Tommy stares out the window blearily, heart heavy. He trains his dull glare upon the all too bright sunshine beaming over the verdant air of dewdrops and wishes it could be less... cheerful, outside. Unfairly cheerful, it is, and he doesn't like it.

The trees flicker their beautiful coats of autumn in the breeze and he gives them a bitter glare before dropping his head down into his crossed arms over the windowsill. The paint is beginning to peel, soft pearly whites flaking back into grainy wood and he picks at it halfheartedly.

Techno is not gone. It just... wasn't possible.

Phil was never a constant in Tommy's life. Sure, he was there during mealtimes and Tommy loved his oldest brother dearly, he really did, but Phil was never someone he could rely on. Phil was always busy meeting with an advisor or another, at one meeting or another, signing one paper or another-

The point was, he just wasn't there.

Wilbur. Wilbur sings to him and teases him and sometimes tries to convince him to eat sand (seriously, what was his problem), and is everything Tommy could have asked for in an older brother. But he isn't a constant either. He would be gone on music tours or off doing some stiff fancy speech or a million other things that Tommy had long ago determined were absolutely boring.

And so Tommy can only turn to one person with all his cuts and bruises (mostly from doing stupid things... actually no, all from doing stupid things, but that was besides the point-), all the complaints and grievances a child can have about the world, all the things he wants to learn to do-

Techno. He always turns to Techno. The one constant he has relied on, the North Star in his night sky that orients him, bright and steadfast - how will they all survive without it? The thought is daunting, and he lets it slide. (For now, he tells himself, but he knows he's avoiding it on purpose, knows he'll never get around to answering it if he can avoid it.)

He sighs, lifting his head and narrowing his eyes against the glimmering sunlight, before getting to his feet. He wants some fresh air.

He throws open the window and climbs onto the windowsill, legs dangling over the edge, hands set loosely on either side of him, and for a long moment, drinks in the dancing fall wind and the smell of apples in the air. His wings twitch behind him, anxious to stretch to their full span and fly, but he resists the urge. Things were going down, and he knew Phil would Not Appreciate it if Tommy just flew off without telling him.

Footsteps, and then knocking. He recognizes it to be Wilbur. "What?" he shouts, because getting off the windowsill and opening the door was far too much work.

"Not much," comes the muffled reply of undoubtedly Wilbur, "it's just that Phil says if you're going out you have to let either him or myself know." There's no smugness or annoying-ness, as annoying as Wilbur can be sometimes, it's an order as genuine as they come. Tommy grumbles and frets but he knows it'll be temporary (probably) and that it will all boil down again once they find Techno.

Which will be soon. Of course it will.

He manages a smirk. Was pretending to be actual demon-spawn always so tiring? It didn't matter, it was the carefully crafted persona he held for himself, the way he would deal with all the shortcomings of the world. "Well since you're here, tell Phil I'm going to find Tubbo!"

"Brat," Wilbur called after him, affection softening his voice. "Get back here, do you really hate spending time with me so much?" He rattles on the doorknob, but Tommy can hear the amusement in his voice.

"The door isn't locked," he cackles, before vaulting out the window. Wilbur opens the door and rolls his eyes.

"I- I knew that."

The words land on deaf ears; Tommy is already halfway out of palace grounds. Wilbur rolls his eyes and returns to his own room.

~

Phil sighs. He's tired, so tired. He had never wanted the throne, wanted neither the power nor confinement that came with it, but was forced to swallow both in a package of acceptance or exile.

An heir can not refuse the crown. To do so is the worst kind of betrayal, the kind that says I would choose myself over this nation, because everyone knew the burdens that came with such power. It isn't an easy job. But to desert the nation in such a move spelt exile.

Phil would have taken it. He would have taken exile over this.

At least in the forests he could spread his wings and laugh and feel at peace.

But his brothers were all so young, too young, and if he had fled, the throne would have fallen to them, a kingdom resting upon barely fledged shoulders that he knew were not ready for such a cruel fate, would never be ready.

