Chapter Text
Humans, despite their non threatening looks, had an almost innate inclination to violence. More so than any other similar species, mammalian or not.
All specimens brought from the new solar system were loud, screeching beasts with gnashing flat teeth and swinging fists. Too many stories of captured humans killing crews and taking over merchant ships spread throughout the galaxy for anyone to trust humans.
Of course, the humans didn’t seem to care about the universe's contempt for them. With blood stained hands, humans would return home to a celebration.
-
Wilbur had been excited to visit Logstedshire.
The little trading planet was known for its dodgy businesses and he had been needing supplies for his most recent experiment.
On a more sentimental note, the cool, salty air reminded him of his own home, a medium sized aquatic planet with similarly short days and long nights.
Then Tubbo and Ranboo had run off, the two talking about humans and Hypnos’ shop, while Phil and Techno went a different direction to a wholesaler. Leaving Wilbur all alone to watch the ship. Poor him.
The ship port was mostly empty with the occasional person milling about. Logstedshire has a frustratingly strict port schedule, all entrances only open in the morning before the sun came up and all exits remained closed after the sun went down.
Wilbur understood why; a small planet on the edge of a solar system would be the last to receive patrol support in the event of a major event, but their scheduling made his position of keeping the ship safe obsolete.
Spinning around in the pilot's chair, Wilbur groans as he mindlessly taps away at his tablet. He scrolls through news outlets, science forums, solar trackers, whatever big button interests his stupid lancelet brain.
Glancing at the time he sees two hours have passed.
How long did Ranboo say they were going to be out? He needed to find his supplies before nightfall. Wilbur sends a quick message to Techno’s apprentice before turning back to his brainless scrolling.
Then there’s a pounding knock at the passenger exit door.
-
Wilbur hadn’t been sure what to expect when a winded Enderian pulled him from his watchguard duty, but it hadn’t been this.
The Enderian, a scrawny adult male with purple eyes and a shaky voice, had blood on his pants legs that dripped onto the ground with every step he took. Wilbur’s translator skipped over words as the panicked explanation fell from the stranger's mouth, their main points getting through being an escapee and death.
Wilbur ignored the dread that twisted at his stomach as the Enderian refused to reenter his own ship with a look of fear.
His communicator beeps and vibrates in his pocket, but it takes a back seat as Wilbur’s webbed fingers pull at the heavy iron door. A sickly sweet, metallic scent invaded his nostrils the second it opened. Pushing the door, Wilbur ignores the instantaneous nausea that hit his stomach.
The passenger door opens up to a common room with plush, extravagant furniture and Daedrum art lines the titanium white rounded walls. Wilbur had been here before, Hypnos invited him, Phil and Techno for business and even then Wil found the decor welcoming.
Now however three bodies lay in unnatural positions on the floor. Two Enderians lay atop each other with multiple stab wounds through their torsos. Deep purple blood pools underneath them, staining their white lab coats. A small clean knife rests next to one of their hands, a weapon lost before they even had a chance to fight.
Closest to the door opposite of the entrance a Phantom lays still with a sword in their grip. They’re face down with navy blue blood spilling lazily from their torso. As Wilbur draws closer, bile continues to rise up his sensitive throat.
The blood sticks to his boots.
Wilbur enters an empty hallway with flickering lights. Bloodied handprints glide along the wall, paralleled with hurried footprints staining the steel floor. At the very end of the hallway a large metal door is swung wide open.
His communicator buzzes again, singing out a series of beeps that don’t even register in Wilbur’s ears. His chest rising and falling with his heartbeat.
The room at the end of the hall is pitch black with a heavy smell of mold and dust leaking out into the pristine, white hallway. Wilbur’s stomach turns harshly once he enters the room. Feeling along the wall for a lightswitch his scales catch against bumpy paint.
Turning on the light, Wilbur comes face to face with a brutal sight.
And promptly throws up.
-
Tommy had seen the way the scientists avoided him, no matter how many times they tested on him or oversaw punishments. There was always a constant, purposeful distance between him and the freaks he saw on a regular basis.
