woods would be over.  

Regardless of what happens though, it’s almost certain that Techno and Phil will be gone by the end of the week, out of his life for a long time, if not forever. 

Tommy’s not a clingy guy, not one to get attached. Despite that, though, he’s certainly a man of habit. He won’t lie and say he’s not used to cooking for two, picking up extra nuts, seeds, and berries when he’s out, sleeping with the sound of other people in the space. 

He doesn’t know what he’d do to fall asleep when it’s near morning without the taste of chocolate in his throat, Techno’s voice in his ears rumbling at a consistent monotone, telling epic tales from far away. 

His hair on his left shoulder is always neater than the right, so he doesn’t bother to brush it out as much because Phil usually pecks at it anyway. He didn’t even hack away at it like he usually would when he felt it curl around his ears, just so maybe in a year he’d be able to try those golden clasps Techno ties in his. 

He’s changed. They’ve changed him, and Tommy doesn’t quite know how to cope with them leaving. Of course, he’ll go back to the way things were before– but it’d seem like ghosts were haunting the area. The spirit of Techno and Phil have sunk into the bones of the house. Tommy’s magic has wound around them tight. 

It’s something Tommy’s honestly never dealt with before. He doesn’t know how to deal with it now.

Techno (and when did it become Techno, not Technoblade?) knocked lightly on the door, arms full of blankets. 

“We’re out at that clearing you showed me last week right?” Techno asked. “The one to the north with the maple trees.” 

“Yeah, the maple leaf one that’s up and a little to the right,” Tommy responded. 

“North, kid, not up,” Techno said, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. “It’s only ‘up’ on a map. If you were just standing, up could be any direction.” 

“But it’s not,” Tommy said, wrinkling his nose. “Up is up.” 

Techno sighed, and Phil cackled from where he was flitting around the rafters of the kitchen. This argument was well worn. 

“Do you need help carryin’ that, at least?” Techno asked, nodding at the cauldron they’d need to transport. 

Tommy huffed, a little offended. “What kind of witch do you think I am?” 

“One with weak arms? What, are you going to float it there or something?” 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “No.” Getting down on the floor, he extinguished the fire and grabbed little pads with wheels before staring Techno in the eye as he lifted each leg slightly, before sliding a wheel into the previously hidden grooves. He then proceeded to gently roll the entire cauldron out from its divot in the room. 

Techno gave him a reluctantly impressed nod, hiking his bag of snacks and a book to read aloud from on his shoulder, blankets in the other arm. They were going to be sitting outside for a while, after all. 

“Alright bird bones,” Techno said, calling into the kitchen. “We’re heading out.” 

Phil fluttered out to join their merry little band, and Tommy kept his eyes on the line of his potion gently rocking as he pushed the cauldron carefully. He pushed all those complicated emotions down down down into his chest. He had witchery to perform. 

—

Technoblade studies the potion from where it flickers, internal magic and light from the fireplace glistening in tandem. Tommy watches him study it with a keen eye. 

“I told you, if you don’t know what reaction in the magic you’re looking for, you’re never going to be able to tell when it’s safe,” Tommy says. 

Techno lets out a low grunt. “There’s gotta be some sort of sign, right? External change because of internal change?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “No, not really. Not with magic at least,” he says with a hum. 

“How will you even know when it’s right?” 

Tommy looks upward, looking for patience. Techno called him childish. He stretches his neck back and forth before rolling his shoulders, idly walking over to the potion. 

Tommy’s internal senses light up as he brushes an internal hand over the spring of magic inside him, and studies the fluctuating patterns of magic. It wouldn’t do for him to reach out with his magic prematurely and knock it off balance, after all. It’s better to leave it alone. 

“If I had to say,” Tommy says, blinking and looking back at Techno, “give it just a little longer. There’s an edge to it that I’m not fond of quite yet. Maybe when that candle, there, burns halfway.” 

Techno just looks at him. 

“What?” 

“You do know that your eyes go bright white when you do…. whatever you just did,” Technoblade says without inflection. 

A blush rises on Tommy’s face. “No? Not really? I don’t know, I’m not quite vain enough to tap into my magic just to stare into the mirror.” 

Techno lets out a small considering hum. 

“Alright,” Techno says, standing up with a sigh. “That sounds like long enough for the two of us to have a cup of hot chocolate before Phil swoops in with his tea propaganda.” 

A twinge hits Tommy in the chest at the thought of this being one of, if not the last hot chocolate he’ll have with Techno. He won’t even really know about Phil’s tea preferences because the two of them will be off in some jungle somewhere. He covers up whatever expression his face wants to make at the thought with a grin. 

“Sounds good! Maybe even make double for me.” 

