Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The call was at three am. On the dot. 

Techno was immediately dressed and nearly out the door before Caera and Tommy had even stumbled from their rooms. 

It wasn’t unusual to receive calls this late at night, in all honesty the three should have been used to it by now. 

Then again, Techno grinned wickedly at the sight of the poor intern walking face first into a wall with a curse, it was only Tommy’s first month. He’d still be getting used to things. 

“Trucker supposedly hit something out near the off-ramp.” Techno called out. “Said it was big and feathered and black.” 

“Confused bald eagle?” Caera responded, strapping on a headlamp. “Can’t think of anything large, black, and feathered at this time of night.” 

“Could be mothman?” Tommy suggested as the three finally clambered into the truck. 

Techno turned the keys and pressed the garage door opener, backing the truck out. 

“Don’ think mothman lives out here.” he muttered once they reached the end of the drive, trying to eye where the road was they needed to turn out onto. The lights of the truck were bright, sure, but even they were hardly enough against the stark, inky void of the desert night. 

“Maybe Bigfoot?” Tommy suggested. 

“The report said ‘feathered’, Toms.” Caera sighed. “And Bigfoot’s more a forest kind of sighting, not desert.” 

“A Chupacabra then?” Tommy continued to ignore him as Techno peeled the truck out onto the long, dusty desert road. 

“If you wanted ta’ look for cryptids Tommy,” he grinned into the rear view mirror at the sleepy teen. “Ya should’ve signed up for your internship with the weirdos back near the town.” 

“They don’t pay jack shit!” the teen crossed his arms. “Not that you pay much either but at least it’s something…” 

“Alright, checklist everyone.” Techno stated. “Cer I take it you already did your PPE and gear list before we left?” 

Caera nodded in the seat beside him. “All good here.” 

“Cool cool.” He glanced back at Tommy through the rear view mirror once more. “And you know the drill?” 

“Keep the truck running, keep the lights on the scene, keep traffic moving if anyone comes by,” the boy listed. “Yup, got it.” 

“And?” Techno raised an eyebrow. “What’s the most important one that you keep forgetting?” 

The teen sighed. “It’s a wild animal, don’t try to pet it.” 

“Good.” Techno grinned. “Glad we’re on the same page.” 

It wasn’t long before they finally arrived at the site. 

Techno angled the truck’s lights to hit the scene, a man in denim standing beside a trailer with a cellphone in hand, before stopping the vehicle. 

“It’s over there!” the denimed man practically shouted at him as he exited the truck. “Big ball of feathers, I-man I dunno am I gonna get in trouble or something? I didn’t hit it, I just saw it happen, I swear! The other guy didn’t even stop!” 

Techno shrugged, motioning Caera to calm the man before making his way to where the truck lights indicated. He’d never been that great around people, especially panicked ones who thought they committed a federal crime by accidentally hitting an endangered species. 

Sure, there could be a fine involved, but sometimes those would be waved. And it wasn’t as if they’d be sent to jail. It was only if the person actively tried to hunt the animal that it would be considered a crime. 

Techno eyed the front of the man’s trailer, there were no feathers, no blood. He believed the man’s story, if something big and feathery had smashed into his trailer there would have been evidence. 

His gaze drifted from the trailer to the side of the road, where the edge of the dusty pavement sloped downwards a few feet into the pitch black desert. The lights of the two vehicles pointed in the same direction, towards the splatters of red leading out across the darkness. 

Techno drew his tranq gun, loading it against his hip before stalking down the berm of the road, following the blood trail and bits of feathers. As the sounds of the denimed man’s panic and Caera’s soothing voice faded into the distance, a new sound rose. 

A faint, wheezing whine. And the soft shuffling of something trying to move. 

Techno dropped into a crouch as he neared the edges of the truck lights, before switching his head lamp on. 

There, just at the edge of the light, was a large heap of black feathers, sticky with dark blood, trembling slightly. 

A condor? He wondered. But, those birds shouldn’t be this far north? Unless that tornado storm last week had caught a few off course? 

Except, even for a condor, those feathers were massive. 

The wings of the thing shifted, huge and downright terrifying in a way, Techno was sure if they were fully spread they’d be about the size of the truck or longer. 

Tommy’s earlier remark of mothman came to mind, but he quickly shook the idea from his head before inching closer. If this thing was still conscious, its sheer size alone indicated it could do some serious damage. 

He’d rather not have to tranq it, on top of it’s injuries already looking quite bad, he didn’t want to risk losing it to a tranq. He hated losing them to a tranq… If he could avoid it, he would. 

Where are your talons bud? He finally reached the edges of the feather pile, or, wing pile really.

Two, massive black wings were cocooning whatever bird was hiding within them, probably shielding it from the harsh light. 

Or stunned. Techno thought. 

He carefully reached out and took hold of the edge of a wing, prying it back to look for talons to grab onto, a beak to avoid- 

What he saw was NOT a bird.

Chapter Text

“Caera!” Techno’s shout sent chills down Caera’s spine. 

He never shouted. 

Not even when he was being clawed by a pissed off falcon. 

“Tommy come take care of this guy!” Caera called out to the intern in the truck. “I gotta go check on Tech!” 

He left the confused double-denimed man with the equally confused teen, as he slipped down the berm of the road and towards the edge of the truck light. 

He nearly tripped when he reached Techno. The sight before him was...well….

“Cer, need your expertise on this one.” the pink haired man gestured to the being before them. “Vet? Or hospital?” 

Trembling, massive black wings lay on either side of the- person? Being? 

They looked male, perhaps a human in his late twenties, if one could compare such. Ragged, shoulder length blonde hair covered his face. Tattered, loose fitting clothing, appearing homemade, hugged his frame, thin and barefoot. 

His left wing and shoulder were angled wrong, blood streamed from a massive abrasion along his left side. A deep bruise had begun to form on the side of his face and chest, where his clothes had torn. 

His eyes were open, just barely. Little slits of blue, whirling in confusion and fright, unfocused and bloodshot. 

His breaths came in short, rapid gasps. Shallow and nearly quiet if it weren’t for the horrid wheeze and faint whining that whistled from his throat. Whether something was very wrong with his lungs or it was a pained vocalisation, it was hard to tell. 

Blood trickled from his nose and the corners of his mouth with each breath. 

“Oh….oh fuck…” Caera dropped to his knees. "The fuck is that?!"

The fuck IS that?!

And for that matter...

Vet? Or hospital?

Techno’s question repeated in his mind. 

His first thought was ‘not a hospital’. There would be too many questions. Too many risks that this...bird...thing...person?... was not at all used to...human?...society, and would panic further. Which would hamper healing. Possibly even stress him more...could kill him…

And then there was the whole ‘what the fuck is this thing?! Get the government online!’ risk. Which would cause more stress, more panic, possibly even testing, more pain-

Hospital was a no-go. 

Vet it was, then, he told himself. 

Caera pulled his kit from his back. He’d been trained for field aid for humans, hell he was the one often patching Techno up after the guy had gone and decided to tackle an injured boar back into its pen. 

And, he was the station’s veterinarian after all. 

Whatever this...bird...person...was, he was his best bet at survival. 

“Keep an eye on him,” he instructed Techno. “Don’t let him claw me- if uh...he has claws.” 

Caera drew out a small flashlight and stethoscope, kneeling beside the...thing’s...shoulder. He carefully pried their eyes open, shining the light into them. They contracted at the light and fluttered slightly. 

Okay, no concussion. He told himself, unwinding the stethoscope, placing the earpieces into place. 

For a moment, everything seemed to be going smoothly. Whoever, or whatever this injured bird-man was, didn’t struggle or attempt to fight. He simply laid there, stunned, possibly not even comprehending where he was or what was happening. 

Until he wasn’t. 

The second Caera had placed the stethoscope to his chest, the creature reacted. 

A clawed hand took a swipe at Caera’s face, very nearly clipping his chin with razor sharp talons, as an inky black wing slammed hard against his side. 

Immediately, Caera saw Techno on the creature, straddling his waist, his knees pinning the being’s wings to either side as he gripped his wrists. The creature snapped at him once, revealing a series of fang-like teeth within his jaws, before collapsing onto his back. His eyes clenched shut as a whimper escaped his throat. A sound eerily similar to both human and avian.

“I got him Cer.” Techno stated, rather calmly. 

Caera noticed the man was lightly backing off of the creature’s wings, his fingers gently stroking the being’s wrists. 

“Okay bud,” Techno was still talking, but not to Caera, he noticed. “I don’t know if you can understand us, but we’re just trying to help ya, okay?” 

The creature beneath him hissed, but kept his eyes shut, still trembling in obvious pain. 

“Can’t have you tearing open my only vet here, ya won’t be able to get patched up if ya do that.” 

Caera saw Techno’s grip on the creature’s wrists loosen slightly. 

“Can you come over and do a quick inspection Cer?” he called out. “While he’s like this? It’s good he’s fightin’ but I’d like to get us back to the station before anyone else finds this.” 

Despite the obvious problems of trying to take care of the being, it was good, as Techno had said, that their patient was fighting. Caera told himself as he returned to the being’s side, pressing the stethoscope to his chest. 

It meant he had a chance. 

The creature’s heartbeat was steady. Granted Caera had no idea what exactly to compare it to for what was considered healthy, but it was close enough to his own, if a bit fast now and then from stress. But otherwise, strong and steady. 

He felt around the being’s wings and shoulders for breaks, wincing as he noticed one wing was very definitely broken. Then quickly, carefully, he tucked both back to the being’s sides. Cringing as he heard the creature whine from the movement. 

Flinching as he heard the snap of fanged teeth in warning as he neared his face.  

“Ay none of that!” Techno chided. “You bite him and we can’t help ya, understand?” 

The creature hissed, clenching his eyes shut once more before dropping his head to the ground, breathing shallowly. 

“How’s he looking?” Techno asked. 

“We need to get him back to the station, I need to set his wing, get some x-rays while we’re at it.” Caera wound up the stethoscope and brought out some thick medical tape from his pack. “Think he’ll hold still for you to carry him back to the truck?” 

He saw Techno glance down at the being beneath him. The creature stared back. Eyes narrowed with pain, teeth bared in fright. 

“You hear that?” Techno said quietly, loosening his grip further. “You let us carry you, we won’t hurt you, just gonna pick you up-” 

The second his hands had loosened enough the creature struck. Three bloodied lines crossed Techno’s face before the man had managed to pin the being’s wrists once more. 

“Yeah, that’s a no.” Techno shrugged, blinked a bit of blood away from his eye. 

Caera sighed. “That’s why I brought out the tape.” 

Reluctantly, he didn’t think that taping his patient’s arms and legs together was going to help him become any less scared of his situation. But, he was in no shape for a tranq. And with the way he’d been behaving, it was doubtful he understood any of them or their intentions to help. 

And he’d rather not have to deal with any more injuries tonight. 

He carefully began to bind the creature’s wrists and ankles, flinching whenever he made a slight hiss, hoping he wasn’t hurting him any further. Before placing a thick strip over his mouth, sealing it shut. The creature continued to glare at him for a moment as he finished up his work, before Techno scooped him up into his arms, tucking his wings against his sides. 

The winged being didn’t bother to fight anymore, instead, sighing heavily before going limp. The faint flutter of his half closed eyes, and the weak rise and fall of his chest the only indications he was alive. 

What the hell did we just get ourselves into?! Caera rubbed his face.

Chapter Text

It was fairly easy to convince the double denim man to leave the scene. Tommy stretched his arms out, yawning as he leaned against the hood of the truck, watching his coworkers trudging back his way. 

All he’d done was talk, really. Easy enough. You talk about anything for long enough and eventually the person you’re talking to will calm down enough to listen to reason. And from there, you just tell them “they’re fine, no need to stick around, license plate number? What’s that? Never heard of it. Now scram before I remember what it is.” 

And then they leave, no questions asked. 

“Toms can you get the back hatch open for us?” he heard Caera call out.

“You got it boss man!” he shouted back, making his way to the back of he truck. 

He swung the hatch open, shoved a few things aside within the covered bed of the vehicle, fidgeting with a few things to make himself feel a bit more useful, before turning back to see the weird bird they’d been called in for-

"You call that a fucking bird?!" Tommy nearly shrieked at the sight of the...creature...in Techno's arms.

That's no bird, that's not a fucking bird if Tommy's ever seen one. His wrists and ankles taped up to prevent him from swiping at his rescuers, the creature glared weakly at Tommy with icy blue eyes. Glazed in pain and confusion and fear.

That's NOT a fucking bird!

“Don’t raise your voice Toms!” Caera chided him as Techno gingerly laid the...creature...into the bed of the truck. 

“We don’t want to scare...it...him?” the vet glanced between Tommy and Techno. 

“I’d say him.” the pink haired man wiped a bit of blood from his face. 

Tommy cringed at the sight of three deep gouges across the man’s forehead and cheek. 

“We don’t want to scare him any further.” Caera finished. 

“I’ll say.” Techno carefully tucked the wings of the...bird man...against his sides. 

Tommy stammered, wide eyed. 

“Am I high?” he finally asked. 

“If you are can I have what yer having?” Techno chuckled. “Take the edge off of this crazy scenario? 

The sound of a muffled hiss came from within the truck bed as the bird man kicked his legs at Techno, before slumping back against the floor of the vehicle with a weak, pained sound. 

“That’s gonna be a problem.” The pink haired man scowled at the creature, still occasionally kicking out at the three with a hiss, before collapsing onto his back. 

“He’s gonna hurt himself if he keeps that up.”

“Well I don’t think fucking taping his arms and legs up really helped the matter you think?!” Tommy spluttered. 

“He kept biting! And you saw Tech’s face! He doesn’t understand we’re trying to help him!” Caera tried to explain. “It’s the best we got for now-” 

“You say that like you haven’t already tried the ‘classic stressed bird’ treatment.” A light bulb went off in Tommy’s, albeit confused, half asleep half stunned mind. He ran back to the main cabin of the truck and pulled a cloth shopping bag out from under the seat, hoping his idea worked. 

When he finally returned, he held the bag up to the others. 

 “You know how they keep falcons and stuff calm with hoods right?” he handed Techno the bag. “I mean, this whole scenario is bat shit fuckin insane but I mean-” 

“Tommy he’s not a fucking bird!” Caera snapped. 

“Well if he’s not a fucking bird then why’d you tape him up instead of just explaining things to him huh?” Tommy snapped back. 

“He doesn’t understand us-” 

“So you taped him up like a kidnapper?!” Tommy crossed his arms. “I get it, he might not be human, or at least human-ish. But he still shouldn’t have to be tied up like that when there’s gotta be easier options you know?” 

“I don’t see how a bag will work.” Caera shook his head. 

“I don’t see how any of this works, or how any of this is real.” Tommy huffed. “Yet, here we fucking are.” 

“Fine.” the vet shook his head. 

“This feels like we're committing a felony.” he muttered as he watched Techno slip the cloth bag over the hissing creature’s head. 

“Wouldn’t be ma first.” the pinkette shrugged. 

“God what kind of person were you before this job?” Tommy shook his head. 

Techno let out a singular ‘Ha!’ before covering the creature’s head entirely. 

Almost instantly, the bird-like man went limp. His breathing seemed to settle from its rapid, almost hyperventilating pace, to a steady, calm rise and fall. His limbs relaxed and a soft wheeze emanated from his throat. 

“Holy shit it worked.” Tommy saw Caera’s jaw dropped. “The fuck?!” 

“See?” the teen crossed his arms. “I’m not an intern for nothing.”

Chapter Text

Techno flinched as Caera cleaned the wound. The sharp sting of the antiseptic made his eyes water. 

They’d arrived back at the station shortly before four in the morning, the biting chill of the desert night was at its worst by then, sending all of them shivering as they had struggled to carry the still squirming...whatever he was...into the station. They’d left the bag on him, for whatever reason he struggled far less with his vision blocked. Probably as Tommy had suggested, from his bird traits.

At least he wasn’t trying to bite or claw at Caera, Techno had thought when the vet had finally removed the tape to inspect the creature’s limbs. 

Techno had sat beside his colleague, ready to restrain the bird man at a moment’s notice despite the blood still leaking down his own face, as Caera worked saving whoever...whatever...their patient was. He didn’t need to however. The bird creature, so long as he had his eyes covered, was eerily calm. Even when Cer had cut away his grimy shirt, when he’d cleaned off the abrasions with a solution Techno swore would have at least caused a fight from the sting alone. 

Caera had continued to work through the remainder of the night. Cleaning wounds, taking x-rays, threading an oxygen mask between the bag and over the bird creature’s nose and mouth, sticking an IV picc-line into his wrist. All throughout, the creature hardly moved. Barely even making a sound aside from his occasional hiss or pained whine. 

And now, whatever it was, was lying curled on the inflatable mattress that Tommy had set up within the spare bathroom. A thick set of sheets and blankets and various pillows cradled his form in an almost nest-like formation. The bag had been removed from his face, but by now he had passed out cold. 

Buried under a layer of blankets, bound in various linens, his wing and shoulder splinted and held tightly in place, he lay there. The only sign of life being the little twitches of his eyelids and the steady beep of the monitor stuck to his chest, the wires leading under the makeshift clear door -a riot shield Techno had produced from...god knew where- and into the hallway. 

They needed to keep an eye on him, and the solid door of the bathroom did not allow for that, but of course, they weren’t going to keep him in a cage. 

It would be...too weird. 

It was already weird enough, this whole scenario, but even that would be stretching it. 

“How’s he doing?” Techno muttered, staring through the riot shield taped in place of a door, watching the soft rise and fall of the being’s chest as he breathed. 

“Broken collarbone and forearm.” Caera tore a strip of tape up and began prepping a gauze pad. “Three cracked ribs, broken wing, missing quite a few primaries on the fucked wing too. Lots of internal bleeding…” 

He trailed off. “If I have to do a transfusion...god Tech I dunno…” 

“He looks pretty thin too.” Techno added, hissing as Caera slapped the gauze pad to his cuts. 

“I know that!” Caera snapped. “Dick! And I don’t know what to feed him either!” 

“Could always go with just a steak.” Techno rubbed the gauze pad with a finger. “Ow.” 

“Cooked or uncooked?” 

“Cooked obviously.” he rolled his eyes. “If he’s like us then rare steak shouldn’t be a problem. And if he’s more bird than human, then no harm done as long as it’s not too hot.” 

“I don’t know if he’d have the strength to even eat something that tough though.” Caera glanced back at the bird creature, his eyes laden with concern.

That was a problem, actually, Techno realised. 

How much of him would they have to treat as a bird? How much would they have to treat as a human? Would anaesthetics even work on him? Could he manage swallowing fluids and simple foods on his own or would he need to be force fed? For that matter, Caera and Techno only knew how to force feed animals, not humans. 

Unless one counted bribing Tommy to eat the overcooked eggs he’d made once as force-feeding. 

“Maybe you could try a soup then?” Techno suggested. “He had clothes, he’s clearly smart enough to make those himself.” 

“Probably understands soup too.” he shrugged, poking at the wound pad across his face. 

The tape itched. 

“Maybe.” Caera nodded. 

“In any case,” Techno added. “If he doesn’t get it, it’s easy enough to stick in a syringe between his teeth and just let it drip into his mouth. If it tastes good enough he’ll probably get the idea from there.” 

“I...god that’s really making me uncomfortable thinking about it.” Caera hugged an arm around himself, staring at the unconscious bird...man...behind the riot shield door. 

“Yeah…” Techno agreed. “It is, kinda.” 

Were they crossing a line with how to treat him? He didn’t know. 

Asking didn’t really seem to help, he continued to rub the sore cuts beneath the gauze pad. But, then again, the bird man may have just been scared. Maybe he was too stunned to speak? Maybe he didn’t trust them? Maybe he spoke a different language? Maybe he couldn’t speak but was still just as sentient as any human and they’d just been acting like dicks to him in his mind? 

There was only one way to find out. 

“I’ll go make up some soup.” he patted Caera’s shoulder. “Thin broth, put some marrow bone and starch in it.” 

“Bring some fluids too.” the vet instructed as he turned towards the station’s kitchen. “Pedia-lite, or...maybe gatorade. Get his salts and sugars back up.” 

Techno nodded. 

Easy enough. 

It was anything but, he realised an hour later.

Chapter Text

“Okay buddy.” Caera knelt before the hissing bird man, setting down a bowl of broth with one hand. A large syringe with the other. 

The creature had woken the second he had opened the riot shield door. And he was not looking happy. Hissing and spitting, his feathers fluffed like an angry cat, Caera took solace that, despite his lack of movement, he was at least still in a fighting mood.

Techno had brewed a rather delicious smelling broth, full of marrow and beef stock and salt and a bit of blended potato starch, Caera’s mouth was watering at the smell of it. He hoped the bird man could smell it as well, hopefully growing hungry at the scent. 

Hungry for the broth, anyhow, and not Caera nuggets. 

The being’s eyes narrowed as his good wing puffed up, baring his teeth, but he didn’t move from his pile of blankets and pillows. Instead, he merely snarled, spitting between fanged teeth and rumbling a warning from his throat. 

He seemed, slightly, more lucid than before. In that he seemed to understand a bit of Caera’s actions and wasn’t attacking him outright.

Then again, it was possible he was just too weak to attack, now that adrenaline had faded from when they had found him. 

“Okay.” Caera tried again, grateful for Techno’s presence at his side, ready to pin their patient if things went south. 

“Okay, I don’t know if you can understand us,” he began, nudging the bowl of soup towards the creature. “But we’re just trying to help you okay?” 

“I’m sorry we taped you up.” he added. 

The bird creature stared at him, unblinking, though the feathers in his wings did relax somewhat. 

The growl did not. 

The talons on his free hand, the one not bound to his side by strips of gauze, were unnervingly glossy in the bathroom light. Sharp and shining and deadly. 

Caera gulped at the prospect of being mauled by them. 

“It’s uh...it’s food, see?” he held the bowl of broth up to his own lips, sipping from it. 

God it tasted good! If they made it out of this situation, for better or worse, he’d have to ask Techno how he cooked it! 

“See?” He removed the bowl from his lips, holding it out towards the bird man. 

Blue eyes regarded him, fanged teeth still flashed in warning, but the creature didn’t make a move. To attack or otherwise. 

Caera sighed. He didn’t want to have to do this. 

He placed the syringe into the bowl, sucking up a bit of the broth into the capsule, before carefully inching his way towards the creature. 

“Look man,” he held his hand out, against his better judgement. “I don’t know if you can understand me or not, but I was really hoping you’d know what soup was, at least how to drink it.” 

He inched himself closer, closer, before finally, unbelievably, he managed to place a hand on the creature’s forehead. 

The being continued to bare his teeth, but the hiss was gone now. The talons in his fingertips twitched, but he didn’t move. It was as if he had frozen almost. 

Caera hoped that was a good sign. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna put this through your teeth, alright?” he held the syringe towards the creature’s mouth, praying he wouldn’t bite. “It won’t hurt, it’s just food, okay?” 

Please don’t bite! Please don’t bite! Please don’t bite!  

Caera nearly clenched his own eyes shut, anticipating a series of sharp fangs stabbing through his hand. But none came. 

The end of the syringe threaded between the creature’s teeth, his head still laying against the mattress, glaring up at Caera. 

With a shaky inhale, the vet slowly pressed down on the syringe, releasing a faint trickle of broth into the creature's mouth. 

To his relief, the bird man swallowed. His eyes widened slightly. 

Oh thank god!  

Caera emptied the syringe and held up the bowl once more. 

“See?” He placed the bowl just beside the creature’s face. “Tastes nice right?” 

The bird man only blinked in reply, before his eyes suddenly fluttered shut and he fell limp against the mattress. 

The heart monitor outside the bathroom began to beep rapidly.

“No no no!” 

All caution was flung out the window as Caera reactively scooped the creature’s shoulders up into his arms, propping his head up carefully as he filled the syringe up once more. The creature was shaking. 

Low blood sugar. He realised, noting the horrendously thin frame of the bird man he held in his arms, trembling still. 

“Stay awake bud,” he tilted the creature’s head back against his own shoulder, sighing in relief as the movement seemed to have woken the bird man. If only a bit. 

His blue eyes rolled open, just barely, tiny slits of glazed colour against his pale skin. He didn’t move. 

That was bad. 

No attempt to fight was always bad when it came to birds, Caera recalled. 

“You brought the gatorade, right Tech?” he didn’t wait for an answer before barking out an order. “Fill up another syringe with it. I’m gonna see if I can get him to swallow again.” 

He quickly threaded the syringe between the creature’s teeth once more, slowly dripping the fluid into his mouth, a small drop at a time. Praying he wouldn't have to resort to the struggle of force feeding.

Then he waited. 

Waited some more. 

There was faint whine from the bird man, and he saw his throat bob as he swallowed down the broth. 

“That’s it.” He refilled the syringe and repeated the motion, only stopping to take the new one from Tech, full of red fluid. 

“Okay you’re doing great.” he shifted a bit before placing the other syringe into the creature’s mouth. “This one tastes different but I promise, it’s just gonna help you. Okay?” 

The bird man made no motion of acknowledgement as he dripped the liquid into his mouth, watching closely to ensure he didn’t choke. 

Back and forth it went for some time. Caera would switch out syringes, one with broth, the other gatorade, and in between would coax the creature into staying awake. Eventually, much to his relief, the creature began to stay lucid for longer. The beeping of the heart monitor began to slow. The bird man even made his own efforts to suck down the fluid before Caera ever had a chance to depress the syringe. 

That was good, he thought, carefully retrieving the bowl and pressing the edge of it to the bird man’s lips. If his theory was correct, he was probably strong enough to drink it down on his own now. 

He tipped the bowl back and nearly jumped when the clawed hand of the creature clamped down on the edge of the bowl, ripping it from his hand as the bird man swallowed down the contents ravenously. Small snarls ementating from his throat in between gulps of the broth as he glared at the vet, still leaning heavily against Caera’s shoulder. 

He sighed in relief. Only to flinch once more as the creature’s hand slipped, the now empty bowl nearly tumbling to the ground before Techno caught it. 

“See?” Caera carefully laid the bird man back to the mattress, shuffling aside and collecting the bowl and syringes. “That wasn’t so bad, right?” 

The bird man hissed. 

“Right, I’ll take that as my cue to leave, okay.” Caera quickly scrambled out of the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Tommy flinched as he walked past the hallway. 

The creature was watching him. 

Blue eyes, icy and intelligent, solid blue with no evident sclera. Just an eerie, solid, almost glowing set of orbs, and a dark, inky black pupil. They sent a chill up his spine as a pair of secondary lids blinked sideways across their glassy surface. His humanoid, lashed lids, unmoving the entire time as the ghost white secondaries slipped across the surface once more. 

He lay there, curled on his good side, his wings tucked close to his back. His head propped up on his arm, atop a pillow. Like a cat. Watching him silently as he walked down the hall. 

Despite the riot shield between them, Tommy felt incredibly exposed. 

Prey, he thought. 

He quickly made his way past the makeshift room, ducking around a corner as fast as he could. Nearly slamming into Techno as he did. 

“Afternoon.” the pinkette only nodded. 

“Sup.” Tommy glanced back down the hall. 

The creature was still watching him. 

“I don’t think he likes me.” he finally stated. 

“Who the bird guy?” Techno scratched at the wound pad across his face. “I mean, we did technically kidnap him. Can’t blame him.” 

“Yeah but he’s been fucking staring at me.” Tommy inched closer to the taller man’s side. “Every time I go past! Whenever I get close enough to be seen its just, vwoop!” 

He made a motion with his hands, as if mimicking the creature’s eyes suddenly snapping towards him. “Instantly just locks eyes on me! Like I’m a fucking chicken nugget!” 

“Well, from what Caera told me,” Techno scratched the bit of stubble on his chin. “He was definitely dealing with the effects of starvation when we found him last night, er, this morning. So…” 

Tommy scoffed as the man cocked a brow at him. 

“I’m not breakfast.” he muttered. 

“Not today.” Techno nodded before turning on a heel, heading towards the garage. 

“Wha-wait what?!” Tommy nearly screeched. “The fuck do you mean ‘not today’?!” 

He stomped after the pinkette. “You can’t just state ominous shit like that and then walk away! Don’t you fucking leave me!”

All he received in reply was a single “Heh.” and the closing of a door. 

“Wha- well fuck you too big man!” he huffed, stomping off back to the living room of the station, quickly taking the long route away from the mysterious creature. 

He finally flopped himself into the sofa of the lounge, yawning. It had been a rough morning. Getting up hours before dawn, wrangling what was basically a cryptid into a truck, running back and forth for Caera and Techno to gather supplies. 

And then when the sun had finally risen, he’d been the only one available to prep the various foods and meds for the station’s animals. 

Caera had been exhausted, having spent most of the morning getting their new occupant to eat and not choke to death, and had barely given Tommy any instructions on what to do for the other injured animals in their care before promptly passing out. 

Thank god for Techno. Tommy gave his arms a stretch. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Techno was probably the only one keeping him from getting eaten by some of the station’s residents that morning. 

The man was terrifying, he had to admit. Unnervingly calm no matter the situation, spouting out ominous sayings now and then with no context, covered in scars from various bites and scratches and who knew what else. Fear was not something Tommy ever saw in that man’s eyes, just a dead pan casualness, no matter the situation. 

Or a cocky smirk, like he knew something Tommy didn’t. 

At least he’d been helpful in feeding some of the larger residents of the station that morning. 

Tommy could swear that the eagle they had been rehabilitating wanted to eat his fingers. 

But around Techno, the damn thing was like a baby! Or, as ‘like a baby’ as a massive screaming bird could be. 

About screaming birds…

Tommy’s gaze drifted back to the hall. 

The heart monitor outside the bathroom beeped steadily. 

He couldn’t see the new resident from the angle he was at but...he still felt as if he was being watched somehow. 

He shuddered, trying to turn his attention to anything BUT the scary bird man thing. 

He’s injured. He told himself. Injured and sick and starving . 

