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Snow fell from the sky and pattered softly against his back, dampening parts of his overcoat. The floor was frozen over with last night’s snowfall but his claws and rough pawpads made navigating the slip easy. Every breath billowed out in soft pants of white clouds.
The woods broke way to the rustic cabin sat cozy in the middle of a clearing, bordered by hills and farms. The barn was the same as it always was while the turtle and bee farms were as impressive as ever. The honey they produced smelled strongly of pollen and sweetness, saliva dripping from his maw at the thought of crunching down on one of the honey combs.
Ignoring the tantalizing scent through sheer determination, Tommy steered away toward the patio door. Claw clicks turned into shoe stomps on the wooden steps. Split, scarred knuckles rapped against the door as a lopsided canine smile melted away into crooked human grin – a gap between the lower incisors from a missing tooth.
“Tech-no-blade!” He shouted when the door dared not open immediately at his knock. “Open the fuckin’ door!”
The sounds of ruckus could be heard inside, things knocked over and footsteps racing around each other. Even a few incomprehensible shouts back and forth. Tommy had half the mind to be worried before remembering it's the Blade he's visiting – no one could hurt that man unless he wanted them to.
He scuffed his shoe against the porch as he waited not-so-patiently. Finally, footsteps neared the door in a frantic cadence before it was thrown open with a flourish. Stronger footfalls followed as the person who opened it was yanked back with a yelp, much too quickly for Tommy to even see them.
Technoblade stood in the doorway, frazzled in a way few can make him with his pink hair askew and jaw locked tightly. One hand held the door while the other forced a mystery person to stand behind him. The piglin's all-mighty frame keeps the person hidden.
He breathed in in a faux natural way, taking in the scents of pig sweat, metal, and fire alongside a newer scent the reeked of pack-familiar-home; slapping the boy with the smell of gunpowder and ink. Shaken from his stupor by a huff of hot air, Tommy exhaled the overwhelming scents.
“Blade!” Tommy called, eyes crinkling in delight. “What a wonderful surprise! Didn't expect to see you here.”
“This is my house.”
“Ah, really? I hardly noticed with all the new stuff around. Was that a bee farm I spotted?”
“It was, and you'll do good to stay away from them. We need those bees docile and honey comb intact.” Techno droned, tone harsh but the glint in his eye and upturned lip just read as playful.
“Oh well, you know me Tech’! I'd never go against your strict orders!”
The piglin barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. They flicked to the person hiding behind them and hardened in a glare. “What’cha got there? Surely you're not torturing anyone so soon in your retirement era.”
He tried to take a peak around the man, but whoever he was hiding from him was shuffled away. “Nothin’ you needa worry ‘bout.” Techno sniffed. “What're you here for anyhow?”
“Fine, don't tell me your secrets.” Tommy whispered dramatically, though by the twitch of Techno's ear, the man heard. “The old man invited me. Said something about dinner?”
“‘The old man’...” Techno muttered, parroting his words as if confused.
Furrowed brows in confusion ruffled further into anger, the tightness of his jaw worsening with grinding teeth. With a flash, Techno whipped around to growl in the face of whoever he held behind his back. The words were muddled in another tongue full of snarls and barks.
Tommy peaked around his hulking frame in an effort to finally see who Technoblade was hiding; surely someone of great importance with how secretively he was acting.
The person tugged their wrist out of Techno's hold with a growl of their own, snapping their jaw if the audible clack meant anything. Brown, gold, and maroon painted his sight as the person finally came into view.
His breath caught in his throat and pupils dilated as a whine grew high in his throat. Brown curls, tainted with a streak of white across the front with honeyed eyes turned shit brown from whatever this man was put through. Skin as pale as the snow blanketing the ground stretched across his gaunt frame.
It's a corpse come alive.
“Wil-?”
“Tommy!” The man's face breaks into a crooked grin, teeth yellowed from cigarette tar. “Tommy, Toms, Tom-Tom, oh how wonderful it is to see you!”
