Chapter Text
Tommy’s been running for long enough now that he has no idea how long it’s really been.
There’s a dull ache in his hind leg with every step he takes, drumming along to his heartbeat as he navigates the forest with uncoordinated, clumsy steps, no longer certain where he is. Not that he was very coordinated to begin with; between the deep wounds Dream left behind and the steady thrum of panic in his veins as he realized he was really, truly doing this, Tommy had hardly been paying attention to the direction he was heading. In fact, it didn't even register that Dream stopped chasing him once he breached another pack's territory, so focused on getting the hell out of dodge that he had to stop and actually look back, startled at the lack of a second set of pawsteps a beat behind his.
He pants, sides heaving, as he finally takes in his surroundings. The air smells cleaner here, somehow, the magic lighter and electric in its purity. It’s nothing like the heavy, humid feeling of Dream’s magic, oppressive as it wraps around his throat like Dream’s hands. Not only that, but the forest feels alive, the constant chatter of small animals and the calls of birds almost too much compared to the eerie silence Tommy had grown used to. There's no sense of trepidation here, no fear. The grass under him thrives, the wildlife around him practically humming with all the energy flowing through. It's. . . It's nice. It's peaceful.
The absence of Dream's magic is such a relief that, almost as soon as he realizes it's gone, all the adrenaline leaves him and he collapses to the forest floor, panting like a dog. Well, a wolf, in his case. He rolls onto his side, wincing at the tug of injuries old and new. The absence of adrenaline allows the pain to hit him full force, leaving him whining sharply as both sharp and aching pain scatters across his battered body. It rises and falls in time with his heartbeat. There are bites all over him courtesy of Dream, some half-healed, most weeping crimson, as well as the cuts he managed to inflict on himself when he tore through the bramble bushes like a madman, desperate to get away.
He doesn't regret it for a second. He can still hear the pained howl Dream let out as he tried to follow and found himself much worse off than Tommy, who's far smaller than his alpha and snuck through with just a few nasty scratches to show for it. He barks out a laugh, relief flooding through him. He chases the feeling like an addict, reveling in the sense of freedom that is finally hitting him. He’s out of Dream’s territory. He’s alive, for the most part. He got away.
Even in his euphoria, Tommy can feel himself rapidly losing strength. He blinks, sluggish, finding himself staring at the gently swaying grass in front of his snout, entranced. It seems to dance in the wind. It’s so much brighter than the wilting plants in Dream’s land. He has to squint in the bright sunlight, his eyes stinging. It’s so worth it, as temporary as he knows it is, because he got out. He barks a laugh, sharp and sudden. He got out, but distantly he recognizes the primal ping in his brain that tells him he is most certainly trespassing on another pack’s territory.
Through his daze, a spike of fear startles him into trying to get up, but pain flashes all through him and his vision whites out. When he finally blinks past it he's back on the ground, blood at the roots of the grass he'd been watching. The pack that owns this land will come for him, he's sure, and he has no idea what they'll do to him. Dream had been kind enough to take him in, to house and feed him, but it's entirely possible he won't be so lucky with this pack. He doesn't expect to, really.
He’ll move on soon, he promises himself. He'll lie down for a bit, get his energy back while he can, and then he'll be out of their hair. Or fur. Whatever it is. He just. . . needs a quick break. One that Dream would have never let him have, which only has him relaxing further into the soft dirt out of pure spite, the wind tousling his bloodstained white fur. Dream’s not following him. Tommy finally, finally got away from him. He can rest. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a bit, right?
--
“This is getting annoying.” Techno finally declares after a solid hour of waiting, which is pretty impressive, considering. He looks deeply annoyed as he cradles his tea in scarred hands. He’s looking into the distance as he speaks, surely listening to the same awful buzzing they’re all hearing. It screams trespasser, trespasser, make it leave, prodding them insistently to find out who dares to not only enter their territory but to linger on its edges, as if waiting for them to come find whoever it is. Wilbur is certain that it's worse for Phil, who's been waiting very patiently for their trespasser to leave. “I don’t think they’re movin’ on anytime soon, Phil.” Techno rumbles.
Phil, their alpha, looks just annoyed as the three of them feel. He rubs his forehead with a sigh and stands, stretching, old bones cracking. Wilbur can only assume this means they're finally going to take care of it, thank Prime, because he's not sure how much longer he could handle the insistence of his instincts before losing it. By the looks his packmates have been giving him this past half an hour, he's pretty sure it's obvious, still tapping his fingers against his arm.