He stayed to protect them, and slowly, it's eating him alive. But as long as he breathes, he knows he's saved his brothers from something terribly and dark and devouring.

But Techno. The little Phoenix. Gone. This he cannot stand, yet he cannot tear himself out from beneath his chains of duty where he is bound. He is trapped between two walls - both of them called up from the depths of his love for Tommy and Wilbur and Techno and everything they are.

He will stay strong, he vows. Not for himself, never for himself, but for them. They deserve so much better but he cannot give that, cannot provide for them what they deserve because they deserve the world. But he can give them love and safety and whatever else he's been scraping by so he vows that they will have this, that he will make sure they have this.

It's a promise, he tells himself. Not an invitation for things to go wrong. Of course, fate always has other ideas.

~

Tommy flicked open his wings, sunlight filtering over tawny owl feathers. It's freeing, for his wings, stretching them to their fullest is exhilarating, but for his mind too. For a moment, all he thinks about is the clear blue sprawled ahead of him, smudged in cottony white, beautiful, impossible, real.

And then he tilts primaries, angeling his body and garners speed, sweeping downward in a graceful arc. He has a destination in mind, but it would do no one any harm to take a few extra minutes to get there. Fresh air is a luxury everyone has access to but forgets to claim and while he's out he will take advantage of free things thankyouverymuch.

His gaze trails downward into the private rose gardens, and his mind whirls back in a flurry of memories to a moment long ago.

Tommy had been tasked with picking apples. Phil, seeing him bouncing around as all young boys do, had sent him out to the orchard with a basket, an order to fill it with as many apples as he could carry and a good natured laugh. He had nodded, taken the basket and everything, before he remembered the shortcut: out the balcony, straight over rows of ruffled flowers and beyond the duckling pond where swans graced.

Throwing open the glass doors of the balcony, he launched himself with reckless abandon into the air, head empty of things such as safety because that was lame. And then stopped and nearly forgot how to fly.

Because below him, down on the soft grass of the central rose garden, was Techno. With his wings out. With his wings out. Tommy understood Techno was a Phoenix, understood that his wings couldn't be shown for safety reasons, understood it all. But wow, Tommy would be lying if he said he had never tried to catch just the tiniest glimpse of Phoenix wings, because that was cool and he never got to see anything cool.

But there it was. Two beautiful wings of molten sunlight. Darker coppery tones edged each feather, the shaft glowing, pulsing with light and warmth, a heartbeat of gold and liquid orange.

Techno was sparring with no one, dancing to an unheard rhythm, swinging around a very real sword because, well, why train with a wooden weapon when you had the real thing? His eyes were closed but he moved with a deadly sort of grace, a testament both to his familiarity of his surroundings and his skill.

Tommy, without an ounce of shame, stared. His shadow fell over Techno's form, blotting out the sun, and Techno opened his eyes, blinking up at Tommy with an expression of resigned acceptance. He made Tommy promise not to tell anyone - this was a secret between them, and to never spy on him again. Tommy agreed, of course, though they both knew that if the chance came, Tommy would absolutely spy on him again.

Now, he stares down at the empty greenery and his heart gives an almost painful lurch, one he knows means grief. Techno, come home. Please.

For a moment, if he turns his head fast enough, he can almost see the flicker of fiery feathers hidden in the rose bushes, but the air he rides over, wings spanned out, is still, carrying only the lonely scent of the late apple harvest. He turns away and blinks the sting from his eyes, determined to keep them dry when he finds Tubbo.

A few long moments later, he is in the upper city, wings ruffled as he folds them over his back, face kept carefully calm. No tears, he promises himself, before pushing open the door.

A bell jingles cheerily over his head. The warm smell of butter and melted chocolate rush into the dry coldness of the outside and he searches the inside of the bakery. It's cluttered in a beautifully-messy way, polished wooden counters covered in lace-edged paper and straw woven baskets heaped high with bread and cakes, biscuits lined up over silver platters, and his favourite - chocolate covered pretzels nestled in a large bowl by the register. He's a little tempted to steal one, he knows the owner won't mind, but the desire to be an evil gremlin has all but died in wake of the events of the past few days.