“Wha- Wil- I don't-”
Technoblade sighed through clenched teeth. “Get inside. We can talk more once everyone's settled.”
He didn't even argue, simply crossing the threshold into the warm cabin and throwing himself haphazardly upon the couch beyond the fireplace. Sharp eyes never dared leave the man, worried that looking away would give Wilbur the time he'd need to disappear again.
The itch to shift into a more protective form prickles across his skin, pinching at the nape of his neck with the ferocity of the urge. He ignores it for now as his eyes hone in on the flickering hearth. “Tommy,” the man across from him calls, grinning cheshire wide. “I've heard some… interesting news about you.”
Red hot rage ignites in the blonde's chest with a snarl. “This is the first time you see me in over a year and that's what you have to say?”
“Symantics– what's a year to you was dozens for me. Pleasantries mean very little to a man starved of conversation.” Wilbur, ever the poet, drowns the words of his demise between honeyed limerick. “What's important to me is what I've heard through the grapevine! You're some sort of werewolf, are you?”
“Shut the fuck up, Wil. I don’ care how long you were stuck there, that doesn't mean you get to pry into my life immediately after getting back.”
Tommy fights the urge to bare his teeth, the feeling of phantom ears pressing against his scalp with a rumble in his chest.
“Oh come on, Toms! I just want to-”
“Wilbur.” So distracted, the pair miss the delicate clop of feet cloven in wooden sandals, Philza leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “Come help me prepare dinner.”
Ebony wings broken and disheveled from a sacrifice gone unnoticed shift in glorious shades of oil slick rainbow as the man turns his back to the living space. Wilbur gives one more longing stare towards Tommy with parted lips before Technoblade forces the man out with a press to his shoulder. “Go. Help Phil with that pig roast.”
The piglin turns away as soon as the man steps past the threshold of the kitchen. His lips are downturned in a scowl, eyes gleaming under the flicker of flame in the fireplace. Those dark eyes turn on Tommy. While he isn't all that good with emotions and reading people, (that was always Tubbo and Wilbur, the better halves of him) he can't help the feeling of remorse shining wet in those eyes.
Tommy doesn't acknowledge what he sees, breaking the tension brewing. “So what's the ever powerful and reclusive Blade been up to recently? Surely something awe-inspiring.”
Techno’s lips quirk with a roll of his eyes, looking down at the blonde with a smirk. “Livin’ the retired life, kid. Easy goin’, taking care of those mutts and farms. Sometimes lootin’ some pillagers.”
“Looting pillagers!” Tommy shoots off of the couch with stars in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me, big man? I’d have come along!”
His fingers wrap around Technoblade’s wrist, yanking at his arm with child-like glee. There's a wide eyed look about him that reads as nothing but natural wild abandon – a kid ready to throw himself into the flames just for a taste of the ash. Techno's ego preens under the attention he receives and feels his own smile curl wider. “I'll take ya’ next time I go, how ‘bout that?”
“Really! Holy shit! We will be unstoppable, takin’ out the wrong'uns and stealing all their treasures– like pirates except we take from bad people.”
“Yeah, just like pirates.”
Techno uses the anchor on his arm to drag them both to the dining room. The table has been already set and Phil is just lugging the roast from the burner outside. The scent of freshly cooked pork overtakes the house with a delicious aroma.
The man of the hour already sits at the head of the table, his boots crossed and laid upon the top. There's a cigarette in his mouth as he tips back, teetering on the edge of falling. “Get your-! You lil' shit, have you no manners?” Phil strikes at his son's knee while forcing the chair down to it's four posts by the backrest.
Tommy eyes him from his peripheral as he sits at the chair to his left, cringing at the squeal of the blunt legs against the floor. The maniac scooches closer yet, leaning forward now to place his chin across his interlocked fingers. “So, Toms,” he starts, voice reeking of cigarettes and ash, enough for Tommy to flinch back. “You're a werewolf, huh? Mind answering some questions for me? I'm just dying to know all about this little development of your's!”