“Been a while, huh old man?” Wilbur, who’s been leaning against the counter near Techno, teases softly, suddenly energized. It's not easy to wait out a trespassing wolf, especially one who hasn't declared their intentions or left a tribute, but Phil's gotten soft in his old age. He doesn't hunt anyone down anymore; he waits, and bides his time, and strikes when he feels it's right, not at the behest of others. Wilbur thinks they should've done this an hour ago, but whatever, right? His opinion's been of much lesser importance since a few months ago. He smothers the rush of feelings that come with the reminder, trying to keep a semblance of calm at least.
“Hush,” Phil retorts playfully. He rolls out his shoulders. “I really hope we don’t have to challenge them, whoever it is.”
“You know I’ll take care of it if we do.” Techno reassures him, finishing off his tea in one last gulp before setting his mug in the sink. As he does, Wilbur catches sight of the little dog doodled on it and can’t help but smile fondly. It’s Ranboo’s handiwork, a present for Techno he bought a year or so ago, custom printed with Ranboo’s own silly doodle of Techno in his wolf form. Wilbur stands up straight from his slouched lean, a bit excited despite the tension a situation like this comes with. His pack has been hovering over his shoulder for months now; he’s excited to go outside, maybe do something a little daring if they really do have to challenge the trespasser. He needs action, drama, something to stimulate his brain other than his own racing thoughts.
Phil, seemingly able to read his mind or the smirk on his face, turns to him with a stern expression. “Stay right by me, Wil,” He says, “We’ll let Techno handle it if it becomes a fight, challenge or not.” Wilbur rolls his eyes. When are they going to stop treating him like he's made of glass?
“I’ll be fine, Philza.” He says, unable to help the irritation rising in his chest, stepping past his father with his hands in his pockets, hiding the shaking. He’s getting sick of being babied. He’s not fragile. He can handle himself just fine, thank you very much. Behind him, Phil sighs, but doesn’t push it. He’s sure that if he turned around he’d see Techno and Phil exchanging glances, the two of them watching Wilbur. Treating him like he’s a bomb about to explode any second now.
Agitated, Wilbur’s the first out the door. Now that he's started thinking about it, it's not going to go away, so he busies himself with focusing on the task ahead. He hardly takes a step off the porch before he’s shifting into his wolf form, shaking out his fur with a huff. By now his packmates are used to the strip of white traveling from his nose to the tip of his tail, but he can still feel them staring regardless. He hates it, but doesn't dare curl his lip at them, having fought enough about it already. He's tired of fighting.
Techno catches up to him easily, settled into his own wolf, russet fur shining under the bright sunlight. The rippling of his muscles obvious even with all his fur as he walks. Out of the five of them, Techno is definitely the strongest. It shows in the myriad of scars decorating his fur, everything from bites from other wolves to bullet wounds from hunters. Wilbur, used to them all, only glances his way before facing back forward. He steadfastedly ignores the way Techno and Phil box him in, Techno to his right, Phil to his left, even if their alpha is a half-step ahead.
Phil's fur shimmers a brilliant blonde, sharp against the green around them. He's got a much sleeker look to him, his own scars much more subtle and fewer in-between. Having the favor of Trix-tinn herself made healing much easier for him and it shows. His packmates stand out against the forest proudly.
Wilbur, with his chocolate colored fur, used to blend in perfectly. The white on his back ruined that months ago.
They trot in relative silence, Phil occasionally catching the scent in the wind again and slightly altering their path. It takes them all the way to the edge of their territory, past the creek that helps their land be as defensible as it is, and into a small clearing. For a moment, Wilbur’s not convinced their trespasser is even still here; if it weren’t for the insistent buzzing urging him to keep looking, he would’ve missed it entirely.
A small body lying in the grass, motionless.
Wilbur can’t help the distressed whine that leaves him as he approaches the pup, even as Phil gives a warning bark. There’s something familiar about the magic clinging to its fur. As he grows closer, he can see the pup’s light greyish-brown fur, almost looking speckled, before he realizes that its fur isn’t grey or brown. There are too many wounds on the pup to count, some sluggishly bleeding still, some not. He’s covered head to toe in mud, dirt, and blood. Wilbur is wholly convinced the pup is dead, nosing at its neck, until he spots the faintest rise and fall of its chest.