At last, he hears light footsteps, and he makes his way over to the back of the bakery in time to greet (read: walk into) the owner herself. Niki smiles almost automatically - as any good shop owner would do, but he can see the soft sincere glow of a real smile beneath the happiness she plasters on to deal with customers, and is careful not to drop her pan of cookies. "Hello Tommy!"

Her wings are folded neatly behind her, white dove feathers lying flat against each other, but she flicks him affectionately with a wingtip as she passes.

His words dry in his throat. How does he tell them?

Phil hasn't let word get out yet, word about Techno, but Tommy is confident Phil will be okay with Niki and Tubbo knowing. They've been close friends for almost forever, after all. But how does he tell them? Writing a letter would have been so much easier, but mail services were stupidly slow and well...

They didn't deserve a letter. They deserve to be told in-person, deserved it because Techno would have wanted that. He still doesn't know how to tell them though, and wishes he had planned this out a little bit before leaving.

Niki hums lightly, setting down her tray, before turning back to him. Her eyes flicker over his expression and something must have shown on his face, because she stills. "Tommy?"

"Niki." He grins weakly. "I- um. Hi." His hands find the edge of the counter and he grips it as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the mortal realm. "Can Tubbo - do you know where - can you find Tubbo?"

Niki looks blatantly worried now. "Tommy... is everything okay?"

No.

I don't know.

"Can you find Tubbo? I'll explain when he's here," is what he says instead. He sits down, and Niki exhales.

"I can find him, yes. Stay right here." She vanishes into a door behind the counter and he lets his mind go blank.

She returns. Tubbo is muted compared to his usually bright self, not even bothering to take off his apron which is dusted with flour, and Tommy guesses that Niki had told him something was off.

"Hey.' Tommy nods, trying (and failing) to lighten the mood. Tubbo's shoulders are tense, summer tanager wings ruffled uneasily.

"Tommy." The other boy is clearly resisting the urge to shake him by the shoulders. "What is it?"

"I, uh." He hesitates, trying to find the right words, but they don't appear. His mouth feels dry. "It's, um..."

Tubbo inhales slowly. Exhales. "Tommy. Just talk, please. The suspense is killing me."

Tommy blanks and spews out the first word that comes to mind. "Uh, Techno." And immediately regrets it, because-

He sees Niki shut down. Her eyes darken and she draws her wings in flat against her body, feathers fanning out, Tubbo looking equally horrified as they assume the worst - of course they do. He panics suddenly, desperate to stop them from, well, panicking.

"He's not dead," he informs them as quickly as he possibly can, "he's not dead. He's missing. But not dead."

Saying it out loud confirms it too in his mind. Techno will come home. Just... not right now. He clamps his mouth shut and doesn't say anything else because he's afraid that if he does, emotions might come through, and that's not what he wants. Emotions can go die in a hole somewhere because he's a grown up big boy who does not need emotions, no thank you very much.

Niki sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be okay. He's resourceful, smart, and... he's got a good heart." A fond, shaky smile crosses her features. "He used to help Tubbo and I out, did you know that?"

Tommy lifts his head. "Really?"

Niki's mouth curved upwards at the memory. "He used to win a lot from his sword fighting competitions. Back then my bakery had just started up from the ground and wasn't doing too well, so he would insist I take his winnings as payback for the free food I gave your family." She stares off at some nonexistent point of interest, eyes unfocused. "Of course I tried to decline, but he insisted."

Tommy huffed faintly. "Yeah, sounds like him." His heart twists with unexpected warmth, blooming like petals in snow.

Tubbo managed a grin.

A companionable silence stretched between them, soft and familiar, and they let it. The quiet brought back a flood of memories, and they welcomed them with open hearts and open minds. It was good to not be alone.

~

In another city, wings aching, heart aching, Techno trudges on, alone.