Techno lets out an affirmative noise, already making a clatter with the noise of the pot hooks rattling from their hanging position. Phil has been sulking in the rafters of the kitchen, perhaps sneaking more berries before he turns back and has to pick them himself. With the racket Techno is making, he hops around Tommy, and flutters to become a now familiar weight on his shoulder. 

Tommy leans his head over so Phil automatically has better access to his hair, and idly dips in and out of his magic, watching the potion. 

The inner magic of the potion is swirling from the blessing it received many hours ago, in the early morning. The sun is back down again and if this were an emergency Tommy might’ve passed Phil to take it, but he wasn’t lying about the vague edge that seemed too strong too foreign for his liking. 

He needs this potion to work, and he wants Phil to come out the best for it, so even as Techno comes back and gives him a slightly larger hot chocolate, he continues to keep an eye on it while sipping. 

Techno starts narrating a short passage from a myth, but when the dregs of chocolate in the bottom of their mugs have dried and Techno’s words have slowed to a stop, Tommy can stall no longer. 

“Alright,” he says quietly. “It’s as safe as it’s going to get.” 

Phil flutters in excitement or perhaps anticipation, and Techno rises to get the medical kit in case of emergency, and one of Phil’s robes for some decency if this works. If. 

Tommy settles himself down by the cauldron, gathering a long thin wooden spoon he made himself for cases like this and starts slowly loading the potion onto it. Phil’s not exactly in the right shape to down a glass bottle, after all. 

Phil hops until he’s perched right in front of him but has some clearance from the cauldron on Tommy’s right. Techno enters back into the room and gives them some space, eyes focused. 

Tommy takes a deep breath in. This is it, his magic has to work. 

Tommy gently lays the long spoon’s tip on the inside of Phil’s beak and starts pouring, keeping an even pace as best he can. Phil swallows, neck tilted up to open his crow’s natural pathways, getting as much of the potion into his system as they can in one go. 

When the last bit from the spoon rolls off, Tommy takes it back and starts scooching backwards. He did a few calculations beforehand on about how much they’d need, but he eyes it now, watching the potion work its ways through Phil. Yeah, that’s about right. 

With bated breath, Techno and Tommy watch as the potion does its job. 

A potion of rebirth really is one of the more beautiful ones, Tommy thinks. The gentle swirls of magic fit into Phil’s system, slowly coaxing the pieces of him apart. Mind, body, soul all swirl together. It’s the most accurate version of Phil, which is what they need at this moment. 

Phil’s mind has always been his, and while he may pick up some minor habits from being a crow, he’s thought as a human this whole time so there shouldn’t be any surprises there. 

His body is a toss up: if Phil has started internalizing, believing that he is a crow, this won’t work. That’s what Tommy is banking on, though. 

Of course Phil’s soul is the prettiest part. It holds his hopes, his inclinations, the warmth of his humor, everything that makes Phil Phil laid out as the potion slowly picks him apart and remakes him in his truest form. 

The oily sheen of the magic from the artifact curls off the edges of his body, tugging once, twice, before it shudders and vanishes into the work of the magic. It’s gone. It worked. Tommy’s breath is caught as Phil’s body, his actual body is formed out of the steadily swirling mass of magic. 

Blonde hair with a bit of stubble, soft jawline. There are wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that tell stories of laughter, scars along his limbs that speak to his life. 

There– along his back— is something changed, Tommy would gather. Wings, black as coal with a blue hue in the golden light of magic, rest alongside his spine. Something left from his time with the curse, a gift of flight. 

Tommy thought something might have stuck with him, called him into form… a longing for flight is something that aches in your soul. It is the truest form of Phil there has ever been, likely. 

The magic starts to fade and Tommy looks away, breath rushing as he pulls back. 

Technoblade rushes forward, catching Phil inches off the ground and pulling him into a tight embrace. They look deeply into each other’s eyes, and Phil’s voice cracks as he laughs, Techno just soaking the sight in. 

It’s clearly an emotional time for them, and Tommy pushes sympathetic tears back down. They don’t need him to barge in on this reunion right now, the boy they’ve known for virtually no time at all. 

Besides, the potion worked! Tommy’s skills as a witch are just as strong as ever. It’s the best case scenario, truly, so Tommy doesn’t know why it doesn’t quite feel that way. 

He tucks his legs underneath him and rises as quietly as he can, grabbing a few bottles for the spare potion. It’ll become dead by the next winter solstice, but he will likely have use of it before then. 

Tommy doesn’t feel the eyes that catch on him in the doorway, nor does he listen to the words of conversation that follow him out. He likely wouldn’t want to listen in on it anyway. 

Tommy puts everything away and leaves the partners to their celebration. His bed feels colder than it usually does. 