It was doubtful he could do much if he escaped but….

The three gashes across Techno’s face told him otherwise. 

He just hoped Caera wasn’t about to add this new...thing...to the list of animals he needed to feed everyday. 

It was just as he was about to settle into the couch, hand on the remote of the station’s only tv, to flip through some channels, that he heard the coughing. 

It was faint at first, for a moment he thought he’d imagined it. 

Until it returned, accompanied by a pained whimper. 

And then the unmistakable sound of vomiting. 

Tommy was on his feet before he even registered that he was running...for the bathroom in the hallway…

He skidded to a stop as the panic of the situation set in. 

The bird man was lying beside the riot shield, as if he had almost made the attempt to leave, unconscious. The heart monitor continued to beep frantically as a steady stream of red liquid and bile dripped from his mouth, pooling across the floor. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Tommy froze up. 

“...Caera…” his voice was little more than a squeak, as if he was in some sort of nightmare, trying to scream, but unable to do so. “...Caera...help…” 

Should he open the shield? Should he try to help him? How would he even begin to do that?! 

What if he woke up though? 

And...and….

“CAERA!” he finally managed to shout. “Tech! Caera! We got a problem! Caera! Fuckin' hell! Anyone?!” 

He felt his knees buckle as he dropped to the ground, feeling both utterly terrified, and hopelessly useless. 

The bird creature’s eyes opened slightly at the sound of his knees hitting the floor, thin slits of blue framed by pale lashes. Confused and hurt.

And scared. 

For a moment, whatever fear that had lodged itself in Tommy’s mind, whatever prickling feeling he had at the back of his neck whenever he walked past the creature, for a moment that was gone. 

Replaced by a strange understanding, an empathy almost. 

An old memory surfaced in the teen’s mind as he placed his hand against the riot shield, beside the being’s face. 

“You’re-you’re gonna be okay man.” he said quietly as he heard the loud thumps of Caera’s half asleep running echoed up the hall. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

The creature blinked, slowly, before pressing his forehead against the riot shield, where the teen’s palm was, before slumping back against the floor with a weak groan. 

He sounded human. 

Entirely human. 

Tommy had no time to continue his thoughts as Caera arrived. 

“Shit!”

Chapter Text

The creature had stopped fighting entirely, Techno noticed as he carefully mopped up the floor, working around Caera and their patient. 

The bird man just lay there, quietly letting the red head inspect him. 

He didn’t hiss, didn’t make any warning noises as the vet gently prodded his torso, looking for any missed bruise, any sign of infection, anything at all to indicate what had happened. 

All throughout, the bird creature was silent. His eyes barely slits, his limbs limp and heavy, as if he had just collapsed and given up entirely. Too miserable to move, too weak to continue fighting. 

Except, for the faint glint of malice that seemed directed straight into Techno’s eyes. 

Techno merely nodded in acknowledgement at the feathered being. 

His many years spent with the various animals of the station, out in the park, and even the years before his time here -a story he would never tell the other rangers- he’d learned to read when strength was still evident in something. 

Oftentimes, even when Caera would give up on an injured animal, Techno found that strength still lurking behind its eyes. Faint, but there. A small message of hope within them. 

“Not yet.” they all seemed to say. 

And Techno would convince Caera to give the animal one more day, the benefit of the doubt, just another night. 

And then he would stay with them, talking. Absently rambling about nothing. 

Sometimes they would pass, happy to have at least been heard. 

But more often than not, they would make it through the night. And surprise Caera with their sudden ravenous appetite and startlingly speedy recovery. 

Techno knew strength when he saw it. 

And this strange creature they had brought in, despite his laboured breaths and broken bones and limp frame, still had strength left. 

“I don’t get it.” 

“Heh?” Techno set himself down beside Caera. 

The vet was now holding the creature’s head in his lap, taping an oxygen tube into his nose, gently stroking his hair as he did. 

“All the scans I did,” The red head said quietly. “I don’t...his stomach was fine, I don’t get it.” 

“The vomit?” Techno raised a brow. 

“No,” the vet sighed. “The blood.” 

“Blood?” Techno scratched behind his ear. 

If he recalled correctly, there wasn’t blood in the vo…..oh. 

“You mean the red gatorade we gave him?” 

He saw Caera’s face go from incredulous shock that he would even dare suggest that, to confusion, to “oh!”, and then to a dark scowl. 

“God fucking dammit Tech!” he snapped. 

"Wrong colour for blood." Techno added.

"How the hell would you even know that?!" Caera hissed.

“Smelled like gatorade too,” Techno drawled. “Usually blood has a pretty distinct scent to it, even when it’s mixed with bile.” 

He could have laughed as the vet buried his face in his hands with a groan. "How...how do you know this?! Why do you know this?!"

“And his stomach could just be reacting to having food in for the first time in awhile,” Techno continued. “Happens sometimes when you don’t eat for ages and then suddenly have your gut filled super fast with mostly liquids, think we should actually start putting some proper chunks of beef in that soup.” 

“For fucks sake…” 

“And the weakness, I mean,” Techno shrugged. “He’s not really slept much, kind of off and on, plus he just threw up. Anyone would become a ragdoll at that point.” 

“I’M THE FUCKING VET HERE TECH!” Caera snapped. “How the hell do you keep knowing this shit and not me-”

Techno clapped a hand over Caera’s mouth, shushing him, as he noticed their patient wince from the shout. 

“Cause ya didn’t get much sleep and have been on the front lines of the action this whole time.” he explained with another shrug. “Don’t beat yerself up for it, it happens.” 

“Just don’t forget,” he added, taking his hand away from the vet’s mouth. “You got a patient here with a, most likely, very human brain.” 

“Should work on your bedside manners, he ain't a sparrow that flew into the window ya know?” 

Techno grinned. 

Caera groaned. 

“Want me to make more of that soup then?” Techno suggested. “Bit thicker this time tho? For you and the bird man?” 

The vet gently set the creature’s head back onto a pillow, taking one last look at the heart monitor, now beeping steadily once more, before nodding. 

“Please.”

Chapter Text

“Hey man.” Caera knelt beside the creature. 

The bird man blinked weakly, before sighing heavily, resting his head back against his good arm. 

He looked exhausted. 

You and me both bud. Caera thought as he set the bowl of warm soup between the two of them. 

God he’d been up since three am caring for this...person? He was basically a person….with hardly any sleep besides the small bit of a nap he’d had before Tommy had woken him with his screaming. Not that he blamed the boy, he was actually relieved the kid had managed to get him back here to help. 

But still, he was so tired. 

“I know you probably don’t want to eat after all that,” he placed the syringe he had brought into the broth, slowly sucking it up. “But you do gotta get something in your stomach for a bit, or you’ll feel worse, okay?” 

Caera held the syringe up to the creature’s mouth, unsure if he should expect another fight or just weak acceptance. 

Blue eyes, narrow and glazed in exhaustion, glanced at the syringe, then at him. 

“It’s thicker this time,” he explained, hoping the bird man could understand him. 

He seemed to. 

“It’ll sit a bit in your stomach, more substance to digest and such.” the vet tried to explain. “And, I uh, I don’t know if you understand me but, I did put a little bit of anti nausea medication into it. Just a bit to keep it down.” 

Was it just his imagination or did he see the creature nod? 

Either way, the bird man didn’t struggle when he slipped the syringe between his teeth. Caera kept close watch on his patient, ensuring the creature didn’t choke as he fed him. Unlike earlier, however, there was no attempt to grab the bowl from him. No attempt to feed himself. He just lay there, weak from exhaustion, slowly drinking up the thick broth being dripped into his mouth. 

At least he could still swallow, Caera shuddered at the thought of having to explain to the creature why he was shoving a tube down his throat to feed him. Whatever modicum of trust he had managed to gain would be instantly shattered. 

“Feeling a little better?” Caera asked as he emptied the syringe. 

The creature only blinked once, then moved forward. 

Caera flinched, expecting teeth to snap through his hand. Except they didn’t. 

Carefully, slowly, he glanced down. 

The creature had pushed his forehead against the back of Caera’s hand. A light bump, almost like how a cat would ask to be pet. 

And then he slumped back against the mattress, his eyes slipping shut as exhaustion finally took him. 

If it weren’t for the heart monitor still beeping steadily, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, Caera would have thought he had fainted again. 

Just asleep . He told himself. Just asleep.  

He quietly removed the now empty bowl and syringe and left the room, placing the riot shield back into place as he left before heading to the kitchen. 

He didn’t notice Techno had followed him until the man spoke, nearly making him drop the bowl into the sink as he went to rinse it. 

“Think he’ll be alright?” the man asked. 

“Fuckin hell Tech!” Caera’s heart raced as the monotone voice appeared, suddenly, beside his ear. “God you gotta stop doing that!” 

“Doing what?” the pinkette blinked, genuinely confused. 

“Your fucking, ghost walk bullshit you do, I dunno what that it is!” Caera stammered, before rubbing his face with his hands. 

“God I’m tired.” he mumbled. 

“You look it.” his colleague agreed. 

Caera took a breath, then slowly let it out, before finally answering Techno’s first question. 

“Hard to say,” he began. “At this point it could go either way. All we can really do is let him rest and see how he does.” 

“Hmm.” he saw Techno nod. 

“I think he’ll make it.” he stated. “Give him a day, you’ll see.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Caera sighed, glancing back at their patient down the hall. “I really do.”

The strange bird man was still asleep, breathing steadily. And for the first time in the past twelve hours, Caera could swear he saw the creature’s face relaxed.

Chapter Text

Tommy hugged his jacket to his chest, his eyes drifting to the door of his room. After the incident that afternoon, with the bird creature… he wasn’t quite sure what to think. 

He’d been terrified of the thing, constantly eyeing him. The sensation of being watched sending a horrid prickling in the back of his neck. 

Prey. 

Food. 

Feral. 

He’d felt it before, when he had been out on patrol with Techno. The sharp prickling sensation had sprung up out of nowhere as he had felt watched. Sending his anxiety spiking. It wasn’t until the two had returned to the station that Techno had admitted that they were being watched by a mountain lion for a bit. 

“Didn’t want you to panic,” the man had explained. “Panicking just makes you want to run, and the second you run, they chase ya.” 

“Best thing to do is just stay calm.” Techno had added. “Acknowledge that it’s there, and back off. Usually they’re just keeping an eye on you, just curious, but sometimes they got a cub stashed away. Or they’re hungry. Last thing you want to do is turn your back or piss em off.” 

Tommy hugged the jacket tighter at the memory. 

He remembered the panic rising the more Techno had talked, remembered the bile in his throat as the realisation of what he had narrowly avoided finally registered in his mind. Remembered the faint black spots flickering around his vision as his knees gave out and he collapsed, puking as he fell into a full blown panic attack. 

He’d been so pissed that Techno hadn’t told him earlier about the danger they had been in, once he had finally calmed down enough to not feel as if his limbs were made of lead and his breathing had settled. 

“Can you imagine going through what you just did, though, in front of something that could kill you in a heartbeat?” the man had said. 

Tommy hugged the jacket tighter. 

As much as he had hated the man for not telling him, he had to admit, it was better he didn’t suddenly keel over in panic in front of a mountain lion. 

As much as hated falling into a state of utter helplessness, he was grateful Tech had managed to keep him from doing so until they were both safe. 

He could only imagine what the bird creature was feeling now. 

The bird man they had picked up had no idea who they were, what they were doing, whether they were attempting to hurt him or help him. 

Of course he’d be watching them all constantly, Tommy realised. 

He was scared. 

He was scared and helpless, and unlike Tommy, he didn’t know that where he was, was safe. 

Tommy recognised that now. 

Like recognises like.  

He glanced up at the window in his room. 

It was sunset. 

The sky was alight in a bright orange and purple and pink gradient, speckled with wisps of cloud and the beginning of starlight. Framed by the dark reds of the nearby mesa, foothills, and black silhouettes of cacti and sparse brush. 

It was going to be a cold night. For as blistering as the desert could be during the day, it was almost always freezing at night. 

They had been caring for the bird man for almost twenty four hours now, he realised. 

Twenty four hours of fear and pain and loneliness. 

Tommy stood, grabbing a pillow and blanket from his bed, before heading back out into the hallway. 

He’d been shooed away when Caera had arrived, he never did handle medical stuff all that well, even with their usual cases of animals having been knocked by a car or flying into a window. He didn’t blame the man for wanting him out of the way. 

But now, however, he wanted to at least make sure the bird creature was...he didn’t exactly know. 

Alright? 

Less scared? 

Comforted? 

That was probably it, he told himself. 

Throughout his time at the station, if there was anything he had learned from his colleagues, he knew he was safe here. His anxiety had lessened, his panic attacks were met with reassurances that he would be alright. He was safe here. 

He wanted the bird creature to feel safe as well. 

Tommy quietly made his way to the riot shield door of the bathroom, cautiously peering in. 

The creature was asleep, curled on his good side, nearly buried within the pillows he had arranged around himself like a nest. The heart monitor beeped slowly, but steadily. His face was, for the first time since he had arrived, appearing relaxed. 

Tommy placed his pillow just outside the riot shield and settled himself in, tucking the blanket around his shoulders as he began his watch. 

He hoped, whatever connection that had been made earlier that day, would still be there when the creature woke.

Chapter Text

Techno was the first to wake within the station. 

He always was. 

The change in schedules from the new arrival had no effect on him. 

He stretched his arms out, tying his hair back into its usual braid as he slipped into his uniform. Always pressed and spotless, no matter how badly stained or wrinkled it would get. How he managed to maintain it, he would never admit. 

How he did most things, he would never admit. It was amusing to see the utter bafflement on his coworkers faces when he had done something within a certain amount of time, or that didn’t seem possible. 

Everything could be done, if one thought around the box it was in. 

He did a quick inspection of the grounds just before dawn, checking the electrical and water, ensuring all the hinges on the doors were oiled. All the windows were in decent shape. No cracks had formed in the walls and no burrows had been dug beneath the station’s floors. 

Well, except for one. 

Techno paused in his inspections to kneel before the only hole beneath the building, and made a little whistling noise, scratching at the edge of the burrow. 

The gnarled, one eyed face of a very old, very dusty tabby cat, poked out of the edge of the burrow with a faint brrup of greeting. Before wriggling its way out from the under the building, purring as it bumped its head against the man’s hand. 

“Mornin’ Lincoln.” Techno cooed, giving the old tom cat a light scritch behind the ears. 

The old thing had been at the station since before he had even been assigned here, since the previous rangers had lived here, and would probably be here long after he was gone. Realistically speaking, there was no way a cat would live that long. But then again, the desert was a strange place full of unexplainable things. 

Such as a man with bird wings. he thought as he made his way to the back of the station, where a small set of pens and huts had been set up, followed by the old tom cat as he did. 

Techno gave a sharp whistle as he arrived and immediately a series of heads poked around fences and out of huts, various noises of happy creatures flooded the air as he gathered up the foods for the animals at the station. 

The three mules, the only transport for deep desert retrievals of lost tourists, jostled against one another in their pen for his attention as he hefted a large block of hay to them. The one boar, its eye missing from a roadside accident, nuzzled his leg. The multitude of song birds rescued from heat stroke or run-ins with windows all swarmed about him as he refilled their water. 

It had taken ages to gain their trust, but to the other rangers it had almost happened overnight, Techno smirked. 

“The hell did you do?! Tame them?!” Caera had been incredulous when he had seen the pinkette hand feeding one of the falcons they had rescued. “You’re not supposed to do that! You have to keep them wild!” 

“Oh they’re still wild.” Techno had admitted. “I’m just their favourite.” 

It had always been like that, he had found most animals just liked him. For one reason or another. He never went out of his way to pet any of the wild ones they brought in, they all just eventually trusted him enough to be near him, or even nuzzle up against him. 

Aside from the three mules and Lincoln, however, he never pet them. As much as he wanted to, he had to keep them wild. 

“They’re not pets.” He had told Tommy on his first day. “They’re friends, sure, but only if they want to be your friend. You can gain their trust, but you can’t and shouldn’t attempt to tame them.” 

“They’ll leave one day, and if you’ve tamed them, they’ll end up unable to fend for themselves.” he had explained. “But if you gain their trust, don’t force them to do anythin’, they sometimes decide to be your friend. And from there, well, sometimes they show up again from time to time.” 

And sometimes they don’t. He nodded to himself as he finished up. 

It was just sunrise now, he noted, and in an hour he would need to open the front desk up and man the phones for calls. 

For now, however…

He needed to check on their newest addition. 

With a little pat to Lincoln’s head, he made his way back into the station, just before the morning sunlight began to warm his back. 

Techno wound his way into the living quarters of the station, off limits to any public that wandered by, and made his way to the main hallway. 

He wasn’t surprised to see Tommy, sound asleep, his back against the riot shield that separated him from the strange bird creature. 

What he was surprised to see, however, was said creature awake. Leaning up against the shield, his good wing outstretched, picking through his feathers. 

Preening. 

He stopped, however, when he noticed Techno. 

Blue eyes snapped towards him, narrowing, as the wing was folded away. 

“Mornin’.” Techno nodded to the creature. 

The bird man made no response, only watching, silently, as Techno nudged the toe of his boot against the sleeping teen. 

Tommy rolled awake, grumbling sleepily. 

“What as that ya' said about him hating you?” Techno grinned as the boy rubbed his eyes, slowly gathering where he was, before nearly jolting upright as he recognised the creature on the opposite side of the shield. 

The bird man merely blinked, slowly, before yawning, flashing a series of fang-like teeth. Tommy shuddered, backing away from where he had been sleeping. 

“Prob-probably not but...but still.” the teen scrambled to his feet, gathering his blankets. “Still, I should go uh, yeah go get started with my job, yeah.” 

Techno grinned as his coworker bolted down the hallway. 

“So, you managed to un-scare the kiddo, huh?” Techno leaned against the wall, eyeing the creature. 

The creature eyed him back. Intelligent, blue eyes studied him. He nearly shuddered as they seemed to peer straight through his soul, much in the way bobcats did when he got too close. 

“Stop that.” he warned. “Yer gonna scare Caera and Toms with that look ya know. They think it means you wanna eat em’.” 

The bird man exhaled sharply through his nose, with the faintest of curling from the corners of mouth. 

Was that a laugh?

“How ya feelin by the way?” Techno crouched down, opposite the...man. 

He still looked thin, still weak, still tired. But he was sitting up, his legs crossed, his back against the sink. A bit of colour had seemed to have returned to his face, amidst the grime of dust and dried blood anyhow. 

The...the man...blinked again, his eyes drifting to his injuries. 

“Still pretty shit huh?” Techno nodded. “I can imagine, getting hit by a vehicle is no fun.” 

The blue eyed man sighed, leaning his head back against the sink. 

“Sorry about yesterday night, pinning ya and such.” Techno continued. 

The bird man’s eyes narrowed, his good wings fluffing. 

“Yeah, I get ya.” the pinkette nodded once more. “Dick move on my part, I panicked but honestly that’s kind of a shit excuse ya know? You were in bad shape and I only made it worse.” 

“I’m sorry.” He said once more. 

He knew the creature understood him. 

“Do uh…” Techno stood, reaching a hand to the riot shield. “You were preening earlier, do ya need help with that or-” 

“Touch me again, and they’ll never find your body.” 

Techno froze. 

The voice was weak, strained from disuse and pain, but he had heard it still, plain as day. Just as clearly as he could see the bird man’s eyes narrowing, his teeth barring as he had neared the shield. 

“You can talk?” Techno took a step back, baffled. 

Of course he can talk, dumbass! He chided himself. 

He was clearly smart enough to understand him, there was really no reason he couldn’t talk, unless he’d been whacked in the head hard enough to lose that ability…

The man before him moved back as well, eyeing him cautiously, his good arm moving to cover his injured side. His wing flaring as a low snarl emanated from his throat. 

Back off! Back off!  

Techno quickly took a few more steps back, his neck prickling. 

As curious as he was, his patient had no reason to trust him yet. 

He could respect that. 

“Sorry, again.” he nodded, then made his way back down the hall, letting the man have his space. 

He felt those blue eyes boring into his soul, through his back, sending him shuddering, as he made his way to the front desk.

Chapter Text

Caera was eternally grateful Techno had offered to man the front desk that morning, he himself had slept in, far too exhausted to even think of having to deal with anyone who showed up. The few who would anyhow, no one really bothered to visit this part of the desert in the middle of summer, not with this heat. 

He took a moment to adjust the AC a bit before making his rounds back to the riot shield bathroom. He didn’t blame tourists for not wanting to visit during the dead of summer, it was hot and downright deadly at times. 

Thank god for air conditioning! He thought as he opened up the riot shield. 

The bird man had his good wing outstretched, the second joint laying in the basin of the sink, soaking up the cool water flowing from the faucet. 

Caera blinked. 

He’d figured out how to use the sink. 

“I- well uh…” he stammered, staring at his patient, unsure if he should be impressed or concerned. 

The man stared back, though Caera could swear he was grinning, somehow. 

“Okay, you figured out how the tap works.” The vet set his med kit to the floor, rummaging through it for some replacement gauze. “Good to know, good to know…” 

Whether that was a good or bad thing, he’d worry about later. 

“Thirsty?” he held out a bottle of water, chilled from the fridge, to the man. 

The bird creature looked at him, perplexed. 

“It’s water, uh, hold on.” Caera unscrewed the cap before handing him the bottle. “See?” 

The man took it, cautiously, his eyes glancing back and forth between the bottle and Caera, before sipping at it. 

“Slowly okay?” the vet warned. “Don’t want a repeat of yesterday.” 

The man seemed to understand, slowing in his attempts to drink. For a while Caera was relieved. The creature understood him, and, from what Techno had told him, had been well enough to attempt preening his wings earlier that morning-

Caera paused in his thoughts as he saw the man take a mouthful of water, only to slowly spit it over his good arm and shoulder, attempting to drip the water down his back. Flapping his wing lightly as he did, splashing the water across his feathers. 

Caera was utterly baffled. 

“What are you- uh, what the fuck?” 

The bird man blinked at him, before taking another mouthful of water, only to spit it out in a gross dribble down his arm. He then set the water bottle down, taking his good hand and smearing the water across his dirt ridden skin. 

“Bruh wha-” it finally clicked in Caera’s mind what he was attempting to do. “If you need a bath we can get you one, you don’t need to do...whatever the fuck you’re doing.” 

The bird man paused, his eyes slowly rolling towards Caera. 

Was that confusion? 

Irritation? 

Did he understand him or was he just confused that the vet was still talking to him? 

“You uh, you do know what a bath is, right?” Caera asked. 

The bird man gave his good wing, still lying in the sink basin, a light twitch. Sending droplets of water splashing about the bathroom floor. 

“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” the nodded, holding out a hand. “If you want I can help you get to the bathroom with the bathtub in it and you can get cleaned up there.” 

He hoped that whatever luck presided over this god forsaken desert that the man understood him. 

To his surprise, the bird creature took his hand. Tentatively, shaking slightly, the taloned ends lightly scratching at his skin. 

Caera sighed in relief and carefully helped him to his feet. 

“Slowly there man,” he flinched as he felt the talons dig into his hand a bit as the bird man wobbled on his feet. “Don’t want you falling over.” 

It was as he was standing that he noticed the man pause, staring at the various sensors stuck to his chest and arms, his eyes trailing to the wires leading to the monitor outside the room. 

The bird man gave Caera a concerned look. 

Asking what to do about them. 

“It’s fine, they just clip off.” the vet gave one of the wires a tug. It snapped easily off of the sensor pad and fell to the floor. 

The bird man just watched, wide eyed in confusion. 

“They were letting me know if your heart stopped, they don’t really do anything else.” Caera explained, pulling another of the wires free. 

The man nearly jumped, his good wing fluffing up, as the monitor beeped out one long tone, no longer connected to a full circuit. 

“Hey hey it’s okay!” Caera steadied the bird man. “It’s okay! It just does that when it’s unplugged! You’re okay.” 

The man gripped tighter to the vet’s hand, wobbling slightly on his feet, before taking a steadying breath, still staring cautiously at the monitor as Caera began to lead him out of the room. Only for him to flinch the second his bare fit hit the carpet outside. 

The bird man glanced at Caera, confusion written across his face. 

“Right, you’ve probably never felt carpet…” the vet nodded. “It’s fine, it’s just like, uh…” 

He searched for the right words to explain this thing to the man. 

“Uh, like, a really thick cloth we put over the floor, it makes it nicer to step on.” he decided. “If you’re used to it.” 

Caera kicked off his own shoes and socks, placing his bare feet on the carpeting beside the man. 

“See? It’s okay.” he reassured him. 

The winged man nodded, still gripping tightly to the vet’s hand, leaning against him as he began to limp across the carpet. Allowing Caera to guide him through the halls, blue eyes darting about in a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. His good wing fluffed the entire journey. 

He was still cautious when they entered the main bathroom, staring back and forth at the tub, the mirror, the shower curtain, all of it. 

Caera carefully sat him down on the closed toilet seat and turned on the faucet within the tub, letting the cool water fill the basin before turning back to the man. 

He was still watching the water, wide eyed, curious yet cautious. 

“Can I see your injuries?” Caera gestured to the plethora of gauze and linens that strapped the man’s arm and wing to his side, holding the limbs in place. A deep, purplish bruise, absolutely massive, spread across his entire side. From his neck and across his chest and stomach, all the way to his hip. Hidden only somewhat by the linens holding his limbs in place.

From where he had taken most of the hit from the vehicle. 

The man flinched away as Caera’s hand neared his injured side, his eyes narrowing. 

“I just want to make sure you don’t have any open wounds before you get into the tub, okay?” the vet explained. “And I don’t think you’d want to deal with soaking wet gauze stuck to your skin, won’t be fun.” 

“Either way, I will still need to change out your bandages. So they’re gonna have to come off.” he tried again, kneeling beside the man this time instead of towering over him. 

The winged man’s eyes softened slightly, but he still held himself closed up, still flinching away from the vet’s touch. 

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. “And I’ll get you some soup later, sound good?” 

It took a long moment, the winged man’s eyes darting back and forth between the gradually filling tub and the vet before him, before he finally relaxed enough to let Caera undo the bandages. 

Even still, he did bare his teeth, hissing as the vet accidentally touched a sore spot. 

Eventually, however, the bandages had been removed, leaving his patient in a layer of dust and dried blood and a pair of tattered pants. And now the bird man was eyeing the door. Much to Caera’s confusion. 

“I mean, if you want you can leave but I wouldn’t recommend it-” he shut up when he felt a surprisingly gentle whack of the man’s good wing, pushing him in the direction of the door. 

“Oh! Right, right, sorry!” he quickly stood and ushered himself out. 

“I’ll see about getting you some clean clothes too.” he said, before closing the door behind him. 

He waited a few moments, listening to ensure the man inside didn’t slip or need any further help. But the quiet shuffling and eventual sound of someone entering the tub, told him he was fine. 

It was as Caera was turning to leave, that he heard the loud, fluttering splashes. The unmistakable sound of a bird trying to bathe. Only, a very large bird. With very large wings. Who was making an absolute mess of the bathroom. 

Caera sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. 

“Of course he would.” he muttered. 

He added a mop to the list of things to bring back with him when the man was done.

Chapter Text

“Tommy?” 

The teen shot up from his chair in the lounge. “What up big man?” 

“Need yer help at the desk for a sec.” Techno’s monotone voice called out. 

Tommy groaned, if Techno needed help at the front desk, it usually meant that someone was being annoying. And that usually meant that Techno had to get someone who actually knew how to deal with annoying people. 

By being annoying back at them. 

Tommy grinned as he strutted into the front office. As much as he hated having to deal with some dumb tourist who didn’t realise that the desert did not have air conditioning or water fountains on demand, he still had to at least look like he was trying to be polite. 

Of course, that was usually a little easier to do when the tourist in question was constantly baffled by his comments. Too confused to get in a complaint and more concerned with just getting him to stop talking. 

“Hello hello and what can I do for you toda- what the fuck Techno?!” Tommy nearly shrieked as he saw the pink haired man...holding a snake. 

A rattlesnake to be exact. 

“Ya left the door unlocked yesterday.” The man stated, horrifyingly calm for the creature he was holding. 

The damn thing was just curled up around his arm, flicking its tongue about, completely calm. No rattling, no hissing, no coiling to strike. 

Tommy took a deep breath to calm himself, Techno was free-handling a fucking venomous snake and screaming was NOT a good reaction for anyone involved. 

“I take it I don’t need to tell ya that ya fucked up, right?” the pinkette raised an eyebrow. 

“No.” Tommy shook his head. “No I uh...I know I fucked up.” 

“...Sorry?” he added sheepishly. 

Techno nodded. “Accepted. Now man the desk while I get the little beastie back to his hole.” 

And then he promptly made his way out the front entry, all the while making soft cooing sounds to the rattlesnake coiling about his arm. 

Tommy shuddered, taking a seat at the desk, quickly checking beneath it for any other unwanted guests that may have snuck in. 

Idiot! He chided himself. He didn't remember leaving anything open or unlocked, but he supposed he must have. How else did that thing get in?!

That had been stupid. 

Anything with enough of a motive could have crept in last night, how a snake got in was still confusing but, not out of the question. Something else probably opened the door first, just a crack, and with the interior being warmer than outside of course there would be the issue of anything cold trying to sneak in to warm up a bit. 

Oh well… He’d just have to be extra vigilant now, he told himself as he noticed Techno making his way back inside. 

Just as he did, however, the desk phone rang. 

Before Techno even had a chance to answer, Tommy snatched the phone up. 

“Goodmorning!” He nearly shouted into the receiver. “Dust Mouth Park, the one and only operating Station number Three! You have the front desk, how may I help you today?” 

He shot Techno a triumphant grin as the man glared at him. 

“Ah fuck- Hey Toms, my man!” 

Tommy cringed at the all too familiar slurred words. 

“Hey….big J.” he glanced back at Techno, pleadingly as he mouthed ‘HELP ME!’. 

