Chapter Text
Tommy was sat on his bed, glowering down at his arms as if they had done him some great injustice. In a way, they had.
He was well aware that something was wrong.
He wasn’t stupid, nor was he oblivious. He knew that the insides of his wrists weren’t supposed to be bright red and itchy as hell. He knew the skin there wasn’t supposed to be swollen and painful. That wasn’t normal, and something was wrong.
The itchiness was practically all he could think about now, having been building for the past couple of days. Scratching the swollen areas just hurt, offering no relief at all. Rubbing was slightly better, but still caused some pain.
Again, Tommy wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew that the way his wrists looked wasn’t okay and that there might be something very, very wrong. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t actually freak out about it.
Don’t get him wrong, he tried. Every time he looked at them, he felt worry build up in his chest, but right before it got to the point that he wanted to do something about it, it immediately faded. It was weird as hell and Tommy had no idea what the fuck was happening.
Neither did Wilbur, it turned out, when he had told him. Originally, his older brother had smeared regen cream over the swollen area in order to help bring the inflammation down, but that did jack shit. In fact, it made it worse, leaving Tommy barely able to move his hands and fingers for three hours, and the itchiness was now constantly accompanied by pain from the swollen area.
What was probably the worst part was the new shit that was happening too.
He kept wanting to wrap himself up, in blankets, typically. It felt nice when he did it, despite being really weirded out by the action. For the past two days he’s woken up practically cocooned by his sheets and blankets, and had to practically fight away the urge to stay there.
Wilbur was concerned. Tubbo was concerned. Fundy was concerned. Phil and Techno were off fuck knows where; they probably didn’t even know this bullshit was happening at all.
Tommy subconsciously rubbed his wrists together, hissing at the pain it caused. The feeling that made him want wrap himself up was only getting worse now, and the soreness of his wrists was only intensifying. His fingers curled and he clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together.
What was even happening? His mind was getting all foggy, and he couldn’t think straight any more. The urge to get bundled up was sinking into his brain, digging its claws in and not letting go. His wrists throbbed and something pushed at the underneath of his skin, as if something was trying to burst out.
Wilbur. He needed to get Wilbur.
That one thought managed to puncture through the haze of his brain, overriding the demand to be wrapped up. He had to get Wilbur. Wilbur could help, maybe he could help explain to him why he was feeling all weird and why it felt like there was something underneath the skin of his wrists.
Tommy got to his feet, immediately losing his balance and almost falling back onto the bed. When had he gotten so dizzy? He braced a hand on the wall and took a wobbling step forward, but only succeeded in face planting onto the ground.
“Fuck,” he groaned, head spinning as he lifted it. Now his vision was all blurry too. What the fuck was this? Why couldn’t he think straight? What was happening?
A small, weak part of his brain told him that he needed to get Wilbur, because something was wrong and he needed help. The major consensus that his thoughts seemed to have is that he needs to... spin something. Spin what exactly? He had no clue.
A strangled noise tore itself from his throat and he pressed his face hard against the wooden floor, tensing his body and squeezing his eyes shut. For once, he was so pissed that Wilbur, Tubbo, and Fundy had forced him to stay inside and rest while they handled the farm chores. They were all outside, they wouldn’t be able to hear him.
He needed to spin something. Tommy didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but it had invaded his brain and wouldn’t let him go. The pressure in his wrists was only building faster, and he squirmed at how painful and itchy the feeling was. He just wanted it to stop, wanted all of this to stop. He wanted to go back to before his wrists decided to swell up and he wasn’t fighting the urge to spin whatever it was he needed to spin.
The fog surged up and enveloped the last little bit of any rational thought Tommy had left, too fast for him to try and fight it back. It felt like he was sinking into a mound of pillows, making him relax on the floor against his will.
The pressure in his wrists burst, something feeling like it was unraveling from the swollen areas. Relief washed over him, the itching and pain ceasing and replaced with just a faint tugging sensation from underneath the skin of his wrists.
His arms moved of their own accord; he was too deep into the fog and the relief to notice. His surroundings grew darker, and the urge to spin whatever it was began to slowly fade.
Sleep was dragging him down, forcing him into unconsciousness as the light around him dimmed considerably and his arms fell still. Something felt really really good about being here, where it was darker, and he was comfortable despite a weird crinkly substance covering him now.
