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The forest was dangerous— not because of the bears or wolves, but because of the Faeries, or Fae , that lived amongst them.
Too-perfect features, pointy ears, sharp nails (or claws), and a habit of taking those who dared to tread too far off the path.
You must never lie to a Fae, do not give them your true name, do not say thank you, and do not accept gifts.
There were probably more rules, but Tommy never listened after the first lecture he had received when he was just a child.
He kind of thought that they were myths grown-ups made up so kids wouldn't lie or talk to strangers.
His grandmother, Tabatha, gave him a basket of countless berries, giving him a stern look. "Don't lose your way. Stay on the path,Tom. Remember—" "The rules. Yeah, I know. Bye, grandmum!" Tommy cut her off, waving at her before he turned and walked away, eventually finding the entrance of the forest and the dirt path.
A murder of crows flew away as he approached, some cawing in annoyance.
Twigs crunched under his boots as he walked, and after a while, he got lost in the peaceful ambience; Tommy had only been to the forest a few times, and he loved when he was allowed to go, once able to encounter a doe and pet it before it ran off.
His spine shivered in an uncomfortable way the deeper he went into the forest, the feeling unfamiliar, though it had been felt before.
Something in the wind told him not to worry, the whistling of the trees seemed as though it was made to soothe, to sing.
The path to Clara’s had never been as peaceful and eerie as it had been that afternoon.
Nightmares were a constant, due to irreparable damage done to him mentally at the age of seven; they were more than just mere bad dreams that tempted you to crawl into your mother’s bed and cry, they were far worse.
They were memories— true, real, and permanent.
Tommy thinks remembering is worse than forgetting.
He wishes he could escape his mind, but he can’t, not even in slumber. The most terrible form of torture is reliving, even if you felt like you weren’t living in the first place; surviving is what many do, including Tommy.
The temptation of crawling into his mother’s bed was there, but impossible when death is what stopped him.
Love is what gets you killed, curiosity is what gets you hurt, but Tommy never learns, does he?
After a few shaky, steadying breaths and wiping off clammy hands, he throws the sheets off, stepping onto the too-cold and too-warm wooden floor; he doesn’t know what’s sweat and what’s tears on his face, and that’s truly a sad thought.
Changing into his sweater and jeans is harder than it should be, hands fumbling and fingers slipping, reminiscent of his mind.
He decided not to bother with his jacket, though it was most definitely freezing at this time of night.
Tommy grabbed his sketchbook and pencil, the eraser halfway gone.
The floorboards creaked as he tip-toed through the house, flinching at every sound as if his father would jump out of the shadows and murder him too, just as he did his mother.
Tommy knew it was more than unlikely since he’d been lowered into his casket years ago.
Still, the fear remained.
Cold air hit his face once he stepped out, and he admired the moon for a few moments before walking down the path to the forest, heading towards a big area with various flowers and poison ivy, rocks, and occasional foxes; he never got to admire the area at night, with the moon hiding and revealing many things with her light.
Tommy heard a few owls -or maybe the same owl- hooting and a wolf howl in the far, far distance, it still sent a shiver down his spine.
He approached the clearing, deciding to sit on a rather large rock that the moonlight hit just right as he embraced the cold wind, a freezing hug, he thought.
The pages of the sketchbook fluttered as he opened it, starting to draw.
Alliums.
They were his mother’s favorite.
Tommy drew an allium and sunflower entangled together, like souls that were binded.
After a few hours of drawing, the sun started coming up, a beautiful sunrise shining through the tree leaves, which he admired heavily.
He closed his book, ready to leave, when he heard a cold whisper in his ear.
“...Stay…”
Tommy whipped his head around, but found no one. ‘What the fuck?’
He ran out of the forest, forgetting his book and pencil in his haste.
Of course, he came back. Why? He couldn’t lose his mother’s last gift to him.
It was the next morning, a nice eight AM when birds chirped and everyone was particularly cranky.
Tommy moved through the village, accidentally bumping into someone, but all they did was shove him off and glare, walking away.
Seems he’s not even worth words anymore.
The dirt path felt like a death sentence, an ending, a death—
But he never learned.
He walked down the dirt path, the forest feeling… different. It was as if it was guiding him, which seemed silly, but he strayed off the path.
A waterfall was flowing, he’d never been here before, he needs to leave, get his sketchbook, “Never stray off the path”—
A tall figure with a trench coat, curly brown hair, and pointy ears was sitting on a log, doing something with his hands.
The more Tommy walked forward, the more he could see.
The… thing was braiding someone’s hair, adding golden trinkets to the braid. They were both facing away from Tommy, but that changed as the brunet’s hands stilled and its head turned to look at him.
Its lips split into a too-perfect grin, “Hello! What are you doing here?” It asked, and Tommy stilled. That was a Faerie. ‘Fuck.’
Its eyes narrowed, and the pink-haired one turned to look at Tommy as well. “Are you going to answer?” ‘Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—’ “Uh… I, um, came to get my book. I lost it last… morning?” He felt cold sweat on his face and palms.