The purple guys never looked him in the eyes, always a few inches to the side of where his gaze fell. They also never handled wet materials, always triple gloved and handed off to a fish freak as soon as possible. By nature they seemed to be giant pussies with social anxiety and an aversion to water.
The fish people were a little less timid, clawed fingers consistently close to major arteries when moving Tommy around, but even then they shied from bright lights. Their almost human soot black eyes would blink rapidly as scaly hands flew to turn off any offending bulb.
Rolling the strings of his gown between his fingers, Tommy would sit in the dark silently alone.
-
The sun went down surprisingly fast on this planet.
Or maybe Tommy has a fucked sense of time.
Either way, the star casts a deep, rusty red glow on the cramped streets of its small planet. Rather than the gentle yellows of Earth, the windows and metals reflected a heavy tiger orange. Looking at the horizon, Tommy sees a large swelling ring of dark pinks and purples piercing through clouds just beneath the sun.
It’s beautiful.
Pushing through the crowd, Tommy reaches for the edge of the shopping area. Close enough to scream for help, far enough to not worry about being bothered.
Cool wind sneaks into the gap between his hood and mask, an almost foreign feeling against Tommy’s skin and tears well in his eyes. When was the last time he was outside? The last time he even saw anything other than the stupid white walls of a ship?
He almost takes off his mask despite his need to stay hidden, a burning desperation to breathe clawing in a frenzy at his weak ribs. Tears warm his cheeks and fog the dark glass circles of his gray mask.
He pulls in a shaky breath. It tastes of plastic and salt.
The sky’s turned a deep reddish purple, stars beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky.
Turning away from the sunset, Tommy sees flickering fluorescent lights brightening the dirty streets still filled to the brim with aliens that would kill him in a heartbeat. Maybe he can try and find supplies early in the morning?
He takes one step closer before hearing a kid start to cry. Grimacing, Tommy decides to try and find where the ships are instead. Who needs food anyway.
-
To say Tommy was starved would technically be a lie. He was given a few capsules a guard said were vitamins, an overset jello type cube that always tasted of a disgusting mix of three course meals and a small glass of water.
Tommy theorized that the cubes just had a shit ton of stuff in them to keep him from wasting away despite his weakening muscles and easy to bruise skin.
It was his only food for god knows how long and even then Tommy frequently lost it for acting out. At some point his body got used to the small volume, and once he pushed through that depressing hurdle the captain of the ship came to watch one of Tommy’s tests.
Or at least that's the explanation he pieced together from the poorly translated conversations of the scientists.
Tommy can’t remember what the test had been, probably some stupid fucking baby puzzle to see if he wasn’t an ape. All he could focus on was the captain, a four legged centaur like creature with large, clawed feet and thick, dark green fur pulled tight over dense muscle.
His torso was like a human’s aside from the continued fur with various shades of blacks and greens spotting his body. Slung over his back, a large crossbow sat against a full quiver of arrows.
The mask he wore was a sleek porcelain and white, with two black mesh covered holes for his eyes. Just beneath the blank stare, a thin upturned curve performed a shit imitation of a smile.
Tommy could feel the captain’s eyes on him, never moving. It made him tense up, locking his muscles until all Tommy could do was stare right back at the captain. He wasn’t necessarily afraid, a glass wall was between them, but the eye contact felt excruciating.
After a few moments, or hours for all Tommy knew, the captain’s shoulders began to shake. Moving up and down rapidly as a hand (paw?) came up to clutch at his chest. The scientists next to the captain seemed freaked out by the sight, maybe even more than Tommy was.
The captain made a motion to wipe at his face before leaving the room, shoulders still hitching up and falling.
For the next few tests, the captain would always be there. Blank mask always watching and waiting for Tommy to do something interesting. In different circumstances, Tommy might’ve been angry.
Well, part of him was, a small red hot part of him howled out insult after insult towards the captain.