The man simply shrugged, a wicked grin on his face, mouthing the word ‘nah!’ before crossing his arms, taking a seat across from Tommy. Watching the boy’s continued grimace. 

Tommy grit his teeth. He hated talking with the ‘boss man’. 

“So I hear yer doing alright down there at, what was that you called it? The ‘one and only operating station’?” 

He flinched. 

“Yeah, yeah we’re doing good.” He cringed. 

It was true, Station Three was the only one still in operation. Though, who’s fault that was- 

“You know those other stations would still be operation’ if you actually bothered to check in on them right?” the rusty sounding voice in the receiver echoed hollowly in Tommy’s skull.

“Well it’s not our fault they go missing-” 

“Ohoho but aren’t you all supposed to be checkin’ in on each other? Making sure that they oh I dunno, don’t , go missing?” the voice is almost laughing. “Isn’t that, like, your whole fuckin job? Keeping an eye on things?” 

Tommy felt the phone yanked from his hands as Techno took over, the pinkette’s once triumphant look overtaken with a scowl. 

“Don’t bring the intern into this mess, Schlatt, he’s new.” he stated quietly. 

Though Tommy noticed a faint twitch in the man’s jaw as their boss’s voice started up again. 

The empty stations, the missing rangers, Tommy hadn’t been here long but even he knew the subject was a touchy one for Techno and Caera. New spaces for interns were always advertised back in town, but no one ever took them. Rumours of the missing rangers, the long empty stations, the skeleton crew that struggled to man the last one, all seemed to keep people away from any job within the ranger station. 

Hell, the local cryptid hunters even had their own theories about the place, Tommy knew first hand back when he had overheard them at the local Waffle House, plotting out their next scouting mission for some obscure sighting. 

He’d really only signed up to be an intern because no other job wanted to keep him… But still, he was proud of the place. Proud of how far he had gotten in the last three months. And it stung to hear the boss bringing up those old rumours. 

He couldn’t have been more grateful to see Techno wave him out of the room, taking on the task of listening to Schlatt grumble and whine about whatever it was he had called about before attempting to placate him. 

Probably drunk most of the time… Tommy shuffled his way back into the main lounge area, flopping back onto the couch and switching on the tv. 

He flicked through the channels, all cable, all boring. 

Mostly. 

The lack of wifi out this far, and the limited reception of satellite meant they were reliant on just the old fashioned cables that ran the length of the desert. Somehow still functioning after who knew how long. The limited shows that still ran this far out were mostly just news channels, some weather reports, and the occasional wildlife documentary. 

The latter of which wasn’t too bad, Tommy thought as he finally settled on a documentary about snakes. 

Ironic. He chuckled, considering the recent events of the morning. 

It was only just as he heard Techno at the front desk turn the phone off, finally, that he heard it. 

Breathing. 

Harsh and pained. 

Right behind his ear-

Tommy screamed as he saw the bird man launch himself upwards, slamming his feet into the TV screen right as a snake appeared on it, before falling hard to the floor.

Chapter Text

Pain. 

Deep, throbbing, aches that radiated out through his entire being. 

That was all he could feel. 

White flashes, mixed with fractals of red at the corners of his vision, blinded him with each ragged gasp. 

He curled in on himself, trying desperately to relieve the horrid gnawing of agony against his side. His leg, his arm, his wing, his chest, it hurt. 

It all hurt so much! 

He lay there, gasping, coughing. He had been attacked, he must have been attacked! He was flying low one minute, scouting the long, barren stretch within this hell-scape. Searching for...anything really...he was so hungry...so thirsty...so lost...so weak...it was wonder he could still fly really. 

And then out of nowhere, there were lights. A loud roar. A sudden impact to his side, slamming hard into him, knocking him out of the air and harshly to the ground where he tumbled in the dirt before coming to a stop. 

It had taken a moment, a long, cold, ear ringing moment. And then the pain had hit. 

He had screamed, broken and muffled as he shoved his hand over his mouth. Whatever had attacked him could still be out there, he thought, as he tried to drag himself to his knees. Fighting the agony that began to burn across his left side as he crawled, stumbling, away from the open stretch of land. 

He needed to hide, he told himself. Needed to hide, needed to hide, needed to hide-

It hurt! 

It hurt! 

It all hurt! 

Everything hurt! 

He coughed, wet and metallic, before collapsing to the ground. The ringing in his ears only grew louder...

He faded…..

____ 

His ears continued to ring, muffling the sounds of footsteps nearing him. 

He was too stunned to react, too hurt to move, too confused to fight back as he felt hands pry his wings aside. Felt hands peel his eyes open. Saw the bright flashing of a light stabbing into his brain. 

He was cold. Hot, then cold again. 

He felt himself begin to shiver as shock started to take hold. A pleasant numbness starting to spread across his form-

And then he was back. Back to the present, back in his aching, broken form as he felt pressure on his chest-

He snapped, slapping his good wing hard against the attacker, flinging his claws out and gnashing his teeth. 

Pain shot through his wrists and gut and wings as he felt something latch around them, pinning him to the ground. He flailed about once more, baring his teeth at the pink haired creature holding him in place, before the pain grew too much. He collapsed back to the earth, chest heaving, small snarls escaping between pained moans from behind his teeth, as the other creature continued to poke and prod. Though, far more gently than the pink haired one. 

He hissed as he felt the pink one rub his wrists, were they mocking him?! Performing that soothing motion after having just slammed their knees into his already aching wings?! After putting their full weight across his waist, throbbing from the impact of whatever had attacked him earlier?! 

They were speaking to one another, he could hear. 

A language he understood, but hadn’t heard spoken in many, many years. 

The pink one addressed him. 

He didn’t care what they had to say. He was hurt. He was hurt and they were only hurting him more. 

The minute the pink one released his wrists, he swiped at them, feeling a hint of satisfaction at seeing three red gashes form across their face before they pinned him once more. 

That had been a mistake, he realised, as they began to bind his wrists and ankles together. 

They weren’t going to let him leave. 

They were taking him somewhere- oh gods they were going to take him somewhere! They were going to hurt him more! He was never going to get home, never going to heal, never going to see his mate again, never-

He felt the horrid, tightening sensation of whatever they had used to bind him placed over his mouth. Silencing him. 

And then the pink one hefted him up, surprisingly gentle for what was surely about to happen. An arm beneath his knees and shoulders, his wings tucked carefully to his sides. 

He gave one last pleading glance to the one who had been gentle in their examinations of him, begging for some semblance of help. The creature’s green eyes were, oddly, full of concern. But they didn’t understand. 

Or, they didn’t care. 

He sighed heavily through his nose, and gave up. Letting himself go limp in the pink one’s arms. 

He’d need to save his strength, he knew. 

What little was left. 

______ 

He faded once more. 

_____

He returned as light brushed across his eyes, and he blinked awake. 

He was still being carried, towards a structure that emanated light. Towards a younger version of one of the creatures -a cub? chick?- that held him, their face contorted in fear and shock and….worry. 

The pink creature carried him to the back of the structure before laying him inside it. 

No!

He kicked at them. 

Please! Please no!  

The creatures continued to exchange words. 

The chick was arguing with them, berating them for their treatment of him- why did the young one care? 

He kicked again. 

Let me go! Please!

His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he took in where he was within the structure. 

It was small. 

So small. 

So cramped. 

So dark. 

He was going to die here. He was going to die, bound and boxed in and in pain and surrounded by creatures he hadn’t seen in many, many years-

Please! Please! 

“...not a bird…”

“...why are you...treating him like one?” 

“...might work…” 

Everything was so small, so small and cramped, he couldn’t see the sky, his heart continued to beat frantically in his chest, he kicked again, trying to find some way to get out, where was the sky?! Where was the sky?! 

He couldn’t die here, not here, not here where he couldn’t see the sky-

Something soft was placed over his eyes.

And…

It was like she was there, her hands over his eyes, quietly soothing him. 

___

He faded again…

___

He wasn’t sure what woke him this time. 

He was weaker now. 

He could twitch, he flinched as he felt hands around his form once more, carrying him somewhere. He could feel the cold of something beneath his back as he was laid out. He could feel the edges of a blade cutting his tunic from his chest. He could feel the sting of a foul smelling liquid being applied to the open wounds across his frame, the deep ache of his bones as they were shifted and set back into place and bound together with a splint to heal. 

Through it all he heard the concerned mumbling of the tall, green eyed creature, fumbling about. Cleaning his wounds, setting his bones, assisting in carrying him somewhere. 

He was finally released from his bonds, the horrid sticky cloth was removed from his mouth and his eyes were freed from whatever had blinded him. 

He took in his surroundings, wearily eyeing the strange...room?... he had been placed in. He was lying on a cot of sorts, surrounded by pillows, and blankets. At least those were recognisable. Above him, on the wall, thank the gods, was a window. Allowing him to see the sky. 

Still as dark as it had been when he had begun his useless hunt some -was it hours?- ago. 

He let himself rest his head against the pillows, curling onto his good side. There were...things...like leeches, white circles plastered to his chest and wrists and ankles. Threads attached to them on one end, weaving under a strange, clear door and to a tall thing he couldn’t describe, had never seen, could never have even imagined, on the other side of the door. 

The thing beeped in time with his heart. 

They were watching his heart, he realised. Somehow, with whatever cursed magic they had mastered. 

But why? 

He didn’t know…

He was so tired…

So hurt…

So tired….

_____ 

They woke him again with their footsteps. 

He snarled in warning, remembering the pain the pink one had caused not more than maybe an hour ago. 

His wings still hurt…

The green eyed one held their hands up in truce. 

He didn’t trust it...but...something smelled delicious…

The green eyed one said it was food, holding it out for him. 

Why should he trust them? Why should he trust anything they said?! They had taken him, bound him, locked him somewhere. Had hurt him more…

But…

The cold sensation of the things sticking to his chest, the threads tied to them shifting as he breathed, reminded him of his position here. 

He didn’t know what they wanted from him, but they were watching him, possessing magic he didn’t understand. 

They had their magic watching his heart…

They could kill him if they wanted to…

They could kill him so easily…

He could already imagine himself writhing as the threads pinned to his chest shook with magic, tearing into his lungs, burning him from the inside out- 

He was in no place to fight them, he realised. 

So, cautiously, he allowed the green eyed one, the one with some semblance of sympathy, to thread a tube between his teeth and allow him to eat. 

It was...actually quite good? 

Warm, savoury broth flooded across his tongue. Fatty and flavourful and so, so needed after however long he had gone without food… 

He remembered her, the nights spent under the stars, a small cauldron of warm broth and rabbit shared between them…. 

He felt so cold…

So cold…

A loud, rapid beeping filled his ears as he felt himself slipping again… 

_____ 

He came too as he felt hands around him once more, propping him up against someone. His head lolled back, limp and unresponsive to his will, against their shoulder as he heard them talking worriedly. 

The tube was threaded through his teeth again, the broth carefully dripped into his mouth. Instinctively, he lapped it up, whimpering as the movements of whoever held him jogged his wounds. 

“...there you go…” 

“...you’re...okay…” 

“...doing well…” 

“...keep breathing…” 

“....’s okay….” 

No, no it wasn’t. 

He continued to swallow the broth, and the new fluid he was being given, sickeningly sweet. He had no choice. 

So thirsty…

So hungry…

So hurt…

He paused once, unable to swallow anymore, until he felt fingertips against his throat, soothing the broth down. 

He felt sick…

He was so hungry but this was too much…

It hurt...

Hurt to drink...

Hurt to keep swallowing...

His stomach ached...

He no longer bothered to fight them as they finally laid him back against the cot he lay on. Too weak, too exhausted….

______ 

He drifted in and out of consciousness as dawn filtered in through the window of the room. 

His stomach ached, violently clenching as it fought to digest the broth within him. 

He was so confused. 

They had hurt him, and then helped him? And then attached him to that awful, beeping...thing… outside the clear door, surely to keep him here...right? 

He could break through the hinges of the door, if he were strong enough. They seemed to know that, that must have been why his chest was tethered to that thing. It was to keep him here. 

But, if he was their captive, why were they helping him? Why were they speaking in hushed tones around him, with such concern? 

What did they want from him? 

He shifted, careful not to jog his wounded side, until he was lying more comfortably, resting his chin on his good arm as he peered out through the clear door. 

If he was going to be their captive, he should at least start thinking about how to escape this place-

The young one was walking past. 

The little chick. 

He stared at them, studying them. 

Why was a chick here? What purpose was having a young one living with them? 

The chick quickened their pace, almost running past him and down the hallway, no doubt nervous. 

Was the chick their apprentice? For...whatever sort of work they did? He wore the same uniform as them, so he probably was…

He felt his stomach lurch, tightening angrily. 

Panic hit him. 

What if he puked? 

Was that bad? In their eyes?

Would he be in trouble? A prisoner dirtying their floors?

What would they do?!

What would that beeping thing do to him?!

He tried to claw his way to the clear door, coughing, desperately trying to hold back the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him- 

He wasn’t fast enough. 

He lay there, red fluid dripping from his mouth and nose as he noticed the chick returning, a shocked, horrified look upon their face. 

They spoke, their voice creaking and broken in fear, as they knelt beside the door, before shouting. Calling for help. 

The chick didn’t want to hurt him. 

He knew that now. 

If they’d had any ill intentions at all, they’d have taken this moment to act on them. 

He weakly raised a hand, pressing it to the clear door. The chick mimicked his motions, concern and sympathy written across their face. 

The chick was an ally….

_____ 

He drifted again. 

He saw her once more, fading in and out of his dreams. 

He saw her flying beside him, wingtip to wingtip. Saw her smiling face, heard her laughter. Felt her gentle hands sooth his pains. 

They never needed to speak. There was no reason to. They knew each other inside and out, a hundred years and more together makes conversation less about spoken words, and more about the small things. Little actions, gestures, a raise of a brow, a touch to the face, a brushing of knuckles against an arm. 

He wished he had spoken to her more though. He knew words could never fully encapsulate how much he loved her, how much he missed her. But they at least added to that affirmation. 

He wished he had held onto her hand tighter, wished he had been stronger, wished his grip hadn’t slipped within that storm…

She wasn’t dead. 

He knew that, deep down, he knew she was alive. 

But she was lost. Just as lost as he was. 

He groaned weakly as he began to come to. 

The green eyed creature was threading a tube into his nose, filling his lungs with fresh, cool air. He breathed it deeply, feeling slightly lightheaded as he did, though it somehow seemed to strengthen him. His breaths were less shallow, his heart stammered less. 

Whatever it was that he was breathing was helping him. 

He listened then, carefully plotting out what the creatures were saying. 

The green eyed one was confused, concerned, not knowing why he had vomited it seemed. The pink one was passive, calm. Unnervingly so. They stated the obvious about why he had puked, and the green eyed one raised their voice. 

He winced as their voice shot through his skull, and they quickly stopped, gently settling him back onto the cot. 

He let himself go limp and drifted once more. 

But not before noting that the green eyed creature was also a potential ally. 

They were helping him. 

Why, he did not know. 

But he wasn’t about to question it. 

When he awoke once more, they were offering the broth to him yet again. 

Thicker this time, they said, anti nausea magics within it. 

He relented to their assistance, too exhausted to fight. The broth was just as good as it had been before, though less harsh on his stomach, filling him without straining him. 

He finally drifted again. 

And faded into sleep. 

_____ 

He awoke before dawn the next day. 

He felt better. 

Much better, actually. 

His side still throbbed, his ribs ached with a deep set pain at each inhale, his arm and leg were still horrendously sore. His wing...well…

But he didn’t feel sick.

The shakiness in his limbs had faded, he could sit up finally. 

So he did and...oh…

The chick was asleep opposite the door. 

They were concerned for him then, he confirmed, leaning up against the door himself, soaking in the warmth that radiated from the sleeping form beside him. 

He’d have to thank them, when he finally escaped...if, if he was indeed captured? 

He pondered that thought. 

Had this been nothing but a horrible misunderstanding on his part? 

Were these creatures just trying to help him this whole time? And, having probably never encountered his kind before him, there had been a miscommunication? 

It was quite possible, he realised. 

He fluffed up his good wing, it itched horribly, and gingerly stretched it out a bit within the room. Carefully inspecting it. 

There were no parasites, though, quite a few feathers were misaligned. A good handful were broken, from when the pink one had knelt into them…

He scowled at the sight before carefully picking through the feathers, smoothing them out, plucking the broken ones with a slight wince and straightening what he could. There wasn’t much he could do about rinsing the dust and oils from the skin, and without…

He felt his heart tighten. 

...without his mate, he couldn’t reach the ones nearest his back. 

The pathetic attempt at preening he had done would just have to do then- 

He froze as he felt eyes on him. 

The pink one had returned. They nudged the chick, waking them up, exchanged a few words, before the chick ran off. 

He had tried to show the little one he meant no harm, yawning, exposing his throat and closing his eyes as he did. But, apparently some gestures of trust were not universal, he realised as the young one had instead bolted down the hall. 

He glared at the pink one. The one that had hurt him the most, the one that seemed to be the least caring, the one that, probably, he should be careful around.

They were strong, he knew. 

Unlike the other two, this one clearly had muscle beneath their uniform. Scars across their arms belied a past of strength and conflict, their stoic expression a sense of eerie calmness. Their piercing, grey eyes, narrow in thought. 

Intelligent, strong, and cunning. 

They spoke, apologising for what they had done. 

He didn’t trust them. 

“Touch me again,” his own words startled him, his voice cracked and weak, unused for so long. “And they’ll never find your body.” 

It was a bluff. 

He was too weak to fight them, not now at least. 

But it worked. 

And once they were out of sight, he faded once more as exhaustion took him yet again. 

___ 

It was hot when he woke. 

Not as hot as the desert had been when he had been wandering through it, but it was still uncomfortable. 

His skin itched, layered with sweat and dust and dried blood. 

It was miserable.

He was thirsty….

He smelled water from somewhere within the room. 

Odd. He didn’t see any place where water would be collected, except… these creatures had strange magics. They had grown away from the gods and they had functioned well on their own for millenia. 

They were bound to have some ways of collecting water that wouldn’t be obvious. 

He let his eyes wander across the room, until they finally landed on a strange basin, on a pedestal by the wall. Three metallic items placed on the far rim. 

He shuffled towards it, the scent of water was strong there, and inspected it. 

The central metal thing was a tube, a pipe? He’d heard of such things, capable of carrying water for hundreds of miles. 

The other metal things seemed to be handle shaped. 

Would pulling on them activate someth-

He nearly jumped in surprise as one of the metal handles moved as he tugged on it, sending a gentle trickle of water from the central pipe.

Cool and fresh and a godsend! 

He sank a joint of his wing into the basin, resting himself against it as he let the water stream across his feathers and onto his skin. Soaking in the coolness and the relief it gave. Maybe, maybe he could get a bit of the dust off of him with the water? But, he couldn’t cup his hands together, not with one of them splinted to his side. 

Ah well… It was a decent thought at least.

When the green eyed creature found him, they seemed genuinely surprised. 

It was amusing, he grinned. 

They offered him a strange bottle, clear like glass but thin and smelling of ice, asking him if he was thirsty. 

A prisoner would never be offered anything. He finally realised. 

It had to be a misunderstanding then. 

They were trying to help him, at least, the young one and this green eyed one were. 

He took a few sips, before the itching on his skin began to grow unbearable. He finally, not thinking about the other creature within the room with him, spat the water out onto his shoulder, rubbing at the layer of dried dust near the worst of the itch. 

“...need a bath?” 

He paused. 

He did, in fact, need a bath. 

“...you do know what a bath is..?” 

He rolled his eyes at the creature -did they think he was stupid?- and gave his wing an obvious twitch within the basin above his head. Of course he knew what a bath was! 

Did...did the creature think he was trying to bathe himself with his own spit? He was just trying to alleviate the itching of his skin, dried and dusty as it was, but...a bath would be nice. 

Prisoners would never be offered anything…  

Except, it was growing more and more obvious by the minute, he...wasn’t a prisoner. 

Tentatively, he took the creature’s hand, allowing them to help him to his feet and- 

Gods that hurt! 

The pressure of his full weight on his injured side, the movement, the shifting of broken ribs within his chest. He grit his teeth and winced, but swallowed the pain down. He could still walk, not well, but he could- 

The movement sent the threads pasted to his chest and ankles shifting, tugging against his skin. 

He froze, eyeing them cautiously. 

If he wasn’t a prisoner...if that beeping thing wasn’t to keep him here, then what would happen if he tried to leave the room-

“Oh these just pull off.” the green eyed creature gave a thread a light tug and it released from the little white circle stuck to his skin. “See?” 

“....monitors your heart...in case it stopped…” 

So it wasn’t a bad thing, he realised. 

Though he still jumped when the thing screeched upon another thread being removed. Despite the soothings being uttered by the creature beside him, he still didn’t trust that...that thing. Whatever it was. 

He didn’t trust the floor outside the room either, feeling like grass beneath his bare feet, but wrong somehow. 

Until the creature removed their foot coverings, showing him it was safe. 

They were far more gentle than he remembered when they removed the bandages from his wounds, now that they were in this “bathroom” with a “tub” that was slowly filling with water. 

Despite their explanations and apparent care for him, they didn’t seem to get the message that he didn’t want to be watched. 

Even if they were just trying to help him, they weren’t that close. Not in the slightest. 

He gave them a light thwap with his good wing, shooing them away, waiting until the door had closed and he had heard them walk off before he stripped himself of his trousers. 

Wincing as the movements pulled angrily at the massive bruise that covered his entire left side. He stood, shakily, and inspected himself in the incredibly large mirror on the wall. He’d only ever seen mirrors that were hand sized before, affixed to a fancy handle and given as gifts. He’d never even thought one could be this big before. 

He looked terrible, he noted. 

His hair was caked with dust and blood. His left eye, bloodshot and slightly swollen. A massive, mottled, black and purple bruise ran from his thigh, all the way to his face. Broken up by patches of split skin, scabbed over and crusted. 

His injured arm was very definitely broken, as was his wing, which hugged against his back in support. 

Cracked ribs too, he noted. And definitely a massive sprain in his left leg. 

He was surprised, but grateful, his hip wasn’t broken. Though it still hurt to walk, let alone move. 

 He gingerly lowered himself into the tub, hissing as the cool water stung the scabbed up wounds in his side. But then sighing as the coolness alleviated the pains within the bruise. He carefully washed himself, dipping his good wing in and out of the water, letting the droplets pool beneath his feathers and lightly scrubbing them with his claws before flinging the water out, and the dirt and oils and dried blood with it. 

He was relieved to find the white circles that clung to his chest and ankles, peeled off easily once they had grown wet. Leaving only a light, sticky residue in their wake. Gross, but nothing he couldn’t scrub off.

He sank his head beneath the water, letting his hair soak as he picked through the strands, untangling them and smoothing them out. Before letting himself float for a while, albeit as best he could, considering the rather small basin. 

Small in comparison to the rivers and ponds he was more accustomed to. 

He closed his eyes, letting the cool water wash across his aching form. If she was here, she would be combing his hair by now. He would be picking through her feathers, straightening each one and smoothing them with utmost care. They would sit awhile, enjoying one another’s presence in silence, perhaps even nap a bit. 

He opened his eyes, sitting back up within the basin, rubbing a hand across his face. 

He wanted to go home…

He needed to find her. 

He carefully clambered from the basin, fluttering his good wing about until it was sufficiently dry, gently squeezing out the soaked feathers of his broken wing. Before limping to the door, carefully peering out of it. Uncertain if he should alert anyone, or just put on his old, gross trousers and sneak out-

There was a thick cloth just outside the door, folded neatly beside a clean pair of trousers and strange, tie-less tunic. 

He took them, closing the door behind him. 

The cloth must be for drying himself, he realised. As for the clothing, they were….strange. 

He managed to fit the trousers just fine, though the material was thicker than what he was used to. Not uncomfortable by any means, just, odd. 

The tunic however…

While he had managed to carefully thread his head and arms through, his wings were another problem. Laying just above his hips, about mid back, they hiked up the back of the tunic, uncomfortably wadding it up against his already sore back. 

He took his claws to it, tearing a gap in the cloth large enough to fit his wings. 

They probably won’t mind… he told himself. 

He wasn’t a prisoner, he knew that now. If they had given him clothes he doubted they would mind if he modified them to fit. 

But...now what was he supposed to do? 

He folded the cloth he had used to dry himself, leaving it beside the basin, now half empty from his cleaning. And quietly exited the room. 

Perhaps, now that he was strong enough to walk, not too well but at least well enough, he should thank his...rescuers? And be on his way? 

Maybe? 

But then where would he go? 

His wing was broken, he could barely stay upright, the pain of his injuries was exhausting, he had no idea where he would find his next meal, let alone water within this unfamiliar desert. 

Maybe, he could stay? 

It sure seemed as if that had been their intent in the first place, to keep him here. 

He should ask, he told himself. 

He slowly made his way down the hall, until he reached a larger room from the rest. 

The young one was there, lounging lazily across a cushioned seat, staring at an odd window full of moving creatures.

It was...so bizarre. The window emanated sounds, louder than life, full of colour and vibrancy and showing images he had never imagined seeing in just a window before.

Was it really a window? Or was it some sort of magic once more? 

All questions were erased, however, as a massive snake appeared in the window. Coiled, hissing, ready to strike right at the little one. They seemed unmoving, were they lazy or just unconcerned?! What were they doing?! 

That snake was massive! It’s fangs were large enough to tear muscle, it’s venom must be lethal at that size! 

Instinct took over and without thinking, Philza launched himself at the snake in the window.

Chapter Text

“It’s okay! It’s okay! It’s just a TV! It’s okay!” Caera carefully guided the limping bird man away from the ruined, shattered remains of the TV screen. 

The man, wide eyed and confused, kept glancing between him, the mess that was the TV, and Tommy. 

The poor kid seemed just as frightened as the man at the incident. 

“I...I think...he saw the snake…” Tommy mumbled in explanation. 

Ah, that would do it. Caera realised, gently sitting the bird man onto a nearby chair. He had probably never seen a TV before, and suddenly seeing a snake appear, of course he would be reasonably scared of it. 

Caera had been alerted, once more, by Tommy’s shriek for help, and had bolted to the lounge. Only to find the bird creature, cleaned and in the clothes he had gathered for him, bent double on the ground, gasping in pain. Surrounded by shards of the absolutely trashed TV. 

Tommy, with a terrified look on his face, had explained the man had launched himself at the screen, punching and kicking it until it had stopped flickering. 

Which explains the blood… Caera cringed at the sight of the bloody knuckles on the man’s good hand and the bruise forming on top of his foot. 

“You okay?” he took a seat beside him on the couch, inspecting his new injuries. 

The bird man glared at the shattered remains of the tv, nodding. 

“You know, the snake you saw wasn’t real, it was just an image.” Caera tried to explain as he carefully cleaned the cuts across the man’s knuckles. “It wasn’t real, but uh…” 

He glanced at Tommy, piecing together what must have happened in his mind. 

The bird man had seen the snake, an image which would be frightening enough on its own to someone who didn’t understand what a TV was, but Tommy was there as well. 

Tommy, who the man had probably understood was trying to help him, and still technically a child. 

“Thanks for trying to keep Toms safe though.” Caera smiled. “There was no real danger but the thought is appreciated.” 

“Especially after all you’ve gone through.” he added. 

The bird man’s eyes flicked back and forth between the broken TV, Tommy, and Caera’s own eyes. Understanding slowly forming within them. 

The bird man nodded back.

“Holy...I leave ya alone for five minutes and you break the fuckin TV?” 

The bird man’s eyes narrowed, his head whipping around as his wings fluffed, hissing as Techno entered the lounge. 

“....Ah.” the pinkette nodded, as if everything suddenly made sense. 

“He thought the TV was-” Caera was cut off from his explanation. 

“I gathered.” Techno nodded, crossing to the far side of the room before taking a seat. 

Caera noted how the bird man continued to watch him with narrow eyes, a low growl deep in his throat as he eyed the pinkette. 

“He threaten either of you two yet?” Techno picked at his fingernails. 

“Uh...no?” Tommy glanced at Caera, confused. 

“Aside from hissing, which he’s not really been doing much of lately.” Caera patted the top of the man’s hands, trying to sooth him. “Until you walked in.”

Why does he hate Techno? He wondered. 

“No no, like, uh, actually threatened ya I meant.” Techno raised a brow, glancing between Tommy and Caera. 

The vet blinked, confused. 

“Huh?” 

“This mornin’, said you’d never find my body?” Techno now began to look confused as well. 

“He hasn’t said a word, to me anyhow.” Caera shook his head. “Toms?” 

Tommy shrugged. “Nah, just uh, lots of creepy stares?” 

“Well, after what he just did,” the vet gestured to the pile of broken glass and cables on the floor. “I don’t think the staring is malicious.” 

“Aww!” Techno chuckled. “He thinks you’re a baby!” 

“I am NOT!” Tommy snapped, crossing his arms. 

“You think he’s a baby?” Caera asked the bird man. "That’s fuckin adorable man! Is that why you kicked the TV?” 

The bird man’s eyes softened a bit as he turned towards Tommy, the snarl morphing into a low rumble, almost a purr? Or maybe a coo? 

Caera had never heard the sound before, or anything like it. It was chilling, almost eerie, and yet, it was surprisingly soothing. Was it some sort of vocalisation of affection? Reassurance? 

“Oh...oh that is weird…” Tommy backed away. “Look I know that’s not an angry sound but it’s kinda...it’s weirding me out, sorry.” 

The bird man stopped, an almost hurt look in his eye, as he nodded slowly in understanding. 

“Well, looks for sure like he can understand us at least.” Caera stated. 

“So I’m not crazy then.” Techno crossed his arms. “I did hear him speak.” 

“Did you threaten Techno?” Caera asked the man before him. He doubted that was the case, but, Techno had never lied before… 

The bird man only fluffed his feathers, hissing once more at the pinkette, before turning back to Caera, holding his hands out for him to finish bandaging. 

