Gold and dragon feathers

Dwarfed by your wings

The next morning Tommy awakes to the feeling of cold concrete pressed against his face and a dull ache seeping into his bones. He groans at the unpleasant sensation of cold burning his skin with every moment quickly forcing him awake.

He drags himself into a sitting position, burrowing his face into his knees while his wings attempt to shield his exposed skin from the cold breeze ruffling his hair.

Then, with a start, his mind crashes into consciousness, forcing his eyes open and his spine ridged to the immediate consequence of light and pain rudely interrupting his ability to breath for a moment.

He practically gasps for breath,  trying to blink away the momentary blindness and removing his hand from the cold ground below him once he's successful.

He feels strangely vulnerable as he leans forward, pulling his legs closer to his body until his wings and tail are able to block his figure from his unfamiliar surroundings until he can get his bearings.

Tommy  takes a deep breath to steady himself before slowly drawing back his wings again and assessing his surroundings.

Directly in front of him is a brick wall containing what must be the doorway from the rooftop to the rest rest of a building he vaguely recognizes from the day before.

Phil and Technoblade had come to the conclusion that neither of the dragons were up for the journey to the sleepy bois' place (he quickly shoves the way the reminder makes him feel away, not the time -thank you) and brought them to a hotel on the outskirts of town with a flat section of the roof notably lacking the faux ice encasing the rest of the city.

He supposes he must have fallen asleep up there and all he has to do to confirm that Steve did as well is turn to look behind him, where a large scaled body is evenly breathing a few inches away. He stares at him for a moment, unconsciously trying to copy the pattern before finding his lungs insufficiently small to keep up.

Tommy sighs, dragging himself to his feet.

He's not even fully standing when a realization  finally dawns on him.

He is most definitely not a dragon right now and the wings weighing on his back make it clear that he's not in his firstplace form either.

The thought takes a hold of his throat, tightening his muscles until he can hardly breathe. In a last ditch effort he instinctively looks behind him as if his wings wouldn't be there.

Of course they are so he's thrown into desperately trying to remember when he transformed (and more importantly if anyone could have seen him). He tries to swallow but can't and as his mind continues to draw blanks tears begin to sting his eyes.

He stumbles back slightly as his mind reels, his heart racing.

His wings hit cold brick and Tommy can't help but decide that so far this morning has to be one of his least favorites.

It would be the worst morning if the slight crunch under his feet didn't draw his attention away from the possibility  that something as feeble as exhaustion tore down everything he's built up and towards the ground.

The concrete is dusted with frost except for his footprints and a dragon shaped indent. The frost is already beginning to fade, meaning  the change must have been recent enough to (hopefully) not have ruined his life.

He leans into the wall behind him, returning to his firstplace form with a relieved sigh, letting himself rest for a moment.

He closes his eyes and feels his heart return to normal as the cold seeps into his back. He listens to Steve's breathing and the distant sound of a train pulling into station.