But a larger, hungrier part of him likes the attention. The captain was different from the scientists, never scratching down notes or tying him down to the steel table. It almost felt like friendship, in a delusional, desperate way.
Tommy couldn’t help the twisted spark of pride that bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t imagine being interesting enough to keep around to study. Tommy has felt so disconnected from every single living thing he came across on this ship that his brain was quick to cling to whatever scraps of positive attention he did get.
He spent too many nights imagining the captain feeling pity for him before finally taking Tommy home just because he felt bad. Sometimes, he would let Tommy ride on his back and run all the way to Tommy’s old apartment near the train station.
The alien would open the door and hand him off to his worried mom and brother with an apology and a kickass weapon from space as a gift. His mom would take him out to ice cream and his brother would play Mellohi just for Tommy.
Of course, the captain had been the one to oversee all the scientists' actions. He was the one to kill the other prisoners. He certainly wasn’t a hero. Not in Tommy’s life at least.
-
The ship runway is easy enough for Tommy to find as it had obnoxiously bright floodlights that could be easily seen from far away. The issue with entering the runway came with the fear of being caught even if he was disguised.
It was relatively empty with a few pairs of workers walking to and from for whatever. There were a handful of large ships and a couple dozen that varied greatly in size, all white accented with different colors.
What ship should he take? Could he even take one? What the fuck was he doing, like for real? This would probably end up with a dead Tommy.
Hidden by both the dark of the night and a cargo container, Tommy lets a hopeless sob build in his throat. His fingers twitch uncomfortably and the heels of his palms make harsh contact with his thighs.
What was Tommy even thinking? He couldn’t escape. Tommy wasn’t a hero and his anger had deluded him into thinking this was a good idea.
Tears push a heavy weight against the back of his eyes and with the uncomfortably tight feeling of water against dry skin, Tommy can’t help the knock of his knuckles against his skull. The hit is dulled by his hood, but it still stings enough to pause the emotions bubbling in his stomach.
Just think. What did they do in movies to escape? Other than Iron Man. Tommy didn’t think he could build a suit like that or survive the shrapnel.
What would Isabelle do? Probably follow whatever orders he gave her because she was a video game character. Or maybe she’d be a kickass ship stealer? Ok Tommy, that’s it, become that. Just steal a ship.
Just find a ship and take it, finder’s keepers or some shit like that.
Not a large one, that would be difficult to move and easy to see. If he picks something too small there might not be enough stuff on it for him to steal and live off of until he gets close to Earth.
A medium ship, with little damage on it. There’s no point in taking a piece of junk.
Ok Tommy, job numero uno is to find a medium, unguarded ship with lots of stuff on it he can use. Easy enough, right?
-
Wilbur was freaking out, just a little bit.
After seeing the inside of Hypnos’ ship, he was quick to find Ranboo alone looking just as stressed as Wilbur felt. Then down the street, Tubbo stood waving at them and calling their attention, immediately calming one fear.
Techno probably left his communicator on the ship and Phil hadn’t responded yet, meaning Wilbur was stuck making a decision. Go back to the ship parked in a secluded area with a human on the loose or find a hotel to make base in for however long until the human is caught?
Ranboo frantically checks Tubbo’s well-being as the Bombuzian looks around the street with a worried furrow in his brow. It’s strange for Wilbur’s apprentice to be so quiet, but that’s a problem for later.
Ship or hotel? Ship or hotel? Hotel or ship?
Under the fluorescence of the street lamps and constant noise of buyers and sellers, Wilbur can barely fucking think. His communicator’s screen is still blank meaning Phil was probably busy. Ranboo’s still asking Tubbo questions and Tubbo looks upset and Wilbur has to make a decision.
“Ok, we need to find a hotel-”
“Huh?”
“Why?”
“-and then I will go find Phil and Techno. I’ll explain everything once we aren’t out here.” Wilbur grabs hold of each of the boy's arms and starts to look for anyplace offering rooms. Ranboo splutters out an anxiety ridden stream of questions and Tubbo is trying to pull out of Wilbur’s grip while yelling out demands for release.