“I don’t think he can talk.” Caera shook his head, returning to wrapping the strips of gauze around his knuckles. 

“Bull.” Techno huffed, finally getting up from his seat and leaving the room. “Well you take care of him then, I still don’t think he likes me.” 

“Will do.” Caera nodded, turning back to the bird man. 

The man looked heaps better than he did that morning. 

Colour had returned to his face, now free of dust and dried blood. His hair had been combed through, about shoulder length Caera noted, now that it was no longer matted or sticking to the sides of his face. And was a glossy golden colour. Quite the contrast to his near, night black wings. 

He still looked tired though, but that was to be expected. He had been hit by a fucking truck not more than two days ago, it was a wonder he was even capable of getting a running jump at a wall mounted TV screen! 

“He’s not as scary as he looks,” Caera grinned at the man. “Techno, that is. All the animals here like him, that’s always a good sign you know? They don’t trust bad people.” 

The man simply scowled, his feathers fluffing once more, though far less than usual. 

“Sorry, don’t really know what else to tell you other than he’s a good person.” Caera stood, offering a hand to the man. “You look tired.” 

The bird man sighed, taking his hand, leaning heavily on him as he began to lead him out of the lounge. 

“We got a spare room, lots actually, we’re pretty short staffed.” Caera continued to ramble, keeping note of how the man favoured his left leg as they walked. “So we can get you settled there instead of the bathroom if you want?” 

He didn’t see any sort of response in the man, other than a general weariness that seemed to weigh heavily across his eyes. So, he guided him to the new room in question, opening the curtains to let the sunlight through and setting him gently against the bed. 

He then left to retrieve the heart monitor, and was surprised to see the old sensor pads had been removed from their places when he returned.

“You’re not in trouble!” he quickly raised his hands in peace as the bird man seemed to grow worried at the sight of the missing sensors. “It’s okay, I got more. And they fall off in water anyway so it’s not a big deal.” 

The vet then carefully placed the new set of sensors onto the man, pausing as he noticed the concerned look on the bird man’s face, his blue eyes constantly shifting towards the heart monitor. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Caera took his hand. “It’s just gonna let me know if something bad happens to you while you’re asleep, alright? It doesn’t do anything else.” 

The bird man’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

“I promise.” Caera gave his hand a light squeeze. “I’m just trying to help you as best I can, okay? None of us here are going to hurt you.” 

It took a moment, a long moment actually, before the bird man let out a sigh, his hand relaxing in Caera’s grip, finally allowing him to clip the chords in place to the sensors. 

And after having his wing and arm re-wrapped, he curled onto his good side beneath the blankets, burrowing beneath them. 

Caera took that as his cue to leave. 

“The door is unlocked by the way,” he said as he exited. “And the bathroom that you were in you can use for whatever you need.” 

He only received a light chuffing sound in response as he left, leaving the door slightly ajar to listen to the heart monitor. 

As he made his way back into the lounge, a horrible thought struck him. 

“.....ah fuck…” he rubbed his face at the sight of the shattered TV. 

“Yeah no shit!” Tommy hissed from where he knelt on the ground, carefully picking up the broken pieces of the TV. “How the FUCK do we explain this to the boss man?!”

Chapter Text

Techno paced. 

He walked to the end of the front entry, then back to the desk. Back to the entry, back to the desk. 

Mulling over their options. 

They couldn’t just tell Schlatt the TV was broken, not after the diatribe he had just received from the man. 

He cringed at the memory of the drunken, angry rambles and threats of pay cuts. And worse. 

At least he hadn’t mentioned the cops like last time, Techno shuddered at the thought. While Caera already knew some of his history, he didn’t dare let Tommy know. 

He didn’t dare let Caera know too much either. 

How Schlatt knew was anyone’s guess, the bastard was just good at reading people and too good at connecting dots it seemed. 

Either way, they weren’t going to get a new TV from Schlatt. 

Techno finally slumped back into the chair behind the desk, giving himself a light spin as he sputtered out a breath of exasperation. 

“Blegh…” he stared up at the ceiling. 

They could always just buy another TV, but...Schlatt always kept records on major company purchases. 

But, the man didn’t keep records of individual worker’s purchases...so there was that option, except for the fact they were all kind of broke. 

“No for that one then.” he sat back up, propping his elbows onto the desk as he pondered what to do, before hearing a soft ‘mrow’ beside him. 

Lincoln’s dusty, striped form hopped up onto the desk, rubbing himself under his chin, purring loudly. 

Techno grinned, lightly scratching the cat beneath his chin as the purr grew into an almost motor-loud rumble. He didn’t remember letting the cat in but, then again, this was Lincoln. The old man seemed to know every inch of the station, he’d probably wriggled in through an air vent or something. Either way, he didn’t mind the company.

“What do you say old man?” he gave the cat’s cheeks a little squish between his hands. “We go pool our cash together and see what’s on sale at the ol' Walamrt?” 

“Mrrrrrup?” the cat nosed his hand, demanding more chin scritches. 

“Nah, yer right.” Techno obliged the old tomcat. “Don’t think any of us have that kind of moolah just floatin’ around.” 

“Then again…” he wondered aloud. “...who says we have to buy a new a TV?” 

“Abso-fuckin-lutely-NOT!” Caera, weary eyed and carrying a massive thermos of coffee stumbled into the room, before slamming himself into the chair next to the pinkette. Lincoln puffed up at the intrusion, hissing once before hopping into Techno’s lap, continuing to purr. 

“...you scared my cat.” the pinkette scowled. 

“You were plotting theft.” Caera took a massive swig of the coffee. 

“Well-” 

“No, absolutely not!” Caera chugged once more before gasping for air, continuing his rant. 

“I don’t care for excuses right now Tech, I’ve been keeping a cryptid alive for the past forty eight hours and my patience has run thin.” He emphasised his point by pinching his fingers together. “Thin, Techno, very THIN!” 

Techno smirked. Caera was like an angry, yappy dog whenever he was irritated and tired. -Irri-tired?- Like one of those paranoid, curly haired, white dogs that old ladies always seemed to have. Friendly one second and snarling and barking the next. 

It was hilarious, really, the fact Caera, basically a twig, even had the guts to threaten him. 

“Alrighty then.” Techno scratched behind Lincoln's ears, turning in his chair to face Caera. 

A villain petting his cat . He grinned. 

“You try explaining to Schlatt how the TV broke then.” 

Caera’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes whirling as he tried to think.

Techno had him there. 

“Lets see, a large bird escaped its cage and crashed into it- oh, but that would place the blame on us for not being more observant in our jobs, ey?” he chuckled. “And of course, that would come out of our next pay-check.” 

Caera fumbled. 

“Oh! We were too rough with the controllers while playing Mario Party and one of us raged!” Techno laughed. “Ah but then we’d be stuck with the issue of us being at fault again.” 

Caera fumed. 

“Then again, could always just be honest?” Techno shrugged. “The local cryptid yeeted himself into the TV upon seeing an image of a snake.”

“Oh sure, and let us get laughed at for a good hour before getting hung up on.” Caera huffed. 

“Well, then, I’m all open for suggestions.” Techno returned to petting Lincoln, showering the cat in little head-scritches and kisses and belly rubs as the tabby demanded, curling onto his back in the man’s lap, purring like a hailstorm. 

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, echoing through the room for a solid minute before he finally squeaked, “Adventurous...mishap...regarding a television and...obscure incident?” 

Techno raised a brow. “Now that’s a new one. I’m not even sure Schlatt and his multitude of lawyers would know about that.” 

Caera flung his hands up. 

“Alright then smart guy!” he huffed. “What do you suggest we do?” 

“Well, I’m glad you asked.” Techno pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully. “You see, there’s an old acquaintance of mine-” 

“And you’ve lost me.” Caera shook his head. “No acquaintance of yours is to be trusted.” 

“Oh no, I don’t trust them.” Techno grinned. “But, I do know that they are always in the market to one up me. In any way possible.” 

He felt a surge of success as Caera seemed to bite the prospect, if only briefly, the vet’s eyes lighting up for a minute at the vaguely proposed prospect. 

“Continue.” the redhead said. 

“So this old buddy of mine,” Techno obliged. “I leave him a note at a very specific location. He goes and does the dirty work and returns expecting to have beat us at our own game. But, and here’s the kicker,” 

He snickered. “We call the cops on his ass and claim he stole our brand new TV.” 

“Oh for fucks sake…” Caera groaned, smacking his hands to his face. 

“And then we rock up with a nicely forged receipt, we still have that old printer for it right? And then,” he laughed. “New TV! No money spent, no Walmart with my face on it, we makin' it!” 

“I hate this job.” Caera grumbled. 

“So you’re in?” Techno held his hand out. 

Caera groaned, but shook on it anyhow. 

“Alrighty then!” Techno stood, hefting Lincoln to his shoulder. “I’ll get started on those receipts and you go prep your sob story to the coppers.” 

“Kill me. Just...just kill me.” Caera sighed.

Chapter Text

It hurt. 

It hurt!

It hurt so much! 

Philza felt as if his chest was being crushed. The bright lights, the loud roaring in his ears, the heavy crunching of metal on bone, replayed over and over again. 

He was flying. 

Dangerously low. 

Exhausted. 

Hungry. 

Thirsty. 

Weak. 

Lost. 

And then there were lights. A horrible scream. A sharp, heavy pain across his side before he tumbled to the dirt. 

And then he was falling. Continuing to fall. The pain in his side now replaced by a horrid throbbing in his wings. 

He flapped them frantically, only for his body to seize in agony as a stabbing sensation shot through them and into his back. 

He could see them now, the spears, piercing through his wings. Blood dripping down their now mangled black feathers. 

Hands grasped the spears, numerous and pale and angry. 

Screams echoed in his ears as figures bound him, gagged him, burned him with torches, slashed at him with crude knives. 

His own cries to the gods, pleading, begging for help, went unnoticed. 

Hands grasped and tore, knives cut and stabbed, years of pain and chains and weakened pleas for a saviour rattled about his consciousness. He fought back, he killed, he maimed, he spared. But in the end, he was left, wings and limbs pinned and tied to a high mountain altar as he was abandoned. To die or be spared, that was for the gods to decide. 

He had seen it then, a dark maw, a mouth of teeth that never ended, clotted eyes that saw everything. His soul, his past, his deepest desires, his darkest fears. The maw stretched for miles, thousands upon thousands through eternity, gnashing its teeth in both deafening roars and utter silence. Tendrils of its being whipping about, screaming, laughing, drawing closer and farther and not there at all, slicing through his consciousness. 

And then there was silence. No teeth, no screams, no eternal maw threatening to tear his very being apart and reform it in some twisted fashion. 

There was only the cold biting at his skin, the throbbing pain of his limbs pinned beneath the spears, and a soft hand on his cheek. 

He had leaned into it, sobbing as she freed him, dragged him down the mountain. He had continued to lean against her whenever he could from there on, closing his eyes as her hand smoothed his hair. 

The gods had answered his prayer, he knew. They had freed him. Just as they had freed her. As they had freed all of their kind from that dark, endless maw of his people’s nightmares. 

He could rest forever in those arms, so gentle and strong, as she soothed his hurt. He could listen to her voice forever, her infectious laughter, her warbling songs. 

It was as he came to, finally blinking awake, that he realised she was not there. 

Philza rubbed his eyes, blinking once. 

Then again.

 Before he sat up. 

He was back in the same room he had been left in earlier that day. Clean and bandaged and hooked up to that strange thing that watched over his heart as he slept. From the faint, red and purple haze that glowed softly through the window, he gathered it was twilight. 

Philza pressed a hand to his cheek, rubbing his thumb across it, mimicking her motions. A pitiful imitation, he sighed. Her calloused hands were far more gentle than his own could ever hope to be, their talons lightly tracing patterns across his brow that only she could seem to see. But the motion was comforting nonetheless.

His heart ached, though the human’s magic device did not notice. 

He stayed there for a moment, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, his hand against his cheek. 

He’d never been without her for this long, not since they’d met. 

How many days had it been, he wondered? 

A week? 

Two maybe? 

Since he’d...since he’d lost his grip...

Time was hard to tell when one was exhausted and starving. 

About which … He felt his stomach groan hungrily. 

He needed something for that. 

Philza stood, gingerly, limping heavily as he stumbled towards the door. Ignoring the angry, single noted tone the monitor screeched as he was disconnected from it. 

He was too hungry to care. 

He shuffled out of the room, noting the odd fixtures upon the walls and ceiling that illuminated the hall with the light of day, despite the growing darkness outside. 

They’ve grown so much… he marvelled at the light fixtures, remembering back to the last time he had encountered these creatures, having only lanterns of tallow and torches for light. 

His nose picked up the scent of something sweet, salty, fragrant and vaguely of edibles. And his stomach groaned hungrily at the scent. He followed it, ignoring the otherwise fantastic lights that lit the way, leaning heavily on the wall as he slowly made his way to what he assumed must be the kitchen of the place. 

It was so unlike anything he had ever seen before. Rather than a stone oven or even a fire pit, there was only a table and chairs, and walls lined with cupboards and counters. The only thing recognisable was the sink basin and even that was only familiar in function. 

But, where there was a kitchen, there was food. And hunger knows no mercy. 

Philza quietly made his way through each cupboard, pausing often to catch his breath -gods just moving was exhausting!- as he shuffled through the contents. 

Pots and pans, fine glass dishware, containers made of that same, clear material he had seen in that bottle from earlier, all crowded within the cupboards. 

They must be wealthy to afford such fine things. He mused, wondering what sort of trade they did to afford such. 

When he finally found the pantry, he was even more baffled. 

Bread, already sliced, packaged in glass as thin as a cloth and just as strong. Boxes of bright colours filled to the brim with sweet smelling grain biscuits. Metal canisters with images of their contents. More of that strange, durable glass containing dried meats and cheese. And even more things he could barely describe. 

His mouth watered at the scent. 

They wouldn’t mind if he took some of the smaller items, right? 

He grabbed a box that seemed half full, filled with that strange glass packaging that in turn contained those sweet smelling grain biscuits. He cautiously picked a few out, circular and brightly coloured, smelling of berries and sugar. And carefully placed one in his mouth. 

He was bombarded by a sweet flavour, intense and almost disgusting. But, he was so hungry. 

He shoved another handful in his mouth before heading to the sink, turning on the faucet and lapping up the water that spilled out, before settling himself gingerly to the floor. Continuing to eat more handfuls of the treat. 

It wasn’t long before he realised he had finished the entire box, and yet, he was still hungry. 

Philza left the box on the floor and scoured the pantry again for anything similar, or at least anything he could easily get a hold of. Finally settling for a loaf of sliced bread, a clear packet of dried meats, and another box of the sweet grains. 

He continued  to eat his fill, pausing often to drink from the faucet, feeling slightly stronger, less tired, as his stomach filled up. 

And then he heard the small chick’s voice. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Chapter Text

Tommy spun himself about in the chair at the front desk. 

The station had technically been closed for about an hour now, but he still was obligated to man it for at least another two hours or so, in case any lost tourists came by needing help. 

Not that they ever did, he thought. Most never got this far past the town without turning back, after realising there was only one set of lights this far out into the desert most people would turn back. If they were smart. 

A few times he had seen some lost old couples wander in, some out of towners, once a whole family on vacation who had taken a wrong turn a couple hundred miles back. 

Luckily with a little chat, a few maps and some directions, they were usually back on their way to town again. 

Only once, that Tommy knew of, did anyone continue onwards into the desert. He didn’t bother to ask what happened to them. He suspected he already knew. 

It was always in the news when an empty car was found on the side of the road with an out of town license plate. And it was especially in the news when said car was supposedly still within the town, its owner confused as to why their car was being shown on the tv. 

It was never in the news, however, when the car and owner disappeared entirely. Only spoken about it hushed tones and confused whispers by wary folk. 

Tommy wasn’t too sure what to believe regarding that kind of occurrence. Sure he had his suspicions, he knew of cryptids and urban legends but while skeptical, he wasn’t about to place the blame on any of them without significant proof. It was partially why he didn’t take up the local cryptid hunters' offer to be their intern -some job that would be-. 

While he had certainly experienced enough weirdness in the desert to not disbelieve the strange theories they proposed, he also didn’t think that logical answers were out of the question. The car could have been the same make and model and had a fake plate from being stolen. The owner of the original in question may have ditched town out of fear. It was possible an inter-state gang was involved, or the cops, or some coverup for a hit and run. 

But of course, there was still that nagging feeling at the back of his mind. 

The desert was strange. 

Even having grown up here, he still knew it was strange. He never discounted its oddities. For as logical an explanation as he could give, sometimes there was no clear cut answer to things. Sometimes, the desert would just confuse and baffle and frighten, and give no answer at all in the end. 

That was just how it was. 

The weird bird-man creature, asleep in one of the spare rooms, was evidence enough of that.

Tommy sputtered a long puff of air from his lungs, slumping back against the desk chair, spinning it once more. 

The strangeness of the desert did nothing to ease him of his boring night watch, however. 

Techno and Caera had ditched him, he grumbled at the memory, stating they were going to get a replacement TV and to man the desk and give them a call should anything happen - As if I could. He rolled his eyes. The landline hardly ever connected to cells anymore- Of course the vet would be concerned about the bird man in the back rooms, but Caera had assured him the man was probably alright by now. Still hurting obviously, but he didn’t look as if he was going to keel over anytime soon. 

“Just make sure you check on him every half hour, okay?” Caera had instructed. “Keep him hydrated and don’t let him eat too fast.” 

Simple enough, sort of. 

Tommy huffed. 

Not only was he supposed to be a road map for any lost tourists but he was also supposed to be a babysitter for a fucking cryptid. 

He couldn’t be too mad at the guy though, the man did get hit by a truck. It wasn’t his fault he was a wreck. And, he had tried to help him earlier that day. Granted, it was due to a misunderstanding, but... The thought still counted. 

At least Tommy knew the man wasn’t going to try to eat him or anything. 

About which, he thought. 

Probably should check up on him . He stood, giving the chair one last spin as he did, and headed towards the station’s living quarters. 

Only to pause as he rounded the corner and...saw the kitchen. 

The bird man was crouched on the floor, one hand in a box of fruit loops held between his knees, his other still splinted against his side. Rainbow coloured crumbs of the cereal dotted his mouth and the floor around him, in between the slices of bread and empty jack links wrappers. 

He looked just as startled as Tommy felt when the boy let out a shout. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” 

Tommy wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the ridiculous scenario, of walking in on a feral bird man shoving his face full of cereal and junk food, or to feel concerned that a literal cryptid was demolishing the pantry. 

He settled on laughing when the man paused, and held out a handful of the fruit loops, as if it were some sort of peace offering. 

“Oh fuck! What the- fuckin hell bruh!” Tommy bent double in laughter for a solid minute, barely able to keep himself contained when he finally managed to drag himself over the cabinets, grabbing a proper bowl and spoon. 

The bird man glanced about, a concerned look on his face, as Tommy set the bowl down on the countertop beside him.

“Nah man I’m not mad at you, here uh- hand me-hand me that box there will ya?” Tommy retrieved the cereal box from the very confused man, still crouching on the floor. 

“Okay, I get you’re hungry, I don’t think fruit loops are all that great to eat when you’re recovering from this shit but uh- I mean if you want to eat them you gotta have the full experience.” He poured the cereal out into the bowl, topping it with a decent splash of milk from the fridge before handing it and a spoon back to the man. 

“Like soup, but cold, and sweet.” he explained as the man cautiously took a bite, his blue eyes lighting up in delight at what must have been his first real taste of modern, middle class midwest breakfast cereal. 

“Good shit huh?” Tommy grinned. “Don’t eat too much of it though, you’ll get the shits, not worth it.” 

The bird man didn’t seem to care about the warning, continuing to almost wolf down the bowl as Tommy poured one for himself. 

“Good idea though, breakfast for dinner ey?” the intern held his bowl up in a mock toast motion, only to laugh as the man repeated the motion before continuing to down the rainbow slurry. 

“Well you enjoy there big man, I gotta go man the desk.” Tommy nodded as he left. “If you need anything give a shout or come up to the front okay?” 

He heard a light trill behind him as he left, some form of acknowledgement he assumed, finally settling himself at the front desk, crunching the rainbow cereal as he busied himself with staring at the local road maps. 

There really wasn’t much else to do, his phone could only play games that didn’t need data or wifi, there was no cell reception this far out to call anyone unless he used the landline, and aside from the default solitaire, the single computer at the desk had nothing on it to occupy his mind. 

If it weren’t for the rather amusing scenario that had just happened, he’d have been rather bored that night. 

If it weren’t for the sudden rumble of engines and lights of five large trucks pulling into the station’s parking lot, it would have been a rather peaceful night. 

Tommy groaned as he recognised the voices of the local cryptid hunters, no doubt coming in to beg for another chance to be let into the desert that night. He’d never been the one to talk them down, it had alway been Caera. Or sometimes Techno would show up and just stand menacingly in the corner of the room until they eventually left. 

Well, first time for everything. He told himself. 

The front door opened as a crowd of ten or more, rough looking men filed in. 

They smelled of sweat and dirt and vaguely of cigarettes and beer. All in moth bitten jeans and grimy t-shirts with logos splashed across the fronts with the likes of ‘I Believe’ and ‘I <3 Big Foot’. 

They all carried guns. 

Granted, most were tranqs, but Tommy knew he saw at least two shot guns in the midst. 

He shuddered. 

“Station’s closed except for emergencies and lost dumbasses.” he stated. “Is this an emergency?” 

“Nah we’re lost dumbasses!” the lead hunter chuckled. 

Tommy had never bothered to remember his name after the rather awkward, failed recruitment attempt the man had given him some months back. Though now he wished he had something to go by, at least for the police report...if he was even able to make one...

He laughed along awkwardly as the rest of the hunters guffawed at the man’s response. 

“No but really, guys, pals.” the intern stood, placing a hand over the landline. “Station’s closed, alright? Gonna have to ask you to leave.” 

“Aw come on man!” The lead hunter shouldered his gun, one of the shot guns within their midst. 

“There’s been some sightings reported at the flats recently, we can’t let that pass us up.” he grinned. “We’re just here to sign in, you know? Be responsible park visitors, let ya know where we are and when we plan to be back.” 

“Uh huh.” Tommy nodded, eyeing the gun. “And I’d commend you for that, but, hunting season isn’t for another four months.” 

“Hunting season?” the leader chuckled. “Naw man, these are just in case ya know? You rangers get to carry these around for self defense ‘gainst rabid or spooked mountain lions and coyotes. And we got licenses, we ain’t gonna be huntin’ any of your park animals.” 

“Cool cool,” Tommy nodded once more, feeling the back of his neck prickling. The scent of alcohol was far stronger than he initially realised. “Fair enough, but, park regulations and all, I can’t let you sign in until morning hours.” 

“Your books are literally right there though.” the hunter gestured, reaching towards the visitor records. 

Tommy quickly slapped a hand over the stack of files and binders, sliding them behind the desk, narrowing his eyes. Hoping to look intimidating. 

He didn’t trust these men. Never had. Never would. There was a reason no one hired them in the off season, there was a reason no one liked them staying too long in their establishments. While he’d not heard of them doing anything truly terrible before, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was not the one in control here, despite his efforts. 

“Well I smell alcohol on you.” he said calmly, trying his best to keep professional, hoping the shake beginning to form in his voice wasn’t noticeable. “And park regulations restrict me from allowing intoxicated visitors onto the property with weapons of any sorts, so, pack up boys.” 

There was a pause, a long moment where the only sound to be heard was the faint ticking of the clock. Tommy could swear his heart was audible though, pounding against his ribs as he swallowed, desperately trying to keep his composure. The prickling sensation at the back of his neck was only growing by the second. 

The alcohol scent was far stronger now, how had he not noticed it before? 

He knew, deep down, they weren’t going to leave. 

His fear was confirmed as the lead hunter latched a hand around the collar of his uniform, hoisting up until he was on his toes. 

Tommy yelped, grabbing the man’s wrist and clawing at it, panic flooding his system. The group started to bawl with laughter. 

“Yer not even a real ranger are ya kiddo?” the hunter chuckled. “Yer just that ex-burger flipper aren’t ya? The one who said you ‘weren’t interested in chasing down LSD induced hallucination’ ey?” 

Tommy dug his nails against the hunter’s arm, scratching pathetically at the man’s jacket sleeve, unable to gain any leverage away from him. Panic flooded his system. He felt tears forming around his eyes. 

Where the hell was Techno when he needed him?! 

“Where’s your boss huh?” the hunter laughed. “Did they really leave some dumbass kid to run the place while they went off on vacation or something?! God that’s just fuckin pathetic! The hell kind of station even is this?!” 

“I mean look at you!” the hunter held up the nearly forgotten bowl of fruit loops from the desk. “Fuckin kids man! Eatin’ cereal at ten at night when they’re supposed to be manning the place! God this is just sad-” 

The lights suddenly flickered. 

An occurrence that had happened often enough, Tommy wouldn’t normally think much of it. The wires were old, the walls no doubt had at least one mouse running about in it. It shouldn’t have been much to notice at all. 

But then the lights went out entirely. 

Again, nothing he would have normally taken note of, blackouts happened often enough. 

Except, chaos erupted this time. 

He was wrenched free of the hunter’s grasp, barely able to make out the faint outlines in the now darkened front office of the various people within it. All milling about and murmuring in confusion, before shrieking.

There was another figure now. Tall, massive, towering over them all. A single, winglike shape flaring outward as a low rumble filled the room. 

“What the- WHAT THE FUCK?!” a hunter shrieked. 

A gun fired. 

It missed the figure entirely, shattering a window instead. 

“The hell is that thing?!” another screamed. 

And then it spoke. 

“GOD.”  

It was then that the crowd of unwanted visitors bolted out of the doors, scrambling for their trucks outside, leaving toppled piles of paperwork and chairs in their wake as their tires finally screeched out of the parking lot. 

It wasn’t until the lights of their vehicles had disappeared, and the lights within the station had returned, that Tommy managed to take a breath. 

He stared at the bird man, standing on the desk, one wing outspread, a goofy amount of fruit loops crumbs across his face. The man’s blue eyes blinked at him, soft and concerned as he gingerly made his way back to the ground, crouching beside where Tommy had fallen. 

“...what the….what the fuc...what the fuck…” the intern felt himself begining to tremble. 

“What the fuck?” he scrambled to his knees, holding his hands up defensively before him. 

“What the fuck are you?!” he whimpered. 

To his surprise, and relief, the man only held a hand out to him, his blue eyes wide in concern. 

“No!” Tommy snapped.

What had happened?!

What had just happened?!

What the hell was this thing?!

What the hell did it just do?!  

“No I’m not-” he stammered once, then took a breath against his pounding heart as he tried to rationalise his thoughts.

There was no rationalising. But then, there hadn’t been any rationalising since they’d fist picked this man off the road. 

“Look I don’t know what the hell you are!” he blurted. “I don’t know what the fuck you just did! I’m not taking your hand until you start explaining things!” 

He immediately felt terrible at the words. 

The man had just saved him.

The bird man had only been trying to help him. And he’d just yelled at him. And...what if the bird man couldn’t speak? What if Caera was right and he only understood speech but was incapable of it himself? That would just be downright rude, demanding him to speak when he couldn’t- 

“...not...human…” 

Tommy blinked. 

The bird man held his hand out once more. 

“I’m...not...human…” his voice was crackly with disuse, hitching now and then in clear pain as the efforts from earlier had surely jarred his injuries. 

“...But...I...don’t...want to...hurt you.” he blinked once more, slowly, like a cat. 

Like how Lincoln would blink at Techno, Tommy noted, a cat’s sign of respect. 

Cautiously, carefully, he took the man’s hand, allowing him to pull him back to his feet. 

“So….so you can speak?” he finally asked. 

The man nodded. 

“Oh...oh boy Techno’s gonna be pissed!”

Chapter Text

The car was silent as the two drove back to the station, save for the faint rumbling of the crumbling asphalt beneath the wheels there was hardly a sound. 

Caera clutched the TV box in sweaty palms, his heart still hammering. 

“That was too close.” he finally said as they pulled onto the long strip of desert, the headlights illuminating the dusty road before them. 

“We were fine.” Techno grinned, before giving the wheel a slight jerk, sending Caera yelping in his seat as he slid against the window. 

“What the fuck Tech?!” the vet snapped as the pinkette chuckled. 

“No! No shut up! You don’t get to laugh at that!” Caera hugged the TV closer to him, scowling. “Dick.” 

“God your face!” Techno snorted. “The whole time! Just, wow you looked like you were about to puke when the cop started chasin’ him!” 

“That’s cause I WAS about to puke!” Caera hissed, recalling the incident. 

They’d arrived in town shortly after dusk, to wherever Techno had set up the meeting with his ‘acquaintance’. Only to find just the lonely TV box, sitting conspicuously at the end of the alleyway. Of course Techno had mumbled something about ‘a trap’ and ‘of course he would try something like that’, which had set Caera on edge. 

When the cop had arrived though, he had nearly panicked. It had taken all his nerves to keep from admitting then and there what was going on as the cop described getting a tip about a theft. 

Thank god Techno had the fake receipts printed up, or they’d probably never have gotten away with it! 

The cop had simply looked confused as Caera lied perfectly through his teeth, his panic shielded by a silver tongue, before a figure had appeared at the end of the alley, catching the cop’s attention. The man had bolted after him, shouting something about ‘lying to the police’ and ‘being a fraud’. 

Caera hadn’t gotten a chance to look at him, only managing to catch a glimpse of goofy looking hat, before he had disappeared around the corner, cursing at Techno as he had run off. And then the pinkette had latched onto the vet’s wrist, booking it back to the car. 

And now they were here, Caera clutching the TV, Techno having already checked inside to ensure they hadn’t been duped, as they pulled into the drive of the station. 

“Now we just gotta set it up and we should be good.” Techno grinned as he settled the truck into park within the garage before cutting the engine. 