Tommy's jaw closes with a snap as his bushed brows furrow and a tick in his lip kicks up. “What?” He growls out, body language screaming defensive.
Wil doesn't even flinch, smile growing wider. “If you were to bite someone, would they get infected? Surely you're tried or thought about it.”
He reaches past the man to grab a leg off the pig, fully intending to tuck into this meal in the most obnoxious way just to piss Wilbur off. A bite is shoved in his mouth before he speaks, food flying with every word. “Did I not bite you ‘nough as a kid for you to get your answer?”
“I just figured this was a newer addition seeing as how I've never seen a blonde wolf around before.” Not even batting an eye, Wilbur wipes a small piece of pork that landed on his cheek before flicking it back at Tommy. “That had to have been hard to hide from me for all these years.”
There's an underlying tone to his words that reminds Tommy too much of gunpowder, musk, and ravines. A shiver climbs up his spine and for the second time today he feels the need to shift and run away.
A foot nudges his from under the table, drawing his eyes from the dead brown pinning him in place. Technoblase sits across from him with a ham hock in hand, and a quirk to his brow. The urge to tease the man for committing cannibalism rises but the jest never quite reaches his lips, downtrodden from the man to his left.
“Why don't we cut the interrogation Wilbur and instead eat the food Philza so meticulously prepared for us.”
There's a pointed look at the empty plate in front of Wil, the man rolling his eyes but standing to divide himself a portion regardless. Tommy distracts himself of their proximity by shoving another mouthful past his teeth.
They eat in relative silence after, just the clink of silverware and the murmur of praise toward Phil. When his plate is empty and the sounds of chewing get to be too much, Tommy pushes back his chair and tosses the dishes in the sink and stalks out the room. He throws appreciative words over his shoulder before beelining to the front door.
The door is hardly an inch open before fur replaces skin and paws kick up snow. He fully intends to leave, make for the portal around back and never see Wilbur again but something cements his paws to the ground. Something vicious is pleading with him– the little voice in his mind, his consciousness, asking when he'd see the man he'd loved as a brother again. The voice that sounds suspiciously like a younger, more naive Tommy begging to give Wil just one more chance. The voice bringing up brother-pack-home back from the dredges of Tommy's mind.
He fights each call toward the psychopath waiting at the porch with struggling steps before succumbing to the pup in his mind.
‘One more time’ he swears to himself. ‘One more time and then never again.’
Tommy keeps to his fur when he approaches, nose close to the ground with his ears pressed against his head. He watches with rapt attention the way Wilbur’s eyes shine in awe. Under the admiration is a layer of poorly hidden deception, a yearning; for what, Tommy doesn’t feel inclined to find out.
There’s a growl building in his chest as he climbs the stairs and sits at Wilbur’s feet. Even sat, Tommy reaches the man’s waist, large and intimidating with enough fur to hide his scrawniness. A hand reaches toward his head but he ducks away with a snap of his maw. His teeth don’t clamp around flesh and instead clap together with a loud click.
“Woah! Okay, no touching!” Tommy glares at Wilbur, who cradles his hand against his chest as if he was bitten. “Figured you’d like the attention with how clingy you normally are.”
He grumbles with a huff, billowing steam from his nostrils in puffs of cloud. He does it a few more times to allow himself to feel like the dragon he knows he is inside. A throaty laugh takes him out from his daydream. Tommy nips at Wil's hip, not even touching the man's coat.
“So, this whole wolf thing. I'd say it would be a newer development but something tells me you're a little too comfortable in this body.” Wilbur peers down at him, faced toward the wilderness with his arms leaned against the railing. “For as long as I've known you, you have been unable to keep a secret; gabbing at the first person willing to hear you, so why didn't you tell me? We could've used this kind of strength when we were at war or these teeth when we were hungry.”