It’s frustrating dealing with the two juveniles, so Wilbur ignores them, only paying enough attention to know they were still in his hold. He’s much more used to the docile nature of phantlings who stare doe eyed and actually listen to instructions.
Ranboo, ever the helper, tugs at his sleeve and points to a hostel once Wilbur turns. With a sigh of relief, he lets go of their arms and pushes them towards the door.
Shoving a few hundred credits into Ranboo’s trustworthy palm, Wilbur mutters a quick goodbye before turning to go find Phil.
Tubbo yells something at him angrily and Wilbur almost apologizes for rushing, but his mind is frazzled and Phil still hasn’t fucking responded to any messages.
As if sensing his already sky high blood pressure, the street lamps turned from their yellowed white to a bright, startling red. A loud, medium pitched siren screams out in steady crescendos, broken up by the crackling of a microphone over the city wide speakers.
“Attention all inhabitants and visitors of XD-637, we will be advising all to remain vigilant as a dangerous animal has escaped a transporter ship.”
The message repeats two more times before everyone erupts into hysterics.
Swathes of people rush in different directions, all of them running into buildings for protection, just like Wilbur had.
Fuck. Alright, change of plans.
Pushing against whoever is in his way, Wilbur moves back towards the hostel. He needs to find Tubbo and Ranboo ( again, ugh ) and just return to the ship. Once there, he’ll have all three of them continuously call and message Phil until they get a response.
Sucking in a harsh breath of the salty, ocean air, Wilbur can’t help but wish he just stuck to being a security guard.
-
Tommy can barely breathe.
He’s huddled behind the same stupid cargo containers and his chest tightens and loosens rapidly, forcibly emptying and reloading his lungs with air. Tommy’s blood feels like thick gravy and everything just feels stuck.
The flood lights of the runway had begun to flash between white and red effectively creating the universes biggest fucking strobe light while a siren went off? And then a loud ass PSA kept fucking repeating over and over again.
He feels like he’s in the goddamn Twilight Zone and the abrasive nature of the alarm quickly forces a headache to the front of his skull. People’s screams stop his translator from doing it’s job and a mess of… microphone noises shoots right into his ears.
Tommy goes to get the translator away from his head but he’s met with the same awkwardly stitched bump that’s haunted him for months. The translator, despite being a useless piece of shit, was somehow deemed good enough to be tucked away under his skin.
His gloves stop his fingernails from scratching at it but Tommy still pulls at it harshly. The feeling of a dull pinch warms the thin cartilage of his ears. Tommy’s covered fingertips repeatedly pull at the translator before tangling in his hair.
Pushing his hood back, Tommy feels his knees press against the ground. He yanks his hair and smacks his head before shoving his fingers into his ears.
The alarm’s sound still leaks through, but it’s dampened. With the silence it feels like a weight is lifted off his chest. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and hums loudly to drown out the alarm.
Tommy’s unpracticed vocal chords fall into an uneven rhythm rising and falling with however much noise he needs to be able to think clearly. His mind is blank aside from his humming and he distantly recognizes the melody.
It’s Able Sisters.
Taking in a deep breath to continue the song Tommy realizes the siren has stopped. He slowly relaxes his face, opening his eyes to see that the flashing lights had stopped as well. He blinks a few times and scratches his scalp.
The announcement’s still playing on a loop but it is much quieter than it had been. Tommy’s eyes feel crusty from his tears and he can’t help but feel embarrassed by how much he freaked out.
Shaking his head, Tommy tries to clear his mind like an Etch-a-Sketch. Taking in one more slow inhale, he tunes out the broadcasting voice and turns back to the ships.
More people are on the runway now, most of them have something in hand that gets taken on ship and left alone. Many of them then leave the door to the storage area open and had it not been for the increase in workers (he assumes the people all in the same uniform are workers but maybe it’s like weird alien skin) Tommy would have tried to take something from those people.
