Chapter Text
"Shh, shh, I know. Just a little bit more."
Tommy gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he buried his nose in the crook of Phil's neck as he took deep gasping breaths.
Phil's grip on his wrist was gentle but firm as he held Tommy's arm out. The skin along his arms was stretched and shiny with burns. Feathers had begun to replace those that had been lost to the flames, but some of the scar tissue was mottled and tough, the shafts struggling to push through.
Phil ran his talons over the inflamed skin. "You're doing so good, Tommy." His voice was strained, like the throbbing pain racing up Tommy's arms was his own. "We're almost done."
Phil's talon traced over a blood feather, and Tommy flinched hard.
"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that was tender, huh?" Phil shuffled him in his lap, his grip never faltering around his wrist. Tommy burrowed into his chest. Shivers rattled through him, each itchy bump and pin feather a shock of pain. Phil's talons traced over a spot near his elbow. Without warning, he ground down with his thumb, forcing a few new growths out.
"Fuck!"
Phil let go of his wrist. Tommy clutched it to his chest, hunching over to ride out the pain. The light dimmed as midnight dark wings closed around him, urging him to curl tighter against Phil.
"I know, baby. I'm sorry. We're done for today, you're alright."
Tommy let out a miserable warble. His arms were raw and tender, and he felt sick. He wanted his nest. Not this one that was too big and littered with long black feathers, but the one back home. The nest he'd lost.
Phil's hand smoothed long strokes up his back. It was nice. Tommy hadn't been held like this since he was a little chick, fledging for the first time and miserable. His mum had cooed at how pretty his new golden feathers were. The mixture of pride and embarrassment had been enough to distract him from the itchy discomfort.
Phil's hand paused between his shoulder blades.
Faintly, so delicately Tommy wasn't sure what he was feeling, something brushed at the tips of his feathers. Not the short barbs that were just pushing through, but the full ones. The ones untouched by the fire.
Tommy shifted uneasily. His head felt strange. Fuzzy.
He couldn't turn to look, the hand on his back kept him pressed tight against Phil, his hands trapped between them. It left the feathers sprouting from the backs of his arms exposed. Phil ran his talons through them, gently straightening out the barbs.
This was not the first time Phil had touched his feathers. Hell, they'd just spent the last hour picking through them together, but this was different. This wasn't checking for new growths or the burned skin for infection. This was preening.
Tommy trilled low and unsure.
Phil was not his flock. Only his flock was allowed to preen, and he had not had a flock for a long, long time.
"Shh, Tommy. It's alright. I'm just helping." Phil's fingers didn't stop moving, gently pinching and rolling the waxy caps off the pin feathers between his fingers, flicking them aside and easing out the soft new barbs.
Tommy went boneless against him.
It was hard to think.
This wasn't right. It was dark, and he was warm, but everything else was wrong. The talons picking through his feathers were too long. Too sharp. The crooning reverberating from the chest under his ear was the wrong pitch.
A low warning hiss rattled in his throat.
The nest went quiet.
Fuck. Fuck. The feathers on his arms prickled with fear, chasing away the fuzzy haze of instinct. What was he doing? He'd never hissed at Phil. Never. He'd never dared.
The hand lingered on his feathers. After a moment, the pressure between his shoulder blades eased and Phil's hand went back to smoothing down his spine. "Grumpy fledgeling," Phil murmured into the crown of his head. "Are you sure you don't want help?"
Was he sure? The pain in his arms throbbed without the distraction of being preened. It never felt that nice when Tommy did it by himself, and Phil didn't sound mad. Phil was just helping, right? Was he just being too sensitive?
"I'm sure."
--<>--<>--
The little cottage was quiet when he woke.
Tommy pushed himself up. The colorful patterns of the blankets and cushions looked gray in the sliver of light under the door. It was still early. Tommy cocked his head, listening. The soft notes of a windchime filtered in from outside. The nest was silent except for his breathing, and the rooms beyond were still.
Phil must be gone already.
Things had been. . . weird, with Phil. Weirder, anyway. The fuller Tommy's wings became, the closer Phil seemed to stay. He was never gone for long. If it weren't for the damn crows following the man everywhere he went, Tommy would have no warning he was coming back earlier and earlier every day. He'd have to get moving if he wanted any time outside. Maybe Elytrian chicks could handle being stuck inside a nest for weeks at a time, but Tommy sure as hell couldn't.
