a series of sbi oneshots

it's time to come home my songbird

Everyone knows about the entrance to Underhill. There’s literally a sign. A flashy billboard on the side of the road that nobody else ever rents, and if you were to get out of the car and try to find the signpost, you would instead end up lost in the little copse of trees along the fence.

(Nobody goes looking for the signpost. They know better, now.)

The sign has been there for years, through storm and sun, but it never wears, it never gets torn. It gleams, glossy and bright even when every other sign along the stretch of road gets dusty and dull with age.

The way Underhill itself is impossible to miss too. A gleaming casino, a fountain in the center of the lot, lights flashing, music playing late into the night.

(No one ever files a noise complaint, they know better, now.)

There are golden statues guarding the doors, emerald eyes gleaming as if lit from within. Only two types of people go past them and into Las Nevadas: The stupid, and the desperate.

(No one ever tries to leave Las Nevadas. At least, nobody succeeds, they might try. Nobody outside knows.)

Tommy is both stupid and desperate. The human world, with all its wear and dust is terrible. He’s tired of being spit on for living on the streets, he’s tired of the derision, the pity, the cruelty. He’s tired of being blamed for something that isn’t his fault.

He didn’t choose to get dumped in some human kid’s crib. He was, notably, also a baby at the time. He’s not the one who switched out some dumb normal kid for himself. That was his stupid fucking Fae family, wherever the fuck those bastards are now. The stories say that if you abuse a Fae kid the family will come running, but Tommy’s sure never did.

Tommy gave up on waiting for them, wherever those useless assholes are, he doesn’t give a shit. He ditched his human family first chance he got.

They didn’t look for him, why would they? He wasn’t their kid. He was just a monster wearing a stolen shell. Tommy isn’t even his name. Its another thing he stole. It holds no power over him, it doesn’t anchor him. Its all he’s got, though, so he keeps it.

Living in the human world is shit, and Tommy knows that living in the Fae World is likely to be even worse. At least it’ll be a new sort of shitty. So Tommy walks down the dusty streets towards Las Nevadas.

He can hear the music from halfway down the road. If he were human, no doubt it would entice him closer, whispering that if he just got a little closer, he’d be able to hear it better. There’s nothing wrong with listening to some music, there’s nothing bad that can happen if he just stands at the end of the road and listen. The Fairies don’t come out of Las Nevadas.

Tommy isn’t human, but the music still draws him onward. It sounds like home. His bare feet carry him closer and closer to the doors, past the fountain, past the arches. The rough, hot concrete doesn’t bother him, only iron bothers him, there’s no rebar under the parking lot of Las Nevadas.

He looks up into the emerald eyes of the golden statues. This close he can see that they have fangs, poking out of their lips. Maybe that should freak him out, or make him wary, at the very least. It doesn’t. Even though he can feel the statues looking back at him.

The statues only guard the way out of Las Nevadas, they’d never stop someone from going in. 

Tommy’s hand grasps the door handle.

He knows its living wood the moment he does. He knows its alive, and he knows it feels his touch. That should also probably freak him out, but the wood feels like its welcoming him.