He felt bad stealing from smart people, the dumb ones at the very least tended to not need all the extra shit if they were careless. Still, Tommy looks at the ships on the very edges of the runway.
On one corner close to the landing strip, the ship he came from sat. Dozens of people go to and from the ship and uniformed aliens with tridents stand guard around it.
Near the landing strip (is that the right word?) is where all the big ships are. A few rows down a large lot for the small and medium vehicles begins, it’s less organized with the ships squeezing into whatever spots they can. It’s perfect, plenty of places to hide.
Squinting, Tommy tries to see what ships are on the opposite side but it’s pointless.
Tommy pushes his hair back and flips up his hood. Licking his lips nervously, Tommy steps into the floodlight.
-
The ship runway is busy with crewmates running to and from their ships to get ready to leave, most yelling out insults when in each other's way. It’s not as chaotic as it could be, but Wilbur can’t help his rising annoyance.
Ranboo and Tuboo are trailing behind him, both quiet after hearing the alarm sound off, the gravity of the situation snuffing out any arguments until they reach the ship.
The silence around them is tense and Wilbur ignores the apology bubbling up in his throat because now is just not the time. Maybe once everyone is safe he’ll search for study materials for Tubbo.
Nearing the ship, Wilbur can’t help the mix of relief and worry that fills him. He, and the Enderian scientist, had no idea how far the escapee could have gone. For all Wilbur knows, the beast is waiting just around the corner with a weapon.
Reaching up to open the passenger door, dread curls up heavy in Wil’s stomach. The heavy hatch is just barely open, closed but not properly sealed.
He never locked the fucking door.
Licking his lips, he turns to his crew mates. Does he tell them the truth? Would he ever live this down?
As if sensing his weakness, Ranboo quietly asks, “Do you know what animal escaped?”
Opening and closing his mouth, Wilbur tries to find the words he needs. Images of crumpled bodies and pools of blood flash in his mind. He feels sick. There’s very few animals that could be that brutal without being caught.
“It’s a human.”
-
Tommy thinks he found the stupidest ship owners ever.
It was a medium ship with navy blue accenting its wings and body. The window at the front was tinted gray and no one sat in the captain’s area unlike the other ships nearby. Tommy had checked a handful of other ships, but this was the only one unoccupied.
Then, to Tommy’s insanely awesome luck, the door was actually unlocked! Like how stupid were these guys?
The inside of the ship was the same soulless white as the last ship he was on, but this one was decorated with a variety of clashing furniture and tables covered in trinkets Tommy didn’t know the name of. It looks much more lived in than the cold, unused furniture he was familiar with. He pushes the door until he here’s a soft click.
First, Tommy pulled one of the chairs towards the door and then a table and then a few more chairs until he was barricaded in. It probably won’t keep someone out forever, but it would be loud enough to alert him.
Satisfied with his work, Tommy takes a second to breathe because he was AWESOME!
Screw all the shitty alien doctors that treated him like an animal and all the scientists that ignored him and the stupid bastards that kidnapped him in the first place.
Jumping up and down, Tommy can’t remember ever having this much energy even if he was fucking starving. He shakes his hands quickly and lets out a celebratory ‘ whoop’ . Tommy feels his cheeks begin to ache from his bigass smile but he can’t bring himself to stop.
Looking back at his barricade, Tommy laughs so loud it actually shocks him. It scratches at his throat and he feels lightheaded. His face is warm and he’s excited to explore.
His boots click against the metal floor and he wiggles his toes. Tommy will never let his feet touch cold floors ever again.
-
Tommy finds the dining area quickly. His tummy had begun yelling at him the second he wasn’t in survival mode and he wonders what type of food aliens eat.
He had always eaten alone on the last ship, and even if something else had been shoved into the cages near him they always had different food schedules. Tommy never understood why, but it’s not like the other prisoners could answer him.
The dining area had a white stretched circular table with six metal chairs around it. A stack of books sat on one end and a bowl of fruit sat in the middle.