Tommy remained a wolf, simply looking towards his older brother unamused. Wil searches his eyes, human and a brighter blue than he's seen in years, before scoffing. “My words are exactly why, huh?” He digs into his coat pocket before pulling out a little packet of cigarettes.
He taps the pack while upside down before retrieving a stick and the lighter. Just as he's about to light it, Tommy knocks into his side. It jostles the hand cupping the flame and out goes the lighter. It drops to the ground and sinks into the snow past the porch.
Wilbur growls behind his cigarette and rips it from between his teeth. “Really! Instead of ruining a perfectly good lighter, you could have just told me-”
Tommy trots down the steps to pick the lighter up between his teeth, depositing it in front of Wilbur's feet. The man glowers before crouching down to pick it up. He squats on his knees and leans forward, only to flick the wolf right in the nose. Tommy yelps, trips over his own paws, and falls back into the snow. It coats his fur and a few get shoved down his nose. He sneezes aggressively while tossing his head around, catching the sound of Wilbur’s whistling laugh as he suffers.
When he’s finally freed of the attack on his sinuses, Tommy raises his head and glowers at his brother. Wilbur is still giggling but there’s a life to his reaction that hasn’t been there since before gun-fire-wars– predating the server itself. He can’t help but to stare for as long as he can to really absorb the feeling of right.
As those dark brown eyes open again, Tommy looks closely to try and see the emotion in them. A depth not seen in years; Wilbur looks happy in a way the man hasn’t reached.
“Alright, whatcha staring at –what’s the term for baby wolves, again– Pup?”
Tommy’s ears press to his head and a playful rumble builds in his throat. His lips peel pack to reveal gleaming fangs, though they remain closed together. His tail remains low to the ground while sweeping snow back and forth in an excited wag. He runs up the stairs in one bound and tackles his brother against the wood. Wilbur falls with a girlish shriek and hits the patio with a thunk.
There’s hands in his fur and a warmth against his cheek as he gently holds the arm pinning him down between his teeth. Tommy growls and fights against the other, stopping only when the door is thrown open and bangs against the interior wall. Both brothers hold still as Technoblade stands intimidating in the doorway.
“What’s goin’ on out ‘ere?”
He spits the arm in his mouth out and fights to his paws, shifting to skin just as his feet hit the floor. “Techno!” Tommy smiles wildly, hair tousled to match what would have been the messy state of his fur.
An arm is thrown over his shoulder, bringing him down while a fist rubs against his scalp. He screeches and thrashes while pushing at the offending hands. “Wil-WILBUR! Stop!” Tommy can’t hide the laughter in his voice.
Techno is leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, a mirth to his face as he looks on at the chaos. He watches idly as Tommy finally breaks free to Wilbur’s hold with a shout before ducking behind the hulking piglin. “Hiding Tommy, really?”
“No! This is a– a strategic move that your tiny mind simply couldn’t comprehend! Technoblade is just standing in the way of my glory, helping me– no, keeping my plan hidden until the perfect–!” Wilbur darts around Techno with reaching hands, interrupting Tommy’s ramble with a shrill yell.
It turns into a game of keep away –except Tommy is the one to keep away– in the livingroom. They duck around the couch and run circles around each other all while Phil watches the two play with a smile pulling at his lips.
Tommy suddenly shifts into his wolf again and takes off out the still open door, shouldering past Technoblade and pouncing into the snow. Wilbur is not far behind them as they turn their impromptu game into an actual battle. The snow fights them at every turn, still gently falling from the sky in flurries that stick to their lashes and eat Wilbur’s feet with every step.
“How long til Wil gives up?” Phil saunters closer, stepping out the door to lean against the railing.
“I give it anotha’ five minutes. Wait til his toes freeze off.”
Technoblade remains in the opening of the cabin, enjoying the warmth against his back while still getting a plenty good view of the moment Wilbur falls face forward into a mound of snow.