Sleep rest safe something murmured in the back of his head. Change safe rest sleep safe.
And, well, who was he to argue?
“Hey Tubbo, can you grab Tommy for dinner?” Wilbur asked as he started dividing up plates. Dried beef, although tough as hell, lasted for ages. With Techno and Phil, the ones who actually butchered the animals when it came time, gone for months, they hadn’t had much when it came to fresh meat. Not to mention now that Tommy couldn’t work anymore, they had to split his chores, leaving them too tired to cook properly at the end of the day.
Tubbo wordlessly went down the hall to the staircase that would lead to Tommy’s room while Fundy sat at the table, yawning.
Wilbur was, rightfully, concerned about Tommy. The swelling on his wrists had been alright at first, with the teen only describing it as itchy as hell but manageable. But ever since Wilbur had tried putting regen cream on them, Tommy had been clearly in pain, even despite the teen trying to hide it.
They practically had to lock Tommy in his room just to prevent him from trying to continue doing his chores when he was hurt. Even though the blond teen had protested, loudly, Wilbur knew that his little brother was at least a little bit relieved.
He had no idea what was happening with Tommy. He didn’t know whether the boy was sick or if it was an allergic reaction or what. A letter had already been sent to Phil and Techno via one of the crows Phil had left behind two days ago, when they first started telling Tommy to take it easy, but no response yet.
Wilbur’s anxiety had been through the roof this past week, with Tommy being out of commission and neither Phil nor Techno responding to the letter, even though they normally did by now. It was not a fun week for anyone, that was for sure.
Wilbur’s ear twitched as he very faintly heard Tubbo call Tommy’s name, quietly, before gasping. His eyebrows furrowed, and he turned slightly towards the hallway where the brunet teen had disappeared. Fundy also had glanced in that direction, ears alert.
Tubbo stepped out of the hallway and into view after a few moments, seeming slightly perturbed, which was an odd look on his face. “I... can’t find Tommy?” he sounded unsure.
Well that sent another bolt of anxiety straight through Wilbur’s chest. He immediately stopped what he was doing with wide eyes, opening his mouth to question the brunet teen, but was cut off.
“But I found something else,” Tubbo finished. “I... you should see for yourself.”
Wilbur immediately wiped the grease from his hands and rushed over, brushing past Tubbo and speed walking towards Tommy’s room. He could hear Fundy right on his heels, Tubbo following more slowly.
He pushed open the door to the blond teen’s room and...
there was no Tommy, true to what Tubbo had said. Instead, there was a vaguely Tommy shaped brown lump on the floor.
“What is that?” Fundy said, peeking around from behind Wilbur. “It looks like—”
“A cocoon,” Tubbo interrupted.
“I was going to say a giant turd,” Fundy laughed nervously, tail curling around one of his legs. “But okay.”
Wilbur was, surprisingly, managing to keep a lid on how much he was internally freaking out at the moment. Because there was a lump, on the floor, but no Tommy. Was Tommy in that thing? How? And where the fuck had it come from? What even was it?
He wasn’t even aware of when he started pacing, just barely able to recognize that he was. His socks kept slipping slightly on the floor as he went, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Don’t touch it!” he snapped, halting Tubbo immediately. The brunet teen had knelt down on the floor next to the thing, hand outstretched, but now was frozen and staring up at Wilbur guiltily. He took a deep breath, “we don’t know what it is, or if Tommy’s in there. It might hurt him.”
Tubbo nodded and drew back right as Fundy piped up.
“You know, now that I think about it, it does kinda look like a cocoon,” the redhead commented, kneeling down next to Tubbo. The ten-year old was careful not to touch it, but traced the lines of the cocoon from above. “Like the patterning here, and here. It looks like the cocoon things that butterflies go into before they turn from worms—”
“Caterpillars,” Wilbur immediately corrected his son, his tail twitching. Fundy rolled his eyes in response.
“Before they turn from caterpillars to butterflies,” the redhead continued. “I’ve seen them in Grandpa’s old books that I’m not supposed to read.”
“I thought moths go into cocoons,” Tubbo said thoughtfully. “There’s a different word for butterflies I think. Chrys- chrysa— chrysaphis?”