Moving quickly, Tommy’s fingers find home in the bowl, pulling out fruit after fruit and smelling them before setting them down. He rips off his gloves, unclips the buckles of his mask and tosses them both on the floor. Tommy doesn’t want them to get dirty.
Not even thinking, he bites into what looks like a golden apple. It’s crisp and juicy and the best goddamned thing he has ever eaten in his entire life. Tommy’s not even sure what it tastes like but he quickly finishes it.
Grabbing another, Tommy ignores the sticky juices trailing down his chin and just keeps eating. He finishes off the apples in the bowl quickly, but his stomach still twists and cries.
Moving away from the table he moves to the connected room.
An island counter sits in the middle and on the walls there’s rows of cabinets. On the wall farthest from Tommy, an almost stove sits with a variety of small containers near it.
Along the same wall, a pantry sits. Full of brightly colored packages with images of food that almost look like they’re from his home.
Tommy’s quick to open a crinkly bag and stuff its contents in his mouth without much thought. It’s crunchy and salty and if he closes his eyes, it’s like he’s eating potato chips.
The package is empty too soon and he grabs another swiftly. And another. And another. The process repeats, Tommy’s shoving as much food as he possibly can into his mouth before going to open something else.
When was the last time he had food like this? Anything other than those stupid, nasty cubes? Months? Years?
The flavors of whatever it is he’s eating explode against his taste buds and Tommy feels like he’s in heaven.
Even when his stomach begins to feel full, Tommy keeps eating. When would he get an opportunity like this again? He goes through a few boxes of the bagged snacks and jerky like sticks that all taste so good .
Then he goes to what he assumed was the fridge. It’s filled with containers of cooked food and colorful drinks.
Tommy goes for the first bottle he sees, a tall glass one filled with a dark pink liquid. Cracking the top off, he takes a sniff and upon smelling sugar he begins to chug.
A tangy sweet flavor coats his tongue. It goes down easily, nice and cold against his sore throat. Before he can even blink, the juice is gone and settles in his overfilled stomach. Tommy feels like he’s on the edge of eating too much.
Pressing a hand to his tummy, Tommy lets out a heavy exhale and sways on his feet. It almost makes him sick to think about eating anything else but his fingers still itch to empty the fridge. He grabs another bottle, this one is shorter with a handle and topped with a cork. A bright orange liquid swishes around inside and despite the discomfort, Tommy begins to drink.
-
Tommy leaves the dining area once he’s done eating and reenters the common area.
The stack of furniture he put in front of the door is still sitting quietly and he figures he should explore before the ship’s crew returns.
The common area is a large circular room with three doors, one leading outside, one to the kitchen and one connected to a hall. Going down the hall, Tommy makes note of the series of doors– probably bedrooms– and keeps walking until he reaches the end.
At the end of the hall is the cockpit and Tommy gleefully enters.
The cockpit is surprisingly big with lines of seats with straps along the curved walls. Opposite of the door is a large, tinted window that lets Tommy see into the wooded area near the runway and the groups of aliens moving to and fro.
Just below the window is a large table covered in buttons and screens sitting in front of an awesome looking chair. The chair white, like the rest of the ship, with bright red fabric covering the cushioning.
Tommy sits on the chair quickly, eyes moving around in hopes to memorize as much of everything as he possibly can. The chair is nice and comfortable with a footrest. His gloved fingers squeeze the arm rests before floating just above the buttons, too scared to actually press anything.
There aren’t any big red buttons to destroy the ship– which makes sense but it’s still disappointing– and the steering wheel looks like the one from his moms car. Tommy leans over to look under the table but there aren’t any pedals.
How is he supposed to drive this thing? There’s a few stick things on the table but none of them are labeled. Is labeling a human only thing? Stupid aliens.
Glancing back up in annoyance, Tommy looks back out the window of the ship and comes face to face with an alien. He looks back down at the table then looks back outside.
Holy shit! An alien is staring right at him.