—

Tommy wakes the next morning late with bits of salt on his cheeks. He blinks, listening to the sounds of a kitchen at work and conversation floating above it. Huh. Maybe the two wanted to get a meal in before they left on the road, or they might want Phil to get some practice walking in before they head out. 

He gets up, bracing himself for whatever will meet him in the kitchen. 

The second he steps around the doorway, two sets of eyes fly to him. Techno gives him a nod, slicing something with a knife. Phil is kneeling down, stirring whatever’s over the fire, but he quickly rises to say hello. 

It’s shockingly not awkward. The two of them have an easy banter, Phil’s voice just a little more hoarse and prone to sharp little noises than the regular person. His wings are mantled up behind his shoulders, and Tommy sees that they’ve cut slits in his outer robes to fit them. 

The morning is pleasant, and the air is warm. Techno places food in front of him, as the two talk around him. They tried to get him to join in once or twice to silence. Pressure bubbles up in his throat at the uncanny, warm behavior. 

It all bursts when Phil walks behind him, and his hand goes to his left shoulder. It’s warm, a solid point of contact. While the area of the hand is slightly different, the warm weight is exactly the same as when he used to flit onto Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy’s frozen, breath in his lungs, as he stares into nothing. 

Phil’s hand rises from his shoulder to brush through his hair gently, and Tommy can’t take it anymore.  

“Stop that!” he cries. “Stop messing with me!” 

The easy air in the kitchen dissipates into nothing. Techno and Phil exchange glances, silent words formed with years of experience between the two of them, years Tommy could never hope to match. 

Techno rests his elbows on the counter across from him, evidently a little more familiar with Tommy and talking things out with him. 

“What do you mean, Tommy?” Techno asks. 

Tears burn hot in Tommy’s eyes, from the shame and the stupid questions that don’t really matter. “That counts too,” he says, quieter. “Stop playing this- weird game.” 

Phil sits down next to him. “What game, Tommy?” Phil asks. 

”This one,” Tommy replies, snippily. 

“How about,” Techno interjects, “the rules of the game. What do you think me and Phil are playing for?” 

Tommy could snarl at the offense. “I don’t know! I don’t know why you’re doing this, why you’re acting so-” normal. He wants to say, but cuts it off before the words can form. Familial.  

Phil lets out a bit of a coo, which is familiar to Tommy. It just brings tears to his eyes. 

“You both– you’re both you, and I’m me, and you run your hands through my hair, apparently,” Tommy sputters, knowing he’s not making that much sense but too emotional to try and make the words run together more smoothly. 

“Okay,” Techno says. “Let’s calm down, maybe take a deep breath.” He pauses, and waits until Tommy does so, forehead drawing into a frown. “How about you tell us what you thought was happening, and me and Phil share what we thought was happening, okay?” 

Tommy nods miserably. 

“Alright. So, this morning. What happened?” 

Tommy pauses, before getting right to the heart of it. “I woke up, and heard you both in the kitchen.” The two of them nod, understandably. “You’re both… still here?” 

At this, Phil gets a spark of light in his eye, understanding. 

“I thought maybe you’d be gone, or ready to head out onto the road,” Tommy says, unable to stop now that he’s started. “You’re both still here though, and Techno made me breakfast too and I can’t see any signs of packing, and Phil put his hand on my shoulder where he used to sit, and I don’t understand what’s going on! Why are you both playing this like it’s normal, like you-” 

Techno stands up, shuffling his weight. “Do you not want us to be here? Do you want us to leave?” 

Tommy must be delusional, but he thinks he can hear the slightest bit of hurt in that tone of voice, but can’t stop himself from responding instinctually. 

“No!” 

Phil carefully takes a hand and rests it on Tommy’s shoulder blade, feeling for any signs of discomfort. It’s so warm, a hot pressure that tingles and lights his nerves in the best ways possible. Tommy melts into the touch, stopping fidgeting entirely, narrowing in on the point of contact. 

Techno hums. “So… you woke up this morning, expecting us to be gone, and we were still here, and that confuses you?” 

Tommy nods, head buried in his hands. 

Phil cuts in. “Well, Techno and I weren’t planning on leaving this morning. In fact,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down Tommy’s back, “we were planning on having a conversation about that this afternoon.” 

“Why?” Tommy sniffles, dignity gone. 

Techno lets out a deep sign, gruff fondness ringing in his tone. 

“Because, kid, we were thinking about staying here, or setting up nearby.” 

Tommy freezes. It’s like they’ve said something impossible, his brain can’t comprehend it. 

Phil nods though, agreeing. “We wanted to see how you would feel about closer neighbors. You don’t have any at all, right now,” he laughs. “We talked late last night. It’s been a long time since we’ve settled down, had a place to return to inbetween travels.” 

Techno grunts. “Last time was the Empire, right? Man those were cold years. Why’d we do that?” 