“Oh we are in so much trouble.” Caera muttered as he clambered out of the truck, hugging the box tightly. 

“Only if we’re caught.” the pinkette beside him shrugged, opening the door to the station. “Which we won’t be. Technoblade never gets caught!” 

“Technoblade also speaks in the third person.” Caera shuffled through the door. “I don’t trust people who speak in third person.” 

“Good. They’re crazy.” Techno nodded. 

And then Caera noticed the man’s eyes widen, ever so slightly, as they entered the station proper. 

Not enough to be fear, hell the man probably couldn’t even feel fear! But, it was enough to be concerning. 

“What?” he asked, setting the box down beside him. 

“Smells like graphite.” Techno’s voice was quiet. 

He was concerned. 

“Why is that important?” Caera lowered his voice as well. For as strange as the man was, he was far more knowledgeable of obscurities, particularly ones that could be a potential threat. It was one of his….weird quirks, he supposed, that he had gotten used to in his time working with him. 

“Nitroglycerine, sawdust, graphite.” Techno’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Modern gunpowder.” 

Caera felt his blood run cold. 

Tommy!  

“You-you don’t think the kid got into the safe?” he asked, following the pinkette as he pressed his back to the wall, peering down the hallway. Still lit with the various lights of the station -they were hardly ever off at this time of night- but quiet. 

A hundred horrible thoughts rattled in the back of the vet’s mind. Had Tommy been stupid? Or did he try to defend himself? Against what? The bird man? Was the bird man hurt? Did he try to hurt Tommy? 

Caera shook his head, he doubted after the TV incident the man would hurt Tommy.

“The kid’s not an idiot,” Techno said quietly. “I doubt he’d have gotten into the safe.” 

“Maybe there was a random discharge?” the scenario was unlikely, Caera knew, the gun safe was bullet proof. But still… 

Techno shook his head. “Smell’s coming from the front desk.” 

Caera felt a cold hand grasp about his spine, chilling him to the bone. 

Someone had broken in. 

Someone had fired a gun. 

Someone had fired a gun…

Tommy…

“Don’t go runnin’ in there just yet.” Techno whispered, drawing a knife from his back pocket. 

How the man expected to fight an armed intruder, who had a gun, with a knife, Caera didn’t know. But, this was Techno. 

He wouldn’t question it. As long as the kid was safe. 

“Stay here.” Techno motioned for Caera to stay put, at the corner nearing the main lounge. 

If anyone had broken in, the lounge would be a perfect place to pile up anything being robbed. 

But...something still didn’t feel right. 

Caera couldn’t remember seeing any vehicles parked outside the station. And he doubted that anyone robbing the place would have walked through the desert just to get here...unless, they’d already left? 

But, Techno would have known that, right? 

Either way, he’d have his answer soon enough, he supposed. 

Caera took a breath, holding it as he watched his coworker slink around the corner. 

There was a long, far too long, moment of silence. And then Techno poked his head back around, a look of confusion on his face. 

“Need yer help again Ca- OW!” 

Caera jumped as he heard a loud slap accompanying the startled yelp from Techno. 

He quickly bolted around the corner and- 

“You...left...the...chick!” hissed a raspy, broken voice.

Caera paused. 

He blinked. 

Techno was rubbing a reddening patch on the side of his face, opposite where the bandage of his previous injury was. His knife held low, as if he was about to pocket it once more. 

Across from him was the bird man, leaning heavily against the wall, his breathing ragged and his face pale, but his lips twisted into an angry snarl. 

And behind him, sitting smugly on the couch, shovelling fruit loops into his mouth, was Tommy. 

“What...what the fuck?” Caera blinked. “What happened? Why are you- I- what-”

“Tommy, are those my fruit loops?!” Techno hissed.

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Techno rubbed the sore patch on the side of his face. 

Why did both sides have to hurt? He stared, irritated, at the bird man. 

Why’d the guy have to keep hitting him?

The bird man glared at him from where he was sitting, curled on the couch across from him. His blue eyes, completely devoid of white scleras, seemed to drip with poison towards him. 

Only to him, though, Techno noted as Caera re-wrapped the bandage on the man’s wing, the bird creature hardly paying him any attention as he did. 

Fair enough. Techno blinked, slowly, nodding at the man. 

The man’s feathers puffed up. 

Though, he did return the blink. 

At least they could respect each other now, he supposed. 

“So yeah, Phil scared them off by claiming to be a god.” Tommy relayed his story of what had happened. 

“Oh they uh...they did shoot the window-” he was cut off before he could elaborate. 

“They WHAT?!” Caera nearly dropped the roll of bandage from his hand. 

“Hold up, his name is PHIL?!” Techno added. 

The broken window could always be replaced, the fact that this bird creature- er, Phil,- could speak, let alone had a NAME, was just...Techno didn’t know what to think. 

“Yeah, Philza,” Tommy nodded, glancing at the- at Philza. “I said that right, right?” 

The bir- Philza, nodded. 

“I knew it!” Techno muttered. “I knew I wasn’t crazy!” 

“Eh...debatable.” Tommy shoved his hand back into the box of fruit loops. 

“Stop that!” Techno snatched the box away. “You want yer own buy em with yer own cash!” 

“Philza started it!” Tommy crossed his arms. 

“Don’t lie Toms-” Caera was interrupted. 

“They’re...very sweet.” the bird man spoke. “Shouldn’t...have eaten...that much…”

Techno blinked again. He was speaking. 

He was actually speaking! 

Why hadn’t he done so before?! 

Then again, it wasn’t as if he had been in all that great a shape, he realised. 

He still didn’t look too good actually. Better than before, a bit of colour had returned to his face, but his breathing was still laboured. He had seen him limping earlier, heavily favouring his left side. The bruise on which had only seemed to have gotten darker, a vibrant shade of deep purple and blues, mottling wherever his skin was exposed and across his face. Seeping into his left eye even, still swollen and reddened with broken blood vessels. 

His voice was no better. Crackling with disuse and pain, he sounded almost as bad as he looked. 

“Caera, have you given him any pain meds?” Techno asked. 

“I...oh…” the vet’s face went pale. “I’d thought about it but-” 

“He’s been like this for, what, three days now with no meds? Caera!” Techno groaned, rubbing his eyes. No wonder Philza looked like shit. 

“He’s not human!” the vet explained. “And he’s not an animal either, I- I don’t know what he’ll react to.” 

Ah….fair enough. Techno thought. Still not ideal but, at least that made sense. 

“Willow..bark…” 

He noticed Philza slump against the back of the couch, his eyes closing against what surely was immense pain from his previous attempts to protect Tommy. 

Techno had to commend him for that, for being so well and truly fucked up, the man certainly didn’t seem to care about himself if the kid’s life was threatened. 

“Willow bark?” Caera tied off the rest of the bandage, effectively immobilising the broken wing once more. 

The feathers looked atrocious, Techno noted. Broken and twisted pinions and coverts, patches missing here and there from where they’d either fallen out from stress or been torn off from the impact of the truck. They’d need some major preening soon. 

At least he’d had the strength to clean them. 

“You mean Asprin?” Tommy chimed in. 

“What?” the poor vet seemed so confused. 

To be fair, Techno thought, he did have a weird couple of days. 

“Asprin’s made of willow bark.” Techno explained. “Glad you’ve been studying, Toms. But yeah.” 

“Asprin could work.” he nodded. 

Caera rubbed his eyes. 

Stood. 

Retreated to the kitchen. 

And then returned with a glass of water and two pills, handing them to Philza, briefly explaining to the man their purpose. 

Techno watched as the bird man’s eyes, narrowed from exhaustion, had followed the vet, occasionally darting back to Techno. 

Philza did not trust him. At all it seemed. 

But, at least after tonight’s events, Techno realised he could trust Philza. 

That was good enough for now.

The rest of the evening passed fairly uneventfully. Having decided as a group to not pester the bird man for information, poor guy looked exhausted as it was, Techno had left Caera to settle him back to bed with a series of pain relief and large glass of water beside him. While Tommy showed the pinkette the extent of the damage in the front entryway. 

A broken window and some piles of paperwork scattered about the place was manageable at least, Techno thought, as he boarded up the window with plastic wrap and duct tape while Tommy vacuumed the broken glass. 

He could replace it properly if he just told Schlatt that a visitor’s car kicked up some of the gravel into the glass. An easy enough excuse. 

What he couldn’t fix, however…

“You good Toms?” he finally asked, cutting off a final strip of tape from the roll with his teeth. 

“Huh?” the intern seemed perplexed for a moment. 

“Bunch of drunk guys came in an’ threatened ya, shot a gun, remember?” Techno pressed the tape into place before glancing back at the blonde, eyeing his expression. “Woulda’ been pretty scary.” 

Tommy puffed up his chest. “Not at all. Imma big man, wasn’t scared a bit.” 

Techno noticed the slight clenching of the intern’s jaw, the little tremble of his fingers on the vacuum. 

Kid’s still shaken , he thought. 

“Okay.” he nodded, not wanting to press the matter, but still wanting to give assurance. “S’okay to be scared though, nothing wrong with that.” 

“Pfft!” Tommy sputtered, blowing a lock of blonde hair from his face. “M’ not a coward, Tech. Don’t get scared o’ nothin’!” 

“It’s not cowardice to feel fear, Tommy.” Techno narrowed his eyes. “It’s human. It protects us, it’s what keeps us alive.” 

He took a seat at the desk, grinning at the sight of the now perplexed teen. 

“A healthy amount of fear is what keeps us from doin’ stupid shit, from stickin’ our hand on a hot stove.” he explained. “It lets us know when to flee or take a step back from somethin’ that’s botherin’ us. Be it somethin’ like a group o’ idiots with boomsticks, or something like worry of a broken window and how ta’ fix it.” 

“Granted, too much fear is detrimental to yer health, makes it impossible to do things ya’ need to do.” he added. “But, point is, there’s nothin’ wrong with being afraid of somethin’.
“M’ not a coward.” he heard Tommy mutter as the teen crossed his arms. 

“Not sayin’ you are.” Techno nodded in agreement. “From what ya told me, ya did everythin’ right. You kept things calm, you said what you were taught to say, and you held your ground.”

 “If you’d been confrontational, or even run off, that could’ve been disastrous.” he added. “Drunk idiots do stupid shit when things start running or trying to fight them.” 

He studied the intern’s face. The clenching of his jaw was relaxing a bit. The kid was clearly still a bit rattled, but otherwise seeming to calm at the reassurance. 

“Yer’ not a coward or any less of a man for admitting you were scared, Toms.” Techno shuffled a few papers back into place on the desk. “I’d be a bit concerned if ya’ didn’t feel scared.” 

“You never get scared though.” Tommy huffed. 

“Oh no, I do.” the pinkette shrugged. “I’m just bad at showing it.” 

Tommy chuckled. 

That was good, Techno thought. He needs a laugh.  

“You mean you’re just constantly screaming on the inside while looking completely blank faced?” the intern smirked. 

“Maybe.” Techno stood from the desk, giving his arms a stretch before turning down the hall. 

“Go get some sleep, kid.” he gave a light wave. “If ya need to talk, Caera and I are probably gonna be up for a bit longer.” 

He heard a muffled ‘kay’ before the intern shuffled his way to his room. 

Techno finally let out a sigh of relief as he turned back down the hall, quietly processing the night’s events. 

The second he had smelled the graphite, a million thoughts had raced across his mind. Horrid thoughts. 

His heart had hammered in his chest so loudly he could have sworn it was audible to Caera. To anyone that had an ear out anyhow. 

Had Tommy been hurt? Who’d hurt him? Was he bleeding out somewhere? Was he...dead? 

Gods if the kid had been dead…

He clapped a hand over his mouth, leaning back against the wall of the hallway, clenching his eyes shut. 

The night had started off as nothing more than a fun little thrill, a cheap and ridiculous means of getting his stupid adrenaline hit and a TV replacement. And then he’d come home to the scent of gunpowder and the agonising fear that his charge was hurt. 

Or...dead. 

Techno felt something damp trying to slip from his eyelids as he took a shuddering breath. 

He’s okay. He told himself, taking another breath. Kid’s okay.  

He quickly rubbed his eyes, his breathing finally beginning to steady as continued his way down the hall. 

He could process that later, when he was safe to do so in the comfort of his room. In the meantime, however…

He walked quietly past the door of the spare room, where Philza was. The door was open, just a bit, enough for him to notice the man sitting up in bed, leaning against the wall. His eyes halfway open, heavily laden with exhaustion, gazing out the window onto the violet hued desert. 

Techno gave a light knock on the door, unsurprised at the low snarl the bird man gave in response. 

“Jus’ me.” he said quietly. “Not comin’ in. Just wanted to…” 

The scent of the gunpowder filled his memories for a brief moment. He shook his head. 

Not now.  

“Just wanted to say thank you.” he finally said. “Genuinely, thank you.” 

The snarl stopped. 

“I…” he felt a lump start to form in his throat and quickly cleared it. “I was stupid.” 

“Don’t normally have to deal with crazy people toting guns at a fuckin’ park station, but, guess...I dunno.” he rubbed his face again. “But thank you though.” 

And with that he left, deaf to anything that may have been said or sounded from Philza, he turned his way back to his own room, closing the door behind him before slumping to the ground. 

Safe from the eyes of the rest of the station, he let himself cry. Quiet, tears of relief and regret. 

His speech to Tommy earlier, he realised, hadn't just been for the kid. 

______

He dreamt of teeth that night.

_______

Chapter Text

It was there again. 

The endless mouth. 

The stretch of teeth and tendrils of flesh and blood and bone, flailing about, whipping through the fabric of reality. At once real, tangible, viscerally present. And yet absent of any substance, illusionary, little more than an apparition. There and gone, again and again and again. 

Philza was forced to peer within it as it neared, consuming the everything that lay before it, under it, above it, growing nearer and farther and right there ahead of him at each second. The deep and endless pit of red and flesh and bone and energy and cosmos, endless and ending, a void that expanded to infinity and yet never existed. It’s very sight, sensation, nothing, sending him screaming, clawing at the bindings that held him tight to the mountain. 

The tendrils sliced through him, carving through skin and muscle and bone, consuming pieces of him, and yet no evidence of their mutilation were visible. Though he knew he was changed, scarred in some manner that he couldn’t describe. A piece of his being, lost to the void of the endless. As if it had never existed within him to begin with. 

It was pain. 

Agony he couldn’t begin to comprehend, barely brushing against the mouth of eternity, something he should never have been able to come away from with his mind intact. 

He’d been left to it. 

Offered for it to feed. But he knew in the instance he witnessed its existence, it was never going to be satisfied. 

It never even saw him as an offering. Never saw anything. Never cared, though he didn’t doubt it knew full well what was being done. 

It was hungry.

Starving. 

An emptiness he briefly sensed in the short time that it cut across his being, nothing he could truly comprehend, but even the snippet of hollow, eternal agony in the pit of his stomach, left him knowing that no offering would leave it satisfied. No city, no forest, no planet, no stars. Nothing would ever ease its hunger. 

His unwilling sacrifice was in vain. 

At least, he thought, he could take solace in knowing that his death, if being consumed by it even meant death as he knew it, would do nothing to stop the destruction that awaited those who had hurt him. That had left him there. 

Philza knew he was going to die. Or, at least, he knew he was going to end, in some form or another. There was no escaping this. 

Even if, by some miracle he did manage to free himself, his wounds would kill him within a day. 

Yet still, he screamed. Crying for help, from anyone. Anything that could hear him. The gods, the humans who had left him there, the people of his blood he knew would never hear him from their graves. 

And then, as by some miracle, the mouth, the great maw of destruction, was gone. Leaving behind an expanse of...nothing he could recognise, and yet no visible trace of anything having been gone at all. 

For a moment, a brief one, he wondered if it was ever there in the first place. Nothing more than a hallucination of his people’s nightmares, their birth, manifesting in his pain-addled mind. 

But then he felt it, the agony of something missing from his being. Something having been carved away, the wound burned shut, leaving a deep, aching scar in its place. 

A scar he could never see, but knew was there. In every shuddering breath, he could feel it shift within his chest, the gap of where a piece of his being was forever removed. 

And then the pain of his wounds registered once more in his mind, drowning out all other senses. 

The spears shifting in his wings, his legs, his arms. The bindings across his torso cutting deep into his flesh. The biting cold of frost forming on his skin, freezing his ragged clothes in place around him. A cocoon of ice and dried blood, sticking him to the stoney altar beneath his back. 

He took one last breath, grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, and waited for the inevitable. Crying softly, his tears freezing in place on his face. 

The end never came. 

As his vision began to grow fuzzy, as his voice finally gave out, he felt it. 

Warmth. 

A calloused hand, warm and gentle, pressing to his cheek. A thumb brushing under his eyes. A soft voice, speaking nothing he could comprehend. 

He didn’t remember much of what happened next. 

He did know that time should not be passing as quickly as it was. 

No sooner had he felt her hand, he was now laughing with her on the edge of a beach, and now holding her close as she sobbed into his shoulder, and now plaiting her hair as she told him a story, and now kissing his forehead and telling him to...to...what was she telling him to do? 

Wake up.  

Philza blinked. 

Her voice still echoed in his ears, as though she had been there, right beside him not more than a minute ago. 

But as he turned to his side where he would normally have found her, he saw only an empty bed and a bandaged wing. 

He still pressed his hand to his cheek, where she would have, rubbing his thumb in circles beneath his eye as he finally sat up. 

A rosy dawn-light streamed into the bedroom from the window. He hadn’t closed the curtains, he remembered. The sky outside was clear, gradually growing brighter and brighter as the sound of birdsong drifted through the glass. 

He had to find her. 

Philza shuffled to the edge of the bed, carefully drawing himself to his feet before sipping down the remaining water and two of the pills he'd been given. 

Whatever humans were using in their medicines these days were godly! Nothing like the herbs of his own time...or place? 

Actually, he thought, where exactly was he? 

He’d not recognised any of the landscape after the storm. He thought he knew most of the world by now, what was left of it anyhow. And yet, this place, its people, its magics, none of it aside from the language was familiar. 

He had so many questions. 

Though, the three within this station seemed to have questions as well. 

Philza carefully made his way to the kitchen, pondering what exactly to ask them, what exactly they would ask him, as he followed the scent of bacon that drifted through the hall. 

The doctor person was up - Caera was it?- working away at the not wood burning stove, a large mug of a strongly scented, dark brew in hand.

“Oh! You’re up.” the man nodded to him, setting a frying pan aside and turning a few dials on the strange stove. Motioning for Philza to go sit at the table in the centre of the room. 

He did so, slowly, torn between trying to make sense of how the strange stove worked and poking at the smooth structure of the table before him. He settled for tapping a claw once against the table, listening to the faint, hollow echo it left. 

“Probably pretty odd for you, all this.” Caera had plated a series of bacon and small, flattened bread cakes and eggs, setting it before him with a knife and...strange four pronged utensil. 

Philza nodded, holding up the utensil curiously. It looked almost like a very poor excuse for a comb, but, why would one need a comb when eating? 

“Actually,” his ear flicked towards Caera as the redhead took a seat opposite him. “Do you- are eggs a thing you’re okay with eating?” 

Philza shrugged. 

“Just eggs, why is that-” gods his voice was shit! “-why is that a worry?” 

“Oh.” Caera seemed confused. “Just thought since you’re, you know…”

He trailed off, gesturing at Philza’s wings. 

He could almost laugh. 

“I’m not a bird, mate!” he grinned. “Just share some features.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” and with that he dug into the breakfast, savouring the lightly peppered eggs, the crispy bacon slathered in salty grease, the light sweetness of the bread cakes. Barely seasoned to not upset his still sensitive stomach, but warm and solid and delicious after days of aching hunger and miserable nausea. 

He still ate slowly, just to be safe. 

"There is a fork- never mind." 

He ignored Caera's comment. Hands were good enough for eating, why bother with this 'fork' thing? He wasn't going to messy about it, he always licked his fingers clean.

“So, uh…” 

Philza glanced up at Caera, the young man was eyeing his injured wing. 

“You feeling okay?” he asked. 

Philza shrugged, as best he could without jogging his injuries. 

“Still shit.” he admitted. “But, not as bad with the medicines you gave me.” 

“That’s good.” Caera’s eyes looked sunken. Had the man gotten any sleep at all he wondered?

“Don’t be surprised at all if you tire fast.” the lad began to list off, almost mechanically. “You’re going to be asleep a lot for awhile. And your wing and arm are going to start itching pretty bad once the bones start to heal up.” 

Ah, Philza realised. The poor man was exhausted, but trying to keep up a routine of sorts. Some air of professionalism? 

“I’ve had broken bones before.” Philza nodded. “Granted, not nearly this bad but, I know what to expect.” 

“Thank you, though.” he added. 

“I...I owe you.” 

He owed this man, these three at the station, even the pinkette -he'd admit begrudgingly-, he owed them his life. 

Caera shook his head. “Nah man, you don’t owe us shit, it’s just my job.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Philza insisted. “Is there anything I can do for the three of you?” 

The redhead continued to shake his head. “Really man it’s fine.” 

“If it makes you feel better though,” the man added. “Perhaps we could all ask and answer questions for each other?” 

Philza thought for a moment. 

His honour wouldn’t let him not repay the station, Caera at the very least. The man had saved his life. 

But, he knew nothing about this world. He didn’t know how anything worked, how systems were run. Offering to do a job would be more of him having to be taught it first, and what sort of repayment was that? 

Not that he could do much physical labour anyhow…

But an exchange of knowledge however, that could be doable. 

“That... could work.” he nodded. 

Caera returned the nod before turning back to his breakfast. “Cool cool, we’ll have a chat when the other two have woken up then, sound good?” 

It would work for now, Philza mentally agreed. 

If he can stay up that  long. He smirked as the redhead nearly nodded off, risking a face-plant into his breakfast. 

________________

She woke with a start, grasping to the side of the bed, her hand searching for her mate. 

It was empty. 

It had been empty for the past week now. 

She buried her face into the pillow, pressing the scrap of cloth to her face as she did. Breathing deeply once, before slowly exhaling. 

The green fabric scrap grew damp.

It still retained the scent of pine and tea from that week ago. When her hand had slipped from his in the storm, tearing the piece from his sleeve. 

He was alive. 

She knew he was alive. 

She had seen him often enough in her dreams to know he was alive. 

Lost and hurt and so, so lonely.

But alive nonetheless. 

She took another breath and wiped her face clean on the loaned shirt she wore, finally sitting up in the bed. Steadying herself with her wings as a sudden rush of dizziness faded in, then out of her senses. 

The tiny room was already flooded with light from the outside. The little windows let in a startling amount of sunlight for their size. 

It was going to be another warm day.

There was a faint knock on the door as a tiny voice called, “Miz? Are you awake? Momma and Moddy made breakfast for you.” 

She stood, shakily, her wings fluttering lightly to hold her balance as she made her way to the door. “I’ll be right out.”

She hoped there would be something, some hint on the radio for where to search next. 

Chapter Text

Warren couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe! 

He couldn’t breathe! 

Oh god! Oh god! Oh fuck oh god!  

He stared upward where he had landed, blood flooding his mouth as he witnessed- something. 

He didn’t-he couldn’t comprehend what it was. 

He had been playing with his siblings one minute in the backyard, and then- 

Then there was no backyard.

No backyard, no house, no evidence of anything of the sort having even existed. 

All there was, was a crater. A massive, unending expanse, impossibly deep and dark and empty. 

And…. 

There were teeth…...

HUNGRY

EMPTY

FEED

Warren shrieked. 

_________________

….hungry….

Techno jerked awake as he slammed into the ground, groaning as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

God he hated those dreams! He hissed as he took note of the coils of blankets and sheets tossed about the bed, tangled around his legs. No doubt he'd them kicked about in his nightmares before he had fallen to the floor. 

There was something damp on his lips. 

He wiped his hand across his face, feeling the sticky sensation of blood dripping from his nose. 

The metallic scent was giving him a headache already. 

...hungry…  

“Yeah...nose first though.” he told himself, finally clambering to his feet. 

He was grateful for the routine he had established for mornings like these. 

Get up slowly, wash your face, get dressed in comfy clothes, take the day off if need be. He listed to himself. 

...hungry....  

And get some good breakfast. He added. Something warm to drink.  

He began the routine, ignoring the growing headache behind his eyes. 

The metallic taste of the blood in his mouth. 

Techno slowly rose, keeping himself from falling as he felt his legs shake slightly from the movement, before throwing on a comfy pair of pants and a baggy t-shirt. Then carefully made his way to the bathroom, covering the lower half of his face with a hand, glancing about quickly to ensure none of his coworkers were about, before bolting to the bathroom, locking the door behind him

He took a moment to breath as he turned on the sink, letting the cool water run across his hands, grounding him. Then, cupping his hands, he splashed the blessed liquid across his face, cleaning the dried blood away and cooling the sore ache in his sinuses from the broken blood vessels. 

Finally, he leaned against the sink, his head dipped down, letting the remainder of the nosebleed run its course down the drain as he allowed himself to relax. 

….hungry…..  

Techno took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as he let the tension in his shoulders release. 

The headache began to go away with the action. 

He hated mornings like this. 

____________ 

Tommy groaned as he made his way into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes groggily. Why was the damn kitchen light always so bright right when he woke up? Who the fuck designed lights like this? 

“Fuckin inconvenient.” he grumbled. 

“Ah, good morning mister sunshine and rainbows.” 

He could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from Caera as the man took a large swig of dark coffee. 

“Piss off.” Tommy mumbled, taking a seat at the table before reaching for the large plate of pancakes across from Philza-

“Oh fuck! Hi!” he quickly drew his hand back. “You’re up! You uh- you good?” 

The bird man nodded. “Just tired.” 

“That’s uh, that’s good.” Tommy began to heap a stack of pancakes onto his plate, still mulling over what all had occurred last night. 

Phil had saved him. 

That was good. He wasn’t dead and those idiots probably weren’t going to come back anytime soon. 

Phil had done weird shit with the lighting though. 

That was….Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

He wasn’t scared of the man, not after all he had gone through to keep him safe. Even if some of it- most of it- was unwarranted. 

But, Philza still unnerved him somewhat. 

He had questions he needed answering, he decided. 

“What’re your thoughts on the pancakes Phil?” Tommy asked. 

Philza seemed taken aback. 

“Pan-cakes?” he asked. 

Tommy served himself a heaping pile from the centre of the table, and pointed at the remnants on Phil’s own plate in reply. 

“Ah, the sweet breads.” Philza nodded. 

“Pretty shit huh.” Tommy grinned at Caera. 

The vet rolled his eyes, taking another swig of coffee. 

“Don’t like ‘em then learn to make your own.” he huffed. 

“ I like them.” Philza insisted, giving Tommy a confused glance. “If you don’t like them, why did you take some for yourself?” 

“Hunger knows no mercy.” Tommy quickly back-pedalled as he shovelled another mouthful into his face. “And ‘m hungry as fuck.” 

“He doesn’t mean it.” Caera added, taking another swig of coffee. “He’s just a dickhead who shows his affection through insults.” 

“I do not!” Tommy snapped. 

“Then say I’m the greatest pancake maker in the world if you don’t like them!” Caera grinned. 

Tommy stammered before finally settled on a muffled “Fuck you.” 

“See?” Caera shrugged. 

“Fuckin shit ass pancakes.” Tommy continued to grumble as he finished off his plate. “Hate ‘em. Hate you too, dickhead.” 

"Are you two brothers?" Philza asked. 

Tommy nearly spat out the pancakes. "God no! What makes you ask that?!" 

“You act like brothers.” Philza stated. "And you're both odd."

“Says the man with bird wings who hisses at people.” Tommy countered. 

“Fair enough.” Phil shrugged. 

 “About which,” Tommy noticed Caera set his mug of coffee down, folding his hands thoughtfully. 

“About things being odd, and such.” Caera continued. “I’m sure we all have questions for each other. Especially after last night.” 

That was a good point, Tommy realised. 

He did have questions. 

And Phil most certainly did as well. 

“What about last night?” the monotone voice of Techno rumbled from Tommy, sending him nearly leaping through the air. 

“Fucking hell Tech!” he stammered as the pinkette took a seat beside him, opposite of Phil. 

The fuck was with that man and his freaky ghost walk?! 

Actually, Tommy narrowed his eyes as he studied the older man carefully. 

He wasn’t in his uniform. 

That was…strange of him. 

Normally he would’ve been dressed in the station uniform well before anyone else, already up and feeding the animals and checking in on the weather reports. 

Instead, he was dressed in baggy pants and a loose shirt. His hair was disheveled and he had a washcloth pressed beneath his nose. 

His eyes looked sunken. 

Tommy realised he’d never seen Techno like that before. 

“You good big man?” he asked. 

The pinkette waved the question aside. Though he did notice Caera give the man a concerned look. 

“Day off?” the vet asked quietly. 

Techno nodded. 

“Uh, guys, is everything okay?” Tommy asked. 

“Having an off day, nothing to be concerned about.” Techno waved his hand again, taking a small serving of eggs for himself. 

It was then Tommy noticed Phil’s feathers fluff up slightly, though it was clear the man was struggling to keep the pinions flattened. 

He’d have to ask about that. Later, he decided. 

“Right, well,” he tossed another helping of pancakes onto his plate. 

“Now that everyone’s here, we wanna start with the questions?”

Chapter Text

Kristin wasn’t quite sure what to make of the drink called coffee. It was bitter, like tea, but somehow more so. Not...really in a bad way, just, different. 

It went down smoother with cream, however. And a spoonful of sugar she had been offered. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” a lilting, accented voice asked her. 

“Dizzy.” she admitted. “But otherwise alright.” 

The woman with the accent, Miss Niki she had called herself, smiled gently. 

“That’s good.” she nodded. “No aches anywhere? Nothing hurting at all?” 

Kristin shook her head. Immediately regretting the motion as her vision swam for a moment. 