Jumping back, Tommy ignores how his knee slams against the table and ducks down to hide himself. What is he going to do? He doesn’t have any weapons. Maybe he could try and make peace? But who would want to make peace with the guy that broke into your house?
Peaking up, Tommy looks just long enough to see the alien is just a few inches from the window and flying and holy shit he’s screwed. Tommy can barely fight a normal adult, how is he supposed to beat a grown ass person that can fly?!
The alien looks just as surprised– round, solid black eyes stare unblinking and a thin lipped mouth opens and closes silently– its head tilts to the side and Tommy can’t help but follow suit. It has a pale face with feathers growing out of its cheeks, forehead and anywhere hair should be it seemed.
Tommy can’t see its entire body but his mind supplies images of monsters from a Greek mythology encyclopedia and the blond guy from Howl’s Moving Castle. His fingers reach up to feel along his cheekbone.
It almost feels like a spaghetti western standoff– if Tommy had a gun he could shoot the aliens and go home. But it’s not like aliens will know the rules to a duel.
Instead, Tommy leans back, craning his neck to try and see what was behind the alien. If it was just one person he could possibly win. This time the alien copies Tommy.
Both of them just stare, absorbing as much information as possible until Tommy feels his cheeks heating up. His mask is still sitting somewhere in the dining area and the alien could see his face. Feeling stupid, Tommy turns away from the alien and leaves the cockpit.
There’s a frantic knock against the window paired with a muffled squawk and Tommy almost turns around. It’s not as though the alien did anything threatening yet, but he continues out of the room to fortify the door even more.
-
“Why didn’t you tell me it was a human?” Is the first thing Philza asks once he finished checking the ship’s perimeter. The second thing he asks is, “Is it feral?”
Wilbur hears, and ignores, Technoblade’s shout of surprise and answers the questions with downturned ears, “Most likely. It escaped Hypnos’ ship and killed everyone it came across.”
“But there haven’t been any attacks or deaths reported, just the escape.” Phil says, a claw scratches at his chin, “I can’t be sure but I think it’s a juvenile.”
“That doesn’t matter. Just open the door and I’ll take care of it.” Technoblade offers. He never liked kids.
From the pause in the conversation Wilbur fears he knows where this is going, “Philza, you don’t understand. I saw what that thing did, everything was covered in blood. Everything. Even if it is a juvenile, which makes it much scarier by the way, it can’t be trusted.”
His captain only hums in response, still thinking and Wilbur almost rips some scales out, “Phil! I’m serious, despite my love for hyperbolic turn of phrase- this is not one of those times. Scientists older than me were brutalized . If, and by death is it an astronomically enormous if, this- this creature can be tamed, we are not the ones to do it.”
Wilbur watches Phil carefully, so used to the mans easy to read flips and turns of feathers that he already knows this discussion will be brought up again. When that time comes Wilbur might even concede, he trusted Phil’s judgment of danger, but right now he can’t imagine trusting whatever it was that murdered his kin.
He sighs when Phil turns away with a dismissive wave of his long claws but figures it’s better than nothing. Technoblade makes an awkward move of bringing his hands together with fingers linking, silently thanking Wilbur for his attempts to not adopt a human.
Wilbur repeats the movement despite his webbing bumping, apparently it was a nice gesture (literally meaning ‘coming together’, it was many things in practice but always positive in a pack oriented culture like the Scrofa, something Technoblade had explained over a few glasses of sugary wine) and he is on Techno’s side of this argument.
There had been a few missions in which children got involved and Phil’s old instincts made him go crazy over juveniles. Which Wilbur does understand, phantlings were carefully protected within haunts, but Phil could be ridiculous.
(All three of them could be but that wasn’t really the point right now.)
Wilbur rubs his face tiredly, pulling his skin taut downwards until he’s looking right at his boots. They are entirely a glossy black with light gray scuffs on the toes betraying their age. His eyes follow the gray until a familiar dark blue covers it up.
Cursing his clear eyelids, Wilbur massages his temples. Time to deal with a human.