Tommy pushed open the door from the nest and froze.
"Phil?"
Phil was sitting at the low table, his legs folded neatly under him on the cushion. The table was covered with rolls of paper, little jars of ink, and feathers.
Slowly, Phil's head turned. The shard of his iris burned blue in the hollow of his eye. Tommy shrunk back, his heart in his throat.
Had Phil been waiting for him?
"What are you," Tommy's voice faltered, "Are you. . . are you okay?"
Phil set down the scroll of paper he was holding. The wicked curve of his talons caught the morning light as he held out his hand. Fledgeling, come, he crooned.
Tommy forced himself from the doorway, his body instinctively following the sound.
Calm down , he told himself. His heart was beating too quickly, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Sure, he'd been planning to climb out the window and spend the morning testing the barrier wards, but Phil couldn't have known that.
There were a lot of things Phil couldn’t know that he seemed to know anyways.
Phil's eyes never left him as Tommy took his outstretched hand. He pulled him down, guiding him to sit next to him on the cushion. A dark wing curled around him as he settled, nudging him closer, and Tommy hesitantly shuffled to fit himself more comfortably against Phil's side.
A hand cupped his chin, forcing him to meet Phil's eye.
"Baby, is there anything you need to tell me?"
Shit, did Phil know? Tommy swallowed, his mouth uncomfortably dry. No, there was no way. Wordlessly, he shook his head.
Phil hummed, his thumb tapping a slow rhythm on his cheek. "You didn't sleep long."
Tommy's shoulders rose towards his ears. Calm down. Phil thought he spent the entire day sleeping, of course he would notice him getting up hours earlier.
"Couldn't sleep, big man." Tommy cast around for an excuse. Shit, what would Phil want to hear? "Getting used to having someone else there, I guess."
Phil's face softened, his thumb smoothing a line over his cheek. Then, he dropped Tommy's chin, turning back to the scroll of paper on the low table. Phil unrolled it, using two weighted stones to smooth it out. The pile of feathers were all tipped with metal, now that Tommy looked at them, and Phil took one of those next.
"I'm writing a letter," He said, when Tommy didn't say anything else. "To an old friend."
Tommy couldn't restrain his curiosity. Phil almost never talked about his life beyond his little island. "Are they elytrian?"
Phil uncorked a bottle and dipped the tip of the feather in. "No, but he is a hybrid like us." The quill rasped pleasantly against the paper as he began to write. "I took him in when he was just a kit." He smiled at Tommy. "Just like you."
The feathers along his arms prickled.
Phil had done this before?
That was good, right? If Phil had helped someone else like he was helping Tommy, then there wasn't anything weird going on. Phil was just broody and overbearing and had talons that could rip him to shreds if he wanted.
"He lives quite far now," Phil continued, turning back to his letter. The letters were unintelligible to Tommy, written in neat vertical rows. He'd never learned to write. He could read a little, but not whatever text Phil was using. "Almost never comes to visit me, the little shit. Too busy farming. Still, I think I have something to convince him."
Tommy blinked. "What?"
"You, of course." Phil's wing closed in even closer, brushing their feathers together. "Oh, Techno is going to love you."
Tommy frowned, tucking his arms tighter to his side.
"How far does he live?"
Phil set his quill aside. "By wing? A few days' journey. On foot, about two weeks."
Two weeks? His feathers would need at least a month to be back to normal. How was he supposed to figure a way out of here with another pair of eyes on him?
Stretching out his other wing, Phil ran his fingers through his own dark feathers until one came loose in his hand. He placed it on top of the neat rows of letters. With a few deft movements, he folded the paper until the feather seemed to vanish into the folds. Phil inspected the envelope, and then squinted around the cottage. A crow fluttered in from the kitchen window. It perched on Phil's hand, cocking its head to look at Tommy with a look that was too knowing for his liking. Then, it snatched the letter from Phil's fingers and took off in a rush of feathers.
Tommy watched the crow vanish out the window. A few moments later, the barrier flashed purple, and Tommy felt something settle in his chest.
He was getting out. He was getting out, and he'd do it before that letter ever reached its destination.