𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 ༄

five

When Tommy came to, the first thing he noticed was that his throat wasn't dry anymore. He licked his lips preemptively, feeling the crackedness be replaced with saliva. He cracked one eye open, saw a man staring at him, and shut it again.

This didn't go unnoticed by the man, whose features Tommy couldn't quite make out in the bright unnatural light. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost a whisper, "Hi mate, I'm Phil. You were knocked out for a couple of hours. Uh, can I get your name?" Phil laid his hand gently on Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy flinched. "No," he argued, his voice hoarse. He tried to sit up, feeling a soft couch beneath him, but was met with immediate light-headedness and blurry vision. "Okayyyy, what the fuck happened," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"You tell me, mate. My son found you lying in the shed. He thought you were dead."

Son? How old was this guy? Tommy opened one eye again, trying to get a good look at the man who supposedly had healed him. He saw him sitting on the other side of the couch, scruffy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. His smile was wide, and he was rubbing his calloused hands together excitedly. He looked young to be a dad, to be living out in the woods. But Tommy didn't question it. Suddenly icy blue eyes met cloudy ones and Tommy dropped his gaze. But not without catching a glimpse of something peculiar. Something shiny.

Tommy loved shiny things. He used to collect them at the home, and had to hide them from the other kids. Tommy's gaze travelled over what had caught his attention, and his mouth dropped open. Were those... wings?

Long blades of steel glinted behind the man's back, matching the glint in his big smile. Tommy gaped, utterly confused. They looked and moved like real bird wings, but were completely metal. Tommy was transfixed, unable to break eye contact with the gleaming wings.

Phil shuffled awkwardly. "Right, yes. I have wings. They are real, attached to me and everything. Please don't try and steal them." Tommy had already been thinking about it, and upon those words froze in fear. How did he know Tommy liked to steal?

But wings. Wings weren't supposed to be real. Tommy had seen his fair share of shocking things in life, but usually it was shit like finding out his parents didn't want him anymore. Not supernatural shit. Tommy shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain, but the wings remained in his vision. As surprised as he was to see them, he was less surprised that they existed.

It wasn't like Tommy's life had been entirely abnormal anyways. He had the regularly scheduled programming of being a foster kid with a side of trauma, but there were distinct times in his life where he questioned his own reality. There was that time in the second grade when his substitute teacher had caught on fire and exploded into golden dust in the boys bathroom. He had been found staring at the tiles, hours after it happened, the teacher nowhere to be found. Another strange occurrence happened on the eighth grade field trip to the park, when Tommy swore he heard those little red birds speak to him. He had complained to his teacher about the noise and was later called in for a psych evaluation. It was not a fun field trip.

More and more of these events cropped up in Tommy's life, their strangeness always flitting by him in the moment, but becoming clearer as he sat on the leather couch in a strangers house. The world seemed to unfold in front of him as he recognized an entirely different side he had objectively ignored before. One couldn't blame him for not noticing or caring, Tommy had always been worried about his next place to sleep, not whether or not there were supernatural entities about.

He studied the older man closely, tracing the way the metal bits interlocked to make large, sturdy wings. Phil coughed, dragging Tommy's attention away as they made eye contact. Cloudy blue eyes met cold ones, and Tommy noticed that even his eyes had a tinge of metallic in them. What was he?

"A stymphalian bird. Well, partly," The man answered.

Had he said that out loud?

"Partly?" Tommy questioned, bewildered.

"Of course. I look human, don't I? 'Cept for the wings, of course," Phil's accent drawled.

Tommy shuffled, a bit unnerved by the man (bird?) revealing his sharp teeth in a white smile.

"Sorry, but what is a st-stymph-"

"Stymphalian."

"-Stymphalian bird exactly? Is that like a hawk or some shit?"

Phil took a breath, "No. You would know Stymphalian birds from Greek Mythology, if you have ever studied it. They are told to be giant metal birds with a killer instinct and a tendency to feed on the flesh of men. Demi-gods often had to accompany on quests to defeat them. The only difference is, it's not a myth. They are real."

Tommy felt like his mind was on fire. He spoke slowly, but his thoughts were in a tornado, "You mean to tell me, that man-eating birds are REAL? And your ONE OF THEM?"

Phil smiled horribly. "Yes. But don't fear, I don't eat men. I just have an affinity for red meat. As does Techno."

With incredible timing, a second man entered the living room. He radiated power, and intimidated Tommy more than the bitch with stabbing wings. He was tall, with braided long pink hair and a red cape. He had a sword strapped to his thigh accompanied by knee-high boots. He dressed like he belonged on a pirate ship, but he somehow didn't look stupid. He looked terrifying. Tommy caught his gaze, and the blood drained from his face. Deep red eyes locked him in place, molding his limbs into the couch.

"Techno, that's enough mate," Phil chided. Techno huffed. Turning to Tommy again, Phil said, "Techno is an empousa. Partly. He is the ancient version of a vampire, deals with blood and sorts. He's an excellent warrior too, but that's because I trained him."

Tommy's head was pounding, and the influx of information was far from helping. He struggled to find his words. He couldn't believe he had wound up in a house with not one, but two bloodthirsty monsters.

"Deep breaths mate, I know it's a lot," Phil stretched out his hand to comfort the boy. Tommy flinched away.

He stood abruptly, almost stumbling over. His nerves were electrified with anxiety and adrenaline, but his body was weak.

"Careful, you only just recovered," said Phil.

Recovered from what? Tommy was getting distracted. The metal on the steel wings and the shiny jewelry wrapped around Techno was interrupting his thoughts, making it impossible to make sense of this situation. He needed to get out, and now. He couldn't be here anymore, he couldn't stand to smell the pine floors or see the glint of metal any longer.

Tommy started to run.

He didn't get very far. His recently collapsed limbs and foggy brain created a disastrous formula for an attempt to move like a healthy person, and Tommy was already hitting the ground again.

In a flash, Phil was at his side, cradling his head from hitting the linoleum floor wrapping his body in his wings.

Tommy's mind was already fading to black, but one last thought crossed his consciousness.

Tommy felt safe.