Chapter Text
Ze wants to say that he just hasn't had time to preen, but honestly? He's had nothing but. The Eyes had left them alone for a time-however, the twisting feeling in Ze's guts (paired with The Eyes' last words to him) made him very aware that this would not be a permanent luxury.
That feeling is probably what led him to constantly pacing the perimeter of Wakafante's sanctuary, rifle held firm in his hands. His tail whipped anxiously to and fro, kicking up dirt in its wake. His back shot protesting pangs up his shoulders and into his neck with every step. He'd been neglecting his wings since his first encounter with The Hole, and the pain of unkempt feathers was only made worse by his binder, not to mention the weight of the weapon he clung to like an anchor. Part of him knew it wouldn't do him any good against the entity.
Still, he wasn't sure if he could live with himself if he didn't do everything in his power to try and protect his friends. Maybe, he thought as he set his jaw, he wouldn't have the chance to live with himself at all.
So, between the constant pacing, and the worrying, and the talking, and the sleepless nights... He just hasn't had the energy. Yeah. It wasn't a time thing--It was an energy thing. And maybe, just maybe--he tightened his grip on the gun--he simply didn't care to. Not when there was so much else to be concerned about.
He's on his nineteenth pace around the house before the sound of the front door unlatching makes the feathers on at the base of his tail stand up. Hackles raised, he loops silently around the back of the house to peer past the corner, rifle braced in his arms to take a lethal shot.
It's Regect.
Of course it's fucking Regect, his mind hisses. In what universe was this anyone else--The eyes carried a static oppressive aura, never approached him when he wasn't alone, never... Christ, he feels stupid. All his efforts have done nothing but make him angry and tired. His shoulders slouch, his grip on his gun loosens, and he turns the corner to approach his friend.
"Hey, man," Regect greets, and there's a softness in his voice that sets Ze's teeth on edge. He makes the conscious effort, however, to smooth his ruffled feathers--Regect's not the problem here, and he probably has every right to be worried. He looks like shit, he's sure--Knees scraped through the rips in his jeans, boots scuffed, hair unkempt beneath his bandanna, eyes wild and rung with dark circles. Still, the kindness makes him itch. Just the other day they'd been hurling insults back and forth, chasing one another through the shallows of the creek. And now his friend--and it felt strange to call him that--was treating him like he was fragile.
Regect folds one arm behind himself and pulls a carrot from nowhere, holding it out to Ze like an olive branch. Ze hesitates. He takes it.
"Thanks, buddy." He sighs, snapping a chunk off of it with his teeth. His rifle is tucked to his chest with his other arm, cradled like an infant. Ze feels his heart thump against it--alive, alive alive.
"Of course." Regect elbows him playfully, "Don't want you starving out here. I don't think I could put up with any more of Fake Ze."
Ze chuckles, but it's weak and his throat is raw as he chews idly. His smile--rare and fleeting--doesn't reach his blank eyes. He's staring through Regect.
"Hey," Regect nudges him, voice softening into a coax. "You should come inside. It's going to rain soon. Wakafante took Moe down to the river to catch frogs." Ze just stares. Regect's clawed hand comes up to his shoulder to offer a firm, grounding squeeze. "There's nothing to guard out here, Ze."
Ze allows Regect to herd him indoors. He allows the entity to pluck the rifle from his hands--with gentleness that Ze's only seen used for Moe--and tuck it back into its case. He even allows Regect to guide him to sit on the couch, where he awkwardly attempts to get comfortable, his friend taking a spot beside him.
"Your wings look like shit, dude." Regect observes, and a lazy growl rumbles in Ze's throat around a mouthful of carrot. "When's the last time you preened?"
Ze sidesteps the question with a stiff shrug that sends electric pain shooting up the base of his wings. He suppressed a wince, shifting in his attempts to find a comfortable position on the grey couch. God his ribs ache.
"I can help you out." Regect offers.
Ze brushes him off--Usually, individuals who don't have wings of their own aren't particularly good with them. "I'll get to it later, I've just been busy."
"You do all this work trying to keep us safe, let me do something for you."
Ze sighs. "If you pull my feathers the wrong way, you are not going to like what happens."
"Deal."
Regect stuck out his tongue in focus, trying to recall what Micha had taught him all those years ago. (without resurfacing the pain that came with it.) Straighten out any feathers that were set loose or crooked. Ze had a lot of them--Some of them were so messed up that they'd crossed over each other, and Regect had to be very delicate with his claws when he set them straight. Some were unsalvagable, and needed to be pulled out entirely-he was sure to warn Ze when this was the case. The player tried to be tough about it, but the rigidity in his shoulders couldn't fully suppress each flinch. Regect made a point not to comment on it. Instead, he decided to strike up conversation about something else, something... lighter.
"I told Moe that if she brought back the fattest toad I'd get her one of those flowers that squirts water."
Then, pull out any debris. There wasn't much of it, just a few snagged burrs and leaves.