“Oh…” she leaned back against the high end of the cushioned chair she had been offered. “Shouldn’t have done that.” 

“I have some ginger and anti emetics if you’d like?” Niki offered, shuffling into the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. 

“Yes, please.” Kristin said quietly, pressing the mug of coffee to her forehead. 

Niki, and her partner, Puffy they were called, had found her not more than two days ago. Wandering aimlessly, a stunned look on her face as she limped across the desert, wings dragging behind her. 

To be honest, Kristin didn’t fully remember the past week’s events, before she’d been found. 

She remembered the storm. Remembered the awful sensation of her mate’s hand being wrenched from her own, the horrible tearing of cloth as her claws ripped a piece of his sleeve in her desperation to maintain a hold, the gut wrenching scream of her name on his lips as she disappeared into the dark of the storm. Tossed about and thrown through the air, there had been no up or down, only dark and cold and the stinging rain soaking her clothes and hair and burning her skin. 

And then she’d woken to sunlight. 

Bright and blinding and burning her skin. 

She’d felt so sick.

So thirsty, so dizzy, so tired. 

She didn’t remember walking, but she must have. Because after she had woken up, she’d recognised time had passed. Her feet, bare as they always were, had grown sore and bloodied. Her wings were too weak to hold themselves up. Dragging behind her in the dust of the desert. Her mouth had been so dry, her skin cracked and burnt and red. The world had continued to spin as her stomach ached from hunger and dehydration. 

And then she’d seen them. 

The couple, in the shade of a large box-like structure, by the side of what must have been a road. A little girl playing in the dust nearby, under the watchful eye of another figure Kristin couldn’t quite make out. 

She remembered being too exhausted to care if these people were enemies. Too tired to care what happened, so long as she was able to rest, if only a bit within the shade of their shelter. 

“...just….need...water….” she remembered mumbling to the two figures that rapidly approached her, concern on their faces. And then she had blacked out. 

She remembered waking to cool, blessed water splashing across her sun burnt, aching skin. Being pressed to her lips to drink, which she had eagerly swallowed down. Fading in and out of consciousness, drifting between the world of the waking and the realm of dreams. 

It was there that she had seen him. 

Lying broken in the desert. 

Bleeding. 

His wing mangled. 

Eyes glazed in pain and blood on his lips. 

She’d been told when she woke that she had been crying. That she wouldn’t let go of something in her hand. 

That had been yesterday morning.

Kristin looked down at the piece of cloth, cradled on her lap. A forest green, familiar hemming at the ends, a tiny heart sewn subtly into the corner. A splash of dark brown, dried blood, tracing one edge. 

Whether it was her own or her lover’s she couldn’t tell. 

She folded it carefully in her hand, stroking the soft weave as she clutched it to her chest. 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Miss Niki had finally returned, setting a small plate of ginger candies and two small tablets before her. 

Kristin remembered yesterday morning, when she had finally woken, and told her rescuers what had happened. 

They had been startled, confused even. She knew they talked long into the night the day she had arrived, discussing what would be best to do. 

They had settled on helping her. Avoiding telling anyone of her presence. 

She had learned this was not her homeland. These humans were not the same as the ones she had grown used to. Their magics were far advanced. Their government more suspicious of strange things. 

“They probably would lock you up under the guise of ‘research’.” she’d been told by the one called Eret. “Best to keep a low profile and not let anyone else see you.” 

So, not too different from being killed then. She had surmised. 

It seemed no matter what world she was in, there was always something hunting her and her mate. 

She could be careful. She had been for years, it would be a bit different but she could manage. 

Her mate, though…. 

After what she had seen in her dream…. 

“He’s hurting.” she said quietly. 

She felt Niki’s hand on her own, lightly reassuring her. No words were spoken, what would say anyhow? But the message was still the same. 

He’s strong.  

You’ll find him.

It will be alright.

Gods she hoped that was true. 

Chapter Text

“So I think we already know you’re not from here.” Tommy’s voice was garbled from his mouthful of pancakes. “Where you from exactly?” 

Caera took a swig of coffee, watching Philza across from him. 

Need to preen that wing… He thought absently as the bird man shifted somewhat, keeping his good arm tucked across his chest, almost defensively. 

Caera took note of that. 

Discomfort on the ribs. He thought.

“I don’t think it had a name.” Philza began. “It was just, my world I guess.” 

“It was old.” he explained. “Very old. The mountains were taller than they are here, the valleys deeper, the rocks crumbling and weather worn far more than what I’ve seen of this place.” 

“Must be pretty fucking ancient then.” Tommy interjected. “I mean this place is a couple billion something already.” 

Philza nodded stiffly. 

Neck muscles need to be checked. Caera noted. 

“It was dying.” Philza continued. “There weren’t many of us left. A few clans of humanity scattered about the place. The gods were all dead too.” 

“The ones that weren’t...trying to-” he paused suddenly. 

Caera noted a slight tremble in his hand. 

“...I shouldn’t say…” Philza finally said, stiffening. “Actually, I won’t say.” 

“Why not?” Tommy asked. 

“Because I don’t want to remember it.” Philza’s voice was cold. 

Caera noted Techno’s brow twitch, ever so slightly. A motion of interest in the otherwise stoic man, he knew. 

“I don’t want to remember that part of it.” Philza took a breath. “But, I don’t mind answering other questions.” 

Before Caera had a chance to stop him, Techno had already asked. 

“What are you?” 

The bird man blinked, then chuckled. Much to the vet’s surprise. 

“I don’t actually know, really.” he explained. “Some clans claimed we were messengers, others an omen, some thought my people were gods.” 

“I mean, we may have been at some point,” he gave his good wing a light shake, fluffing up the feathers before letting them settle. “We were formed by a...god…” 

Hesitating. Caera noted the man’s good arm holding tighter to his shoulder. They had just danced dangerously close to the subject he had wanted to avoid. 

“Born of mankind and the birds above,” Philza seemed to quote. “To be the guardians and messengers and defenders of god and man alike.” 

He shook his head. 

“No idea how much of that is true, or just fairytale.” the bird man gave a half hearted shrug. “But, my people, or what’s left of us, are not human. That much I do know.” 

“If I may,” Caera finally asked. “Can I ask about your people?” 

Philza narrowed his eyes. 

“Just biology.” the vet assured. “So I can help treat you a bit better.” 

The bird man seemed to almost sigh in relief. 

“If it helps,” he began. “We don’t have hollow bones.” 

Caera was taken aback. That wasn’t something he had expected. Well, he had seen the x-rays he'd taken, but he'd just assumed his sleep deprived eyes weren't seeing things right.

“How the fuck do you fly then?!” he asked. 

The man was shorter than all of them, a whole head shorter than Techno, who, despite his physique, was hardly scraping taller than Tommy. His height and his wingspan being larger than any bird Caera had ever heard of, made sense, but even then, physically speaking, the man wouldn’t be able to fly. 

Shouldn’t be able to, not with the laws of gravity and the amount of energy spent trying to maintain flight. 

“Magic, I would think.” Philza said blankly. “I was, supposedly, created by a god after all.” 

“Is that how you made the lights do that weird shit?” Tommy asked. 

“Technically...yes?” Phil tapped a claw awkwardly on the table top. “I’m not actually sure how your lights work, but, I was able to sense and manipulate whatever powers them.” 

“That’s fucking awesome!” Caera saw the teen’s eyes light up in curiosity. “You can manipulate electricity?!” 

“Is that what it’s called?” the bird man raised an eyebrow. “We just call it lightning.” 

“YOU CAN MANIPULATE LIGHTNING?!” Tommy nearly shrieked. 

Caera felt Techno flinch beside him. 

“Just small amounts at a time, yes.” Philza explained. “It takes a lot of effort to create a little spark for lighting a hearth. It’s really more for flying in bad weather, can keep from getting hit by lightning when trying to fly through a storm.”

“Can’t fly now though.” he added, a sorrowful tone to his voice. 

“Well if your bones aren’t hollow,” Caera tried to reassure him. “I think healing might be a bit easier.” 

“I heal faster than a human anyhow.” Philza grinned, almost smugly. “If I’m not completely incapacitated that is.” 

“If your bones aren’t hollow, don’t your wings weigh a lot?” Tommy asked, shovelling another bite of pancakes into his mouth before reaching for another helping. Only for Techno to pull the serving plate aside, sliding the remaining pancakes onto his own dish. 

“Ass!” Tommy hissed. 

“They do,” Philza answered the boy. “If I’m not airborne my back aches like a bitch!” 

“I’ll keep that in mind then.” Caera took another sip of coffee, only to notice the mug was mostly empty. 

He shoved it over to Tommy. 

“Refill that please?” 

“Refill it yourself!” Tommy shoved the mug back. 

“How did you get here?” Techno asked, ignoring the two pushing the mug back and forth between the other. 

Caera paused, watching Philza’s reaction. The man seemed to stiffen a bit, his feathers rising ever so slightly whenever Techno spoke. 

“I don’t…” His eyes narrowed again. “I don’t know.” 

“We were in a storm, and…” Caera watched the man’s hand trace across the wrist of his broken arm. Three, faint scratch marks crossed the back of his bound wrist. 

“...there was something...wrong about it.” Philza’s voice grew dark. “There was something there-I...I’ve seen it before...I don’t….” 

The vet noted the way the man suddenly gripped the front of his shirt, as if an old pain had flared up suddenly. 

“We were in a storm and got separated and I hit something and woke up in the desert.” he quickly said. “That’s all I remember.” 

Caera nodded. He wasn’t going to press further, not about that subject anyhow. However...

“We, you said?” he asked. 

Philza hung his head, his good wing slumping. 

Oh… that wasn’t good. 

“My mate.” he said quietly. “She-I-I lost...my hand slipped…” 

Caera saw the man’s eerie eyes, those solid blue, ungodly eyes, widen in terror. Then glaze up suddenly with a horrible, dark loss. 

There was a high pitched sound slowly filling the room. A pained, hair raising keen as Philza slumped forward against the table, burying his face into his good arm. 

Caera felt something in his own chest ache painfully at the sound as he quickly took a seat beside the man, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. 

He knew Techno had left at the sound, he didn’t blame him. 

Grief was not something he should relive. 

“Tommy?” he asked the stunned teen, however, still sitting in shock. Still not fully comprehending the sudden change in emotions. 

“Mind making some coco?” Caera asked quietly.

Chapter Text

Techno slowly slid his back down against the wall of the hallway, closing his eyes. Far enough out of sight of the three in the kitchen, but close enough to still hear their conversation. 

...lost…

...lost them…

….consumed….

…..consumed them….

….lost…

….lost…

...lost…

“Shut up.” he rubbed his eyes against the horrid ache in his chest, steadily building, then dying, then building again in time with his breaths. 

...hurts…

….hurt you…

...took them…

...took…

….hurts…

….wounded you….

….took them….

….he saw it….

….he senses it…

….senses us…

...us….

….us…..

Philza had seen it . 

Techno steadied himself, hugging his arms around his chest, still feeling the empty ache of- 

….taken…

….taken….

….gone….

….it’s gone….

….took it….

….took it….

…...gone….  

He hissed, digging his fingers into the invisible mark on his chest. 

He had no doubt the man in the kitchen bore a similar scar. Unseen, but there nonetheless, a piece of him permanently torn from his very being. A piece of his soul violently stripped away. A feeling of loss, emptiness, perhaps something more. Constant within his life. 

That was why Philza was so wary of him, he knew. 

Of course he would have wanted to never experience something like that again, never be reminded of the pain of what had happened, never see the effects of that….thing…..for the remainder of his life. 

A part of him felt guilty. Whether Philza fully recognised it or not, Techno was living proof that thing was real. 

Was real, and here. 

….do not forget….

...cannot forget….

…..us….

….helped you…..

….us….

Techno shuddered. 

There was more than just that thing, too. 

He just….hoped that he’d never have to witness it again. Hoped Philza would never witness it again. 

Although, the man had mentioned a storm….

A storm that was wrong. 

A storm that had taken his mate from him. 

Techno buried his face in his hands. 

It had to be that thing . It had to be. He knew it was. 

Gods it had taken another, he realised. 

...another….

….of course….

…..always more…..

….hungry….

…..never satisfied….

...so hungry…

He took a breath, long and deep, and held it. Counted to four. Then slowly let it out through his nose. He repeated the action, slowing his rapidly beating heart at his revelations. 

He had more questions now. But he’d have to go about it carefully. 

He didn’t want to hurt Philza. He needed the man to trust him if he was to gain any insight on their situation. 

And, most importantly, he didn’t want to endanger Caera or Tommy. 

Then again, for all he knew, maybe this thing would never be seen again. Who was he to predict fate? 

But….that was just it, wasn’t it. 

That thing didn’t care about fate. 

Didn’t care about irony. Probably didn’t even have a concept of it. 

And even if it did….do something….what was he supposed to do about it?!

….do not forget….

….us….

…..helped you….

….helped you….

….us….

“No.” he shook his head. Not unless he was forced to, not unless he had no other option, would he resort to- 

“Brrrrrup?” 

Techno raised his head to see Lincoln, the old tomcat bumping his face against his knee, chirping affectionately. 

He sighed, relenting to giving the old man a head scratching. 

He was thinking too hard about this, he decided. 

The odds were not favourable, sure, but. There was no proof it was going to do anything. 

And there would be plenty of warning signs, he knew. 

If it happened, he would work things out from there. But for now…

He leaned back against the wall as Lincoln hopped onto his lap, curling up contentedly and purring as he continued to stroke the cat’s fur. Letting his fingers card through the soothing texture, feeling a slight vibration in his fingertips at the sensation of the fur. 

Finally calm once more, he tilted his head toward the kitchen, eavesdropping on the conversation. 

Hoping to pick out anything that might be able to help the man.

Chapter Text

Philza curled a clawed finger around the handle of the mug, watching as the steam of this...coco beverage swirled upwards. Drifting lazily, soothingly, across his face. 

He had finally snapped. 

He had finally realised the gravity of the situation, now that he was no longer addled with the pain of his wounds, the ache of hunger and thirst. 

His mate was gone. 

Not dead, but missing. 

And that storm had been the culprit. 

That storm had followed him. 

That storm was no storm. 

The harsh winds picked up, tearing at his clothes, his feathers, his skin. Cold and hot all at once, like the acidic spittle of some great beast in the midst of a howling roar-  

He had witnessed that storm once before. 

Splitting the fabric of time, tearing through reality, yet appearing as though there was nothing there at all. A maw. A mass of teeth and bone and skin and sinew and flesh and muscle and tendrils of life and death, flailing endlessly and filled with an insatiable emptiness-  

The storm had preceded it. 

He must have been caught in one of those...reality bending vortexes...if he could even call it that. Torn from his old world and flung into this new one. 

Kristin must have as well. 

She had grasped ahold of his wrist in some last, desperate effort to keep from separating. He felt her claws tearing into his skin, ripping his sleeve. His scream was lost in the rain as his wings were grabbed by the wind, pulling angrily at his feathers, plucking him violently from her grasp- 

He woke to harsh light and burning skin, dry lips and dust in his throat. Tattered feathers and clothes. Surrounded by the harsh reds and golds of a land he did not recognise, scattered about with the patches of black and ash brown scrub, strange plants he did not know furred with needles. 

The land was burning, alive and awash with the fires of the sun, scorching his bare feet on the orange dust beneath. The air shimmered, tongues of clear flame, forming shapes where there was nothing, water where none was or ever would be. 

The land was fire. 

Should he tell them? He wondered. And if so, how much? 

Too many worries, too many questions, too many...just too many. Too much. Too much all at once. 

One thing at a time. He decided, taking a breath to steady his nerves. 

And the first thing was the drink before him. 

He took a sip. 

Warm and sweet, a flavour he had never experienced before. It was unlike anything he could even describe. Buttery and sweet but bitter, but only slightly, bubbling froth collected on the top of his lip pleasantly. 

“What-” he swallowed, smooth and gentle and warm down his throat. “What is this?” 

“You’ve never had hot coco?” Tommy had a moustache of the drink across his face. 

Philza probably did as well, he realised, quickly cleaning his face off with the back of his hand. 

“It’s chocolate.” Caera explained. “I take it you didn’t have chocolate where you’re from?” 

“Sugar yes, but I’ve not heard of this.” Philza explained. “And even then, it was difficult to grow where I lived. Was expensive to import too so we never bothered.” 

“Well it’s got sugar in it,” Tommy still hadn’t wiped his moustache off. “But also this ground tree bean thing or something, tastes like shit on its own though.” 

“Well, some people like the taste of it without the sugar.” Caera added. “Or very little at least.” 

“It’s nice.” Philza took another sip. 

“Chocolate is supposed to help with boosting moods.” the vet added. “Something to do with dopamine levels, figured it could help.” 

“Mate I have no idea what any of that is.” Philza chuckled. “But, thank you. It helps.” 

There was a long, almost awkward moment of silence, before Tommy asked, 

“Why do you call me a chick?” 

Philza chuckled. “Cause you are.” 

“I am not!” the boy huffed. “I’m a man!” 

“What he means is,” Caera quickly explained. “The word ‘chick’ in our world can also mean ‘woman’.” 

Philza snorted. 

Oops!  

“Sorry mate!” he laughed. “Where I’m from it just means young, like child.” 

“Not a child either!” Tommy insisted. “I’m seventeen!” 

Philza blinked. “Holy shit that’s young.” 

“The fu- and how old are you then?!” the boy huffed. 

Oh...that actually was a good question now that he thought of it. 

Philza scratched his ear as he thought. He knew he was far older than any human would ever hope to live to, but he was still quite young for his people. Old enough to take a mate or sire children, though he had no desire to for the latter. But not nearly the age to be considered for any leadership role or major decision making within a clan. 

The exact amount of years he had lived though…

“I uh...I lost count.” he admitted, before relaying his approximations to the two. 

“Holy fuck you’re old as balls!” Tommy nearly yelled. 

“I am NOT!” Philza snapped. 

“Whatever you say old timer,” the boy took a sip of his coco, finishing it off. “You’re still fucking old.” 

“You look about late twenties, in human years.” Caera ignored the boy. “Would you say that’s about right?” 

Philza shrugged. “Most likely.” 

“Sorry I can’t be more accurate,” he added. “It’s hard to be accurate when your measurement of time is vastly different from, the norm I guess?” 

“Approximations are better than nothing if it means I can keep an eye on your health while you heal.” Caera stated, pouring out another mug of the coco for Tommy. 

“I guess.” Philza agreed. 

“Well,” the vet took a seat once more, holding his mug in both hands, his eyes wandering up to the ceiling in thought before returning to Philza. 

“We’ve asked a lot of you,” he admitted. “Is there anything about us or this world you’d want to know about?” 

So much!  

There was so much he wanted to know! 

What was chocolate? What was that thin, durable glass? What was their job out here? What was their civilization like? 

The two answered his questions to the best of their knowledge, filling him in on ideas of plastic and electricity, explaining what a nature reserve was.

Caera explained that the place was set aside by the government of their nation as a place to be, for the most part, untouched by human interaction. With a few exceptions of monitoring the surrounding wildlife to ensure the environment’s health, and to make sure no one who wasn’t allowed to visit during certain hours was trespassing. 

“So, humans aren’t supposed to be here, unless invited and during certain times of years?” Philza took another sip of the coco. 

“For the most part yeah.” Tommy answered. “We educate some people about the wildlife, spread awareness ya know? Since we’re all kinda overcrowding in the cities and not many people get to see places like this they get a bit too excited and want to explore every inch of it but that just fucks up the place cause they have no idea what they’re doing and shit-” 

“We act as teachers, guides and guards when necessary.” Caera summarised. 

The lanky redhead went on to explain that Techno was in charge of animal handling, repairs, scouting and searching for any lost people, and hauling out trespassers when needed. Or being a scary face to spook anyone being too nosey. 

Caera himself was the station’s veterinarian and first aid responder, hence why he was the one helping Philza recover. 

“Though,” he admitted. “I’m better with animals than people. There’s similarities sure but there’s enough of a difference that big surgeries are a no go for me when it comes to humans. I mean I am still a doctor, I can do surgeries if I need to, but with the amount of supplies and gear we have I'd be more comfortable with just working on smaller animals you now?” 
"But I will fight anyone who says I'm not a 'doctor'," he added. "Just cause my specialty is animal care doesn't mean I didn't work hard for this degree."

Ah, Philza nodded. 
He had no clue what a degree was.

“At least he can still stick a plaster onto a broken bone and give it a kiss to make it all better- OW!” 

Caera elbowed Tommy hard at the mockery. 

“And I can break bones too when they’re attached to little bastards.” the vet glared playfully at the teen. 

“What’s your job, Tommy?” Philza asked. 

“I,” the lad puffed up his chest proudly. “Am in charge of maintaining the moolah, the finances, the highest honour bestowed upon anyone here-” 

“He scoops the mule shit and takes out the garbage.” Caera grinned wickedly. 

“Wh-wha- shut up I do not!” the teen sputtered. 

“Garbage boy.” Caera continued to prod. “Little garbage man!”

It took all of Philza’s will not to spit out his drink in laughter at the two’s constant butting heads. They may not have been brothers by blood, but he knew kinship when he saw it. 

 He continued questioning them until late in the morning. Learning that they were apparently understaffed - That would explain the many empty rooms, he thought- and that while there had been more stations around, within the past five years they had slowly emptied out. People going missing, station managers just disappearing without notice, the tiny town nearby slowly emptying of occupants year after year. 

“Guess the upside is, nature is kinda taking over a lot of the place?” Caera shrugged. “Downside is though, no one wants to help with the stations. And, kinda feels like the place is dying out.” 

“Don’t get much visitors from out of town either.” Tommy added. “Don’t got any of the ‘cool national park features’, just a big empty chunk of foothills and a couple rock formations that don’t really look like much.” 

“And desert.” he added. “Lots of desert that’s pretty unsafe to even think about wandering through, hard to make a deathtrap a destination to visit.” 

“Upside to that though,” Philza pointed out in an attempt to lighten the otherwise dying mood. “No one wants to live there either, so the wildlife is safe from being removed to make way for your cities. Right?” 

He saw the two shrug. 

Well, he tried. 

He wanted to keep asking more, wanted to learn more about this place. But as it was, the morning was wearing on, the sun drifting higher and higher, he noticed as he looked out the window. The warmth of the rays, and the heat from the soothing drink and first true meal he had eaten in days settling comfortingly in his stomach, began to wear on him. His eyes were growing drowsy.

 And eventually, after apologising once more for his frequent questions, he admitted to his growing exhaustion. 

“No worries, you’re gonna be feeling like shit off and on for a while.” Caera waved aside the apology. “Gonna have to sleep a lot of it off, I’d imagine, if your body heals faster. Probably your metabolism is more efficient so you’ll have to sleep more…” 

Philza didn’t bother to listen to the rest of what the vet rambled, all words he didn’t understand. 

He was just grateful to be able to go back to his room and rest. 

Though, as he shuffled the blankets and pillows into a semi burrow shape, a thought struck him. 

The pink one, Techno, had left shortly after mentioning how he’d lost Kristin to the storm. 

Philza paused, his hand gripping the front of his shirt unconsciously. There was something off about that man, he sensed. 

He had known the pinkette was the guardian of the group. That much was obvious. Always watching every move Philza had made around the others since the start. Studying him it seemed, for any sense of threat or weakness. 

Which, considering the circumstances, Philza could respect. A strange being from another world arriving suddenly and refusing to cooperate? Of course anyone would be concerned. 

But, there was something else to the man that didn’t add up to his behaviour. The sudden drop in mood at the table this morning, still on guard sure but definitely not fully….there? Was that the word? 

As if his mind had been elsewhere. 

And that odd sensation at the back of Philza’s neck, when he had pried too far into his questioning. 

Familiarity. 

Uncanny, familiarity. 

The kind of familiarity one feels after experiencing a nightmare one could swear was experienced before. 

Philza shuddered, gripping tightly at the scar that wasn’t there, buried deep in his chest. 

Techno had something to do with…the thing. The way he had acted, the way he had spoken, the way he had suddenly left. 

Philza curled onto his side, clutching at the faint soreness of the scar, as he pondered. 

The question now, was Techno a survivor like himself? And if so, was that thing’s reach here as well? 

Or….was he a vessel?

Chapter Text

The days after the initial questioning, or, more like introductions, went by stupidly fast in Tommy’s opinion. 

Sure, not much actually changed in the daily routine of the station. 

Caera was still up at dawn, checking in on the various recovering animals, working on the odd bits of medical files he had formed throughout the months, noting any differences in diet or behaviour in some of the more long term residents. Manning the front desk when Tommy or Techno could not. 

The only change in the man’s schedule was that he was now taking care of the new inhabitant.

In Tommy’s opinion, said inhabitant was probably the coolest thing that had ever happened to the station. 

Philza himself was an oddity that broke the monotony of their daily routines, the man was just as curious of them as they were of him. Asking questions about nearly everything they were doing or what different things he encountered were, the only time he wasn’t questioning things was when he was asleep. Which was, unfortunately, more often than not. Much to Tommy’s dismay. 

To be fair, he told himself, he had been hit by a truck. Anyone would be exhausted after that sort of injury. Not to mention the stress of the days following, surely the confusion on both party’s sides had only made his healing slow. 

But when he was awake, the bird man eagerly followed Caera about the station, watching every task. Occasionally even attempting to help out when he could. 

It was quite the shock to Tommy when he went to feed the songbirds one morning, only to find Philza in the enclosure, surrounded by the curious inhabitants. All chirping and hopping about the man, attempting to preen his feathers as he whistled back to them. 

It had taken all of Tommy’s willpower to not shout in surprise at the sight, not wanting to startle either of the enclosure’s occupants. 

It was...actually rather adorable, seeing the little birds in Philza’s hair, hopping across his shoulders, delicately picking out scabs from his injured wing. 

“They like you.” Tommy had stage whispered to the man in the enclosure. 

“I know!” Philza had grinned back. “That’s why I’m in here!” 

It wasn’t until much later in the day that Caera had discovered the bird man’s antics. And had been paranoid. 

“What if a visitor saw you?!” He had rubbed his face in exasperation. “You know how hard it is to convince someone they didn’t just see a fuckin cryptid chilling in the songbird enclosure?!” 

“No one showed up.” Philza had shrugged. “I made sure it was morning, before your opening hours.” 

“Why were you even in there?” Caera had asked. 

To which the bird man’s eyes had grown downcast and Caera had immediately apologised, offering him another cup of coco. 

Tommy had learned rather quickly, through listening in on the two’s conversations, and from his own experiences with Philza and the various birds at the station, that his species thrived on interaction. Specifically with others of their own kind. It wasn’t a simple case of just missing his mate, it was that she was, quite literally, the only other person like him that he knew of existing. And for a species that needed interaction with their flock, it was…

“I lived so long on my own,” Philza had explained one night. “Between my last flock member passing and her finding me, I was alone.” 

“I’d heard about what happened to flock members who had gone missing for months on end, returning with haunting eyes and refusing to let anyone leave their sight.” he continued. “Never fully understood why they were so paranoid of people leaving them, until I ended up, well…” 

He shrugged. “Don’t fully remember a lot of that time but I can say, being alone for that long makes you especially grateful for when you’re not.” 

Tommy nodded. 

He could relate, on a certain level. While not nearly as lonely as being the literal last of your species, not by a long shot, that didn’t mean his own experiences weren’t valid on their own. 

The move, the new friends just up and leaving, the difficulty connecting with anyone in the local town. He counted himself lucky to be able to have Caera and Techno as coworkers, let alone friends.

“Not quite the same,” he had told Philza. “But yeah, I get ya.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help with that?” he’d asked. 

The man had shrugged once more. “Just wanna keep hanging out with the birds, if that’s okay?” 

And so it was agreed that during the early hours of morning and later after closing time, so long as he was careful, Philza could accompany the birds until they woke up for the day, or until they had fallen asleep. 

Which had proven a great relief for Tommy, once he had shown the man the various seeds and how to measure out a daily set of food for the birds. Once Philza had mastered making nectars and food bowls on his own, Tommy had one less chore to worry about. 

Not that that had been his intention. 

Not at all! No way! He’d told himself. 

But, it was nice to have one less chore to do every day. 

Especially now that Techno seemed...off. 

The man still woke long before everyone, excluding the few times he wasn’t feeling well which...actually no, Tommy thought. Techno was more unwell than he was well, lately. 

Waking up early sure, as he always did. But he seemed to be spending more time in his room in the mornings than usual, coming out looking bedraggled and exhausted before beginning his daily tasks. Far from the usual, well kept station keeper he normally was. 

Whenever Tommy asked, he only ever got the usual “Stayed up too late” or “Paperwork” as an excuse. 

He doubted it was either of those. He’d seen Techno run on less than three days of sleep and was still capable of fixing a tire in the middle of the desert highway. And since when did the station ever have that much paperwork?  

But, Tommy wasn’t about to argue it. Techno had been here longer than even Caera, if he wanted an extra few minutes of sleep or didn’t bother with keeping his uniform perfectly creased, he’d earned it. 

It still felt odd though, Tommy mused to himself one evening, making his way back into the station after mucking out the mule stalls. 

He’s been acting weird.  

Ever since Philza had shown up, particularly after talking about the storm, Techno had just seemed...off. 

Techno was never off. 

When Tommy had first arrived at the station for his work, the man was the first to show him the ropes of the place. While he hadn’t been militaristically meticulous in the day to day tasks, he had been exceptionally better than Tommy ever hoped to be. 

Professional. He nodded to himself, chucking the wheelbarrow into the shed before locking up. 

And professionals don’t do...whatever the hell Techno had been doing. 

It wasn’t like him. 

But then, what was like him? Tommy wondered. 

In comparison to his two peers, the intern had only been at this job for maybe a few months. Caera at least two years. Techno, as far as Tommy knew, five. Maybe more, considering the sheer amount of knowledge the man had about the place. The various trails and shortcuts, the best places for hidden camping stashes, where the most likely areas for different animals were. Hell, even hidden compartments of the god-only-knew-how-old desk the front office had! 