“Oh! You’re the one… Phil mentioned. What’s your name, dear?” It asked, sporting a faux comforting smile. “T—” Wait. “Most call me Tom.” He replied, giving a nickname he hated rather than his real name. “Tom.” It huffed, but relaxed its features. “You can call me William.” The braided one's eyebrows furrowed and an analyzing gaze.
Tommy flicked his gaze to three mushroom circles before looking back at them both.
"I've got your book here," the brunet Fae held it up, almost tauntingly. He took a step towards the two Fae, but stopped at its slowly forming grin. The book was lowered just slightly, but it was enough to make Tommy a bit worried.
"Can you say 'please'?" It tilted its head. Tommy frowned, "Yeah, I can," he replied. 'William' stood up, "Do you want your little diary or not?" "Wil." The pink-haired Fae spoke up, sounding mildly annoyed.
"What?" It looked to the other, and that was enough time for Tommy to snatch the sketchbook out of its hand and run.
He heard a shout behind him along with laughing, though it didn't really sound… maniacal like he thought it would, it sounded nice and entertained, caught off guard.
Tommy continued running anyway, and it felt as though the forest was trapping him this time, ending up passing the same places over and over, unable to find the exit or even the clearing from before.
After around twenty minutes of eventual walking, he gave up, sitting down with a book and no pencil.
He'd just… rest his legs and then find the way out. Yeah…
He doesn't know when he fell asleep.
Rain droplets slowly landed on his head, the sudden cold water waking him up. Where… where was he?
Oh. That wasn't a dream.
Tommy wipes the rain off his forehead, but more droplets replace them, and he grumbles, irritated.
He stretches before slowly standing up, taking the book with him. He needs to find some sort of shelter, the village, preferably.
He started walking through the trees before hearing a twig snap, and he snapped his head to it.
Tommy faces an unnaturally perfect face— but not one of the two from before. "Why, hello." It smiles, taking a few steps forward while Tommy takes a few steps back.
"You met my two sons." 'Oh.'
"That drawing last night was very pretty. I usually don't let people in my area, but… you're different."
Oh.
"You're… the one from before. The one that asked me to stay." Tommy tensed, and the Fae smiled. "I didn't ask," it replied, he widened his eyes.
"Stay." It said, and Tommy frowned. "Why? What will you do to me?" He asked fearfully, and the Fae paused, smile disappearing from its face. "What do you think I'll do?"
"I— I don't know." Tommy took a step back. "Kill me?"
“Oh! You’re the one… Phil mentioned." Phil. Its name— nickname was Phil.
It tilted its head. "Why would I kill you?" Phil asked, blue eyes reminding Tommy of his own staring at him, and he quickly realized that it had his pencil in its hand.
Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. "The… the people at the village say you do. People go in the forest and never come back." Phil chuckled lightly, a small smile returning. "Oh, no, dove. The ones who disappeared are the ones who you saw earlier. Wil and Tech."
"...What good would having a human do?" He asked, confused. It took larger steps, and this time Tommy stayed in place.
"I don't intend on keeping you human for long." Phil replied, and Tommy's breath stilled. "...What?"
"Tech and I have been watching you for a while, from the trees." Phil hummed, raising a hand to his golden locks. "You're different."
It frowned as it played with a curly strand of hair. "Hurt."
"...So? Why is that important to you? Why am I supposedly that important?" Tommy snapped, and the Fae just hummed. "You're kind on the inside, and broken. You remind me of someone I used to know. You're talented and funny, and you also remind me of my boys," Phil ran a hand through Tommy's hair, fixing the mess.
"You shouldn't be so lonely." "I'm not alone, I have people!" He scowled, and the other frowned again. "There's a difference between lonely and alone. You are lonely. I see it in how you act, in how you look at the moon for guidance…" he paused, "The forest saw it, or else it wouldn't have led you back to us."
'Fae can't lie.'
"So… what do we do then?" Tommy asked, and he smiled before replying. "Well first, we can start with introducing ourselves. I'm Philza."
He felt a chill run down his spine, yet warm at the same time, fuzzy and powerful.
Don't tell Fae your name, don't tell Fae your name, don't tell Fae your name—
"...I'm Tommy." He whispered, and Philza grinned. "Nice to meet you, Tommy."
Philza and Tommy went back to 'Tech' and William, finding Tech reading a book and William waiting expectantly in his circle, looking at both of them as they entered the little area.
"I get another little brother?" He asked, hopefulness apparent in his voice. "We." Tech corrected, rolling his eyes and closing his book after bookmarking it.
"Yes." Philza huffed, amused. "We should teach him manners, though." Tech joked, and Tommy just stood there before Philza's hand came onto his shoulder, comforting.
It was the night.
The night that Tommy… is no longer mortal.
"Are you nervous?" Wilbur asks, and Tommy nods. His brother wraps him into a hug. "It's okay. We'll be here the whole time, okay?"
"...I know."
Technoblade guides him to a space beside Philza's circle, where Tommy's own will be, before hugging him then walking away.
Philza steps up to him, smiling kindly, "This'll hurt for a second."