Tommy didn't remember much from before. He hardly remembered the faces of his parents, only warmth and the soothing notes of a song he tried not to forget.
He didn't know why they had left him. He hoped it was because they didn't have a choice; that they would have done anything for their child, but the universe decided that they must be apart.
When entertaining that idea, he tried not to think about all the times he had been berated for being too 'obviously hybrid'. He tried not to think about the chances of his parents thinking the same. It would've been hard to hide a child with two wolf ears that was too boisterous for his own good.
It was understandable, really, it was! After all, they were two grown adults with lives of their own. It would be stupid to put those in jeopardy for a child whose existence could get them killed.
Or worse.
Then again, most of the people at this facility seemed to be 'obviously hybrid'. Large features that would've been hard to hide. Harder than some ears and a tail. Wilbur's antlers were huge! He wondered how long he had been able to hide before he got caught. It couldn't have been long. Which raised another question entirely.
How long had they been here?
Tommy didn't plan on staying in this wretched place. He'd never stayed in one place long, and he wasn't about to start.
Foster care had been surprisingly hybrid-friendly, that or he'd just been lucky. Hybrids that blended in often wanted to give homes to other hybrids. Some people just didn't care about DNA, as long as they got their paycheck.
That was where his luck ran out, because being loud, obnoxious, and hunted by the government were three traits that didn't get you far. He'd been passed around a fair bit, but when moving was all you knew, you got used to it.
There were many places ingrained into his mind, but none really felt like home. He mostly stayed in the city, except for that one family. They lived on the outskirts, and there weren't many neighbours around. It was quiet.
The adults there liked it quiet. They didn't like him much, seeing as he was a loud, loud child. Sometimes they got fed up, and the house soon became quiet again, save for the sound of him hissing in pain due to the bruises on his skin.
When he left, he finally got to be loud again.
There was another house he remembered well. Six children, excluding himself, and not enough to go around. He was around fourteen at the time, and was at the middle of the 'hierarchy'. Shoving and screaming were constant, and the stronger you were, the better you fared.
Sometimes he felt bad.
He felt bad for the younger, weaker ones who never got a chance to have anything.
He didn't feel bad enough to share, but it's the thought that counts, right?
There was another place, however. He'd only ever had one hybrid foster parent. Clara.
Clara was hard to describe. She lived a normal life in a normal flat. But to Tommy, she was anything but normal.
Clara liked to sew, and she'd add colourful patches whenever his jackets would rip. She made cinnamon buns with a little too much cinnamon, but that was the way they liked them. She had an old, beat up DVD player and a myriad of horror films- none of which Tommy would watch, and so as soon as she could, she purchased Up, so they could have movie nights without nightmares.
Black wings, dark as night, engulfed her form, making her look like a different kind of angel. The white speckles underneath almost looked like stars, and every time he tried to count them they seemed to grow in numbers.
Clara was a master of disguise. She went out in broad daylight expecting nobody to suspect a thing, and they didn't. Tommy asked her countless times just how she did it, but she never gave. A finger to her lips and a wink was the only answer he ever got, before she shrugged on a coat and stepped out the door and into the light.
The light must have whisked her off to a better world, for that was the last time he saw her.
He'd stayed in the flat for days. He slept by the door, and he only dreamt of being swept up in the comfort of starlit feathers and wept when he realised that she wasn't coming back.
He adapted, though. He always did.
He packed his things, well, half of them weren't even his to begin with. He stole Clara's sewing kit, one of her scarves, and her old backpack. He convinced himself that she wouldn't mind.
He concealed his ears and tucked away his tail, the way she had taught him to whenever they went out, and he never looked back.
He didn't need anyone else to survive in this shithole of a world, and he should've known better than to rely on someone that was destined to leave.
And so, he stepped into the light, and walked until he entered the darkness.
A/N: Whoo! It's been a while! Been scared, pissed off and lonely these past few weeks, and I suffered from some major writer's block. Hopefully I'll be getting back into the swing of things! Your lovely comments kept me going, and I love all of you dearly <3
also i need to make a better cover for this or sth (if any of you guys make covers hmu?)