It finally occurred to the teen as he made his way back to the station proper, that he didn’t actually know that much about Techno. 

In truth, it would seem he knew far more about an inter-dimensional cryptid from a dying planet than he did his own coworker. 

Fuckin brilliant. He chided himself. 

A series of happy chirps and trills flooded his ears as he rounded the back of the station, finally coming into view of the songbird enclosure. Where -speak of the devil- said ‘cryptid’ was currently sitting cross legged on the ground, his good wing held out and surrounded by curious, colourful desert birds. All chirping and singing happily as they picked through his hair and preened his feathers. 

Tommy snorted. If it weren’t for the massive set of wings and tufted bits of feathers poking out from the sides of his head where his ears were, Philza looked like some lost twenty something in his lent out jeans and modified T-shirt. Chilling happily on the straw of the enclosure with sleepy eyes and...lonely smile. 

Right, interaction. Tommy reminded himself, a thought suddenly springing to mind. 

“Hey Phil!” he called out, nearly laughing as the tufts of black feathers sprung upwards as the bird man took notice of his arrival. 

“You wanna see something cool?” Tommy offered. 

Philza cocked a brow, gingerly clawing to his feet and waving away the various birds, who all chirped at him with some effect of disgruntlement. 

“Will we get in trouble with Caera?” he smirked, carefully clambering out from the enclosure. 

“Only if we’re caught.” Tommy locked the door behind him. 

“Then I’m in.” Philza grinned. 

It really wasn’t too big of a deal, Tommy thought as he led the bird man to the back of the station towards the maintenance ladder, he’d done this sort of thing all the time and never gotten in trouble. Hell, Techno was the one who showed him in the first place. 

And as long as they were careful and no one drove up into the parking lot, they’d be fine. 

The intern motioned Philza towards the ladder, quickly clawing his way up it before reaching down to help haul the still limping man up behind him. It took a few moments of awkward flapping and a few winces on Philza’s part, but eventually the two stood on the roof of the station. 

Tommy gestured outwards towards the view, watching with relief as Phil’s eyes widened and narrowed and widened again, scanning about in delight at the sight that stretched out before them. 

Backlit by the setting sun, towering mesas and chimney stacks and various, crimson formations of stone rose up across the land. Dark purple shadows stretching out from their feet, reaching back towards the station like ghostly hands, straining to touch the tiny building, dwarfed by the expanse of wilderness that carried on for miles. 

Patches of scrub on the nearby foothills, painted in shades of dark green and brown and violet, sparking with the vibrant splashes of pinks and yellows from the seasonal flowers, framed the scene. Far behind them, hidden under layers of wavering mirages of heat and non existent oasis, rose a series of mountains. All leading down towards the massive valley that made up the reserve, cradling the station, the mesas, the chimney stacks, the patches of scrub and the vast, flat land of the dried lake bed far, far off in the distance. Shimmering golden and blood red, a fire of light dancing atop the cracked stones of a long dead mass of where water once flowed some thousands of years ago, one last blaze alight by the glimmer of the setting sun. Making way for the pink, then indigo, then star frosted sky of twilight. A blanket of chill and cold, dark and brilliant all at once in the mass of twinkling celestials that piroughetted through the sky. 

It was one of the many reasons Tommy had been sold on staying at the station. 

“What do you think, birdman?” he asked, glancing back at Philza. 

The man’s eyes were narrow, his lips turned upwards in a faint smile as the twilight breeze ruffled through his hair and feathers. He didn’t say a word, but instead closed his eyes fully, extending his good wing into the breeze, where it nearly lifted as it caught enough of a gust to keep it aloft without effort. 

He sighed. 

“Thanks mate.” Philza finally spoke, opening his eyes to Tommy. 

“I needed that.” 

The sad smile returned, though, thankfully, it didn’t appear to be nearly as strong this time around. 

Tommy would take that as a win.

___________

A faint buzzing screeched a higher and higher pitch as the small drone arrived back into its owner’s hands. 

“You got the pics right?” a pair of night vision goggles were raised to peer over the shoulder of the pilot, brushing aside the white bandana that held his hair back. 

“Not so fucking close! Dumbass!” the pilot jerked the remote away, setting it down beside the small setup outside the truck, before removing the flash-drive from the drone as it was offered to him. “I would hope I did, if your nosy ass didn’t keep asking me questions every five minutes.” 

“I was not!” goggles protested. “You’re a shit pilot and I wanted to make sure it didn’t fucking fall-” 

“Well then you pilot it next time!” 

“Shut up shut up! Both of you!” the two were shoved apart from each other as a green hoodie broke through to tap at the monitor with a gasp. 

“Look look look!” a wheezy laugh hissed from the green hoodie. “Holy fuckin- we got it! We got it!” 

Clear as day on the monitor, a photo of a winged, bi-pedal creature, was perched atop an abandoned park station.  

Chapter Text

Where was he?! 

Where the fuck was he?! 

The teen scrambled blindly about in the dark, hands braced before him as he tripped about the rocky surface of...wherever the fuck he had landed. 

He had tumbled down from the top of the mesa, he remembered that much. His scraped knees and hands, and the stabbing pain in his shoulder, had reminded him, painfully, of the fall. 

His foot had slipped, he’d grabbed his friend’s hand, dragging him after his falling form with a sharp yelp of fear. And then he’d hit the rocky edges of the mesa, and everything had gone dark. 

He’d woken after twilight. A dry ache in his throat and a horrid sunburn from laying unprotected on the desert floor. 

How he wasn’t dead, he didn’t know. He only hoped his friend was alive. 

He limped across the rocks and rubble at the base of the mesa, calling out for them in short, hopeless shouts.  Until he heard it, a faint cry behind a large boulder. A familiar voice, weak and pained and desperate. 

Fuck! He thought as he bolted towards the voice. 

Fuck! 

They should never have wandered off the track. 

Should never have dared each other to stand too close to the edge. 

Should have fucking signed in to the station! 

He rushed around the boulder, calling out to his friend once more, and- 

Tubbo shrieked. 

______________________ 

…...consume…..

…..hungry…..

…….always hungry……

…...feeds…..

…….two of them……

……...two….

…...distorted…..

…...reformed…..

…..like you……

…….like you…..

…..too late…..

…….torn……

…...torn……..

……..reformed……

…….consumed……..

Techno popped another two advil from the packet, downing them with a massive glass of water, gasping as he leaned against the sink. Fighting the oncoming nausea of the headache and sudden filling of his stomach. 

….too late…

….too late…

….two…

...two of them…

….too late….

...consumed….

“Shut up.” he hissed, turning the faucet and splashing the blessedly cool water onto his feverish skin. 

“You’ve told me already.” he mumbled defeatedly. “I get it. Now shut up.” 

Techno sighed, taking another moment to wash his face in the sink, not bothering to keep his hair out of the water as his fever finally faded with the oncoming day. 

That was getting to be a problem, he noted. The nightly fevers, the headaches, the nightmares….the whispers. 

He knew what it was, he told himself. 

He’d managed it before, he could do it again. 

With another quick splash of water to his face, Techno tied his hair up and proceeded to begin his morning tasks. Today was better than previous, he knew he could at least take care of the animals and maintenance. 

And as the morning progressed, the faint dawnlight finally making way to the long shadows and warming air of the sun cresting over the horizon, he actually felt well enough to do a patrol. 

Nothing major, he told himself. Just a quick scout of the more popular places to camp out that weren’t official campsites. Maybe scare off any drunk teens that had decided to trespass. 

Techno led Carl from the stable, tacked the mule up and made a quick radio to Caera to let him know where he was headed. After getting a sleepy “...sure...just be back...before opening hours…” he hoisted himself into the saddle and set off at a gentle trot into the desert. 

It was a rather cool morning for once, the heat of the day deciding to take its time in warming up the place. A boon to Carl, Techno patted the mule’s neck, grateful the dark fur of the creature wasn’t warm to the touch. Overheating was hell for horses, the same went for mules. And he’d rather not have to put the poor beast under too much stress for just a quick patrol. 

While the air was still relatively cool, and none of the suspected places for trespassing teens were occupied, as the day went on Techno still couldn’t shake the faint feeling of...unease. 

Something wasn’t right. 

The...whispers...had been more frequent lately and while sure, correlation was not causation, he still felt as if something was off. 

It was as he was passing by a familiar series of boulders that the feeling grew to a spine chilling shudder. 

Carl snorted, tossing his head back as the large stones came into view. 

Immediately Techno was on alert, gently shushing the mule as he scanned about. He expected a snake, a bobcat, a mountain lion. Anything logical that could have sent Carl into the pawing fright he seemed to be in, still tossing his head back and snorting as he stomped his hooves anxiously against the near invisible path- 

Techno blinked. 

He hadn’t taken any man made paths. He’d strictly stayed on the deer trails and washouts, following the off trail routes to the common sites where illegal camping would often occur. 

He hadn’t taken a trail. 

Why was there a trail? 

...look…

...look…

…..safe….

….look….

…..empty…..

…..old….

…..lost….

…...lost…..

…….empty….

…...mule smells it….

…..foot print….

….foot print….

…..empty….

….smells it…

….look….

The whispers chattered excitedly at the find, urging him, begging even, to continue onwards. 

There shouldn’t be a trail here, he knew that. 

Yet, the more he looked, the more he realised. The bits of grey gravel, buried under layers of reddish dust. The way the brush still curled away from the centre. The old metal stakes planted every six meters, just barely poking up from the ground. 

It was a trail. 

Granted, it was an old trail. One that didn’t look as if it had been used in maybe twenty or so years. Nearly buried under the dust of hundreds of windstorms and flash floods. 

But, it was there. 

And as far as Techno was concerned, it shouldn’t be. 

None of the maps had it marked out, not even as a maintenance trail. 

And Carl was spooked by it. 

Techno drew back on the reins, guiding the mule aside before dismounting, tying him off to a nearby rock. 

He dropped to his knees, brushing the dust and dirt aside, keeping his eyes scanning upwards across the horizon, just to be safe. Until finally his fingers scraped across the rough sharpness of gravel, granite and grey and clearly not from this desert. Imported, for use of marking trails.

And driveways. 

Techno stood, brushing his hands clean and drawing his knife. 

He needed to find where the trail led. But if Carl was scared of it, he wasn’t going unprepared. 

….not unprepared…

….remember….

…...do not forget…

….do not forget…

….us….

…..save you…

….saved you….

...us…

Techno nearly jumped as he felt Carl’s nose push into his back, snorting. 

“Bruh, don’t scare me like that!” he gave the mule a reassuring pat as he eyed the trail ahead of him. “I won’t be gone longer than ten, okay?” 

And with that, he set off. 

Ghostwalking, was what Caera called it, silent and near invisible he stalked down the tail, turning slowly around the boulders. 

It was just practice, he told himself, years of practice. 

He knew it wasn’t. 

Nothing could see him like this, nothing could hear him. Or smell him. Even sense him, if he was careful. 

And that was just the way he needed it to be for something like this. 

As Techno rounded the pile of boulders, he finally saw it. 

The strong scent of decay hit him first before anything else. Dried wood, rotting carcasses of various trapped creatures, dust. 

So much dust. 

He pulled his bandana up over his mouth and nose as he eyed the decrepit building before him. 

Single storey, hardly more than the basic frame, barely three intact walls of peeling, splintered wood and drywall, holding up windows of cracked and shattered yellow glass. And the sign “Dust Mouth Park: Station 3” swinging listlessly from a single chain by where the front door should have been. 

“Oh….” Techno muttered under his breath. “Oh that’s not right…”

Chapter Text

“An this is Mommy, an this is Moddy, an this is Auncle Eret, an this is you!” Michelle proudly handed the scribbled drawing to Kristin. 

“Aw this is lovely Michelle!” she smiled at the toddler, who giggled happily at the compliment. “May I ask why you only drew yourself with one eye? You won’t be able to see very well with that.” 

The toddler laughed. “Cause I only got one eye!” 

And to Kristin’s surprise, Michelle...reached into her eye socket and removed a glass eye, holding it up proudly for the world to see. 

“...Oh!” Kristin quickly turned her confused, slightly concerned expression back into a smile. “I see.” 

“I can’t!” Michelle pocketed the glass eye. 

Kristin could swear she heard Niki sigh in exasperation from where she sat at the front of the RV. 

“Did she pull her eye out again?” the woman called back. 

“It would seem so.” Kristin nodded, watching as Puffy smirked in the rearview mirror. 

“That’s my girl!” the white haired woman -she reminded Kristin of a sheep with the sheer amount of thick, snowy curls that framed her face- laughed. 

“Dear please, it’s not funny, we have to sanitise it again! And what if she just loses it one day?” Niki chided her partner. "It's expensive!"

“It is a little funny.” Eret carefully climbed into the seat beside Michelle, holding a bowl of water and a cloth. 

“Can I have your eye sweetie?” they asked, holding a hand out. 

Michelle seemed to look like she was about to protest before giving in after a stern glance from Eret, finally handing the now rather grimy looking glass eye to them to clean. 

Kristin decided she didn’t want to know what was in the toddler’s pocket that had made the eye so...gross. 

“Do you have any glass eyes?” Michelle asked quite suddenly. 

“Michelle!” Niki gasped from the front seat. “We don’t ask people that-” 

“It’s okay!” Kristin chuckled at the rather abrupt question, before answering the toddler. 

“No I don’t have any glass eyes, still got both of mine.” she grinned. 

“I ran with scissors!” Michelle stated, absently picking up another marker from the bin on the table the three sat at, before beginning a new set of scribbles on a paper. “I don’t remember it.” 

“Probably for the best.” Eret handed her back the eye. “Put that back in now, and don’t pull out until bedtime okay?” 

The little girl expertly popped the eye back into place, mumbling a ‘kay’ before addressing Kristin once more. 

“Do your wings do anything cool?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Kristin asked, suddenly feeling incredibly conscious of the two limbs on her back. 

The past weeks of adjusting to the small RV had been...interesting to say the least. Her wings took up far more space than she had initially thought. Quite a few feathers had been accidentally stepped on, things had been knocked over, apologies on both sides of the incidents had become a common occurrence. 

But the broken dishes and occasional knocking about as the family moved around the vehicle, was nothing compared to the sudden fear she would feel at each car they passed. Each person who walked by, each visitor coming to say hello to the family. 

She had become painfully aware that wings on a humanoid were not the norm. And if she wanted to keep a low profile, keep herself safe from humans with too many questions and no sense of personal autonomy, keep this family safe from any fallout that could happen should she be seen, Kristin had to keep herself hidden. 

Which, in the small RV home of this family, as much as she appreciated their help, was far more difficult than she had first thought. 

While her wings fit better in the seats up front, or even on the couch, she had resorted to sitting at the kitchen table, where she could easily draw the blinds, should they drive past anyone. Where she could also quickly make a dash for the bathroom to hide if they were pulled over, as had happened a few days ago by a nosy cop. 

At least she could still stretch her wings out at night. 

The family would always park someplace away from any cities, far enough from major roads, specifically for her she found out, to let her get in a flight or two in the safety of darkness. 

“It’s incredibly kind of you but you don’t have to if it’s a bother.” she had protested, once she found out. 

“Not at all!” Puffy had said. “You need time to fly and look for your partner, and it’s not like we’re doing much anyways.” 

“Just having a nice, long, schedule-less vacation.” Eret had agreed. “No plans, no places to be. We can wander the perimeter of Dust Mouth as long as you need us to.” 

She’d have to pay them back, somehow, Kristin told herself. They’d taken her in, not even knowing who or what she was, patched her up, and now were keeping her hidden while helping her search for her mate. 

She owed them everything. 

“Can they do tricks?” 

Michelle’s voice broke her from her thoughts. 

“Like can they change colours or spin around really really fast or- or can they fall apart and come back together again? Oooh can you control your feathers one at a time like the cool man on TV?!” 

Kristin looked to Eret, utterly baffled. 

“She means her favourite anime character.” they grinned. 

“She’s too young for that show!” Niki and Puffy both called back. 

“I’m supervising her!” Eret reassured the two. “I skip the scary parts.” 

“I don’t know what a TV is, or anime.” Kristin tried to shuffle herself to the edge of the table, holding the end of it to keep herself steady as she stood. 

“But…” she quickly drew the blinds on the window and spread her wings slightly, rapidly filling the tiny space with the speckled auburn and ochre feathers. 

“I can do this!” she grinned, fluffing up her wings as she normally would after getting spooked. 

Michelle squealed in delight. “Fluffy!” 

Kristin laughed, ruffling the feathers, rattling the pinions together before flattening them back out into place and sitting back down. 

“So fluffy!” the toddler was still giggling. “Can I pet them?” 

And there it was, the question Kristin had known was coming, and had worried about for some time. 

She didn’t want to disappoint the girl, but she hadn’t had her wings touched by anyone other than Philza. In decades probably. 

The thought of someone else, no matter who they were or how kind they had been, touching her wings….it bothered her. And while she knew the three adults would understand, Michelle being as young as she was, probably wouldn’t. Or would be incredibly disappointed at the very least. 

“Well,” she tried to explain. “For my people, our wings are very important to us. And we don’t let a lot of people touch them because we don’t know how they’ll treat them.” 

“Uh huh! I’ll be very very careful!” Michelle grinned. 

“Sweetie,” Eret addressed the toddler. “What I think she means is her wings are like your hair. You know how you don’t let anyone but Niki and Puffy touch your hair?”

Michelle seemed confused for a moment, before a slow expression of understanding crossed her face. 

“Oh!” she nodded solemnly. “Okay miss Kristin, I won’t ask to touch your wings.” 

“But they are very pretty and if I’m ever allowed to touch them that would be really really cool!” she added. 

Thank you! Kristin mouthed to Eret, who gave a small nod in understanding. 

No problem! They replied. 

“That’s very nice of you Michelle,” Kristin smiled at the toddler. “Thank you for understanding and respecting my boundaries.” 

“Mhmm! I’m good at that!” Michelle grinned. 

Yup, Kristin thought to herself. She would die for this family.

Chapter Text

Wrong. 

The place reeked of it. 

...told you…

….smart Carl…

….told you….

….told you….

….was here….

….here….

…….was here….

…..footprint….

…...footprint…..

….follows you….

….follows….

...follow it…

….follow….

...follow….

Techno pulled the bandana tighter over his mouth and nose, hissing as the headache began to return with the whispers. 

Every inch of him screamed that this place was wrong. 

Wrong.

Wrong on so many levels that he couldn’t begin to describe. 

Wrong, and familiar. 

Horribly so. 

‘Dust Mouth Park: Station 3’. The sign swung lazily before him, clear evidence. 

But, it wasn’t Station 3. 

Station 3 was his station. He’d been there for years now, at least five or six. There was no other Station 3. 

There couldn’t be. 

Against the prickling at the back of his neck, against every nerve shaking at the wrongness that the place exuded, against every thought that screamed at him not to, Techno held his knife up before him, and stepped up the stairs of the station’s bones. 

The roof was patchy, hardly anything to even provide shelter. The floor was littered with dust and the delicate skeletons of dead birds and mice. Scattered with owl pellets and dust and broken glass. Yellowed papers and posters, binders full of what probably had been logbooks, were tossed about. Crackling underfoot and turning to dust. 

Techno carefully scouted out through the building, noting its shape, its size, the layout. 

Slowly realising it matched his own Station 3 perfectly. 

Except, this couldn’t be. 

His Station 3 wasn’t built this far away from the road. Wasn’t built beside a large pile of boulders. Wasn’t...falling apart. 

Empty. 

Littered with bones. 

Abandoned. 

...look…

...look harder…

...look…

….look….

Techno strained his memory, desperately trying to recall if there had been any previous stations out this way on the older maps. As far as he was aware, there wasn’t. There shouldn’t be. 

And he couldn’t remember, couldn’t confirm or deny if he was wrong. 

It sent his heart pounding. 

….look….

….look…

…..look….

“I am looking!” he hissed, continuing yet another round of walking the layout of the building. “This...this doesn’t make sense!” 

….why would it…

...twisted….

….reformed….

….wrong….

….wrong….

….made it wrong….

….wrong….

“I know it’s wrong!” he snapped. “You keep saying that like I’ll suddenly get it! What do you want from- AGH!” 

Techno bit into the bandana, stifling his cry of pain as his chest seized. He stumbled to his knees, nearly dropping the knife as he clawed at the scar that wasn’t there, feeling as if...as if…

It sliced across his chest, burying a tendril of itself deep within flesh and bone, shattering and crushing and grasping about his heart. Somehow there, gory and bleeding and destroying his lungs and stomach and heart and windpipe, and yet somehow it wasn’t. His clothes were unbloodied, his skin untouched, his bones intact. 

And then it yanked. 

It pulled back, and never left, and TORE. 

Ripped free something. 

Something vital. 

Something…

Something…

Something…

It hurt.

Techno gasped, tearing the bandana free from his mouth and nose as he fought for air, finally allowing himself to slump to the floor of the rotting building. Dust and bones be damned, his chest hurt! 

He couldn’t breathe! 

He couldn’t breathe! 

Gods he couldn’t fucking breathe! 

Black dots began to flicker about his vision. 

He could hear his heart stammering wildly in his ears as he choked. 

Techno weakly rolled onto his back, grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled, tearing the top three buttons, freeing his throat. Then tilted his head back and slammed a fist into his chest. 

As hard as he could. 

Once.

Twice. 

….not listening….

….not listening…

….looking wrong…

….not listening….

Another punch. 

“Let...me...breathe...you shit!” he choked. 

Once more. 

….keep looking…

The pain ceased. 

His chest heaved as he finally took in a blessed gulp of air. 

For a long moment, Techno laid there, slowly allowing his heart to settle, his breathing to grow steady. Before dragging himself back to his feet. 

He leaned heavily against the crumbling desk of the front entry, wincing as the phantom memories of pain still sparked through his core. 

That was...new. 

New, and definitely not good. 

As he finally straightened, removing his hands from the desk and pulling his bandana back into place, his eye caught something. 

...see….

….see…

….told you….

…..told you…

…..look harder….

...look…

...look…

….look…

A safe. 

Tucked away under the desk. 

If it was his Sation, it would have been the same safe used to house the station’s records. Antique photos, old important documents, the names and addresses of employees in case of emergencies. 

And, quite unlike the rest of the building, the safe had held up remarkably well. Still coated in an awful layer of dust and bird droppings. But the contents would be undisturbed. 

Perhaps. 

Immediately Techno dragged the safe out from under the desk, dusting off the series of buttons for the access code, noting the telltale markings across the numbers of years of usage. 

Noting as well, they were the same digits as his station’s safe. 

It was an older model than his safe, but...if the code was still the same...if this station and his own were that similar….

With rapid fingers and eyes wide in disbelief, Techno punched in the code for his station’s safe, and was rewarded with the satisfying click of the locking mechanism releasing. 

Carefully, with shaking hands, he opened the door. 

Photos. 

Maps. 

Documents. 

All of them were intact. 

….told you….

...told you….

...found it…

….found it…

...found it…

….footprint….

...found it…

It was at that moment that Techno’s radio beeped, making him nearly jump at the loud static-like rattle that accosted his ears. 

“Hullo.” He quickly answered, thank gods no one could hear the waver in his voice through the radio static. 

“Oh good, you’re in range.” Caera’s still sleepy voice crackled through the handpiece. “We still got an hour before opening time and Tommy said we’re out of milk so we’re gonna go ahead and do a store run real quick before our hours start, need anything?” 

Techno eyed the neatly stacked sets of photos. The various files of documents. The carefully folded maps. 

“Corkboard.” he finally said. “And thumbtacks. Maybe some red yarn if you’re at it.” 

“Gods you become a conspiracy theorist or something?” Caera laughed. 

“Eh, been getting too much sun this morning.” Techno gently pulled a photo out from the stack. 

Black and white. 

Ten rangers, lined up in an older uniform before the front the very clearly defined, Station 3 building. 

A small blur was in the background. 

“Humour me,” he added. “I need hobbies besides stealing police hubcaps.” 

“Police hub- what the actual fuck Tech?” Caera’s voice sounded as if he was shaking his head. 

Techno could envision the image clear as day. 

He smirked. 

Turned the photo around. 

There was a list of names, one of which stood out. 

“Anything else you want?” Caera asked. 

Techno felt his blood run cold. 

“Cat food.” he finally said. “And some more fruit loops.” 

“You got it. Make sure you’re back before the hour’s up.” 

The radio clicked into silence. 

Techno stared at the name on the photo, turned it around, stared at the blurry streak behind the ten rangers, turned it around again. 

Written in fancy, scrawling letters, were the words: 

• • • • • • Running away from ca⋔⟒⍀⏃,               O⌰⎅ M⏃⋏           L⟟⋏̶̢̰͑͝☊̷͍̰̤̠̜͎̂̀⍜̴̨̪̹̹̪̄͜⌰̷̡̢̩͉̳̝͋̓⋏̵̼͉͕̟̋̾̋̿́͝,̵̢̗̹͚͇̏̾͒ ̴̝̩̣͓̻̒͋͗̇͠Ṣ̶̍̉͋⏁̷͈͑͗⏃̸̡̻͓̱͑̈́͌̅͜͝⏁̸̢̱̜͚͌͋̽͊̄ͅ⟟̴̨̛̛͖͂̔̉⍜̷̘̪̹̳́͂.       ⋏̷̧͇̜̲̤̹̄͐̅ ̴̨̑͑̎̌̒̆3̴̡̛͖̠̗̿̈̆̽’̷͓̰̱̃̿̋͠⌇̸̺̬̇͌́͌̽ ̴̢̱͂͒̚⋔̷̡̖͉̥̀̈́̾̚̕͜͠⍜̷̢̭͙̤̘̀̉.            ⎍̵̟̿́̐̐⌇̸̟̭̭͕̰̰̊̉̈̚⟒̷̹̰͔̀͝⍀̶̧͍̖͙̣͠ͅ......

Chapter Text

Milk, fruit loops,...red string….  

The last one was a weird request but...eh...it was Techno. 

Caera took another packet of chips from the aisle and dumped it into the basket, slowly being pushed by a rather listless looking Tommy. 

“Falling asleep at the wheel there Toms?” the vet nudged the lad with an elbow. 

The blonde immediately shot up, rubbing his eyes and scowling. 

“No!” he muttered. “Not fallin ‘sleep! Perfectly fine! Wide awake! Best shopping cart driver in the world I am!” 

“Sure sure.” Caera nodded, continuing down the aisle, scanning the colourful shelves absentmindedly. Trying hard not to let whatever crackly song was playing, some tuneless repetitive thing, in the store's speakers to get stuck in his head. 

“Just don’t want you getting a bad sleeping habit is all.” he grabbed another packet of chips. “With Techno not feeling one hundred percent I need you on board for a bit longer you know.” 

There was a long pause, the sounds of the shopping cart's squeaking wheels echoing louder than the muffled footsteps of the few early morning shoppers. Then finally,

“What’s wrong with him?” 

The question cut harshly through the monotonous sounds of the supermarket. 

Caera glanced back at the intern, who in turn looked straight at him, concern vaguely making its way across his still sleepy face. 

“Techno I mean,” Tommy clarified. “He’s been acting weird lately. It’s….” 

“Well it’s just weird.” he added. 

What IS wrong with him…. Caera wondered himself. 

He knew the man had a bit of a rough past, not that he told Caera much of it aside from vague hints now and then. The scars that littered his body weren’t just from his years as a park ranger, that much was obvious. 

And he knew said past often troubled him, he’d seen Techno up at night now and then, even before this latest series of events, pacing the grounds. Mumbling to himself long into the night and wringing his hands. 

Caera never asked. 

It wasn’t his place. 

If Techno wanted to disclose how he got those scars, why he paced, why he talked quietly to himself at dead o’clock at night, why he knew so much about so many...odd...things….then he would on his own time. Caera wasn’t one to pry at his coworker. Even if the man was younger than him, he’d still been at the station far longer. 

Techno was, by rank, his senior. And had taken Caera and Tommy in as if they were brothers. Offering assistance, showing them the ropes of the station, protecting them even. 

Caera wouldn’t jeopardise that relationship. 

He sighed. 

“Sometimes,” he addressed Tommy. “You just get some bad days.” 

“Yeah but,” the intern pushed the cart up beside him. “You’ve been at the station for two years with him, has he always done that or is this new?” 

“Are you asking out of concern or out of curiosity?” Caera countered. 

“Concern, god! What do you take me for?!” the teen snapped. “I know it sounds fucking stupid and shit but even I worry about my coworkers sometimes!” 

Caera felt a hint of relief at that. 

“It’s not my place to ask him,” he continued down the aisle, pausing to grab a bag of rice.

“Nor is it yours.” Caera added, tossing the rice with a loud thump into the cart. “If he wants to talk about it then he will.” 

Tommy nodded. “I gathered that, just concerned is all.” 

The two continued their walk through the store in a sort of awkward silence, depositing the items they needed into the cart as they went before the intern finally asked, “Is there anything I can do though?” 

Caera paused as he set a bottle of detergent into the cart. 

He wasn’t surprised Tommy wanted to help, he’d seen how the kid cared for Philza. Hell, it was part of the reason he had joined the station, at least so his CV said. His love of animals and his desire to care for anything that needed it. 

But it was another thing entirely to hear the kid say it out loud. 

Caera smiled gently at the intern. “Just be there for him, I find, is the best you can do.” 

“He keeps to himself so he probably won’t talk much,” he explained. “But offer him some coffee or coco and a hug if he needs it would be my suggestion. It’s what I’ve been doing so far and it seems to help, just make sure you offer it first and don’t just stick him with a cup of coffee he doesn’t need.” 

Tommy smirked. 

“The hell is this bruh?” he mimicked the aforementioned pinkette. “It’s 2am and I was tryin’ to tire myself out why’d you give me something to wake me up?” 

Caera laughed. 

“Close,” he chuckled. “Close but not quite, the inflection’s more like ‘Bruhhhh’ you know?” 