"Doesn't she already have one of those?" Ze inquired, the permanent crease in his brow furrowing. Regect was tempted to reach up and smooth it--tell him to relax for once. unclench his jaw, relax the slope of his shoulders... He wasn't sure how the player would react. So he did not do that. Instead, he plucked a particularly stubborn prickle from his feathers, and didn't laugh when his friend's tail flicked discontentedly.
"Yeah, but I think it's nicer to get one from a friend."
"Hmm... Yeah, I guess that's true."
Regect pulled out a jagged green leaf from where it had been trapped between two of Ze's feathers. His wings were a warm shade of off-white, and each one sprawled about as wide as Ze was tall. At first, Regect wanted to note how similar they were to Micha's--but they weren't, not really. They were different in a million tiny ways; Micha's wings had been a cooler hue, and much smaller in comparison. The kid's plumage had been pure unbroken white, with undertones of lavender at the base. On the other hand, the largest of Ze's feathers (primaries, Regect thought they were called) were tipped with jet black--the arm of his wing flecked with a sparse splattering of dark spots. And most distinctively, Micha's wings had been so much softer, still padded with the down of baby feathers, where Ze's were sleek almost to the point of being sharp.
"Where'd you learn to do this?" Ze asked, sighing contentedly as Regect began to use his golden claws to gently ease the crust off of his trapped pinfeathers.
"Your mom." Regect said without missing a beat, and Ze's wings slumped into a slouch as he groaned. Still, Regect could appreciate the way his friend got the hint that he didn't want to talk about it. He was sure it'd come up later, but right now, they all had their secrets, and Micha was his.
Ze had way more sheathed pinfeathers than Micha did--Probably because his wings were the result of a long measured neglect rather than a roll through the swamp and a struggle to reach the plumage closest to his spine--but Regect was happy to pull off the keratin sheathes with as much care as he could muster considering the length of his knife-sharp claws. It was actually a pretty satisfying process for them both, if Ze's low trilling--almost a purr--was anything to go off of.
"I bet you're happy you let me do this now," Regect teased as he preened what he was pretty sure was the last pinfeather.
"If I was," Ze announced, almost petulantly, "I'd take it to the grave." Regect snorted, and Ze continued, "You'd get it if you had wings."
"What's the difference between this and, like, a good back massage?"
"Wings have a lot more nerves and blood flow and whatnot." Ze explained as Regect rubbed at the base of his tail to gather preening oil from the glands located there. "Not to mention it's..." He gestured vaguely, "A bonding thing, and important to keep avians healthy. Something about, like, endorphins."
"Huh," Regect hummed thoughfully as he coaxed the oil into Ze's feathers. He would occasionally give an indulgent little scritch with his claws, savoring each shiver that ran up Ze's spine and trill that welled up in his throat. Though he made a big show of scowling about it and flicking Regect with his tail, he seemed to get more irritated when the entity stopped.
"Hey." Regect wrinkled his nose as he felt at the base of Ze's back. The avian swiveled his head to an inhuman degree to look at him, head tilted in a silent inquiry. "You're binding!" Regect's voice is irritated, and Ze feels his hackles raise at the accusation, however true it may be. Regect continues, jabbing a scolding finger into Ze's back, "You were binding this morning too, and way late into yesterday. This is your second day in a row wearing it for past nine hours, and you're only meant to have it on for eight, tops."
Ze groans as he takes another bite of the half carrot in his grip, "Since when did you become my fuckin' doctor?"
"Off with it," Regect hissed. Ze rolls his eyes in complaint, but now that he was thinking about it his ribs were smarting. He tucked his wings into the slits in his hoodie so that he could pull it off over his head, dislodging his bandanna in the process. Top balled into a heap in his lap, Ze moved to adjust the dark satin tied around much of his head. Regect gently brushed away his hands to retie it for him, and Ze hesitated to put his hands down, but warily allowed it. The entity's hands were surprisingly deft and even gentle despite his claws, and the fabric was soon back in its rightful crown atop Ze's head, just as snug as he liked it.
"Unzip," Ze requested, hand reaching over its opposite shoulder to point at the zipper down the back of his binder. Regect pauses, but does so, and Ze wriggles to pull off the sleek black garment.
Ze stretched his hands high above his head until his spine gave a satisfying pop, inhaling the afternoon sunshine like it would get him high. Then, he slouches forward to return Regect's access to his wings, a wordless request for the entity to continue. So Regect does, happily, even. He rubs the oil into Ze's feathers, fascinated by how they shift under his touch. It feels like a trust fall, a silent promise to their bond. Maybe not quite silent, under the rumbling purr deep in the avian's chest.
Regect wants to say a million things. I'm glad we met. I'm glad you got this PC, that I was banished to this world, that we've survived alongside each other for this long. That all of the tiny chance occurrences aligned to put him here, on the couch with him, granted such a display of vulnerability and maybe even love. Because he loved Ze. He opens his mouth,
"You're an idiot for thinking a gun would work against The Eyes." And Ze whisks Regect's face with his tail, and it's just as fine. Micha would see the beauty in that, so he will too.