Wilbur immediately turns to Phil and Techno, shifting back to human form, where it’s much easier to declare his decision. He's not sure what spurns him to need to save this half-dead runt, but it doesn't feel unnatural. It feels right.
“We have to take him home. Please, Phil, he’s hurt, he’ll die if we just leave him--”
In an instant Phil is shifted back as well, hands in the air placatingly. “Alright mate. We’ll do what we can.” Techno huffs, looking disgruntled, but he approaches of his own volition, crouching low to let Phil lift the pup onto his back, whose brows furrow briefly before settling. The poor thing is so, so skinny, hardly bigger than a coyote, if even that. Its eyes flicker underneath its eyelids, but it doesn’t stir, even though Wilbur is sure the movement tugs at its injuries. Phil, for the first time in a long time, looks openly disturbed.
Wilbur can't help but wonder what happened to the pup. Why is he so thin? Does he have a pack? Who hurt him? It's almost enough to give him a headache. He doesn't want to think about the type of people who would try to kill a pup as small as this. And he hates that he can't even blame it on hunters-- these are wolf bites, much larger than a hunting dog's, too feral for any weapon a hunter might have.
Wilbur shifts back into wolf form; speed is key in this situation, they need to get the pup home and treated fast. There is an odd feeling in Wilbur’s chest as he walks alongside Techno, strides long and intent, fretting over the pup. Whatever is driving him to feel so strongly for the pup has him impatiently running ahead of his pack, though they speed up to keep pace, Phil taking Wilbur's place at Techno's side to steady the pup if need be.
They make it home in record time, thankfully, a cacophony of noise and worry as they clear off the island in the kitchen and lift the pup onto it. When they set him down, just for a moment, his eyes open. Wilbur’s gaze meets the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. He finds himself frozen, stuck in a staredown. The pup blinks once, sluggish, before sighing deeply, as if resigned. He shuts his eyes again. Wilbur has half a second to realize that technically he just challenged the pup before leaning down, trying to make himself look a little smaller, less threatening.
“Oh no, no, stay awake buddy,” Wilbur coaxes gently, shaking the pup’s shoulder. It lifts its lip threateningly, seemingly without second thought, but all Wilbur can think is good, he’s still got fight in him, even as the pup immediately recoils. Wilbur grins. “Feisty, huh?” The pup’s expression shifts to surprise, and then incredulous. Wilbur laughs softly, smoothing out its fur as Phil lays out their potions and medical supplies. It's caked with dirt and blood, but the motion is soothing to the both of them, the tension draining from the pup's body as Wilbur pets him.
Phil prepares bandages with practiced ease, soaking them in healing and regeneration potions like he's been doing it all his life, which he basically has been. Wilbur learned from the best, after all. Phil glances over at Wilbur fondly as Wilbur gently reassures the pup. Any other time he might find it annoying, still feeling as though he's been babied, but his effort is focused all on keeping the pup calm.
Techno helps clean out the wounds, a hand on the pup’s neck, applying just enough pressure to keep him down, but not enough to hurt him. The pup looks relaxed enough, although Wilbur can tell he’s growing more distressed, finally awake enough to recognize his surroundings are very unfamiliar and so are the people taking care of him as the pain reignites, probably because they're agitating the wounds all over again. He kicks his legs a bit, trying to get some traction to push himself away, but Techno just squeezes his scruff slightly, trying to nudge his instincts a bit into convincing him he's safe. It half-works, the pup freezing, but Wilbur has a suspicion it's out of fear, not comfort.
“It’s alright,” Wilbur coos, “We’re gonna get you fixed up, don’t worry.” The pup stares at him for a moment. Wilbur just keeps petting him. Exhaustion must quickly catch up with him, and Wilbur, satisfied now that the pup’s wounds are cleaned and mostly dressed, doesn’t try to stop him as he falls asleep again. He can't help but sigh in relief as Phil and Techno finish up, the three of them staring at the mess their kitchen has become.
A room down, Wilbur hears the door open, and turns to see Tubbo and Ranboo are back, probably having heard the same buzzing as the rest of the pack. The two of them stare at the pup on the island.
"Oh," Ranboo says, looking between them and the pup awkwardly, "Were we. . . interrupting something?"