Phil just lets out another easy laugh. “Because you thought it’d be funny, messing with those lawmakers. Don’t change the subject, Tech.” 

“You,” Tommy says, voice wobbling. “You want to stay? Like with me?” 

“Yeah, kid,” Techno says with an unmistakable warmth. “Me and the old man got attached.” 

Phil shoots Techno a look at the name, ruffling his wings, but continues to rub soothing circles on Tommy’s back. 

“We don’t have to stay in your house or anything,” Techno continues. “We’re pretty used to throwing something together to keep it from getting cramped. What do you say, though. Feel like you can tolerate us a while longer?” 

Tommy lets out a wet laugh. They’re going to stay. They’re going to stay because they want to, not because Tommy made them or even asked. 

“Yes. Please yes,” Tommy says. “Please stay.” 

Techno rounds the corner, putting his hand on Tommy’s other shoulder blade and his brain lights up with the dual points of contact. 

“You know,” Phil starts, a mischievous tone in his voice. “Do you remember, say…. six years ago? Seven? When that little girl mistook you for her mom?” 

“Phil.” 

“Your long pink hair was all she could see. Started crying if I even started taking you out of her arms, made us walk the entirety of the village four times until we found where her actual mom, and then she asked us to come to dinner in thanks,” 

“Phil, please don’t.” 

“-and it must have been so confusing, but she gave up and called you both mom even though we tried explaining to her that you were a man.” 

“Phil, why are you like this. Phil, I just had to deal with emotions, why do you insist on making a fool of me in these trying times.” 

“We walked away from that place and you said “ oh yeah Phil, never going to have kids. Hate ‘em. Just start lighting the orphanages on fire ” and I SAID that you were totally going to get attached, and we bet, what was it- two months of cleaning after Carl?” 

Techno sighed. 

“Pay up,” Phil said smugly. 

“You know what,” Techno says, “I’m not even upset about that. Yeah sure, I’ll be Tommy’s ‘mom’ now, whatever,” 

Phil crows in victory. “He admits it! Look at us, raising a child. Such a talented one too,” 

Tommy’s cheeks are bright red and he lets the conversation above him continue the light bickering. It’s soothing. 

He raises his head, blush vivid on his cheeks, to look straight at Phil. 

“Sure Dad,” he says, fighting the flush that wants to overtake him further. 

Phil’s face crumples into one of shocked joy, and tears spring into the older man’s blue eyes. Technoblade laughs low and full, wheezing out higher tones when Phil starts sniffling. 

“See how you like it now, huh?” 

The two of them get right back into it over breakfast. 

Yeah, Tommy could get used to this.

—

Tommy is looking over his stirring calculations for his water purification potion, checking the variance of the timing. If he could work the swirls into a cadence that resembled a speech pattern or phrase, that might have enough of an emotional effect on the reaction to draw the positive charge up… it’s been trying. He’s only been dragged out of his studio like, two times.

He can’t quite figure out exactly where the last bit of charge is supposed to come from. He’s tried brewing in the woods, thinking about the villagers, even, most embarrassingly, singing some love ballad over the final stirring section when Techno and Phil were both out of the house. 

He’s trying to count syllables for a basic I love you poem, and figuring out where the counterclockwise changes occur, when a knock raps on the door frame. 

“Hey Kiddo,” Techno says, leaning his bulk on the threshold. “Phil landed in the yard a few minutes ago, so when you finish that run help us unpack him. He said he picked up some chocolates that have fruit fillings, so we can have a relaxing afternoon trying those if you want.” 

Tommy feels lighter than he has in ages. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Honestly, it might be time for a break. He doesn’t need to shed blood, sweat, and tears for this, he’s got enough that will tide him over for the next few years. Establishing himself in the Black Woods can wait. 

It’s a wonder, though, how quickly this became normal. Techno knows his favorite foods. He and Phil worked out an adventuring schedule so they rarely leave him alone at the same time. They’ve taken over a lot of the chores, and even though they don’t know anything about the magic he works with, they’re respectful and can recognize his trial attempts at this potion. 

The sheer feeling of it results in a familiar warmth in his chest, and out of the corner of his eye a glowing green light emits from the potion. The final energy needed. The change is unlike any of his previous attempts, and just the sense of it feels like success. 

He’s done it. 

It hits Tommy, and he feels so stupid, but really he should have known. It wasn’t a love for the town, not for the people, not the love of a thousand generations singing. It was for him. Tommy being loved and loving in return. 

Phil and Techno love him. 

Tommy lets out an ecstatic laugh, whooping in surprise. He’s done it! Phil pops around Techno’s bulk and they both grin as Tommy runs at them. 

They get the chocolates out early, and he sinks his teeth into the rich food, surrounded on both sides by those who know him, see him, love him. 

It tastes like magic.