“Chrysalis,” Wilbur told him, hearing the exhaustion in his own voice and internally wincing at the sound of it. “A butterfly goes into a chrysalis, a moth goes into a cocoon.”
“But if Tommy’s in there, and it’s a cocoon or chrysalis or whatever,” Tubbo absentmindedly scratched at the base of one of his horns. “Would that make him a butterfly or moth hybrid?”
Silence fell over the house after Tubbo finished speaking. Not even the crickets outside continued their incessant chirping, as if they were also effected by what had just been said.
Fundy and Tubbo were both looking at Wilbur now instead of the cocoon, which the older brunet could understand considering he was their father and brother respectively. That didn’t mean he knew the answer to that, though, even though something in the back of his mind told him that Tubbo was correct in his assumption.
“I... would normally think that he’d be born with his hybrid traits,” Wilbur started off slowly, racking his brain for an explanation for the two boys. “Like all hybrids are... but if he is a butterfly, it would make some sense that he was a caterpillar at first, which is why he looks so human. Then, when it’s time, he spins a cocoon for him to manifest his traits. I don’t think it’s impossible.”
“So Tommy is in there,” Tubbo nodded as if it all made sense now.
“When’s he gonna come out? With his new wings and stuff?” Fundy asked.
“I don’t know,” Wilbur admitted, ears flicking back against his skull. “I guess all we can really do is wait.”
His anxiety wasn’t slowing down yet, and it probably wouldn’t until Tommy either popped up back at the house and laughs at them for falling for his prank, or until he popped out of that cocoon, if that was what really was happening.
What if Tommy wasn’t even in there? What if he was out and got lost in the woods? What if he’d been killed by a bunch of mobs or kidnapped or—
As if trying to prove him wrong, the lump/cocoon thing shifted slightly, making a soft crinkly noise. Instantly, three heads swiveled towards it with bated breath. Several moments passed, but it didn’t move again.
“We need a plan, right?” Tubbo glanced back towards Wilbur. “Like, what do we do now? Other than wait.”
“Let’s take turns watching him,” Fundy suggested. “So that way when he does come out, he won’t be alone. I think it’d be weird if I took a nap for a few days and then woke up with wings and no one was there to explain what had happened and why they were there.”
If Tommy was even in there, Wilbur’s brain inputted unhelpfully.
“Wait, this kinda explains why his wrists were acting so weird!” Tubbo brightened up. “Maybe it’s a part of his hybrid thing! We’d have to find books about butterflies and stuff, but I bet that’s what it is.”
“There’s some in Grandpa’s library,” Fundy offered.
“The library you aren’t supposed to be getting into.” Wilbur leveled a stern gaze at his son, raising a single eyebrow. The redheaded boy only smiled sheepishly in response, ears twitching backwards a bit.
“If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have known what a cocoon looks like, and then wouldn’t have known that Tommy was in there,” Tubbo pointed out, also grinning.
Wilbur sighed, dragging a hand down his face and glancing back over at the cocoon. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Here’s what we can do. Until Tommy... hatches, or whatever the term is called, we’ll take turns watching the cocoon, like Fundy suggested. I’ll go into town in the morning to hire someone to help out while we wait on Tommy. I’ll also write to Phil and Techno again to tell them to come home. Sound like a plan?”
“Yep!” The boys chorused.
“Great,” Wilbur gave them a smile, hoping that they didn’t notice how forced it was. “I’ll finish making dinner—”
“And I’ll grab some books about bugs from Grandpa’s library!” Fundy jumped up, cutting Wilbur off. The brunet internally sighed, knowing for a fact that there wouldn’t be any way to keep the boys out of that old dusty room now, though apparently he hadn’t done that good of a job keeping them out in the first place.
“And I’ll stay here with Tommy,” Tubbo agreed.
“We’ll eat in here tonight, and I’ll watch over him overnight,” Wilbur just barely managed to say before Fundy was out the door and headed for the basement where Phil’s library was.
Tubbo gave him a smile, and Wilbur smiled tiredly back as he went towards the kitchen.
This was going to be a hard few days. Or weeks. Or however long this would take.
Wilbur hoped Tommy wouldn’t take too long.