Tommy’s wolfish cackle can be heard from far away as he stands just a few steps off, head thrown high as he stands triumphant atop the hill. Wilbur’s head rises from the snow as he props himself onto his elbows. “You little–! You have fuckin’ claws you cunt! You purposefully lead me to the snow-covered ice!”
How a wolf expresses faux innocence, he doesn’t know, but the way Tommy’s head is turned to the side with his nose pointed up, not meeting Wilbur’s eyes, reads well enough. Wilbur pushes himself out of the cold and to his feet, only managing to take one more step before slipping and sliding onto his back. The snow kicks up in a powdery cloud then settles back down over the fallen man.
He doesn’t move long enough that worry begins to nag at Tommy. The wolf trots carefully towards his brother, nose just above the fresh layer of snow. His panting breaths fluff up the small flurries.
As he approaches the human-shapped hole in the ground, a hand suddenly shoots up and grabs him by the nape. Tommy yelps as he’s once again dragged down. He’s pushed face-first into the snow as Wilbur uses him as a prop for his cold, frozen body. “Hah! Gotcha you mangey mutt!”
Tommy nips Wilbur’s coat once he recovers enough to move and uses the cloak to pull his brother back down, this time right up against his chest. The wolf’s coat keeps him well insulated but he can feel the shake of cold shivering through Wil’s body.
With a flurry, he’s using his own body momentum to get them both standing up. Wilbur is half slumped against his furry flank, his chest heaving with clouded breaths. Tommy bwoofs once before throwing his head toward the cabin and the two adults watching.
As the duo march back to the cabin, Wilbur’s hand in his nape in a way that feels right, his dumbass of a brother mutters, “I won.”
Tommy has half the mind to take off right then and there and leave the older in his dust but instead decides to be the decent brother he is and only huff with a roll of his eyes.
They make it into the cabin with little preamble, a towel thrown on the ground ready for their wet and dirty feet. Wilbur toes off his boots while Tommy does the sophisticated thing of wiping his dirty paws off. He does shake his body and throw frozen snow everywhere but who’s gonna fault him for that.
“Come get some hot chocolate and heat up infront of the fire.” Phil calls from the livingroom, tucked comfy cozy in the second armchair facing the fire, nursing his own mug.
The evening finds them all – war torn brothers, estranged father, and an unwilling uncle-brother-familyfriend – cuddled up infront of a fire in their respective chairs. Technoblade thumbs through a book in one hand while the other holds his mug to his lips, Philza curled in his armchair with his mangled wings half hiding him from the world, and Wilbur spread out with his gangly limbs stretched across the longest couch. Tommy pads into the room, tail swishing low in his approach of the couch.
He throws his head over his brother’s torso, bwoofing when the movement doesn’t catch Wil’s attention the way he wants. Brown eyes, glowing amber from the dim fire flickering in his iris, look lazily over the honeyed wolf. The man raises a hand and cautiously places it against Tommy’s head as piercing blue eyes follow the hesitant fingers. When teeth don't snap, Wilbur takes it a step further and caresses the fur atop his head.
Tommy melts into the gentle affection, rumbling when the calloused fingers find their way in the junction of head to ear and rub. When the heavenly ministrations stop, Tommy takes it one step further and begins to crawl ontop the couch.
Wilbur shouts as he’s jostled, one hand holding the top while the other tries to push the wolf off. “Stop! Stop! Tommy! What are you- Oof!”
The wind is knocked from his chest as the wolf drops his full weight against his chest. There’s two hands fisted over his back, one of the nape of his neck in the loose fur and the other grabbing at his shoulders. Tommy just huffs a breath of warmth over his brother’s face before tucking his paws under his chin.
“You’re a heathen.” Is whispered, but he pretends not to hear it.
He’s content, warm and cuddled close to the man who brings him just as much turmoil as he does comfort– Tommy's not thinking about that right now, not when the hand on the nape of his neck moves back up to pet the thin fur under his eye. He finds himself pushing into the hand a little, sucking up all the attention like a sponge.