“Bruuuuuh!” Tommy rolled his eyes. 

“Bruh!” Caera elbowed him. 

“Bruhhhhhhhh!” Tommy returned the elbow. 

Elbows became light pushes, pushes became attempts to trip, and soon enough Caera was chasing after Tommy with the shopping cart. Weaving through the aisles as the teen waved a massive bag of gummy worms over his head tauntingly. 

“You bastard we’re not buying those!” Caera laughed as he chased down the intern. 

“Yes we are bitch!” Tommy insisted. “I’m under your supervision and as such you need to cater to my basic needs!” 

“Basic needs don’t include a twelve dollar bag of candy!” Caera caught up to him, launching an arm out to grab at the bag. 

“They do for me!” Tommy dodged. “You wouldn’t deny me of my basic rights as a minor in your care would you?” 

“Maybe I would, you little shit!” Caera tried again, finally catching the end of the bag. 

“Phil would let me have it!” Tommy countered. 

“Phil doesn’t understand what a budget is!” Caera managed to pry the bag away from the intern, holding it up in proud success. “Ha! How’s it feel to lose Tom- oh you FUCKER!” 

No sooner had he held the bag up, Tommy had snatched the shopping cart away and had bolted down the aisle, throwing as many items as he could into it, flipping a middle finger to Caera as he did. 

The vet sighed, shaking his head, shrugging at the poor shelf stocker, who looked on in blank hopelessness of their antics. 

It was all a game, part of the routine the two had built when doing their shopping runs. Ever since Tommy had finally mentioned to him his main reason for joining the station, Caera had taken it on himself to try and keep the atmosphere as warm and welcoming for him as possible. 

Moving states was hard, making friends was harder. 

Losing friends not long after they had fully bonded was the worst. 

If he could keep the kid happy, at least for this summer, perhaps he would feel a little better when returning to school again. 

At the moment, Caera was just glad the store tolerated the two of them goofing off. 

“Got everything?” he asked as he finally caught up to the kid. 

“Lemme put back some of this shit, but yeah.” Tommy nodded. “Think so.” 

“Cool cool.” Caera grinned. “Let’s head home shall we?” 

“Can I show Phil what soda is?” the intern asked suddenly. “I wanna see his reaction.” 

Caera snorted. 

“Sure but if he pukes you’re cleaning it up.”

Chapter Text

With the safe’s contents packed up in his saddle bag, Techno tapped Carl’s flanks with his boot, setting a brisk pace back to the station. 

Back to his station. 

Back to his home. 

With the evidence, tucked away by his knee in the saddle bag, that the other station wasn’t his ….or….at least not anymore….he knew that his home was...probably safe. 

…he hoped. 

Deep down, however, even that thought was thrown into question. 

...safe…

….safe….

….for now…

….twisted….

...wrong….

….wrong…

….twisted….

…..broken….

…..it broke through….

…..broken….

Techno hissed at the whispers, but ultimately said nothing to shut them up as he normally would have. Not after...not after having experienced what he had. 

Provoking them would not be wise. 

He clawed the front of his shirt, wincing, still feeling the phantom pains of the invisible wound within his chest. 

That had been...concerning...to say the least. 

That had never happened before. Not since-

Corn stalks rushed past him as he ran, gagging for breath, fleeing the-  

He wasn’t going to think about that. 

Techno picked at the edges of his shirt collar, noting the damage to the fabric. The missing buttons from when he had ripped it open. That would need mending when he got back, he made a mental reminder. 

He’d never hear the end of it from Tommy, he smirked thinking about how the intern would try in some way to make fun of him. Probably something about-

….intruders…

….ahead….

...intruders….

….flying….

….they see….

…...they can see….

….searching….

…..intruders….

The whispers, and the faint buzzing sound of a drone in the distance, cut through his thoughts. Techno shot his gaze towards the source and urged Carl faster, towards his station. 

Caera and Tommy were still out at this hour. 

Philza was at the station. 

If the bird man was still out in the songbird enclosure, or wandering the grounds, and there was someone with a drone…

Shit! Shit shit shit! Techno set Carl’s pace into a canter as he made out a single, grey coloured drone hovering around in a circle about the station as it appeared in the distance. Whatever bit of relief he felt at seeing his station, intact and very much real, fled his mind as the drone’s humming grew louder. 

He could make out a large van, parked in the gravel drive before the station’s entry. 

Three figures ambled about. 

One with a green hoodie tied about their waist, one with a white bandana holding their dark hair back, and one sitting on the roof of the van, controlling the drone with a remote.

….they’ll see…

….see….

….will know…

….see….

…..the otherworlder….

….will find him…

….hurt him….

….hurt him….

….hurt…

….will see…

….hurt…

“No they won’t.” he stated quietly, reining Carl to a stop, skidding slightly in the gravel before the three, slightly startled looking, young men. 

He took a breath, hoping they couldn’t see his still shaking hands gripping the mule’s reins. 

“Park’s not open to the public for another hour.” He stated matter of fact-ly. “You need gas or water, that’s fine but if not Imma have to ask ya to leave the grounds.” 

The man with the green hoodie about his waist, pale skinned and covered in freckles and a tuft of dark blonde hair, his face obscured by a dust mask, stepped forward. 

“Sorry sorry,” the man held his hand up to Techno. “We had some wrong info, must’ve gotten turned around, thought this place was abandoned.” 

…abandoned…

….abandoned…

….foot prints…

….they’ve seen….

…..seen it…

….seen the foot prints….

Techno eyed the hand being offered, then tapped Carl’s flanks, turning the mule to face the man directly. 

Placing a barrier between him and the green eyed man. 

“Well it’s not.” he kept his voice calm. “And we’re not open to the public at the moment.” 

How, and from who for that matter, did these three get the idea this place was abandoned? The nearby town knew full well about the park, for as little traffic as the place got they at least recognised him and his coworkers when they were out and about. They knew to call them for help with wild animals. They knew the park station was still very much alive and maintained, despite its lack of workers. 

…which meant, if someone thought this place was abandoned…had someone seen the other station? The one he had just seen?

Or…had they mistook one of the empty stations for this one? 

“We’re the ConEx Team.” 

Techno blinked, shaken from his thoughts by the blond’s sudden comment. 

“Heh?” 

“We’re urban explorers.” the man chuckled, still holding his hand out. “You know, youtube channels that go around looking through abandoned buildings and obscure places out in the middle of nowhere? Sometimes looking for ghosts? Sometimes busting local myths?” 

Techno nudged Carl forward, the man quickly backed away from the mule’s head as the beast took a few heavy steps, pushing more space between the two. 

“This is a nature park, kid.” Techno narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man. Never-mind he seemed about his age, the term kid was usually a good way to get people to shove off. And he was not feeling up to dealing with a group of idiot city folk trespassing on the station this morning, not after what he’d just gone through. 

“And a desert at that. Not some decrepit theatre in the middle of the city.” he briefly glanced across the two other men there, watching their expressions closely. “You don’t just walk into a desert with no plan and a bunch of cameras, that’s how you end up dead.” 

“Oh we brought water-” the bandana wearing one spoke up. 

“Oh good, you brought water.” Techno rolled his eyes. “You also bring hats for sunstroke? Warm clothes for when it drops to zero at night? Breathable clothing that’ll keep you from overheating? Shade? A map? A plan?” 

“A written permission slip from the cops allowing you to use a drone in a no flight zone full of endangered wildlife?” he glared at the cross legged man atop the van, who ducked his head sheepishly as the drone landed beside him. 

The green hoodied man before him sighed, dropping his arm, finally accepting he was not going to get a handshake. 

“No, I suppose we didn’t.” he admitted. 

The man took a step forward, putting a hand on Carl’s forehead instead. 

“Look,” he gave the mule a little head pat. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” 

“Don’t touch my mule.” Techno glared. 

The man quickly removed his hand from Carl. 

“I’m Darren,” he introduced himself, ignoring the faint hint of a hiss in Techno’s voice. 

“This is my drone operator Grant,” he gestured to the man on the roof of the van, now holding the drone in his lap. 

“And this is Simon, the crew’s driver and second camera man.” he pointed at the bandana wearing man behind him, who gave an awkward grin and a light wave. 

“And?” Techno shrugged. 

“And,” Darren explained. “We’re doing a tour across the country to find obscure abandoned places and heard at the local Waffle House there were a couple of abandoned stations around here. Thought it’d be neat to explore you know?” 

….lying…

….lies….

…..lies….

…..looking….

…..looking for him…..

….saw the crow….

….looking…

……looking….

It was then Techno heard a faint shuffle atop the station’s roof, a light inhale of someone holding their breath. 

“That’s fascinating, really fascinating.” Techno’s voice dripped with sarcasm, nudging Carl forward yet again. “But as I’ve said before, we’re a nature reserve. If you wanna film with a drone, you need written permission from the cops. And none of our stations are abandoned, just not in use.” 

“And before you ask,” he snapped as the bandana wearing man seemed to try and get a word in. “No, you can’t go filming in them, they’re still under our maintenance teams care anyhow so they’re not gonna be much fun for you lot anyways.” 

He finally had pushed the hoodied man back close enough to the van, away from the station. 

Away from their quarry. 

“And considering how you seem to not be too keen on asking permission before doin’ much of anythin’, a rather stupid mindset I’ll add,” Techno narrowed his eyes once more, lightly pressing his heels against Carl’s flanks, an invisible command to the mule. “I suggest ya pack yer stuff and skedaddle.” 

“Bu-” 

Before the hoodied man could finish his protest, Techno released his heels from Carl’s flank. The mule lunged forward with a sharp squeal, stamping his front hooves into the ground and tossing his head. 

All three of the men spooked, the one in the bandana falling flat on his rear as the drone pilot toppled off the van with a loud swear. 

It wasn’t long before the three were tearing out of the driveway and down the road. 

But even as he saw the van disappear behind a bend, Techno still hissed under his breath. 

…still watching….

….watching…

….still watching…

….wait for it….

….wait….

…watch…

…..watching….

They were still watching him.

Still watching the station. 

Of course.  

He dismounted from Carl, feigning relief that the van had gone, giving the mule a few hearty pats on the shoulder and some mumbled ‘good boy’s, and waited. 

Sure enough, he heard it. 

Techno’s hand latched about the knife at his waist before he spun around, trusting his ears before his eyes, and flung the blade towards the sound. 

He grinned with a wicked satisfaction as he heard the crunch of metal embedding itself into plastic, followed shortly by the gravelly thunk sound of a second drone hitting the driveway. 

Techno strode over to the grounded drone, noting the camera had been left intact despite the knife sticking through it, still buzzing in short spurts, like an injured creature grounded from flight and desperately trying to get away. He picked it up, giving the camera an exasperated sigh. 

“What about ‘this is a no flight zone’ do you not understand?” he shook his head, before switching the drone off and retrieving his knife with a quick flick, returning it to its sheath and tucking the wounded machine under his arm. 

“You can come out now.” he called out to the roof of the station. “They’re gone.” 

A pair of blue eyes and puffed up ear-feathers peered out from above the roof’s edge as what sounded like a sigh of relief was let out.

“Think I’ll stay here a bit longer mate.” Philza called back. 

“Fine by me.” Techno shrugged, grateful to have received more than a hiss from the man for once, and began leading Carl back to his corral. 

After a tack down of the mule and quickly logging the incident of the three intruders into the books, Techno finally dropped to the floor of his room. He spread out the contents of the not Station 3’s safe across the floor. Eyeing the various photos, all black and white, and papers yellowed with age. Dates that didn’t add up. Faces that couldn’t be put to names. Names that didn’t exist. 

He glared at the scattered clutter across the floor, his mind full of static as he tried to reach for an explanation, yet couldn’t. Only stopping when he heard the wet drip of fluid on carpet, and noticed his nose had been bleeding steadily for what looked to be some time. 

Great . Techno quickly placed a hand over the lower half of his face as he stood to make his rounds to the bathroom, hoping he could wash the blood off before Tommy and Caera returned from their shopping trip. 

As he exited his room, however, he heard a faint brupp? at his feet. 

And there, sitting with his tail curled about his legs, his eyes wide and curious, was Lincoln. 

Station 3’s mouser. 

Techno frowned, picking up the scruffy tomcat. 

“You and I need to have a talk.” he stated. 

Lincoln purred, blinking slowly.

Chapter Text

“You still got visual?” Darren called back to Grant, fanning himself with a folded up map as the van rattled down the road, away from the station. 

Despite the morning still being early, not even eight yet, the sun had already begun to warm the van significantly. It was a worry, really. While the air conditioning was still blowing full blast, Darren was already beginning to overheat. He could only imagine how uncomfortable his team was. With Grant’s face almost always encased in the makeshift headset, and Simon -when he wasn't driving- fumbling with their gear to ensure the various monitors and battery cases weren’t about to overheat, Darren wondered if maybe a visit to whatever this dusty town called ‘a mechanic’s’ would be a good idea.

“We’re good.” Grant gave a thumbs up, his face obscured with his headset screen. “Pinky is just talking to his horse.” 

Pfft! Pinky. Darren leaned the seat back, grabbing a water bottle from the ice chest, now seeping with condensation from the heat. Careful not to splatter any of the melted water onto his teammate, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the van, still thoroughly engrossed in the headset. 

Said Pinky had been an issue.

He scowled to himself, sipping carefully from the bottle as the engine chugged angrily beneath him. 

The strange, pink haired man seemed…off. 

Sure a park ranger would be pissed, and rightfully so, seeing a team of urban explorers running around the place, but it wasn’t their fault they had been given the wrong information. 

Never trust the cryptid hunters at Waffle House joints, lesson learned.  

Still, there was just something weird about that guy. Like, he knew something they didn’t. 

And what the fuck was up with that previous photo they had of the bird creature then? If the damn place wasn’t abandoned then why did it look like it was in the photo? 

Why did it look like it was…until they had pulled into the drive?  

“Pretty sure that’s a mule,” Simon slowed the van to a stop on the side of the road, hidden behind the blessed shadow of a boulder, before shutting off the engine. Thankfully, still keeping the pathetic air-con on. “Bigger ears, shorter legs.” 

“Huh,” Darren raised a brow at his driver. “Didn’t know that.” 

“Why wouldn’t he just use a horse though?” he asked no one in particular, untying the hoodie from his waist, as best he could considering he was still buckled into his seat, before tossing it behind him somewhere into the van. 

“No clue.” his driver shrugged. 

“Eh, it has to do with being more sure footed in rocky terrain I think.” Grant scooched himself closer to the two, his hands working rapidly on the remote for the drone. 

“Damn that thing’s got some range on it!” Darren commented excitedly. 

“It should!” Grant grinned. “Spent a good amount of time modifying the frequency output and shit, she’s a fucking beauty!” 

“You seeing anything else yet?” Simon asked, turning the air conditioner up higher. 

The poor thing sputtered and hissed as it tried its best to send a breeze through the van. It barely managed to send a few scraps of papers and photos, stacked on the monitor desk in the back, fluttering slightly. 

“Hmm,” Grant leaned forward, as if peering closer into the headset would somehow make him see better. “Not really, there’s still that shadowy- oh wait hold on!” 

Darren and Simon both leaned out of their seats to stare over their cameraman’s shoulder at his remote, though the only images being produced were visible within the headset. 

“What is it?!” Darren felt his heart stammer in excitement. 

Was this it?  

Were they getting closer to finally-

“Agh fuck fuck fuck!!!!” Grant leaped backwards with a panicked shriek, hands flailing as he tore the headset from his face, shaking. 

“What?!” Simon gripped the man’s shoulder. “Grant what the fuck?!” 

“Grant?” Darren pried his driver’s hand from Grant’s shoulder. “You okay man?” 

The cameraman was shaking, the headset trembling in his hands as he swallowed nervously. 

“Eh…heh well…uh…” he stammered after a long moment. “Good news and uh, kinda…holy fuck news.” 

“What? Tell us?” Simon nearly fell out of his seat trying to shuffle beside his friend, as Darren followed suit. 

“Well…I got visual on our target.” Grant grinned sheepishly. “Was hiding this whole time on the roof.” 

“Dude that’s fucking great!” Darren took a seat beside him. “We can fly the drone back and get the evidence-” 

“Well that’s the thing man.” Grant laughed, wringing his hands. “Uh…Pinky kinda…killed the drone.” 

Fuuuuuuck! Darren rubbed his forehead. “Fuuuuck!” 

“Yeah…” Grant sighed. “And I worked so hard on it too! That’s gonna be impossible to fix, he threw a fuckin’ knife through it! I don’t even know if it’s salvageable but…” 

“That’s not the ‘what the fuck’ part.” he added. 

“It’s not?” Simon cocked a brow. “The fuck do you mean a pink haired maniac throwing a knife at our drone wasn’t the what the fuck part?!” 

Darren felt the back of his neck prickling. 

“I was still receiving visual for a bit, and some audio, after the drone got stabbed.” Grant continued, his voice starting to shake. “That pink haired guy, he...he picked up the drone and spoke to the camera a-and.... you’re gonna think I’m crazy but.....I-I heard.... two ....voices coming in through the headset.” 

“Considering we’ve seen a literal cryptid I don’t think much is going to be considered crazy.” Darren insisted. “What’d you hear?” 

The van was silent for a long moment. 

Despite the shadow of the boulder they had taken refuge under, the sunlight was beginning to shine through the van’s windows. Casting long shadows of the men’s silhouettes across the floor. Sending flurries of dust particles alight with sparking reds and golds, floating embers of a fire that had never existed. 

“The first voice was the guy’s,” Grant explained. “He just said something like ‘told you not to fly’ or something.” 

The van’s interior was almost completely washed in a deep, blood red, from the sun shining through the tinted windows. Intermingling the light with the flickering of the monitors and reflective surfaces. Creating a sea of crimson and ash within the little world of the vehicle. 

“But the other voice,” Grant was shaking again. His eyes shimmering in genuine fear. 

“Darren I don’t- I don’t think we should keep following this thing-” 

“What’d it say?” Darren set his jaw, keeping his expression neutral. 

As terrified as his cameraman was, as his FRIEND was, he had to know. 

He had to. 

He’d barely touched the surface of a world he never knew, never fathomed could ever exist, and yet now that he had seen a glimpse of it, he needed proof. Ever since that dream, ever since that voice all those weeks ago...

He needed to know. 

He needed to know just how much they were up against. 

“It-it said…” Grant wiped his face with a trembling hand, as if finally registering just what exactly he had heard. “It said… The Maw has left footprints. ” 

“Pfft the fuck does that mean-” Simon was immediately silenced by Grant’s wide eyes, glittering with tears. 

“Something saw me, Simon!” he snapped. “Something saw me through that man’s eyes! And it spoke to me!” 

“It fucking- it’s voice- gods what the fuck- its fucking voice!” he clapped his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth on the floor of the van, his voice stammering and scratching as he began to hyperventilate in a panic. “It was in my head! It was in my head and it was one and a thousand and there was nothing at all and it was so silent it was screaming! It was screaming! It was screaming!” 

“Grant! Grant!” Darren grasped his friend’s hands within his own. “Hey hey hey it’s okay! It’s okay!”

“It was screaming! It was screaming! It was screaming!” Grant thrashed about as Darren tried to hold him still, fear slowly flooding his mind. 

The fuck had he seen?! The fuck did he hear?! 

Grant, quiet, sleepy eyed, loveable Grant, was now a sobbing wreck. Shaking and trembling as he fell into Darren’s arms. 

Darren held him tight, despite the rising temperature of the van, hoping to provide some level of comfort to quell whatever terror his friend had witnessed. 

“Darren?” Simon glanced at him, placing a hand on their friend’s back, rubbing circles between his shoulders as the man sobbed. “What-what do we do?” 

Darren narrowed his eyes, turning his gaze to the black case beneath the desk as he pulled Grant’s shaking form closer to him. 

His curiosity was shrieking at him. 

The dream...

First the sightings. 

The missing people. 

The strange photos. 

The appearance of that cryptid.

And now…this. 

This wasn’t just a hunt for a world he had just glimpsed through a camera. 

Not anymore. 

This was personal. 

“We get answers.” Darren stated darkly.

Chapter Text

“Phiiiiiil!” Tommy lept from the truck, hauling a series of grocery bags into the station, calling out in his shrill yell for the bird man. “Phiiiiiiiiil! I got shit for ya!” 

“What do you mean you got shit for me?!” was shouted back from within the lounge of the station. “I don’t want shit! What kind of market sells literal shit? The fuck kinda places do you shop at?” 

Tommy grinned as he saw the man’s head peering over the couch, a smirk across his face. 

“That’s sarcasm by the way.” Philza clarified as the intern took a seat across from him. 

Or, really he more or less flopped across the cushions of the chair before digging into the plastic bags and chucking packets of various items to the bird man. 

“I didn’t know what sort of foods you liked so I got you a bunch of random shit from the store.” he hucked a few more bags at the man, now almost buried under a small pile of junk food and sodas. 

“Sour gummy worms, crisps, pop tarts, soda,” the intern listed, pointing out each thing within the pile as Philza inspected them curiously, going so far as to lick a few of the bags. 

“Ew, Phil don’t fuckin lick the plastic, you don’t know who’s touched that.” Tommy grimaced. 

“You saying you didn’t wash your hands before you gave them to me?” Philza bit into one of the bags of crisps, only to let out a startled yelp as the thing loudly popped beneath his fangs. 

“Bwahaha!!!!” the intern guffawed at the sight of the man, feathers fluffed up in surprise at the exploded bag of crisps all across them. 

“Wel-pfft! Well that’s one way to get them open!” Tommy smirked. “You should try one though, they’re pretty good.” 

Philza stretched out his good wing, giving it a light flap to shake off the crumbly chips and realign his feathers as they smoothed out, before finally attempting Tommy’s suggestion. 

Much to the boy’s utter delight, the second the first crisp had been consumed, the bird man was scarfing down the rest of the scattered chips across the couch. 

“Holy fuck!” Philza tore open another bag once the couch had been cleared of the greasy, flaky debris. “Holy fuck what is this?!” 

“Potato crisps!” Tommy grinned. “Really thinly sliced potatoes, deep fried in oil, and salted. Super simple, fuckin’ tasty, and really bad for your arteries!” 

Before he had a chance to introduce any more of the various snacks to Philza however, Caera’s tired voice arrived, because of course he had to spoil his fun. 

“Good gods Tommy! The man’s still recovering! Stop giving him junk food!” the vet stomped in, his arms filled with the various other groceries the two had bought, glaring at the intern. 

Tommy rolled his eyes. 

“Fuckin’ spoil sport you are. Real killer of fun, you moody man.” he rumbled, but still carefully began tidying up the space around Philza, avoiding the bird man’s sling-bound arm and bandaged wing. 

He looked better at least, he noticed. The bruising had gone down significantly, much faster than he would have expected on a human. Though, Philza still seemed to nurse his arm and wing with deliberate tenderness, no doubt those limbs still weren’t completely healed. 

If anything, his wing still seemed to be the worse injury he had received. Tucked tight to his back, the bandage around it holding the bones in place as they fused back together, feathers misaligned and crumpled, some bent and broken and quite a few pinched together or clustered apart from the bandages and clotted blood. 

Philza hadn’t cleaned it, it seemed. Despite having been hogging the bathtub nearly every night, the man still seemed to not want to touch that appendage. 

That couldn't be good. 

 “Uh, how’s your wing by the way man?” Tommy finished stacking the various treats into a pile beside Philza. “Looks a bit…well I mean you’re doing the best you can but-” 

The man wiped his mouth clean of the crisp crumbs with the back of his hand, eyeing the appendage in question with a look of…distress? It looked like distress, but, mild? 

Tommy wasn’t sure what the correct word was for that. 

Though, he did notice Caera lean in a bit from where he was unloading the groceries, intent on listening in on their conversation. 

Ever the mother hen, you are. The intern thought. 

“Still hurts.” Philza finally replied. 

“How bad?” Caera asked, taking a seat opposite the two in the lounge, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. 

“A true doctor you are, even taking the pose like you’re gonna deliver some ominous news.” Tommy smirked. 

“Shut up.” He quickly dodged as Caera elbowed at him playfully, before addressing Philza again. “How bad?” 

Tommy fell still, waiting to hear the bird man’s response. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Sure, Philza was healing, and yes he certainly wasn’t human and seemed to have an accelerated healing factor. But that still didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt pretty severely. 

Tommy shuffled in his seat, noticing he’d slowly begun to hug his arms tightly around himself. 

His knuckles had grown white. 

He took a short breath and relaxed a bit, releasing the tension in his arms and back, returning to his initial flopped self within the seat. 

Despite Philza having responded so well to their treatment, that didn’t mean he was alright. 

Tommy kneaded his thumb against the palm of his hand, stretching out the deep scar that spider-webbed out from the centre and criss-crossed through his fingers, trailing down his wrist and onto his forearm. 

He knew full well what it was like to be deemed ‘okay’ before being sent back out into the world. With no plan, no helpline, no system set in place to deal with the pain. 

No one to understand what he’d been through. 

He didn’t want Philza to go through that. 

The man was already going through enough, he didn’t need to feel unheard on top of that. 

“Not…” Philza finally spoked. “Not as bad as it was.” 

“But?” Caera asked. “I know there’s a ‘but’ to that.” 

“Pffft ‘but’.” Tommy snickered. 

Caera kicked his shin. 

“It…hurts worse than my shoulder.” Philza explained. “The bone closest to my back, I’m not sure what’s wrong with it but, whenever I take the pain killers it feels like everything but that bone seems to not hurt as bad. If that makes any sense.” 

Tommy saw Caera nod. 

“Thank you for telling me.” The vet stood and began to start carrying the groceries into the kitchen. 

“I’ll have another look through your x-ray’s and see if there’s something I missed. In the meantime, you can take two more of those pills I gave you.” he instructed. “Two in the morning, two at night, and one extra if you really need it but don’t go more than six per day, technically you could do eight but since you’ve got a much smaller frame than any of us I think six would be safer but then again you’re not human so-” 

Tommy tuned out the vet’s ramblings as he noticed Techno peek out from the hallway to the front desk, motioning for him to come join him. 

Right.  

Techno. 

He stood, pausing before Phil as he did, noting the bird man had lowered his ear feathers at the sight of the pinkette.

“You know,” Tommy gripped the palm of his hand once more. “Techno’s a really good guy, Phil.” 

“I went through some shit when I first started working here,” he continued. “And Tech helped me out a lot. Helped Caera out too.” 

“I know you kinda got off to a bad start with him and all,” Tommy grinned. “But you’re part of the station crew now, I mean you’re not on the pay roll or anything, but you’re family now. And Techno’s our brother, you know?” 

“He looks out for family.” Philza nodded. “I know. I saw this morning.” 

This morning? Tommy was taken aback. What had happened this morning? 

“Forgive me for not being as social with him as you’d hope.” the bird man’s voice softened in genuine apology. “But, I’m still working through some things.” 

“Aren’t we all.” Tommy chuckled. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he added. “I know this kind of shit takes time, so take as long as you need.” 

Tommy then left the lounge with a gentle smile, making his way to the front desk where Techno waited, a contentedly purring Lincoln held in his arms. 

“We had intruders this morning.” the man stated solemnly, dropping a broken drone onto the desk. 

Tommy stared at the little machine in shock. 

Intruders? 

With a drone? 

With cameras? 

When he and Caera were out?

Philza…  

“Oh….oh fuck.” he whispered.

Chapter Text

“Well I checked your x-rays again,” Caera explained, carefully unwrapping the bandage holding Philza’s wing steady, watching the man’s face for any sign of discomfort. “But aside from the main fracture in your upper arm and collarbone, I can’t see anything that should be causing pain in the humerus.” 

“The what?” Philza’s ear feathers twitched in confusion. 

“The big bone in your wing closest to your back, just before your secondary scapula, or kinda the shoulder bone for the wing really.” the vet explained. “A human would only have one set of scapula and humerus per arm, but since you have four upper limbs instead of two, you have double of almost all the main bones and muscles.” 

“Can you hold your wing out for me?” he asked. “As best you can, I just want to see if there’s any bruising I’m missing.” 

Philza nodded, gritting his teeth as he extended the injured wing with a hiss of pain and a muttered curse. 

Caera carefully inspected the base of the wing, uncertain if he should move some of the feathers to see if there were bruises forming under them. At the very least there was definitely still hemorrhaging in some spots, he noted at the sight of a few bloody feathers, seeping slowly down the bird man’s back now that the bandage had been removed. 

“I think you may have bruised the bone itself.” Caera explained, pressing the bandage back to the base of the wing, uttering a quick apology as Philza flinched from the touch. 

“You’re still bleeding internally in some places, so despite your healing factor- by the way your other bones are looking fantastic, they’re doing really well, I’ve never seen anything healing that fast-” 

“Despite the healing factor, some things are just being stubborn?” Philza brought Caera back from his excited schpiel as the vet finished binding the wing back into place once more. 

“Pretty much yeah.” The vet finally took a seat beside the bird man. “That’s to be expected though, sometimes bodies just decide to prioritise one thing over another, and it could also be a case of neurological pain as well, since your brain and body are still adjusting to your injuries.” 

“I am a little concerned about that limp though.” Caera added, pointing out the man’s leg and the odd angle at which his knee was placed. “I didn’t see anything on the x-rays but if there’s muscle damage-” 

“Oh this?” Philza grinned, stretching his leg out, almost completely straight. Though Caera noted the knee still refused to flex properly into place, leaving it at a forever crooked angle. 

“I’ve always had that.” the bird man explained, settling his leg back into place. “Don’t remember exactly how I got it but it’s not from the truck.” 

“Oh!” Caera nodded. 

That was a relief, one less injury to have to worry about, on top of everything else the man had to deal with. 

On top of the events of that morning. 

On one hand, Caera was glad Techno had told him everything through text right after it had happened. He was the station’s security after all, it was his job. Though, that didn’t take away the initial panic that had crossed his mind. 

Techno was certainly intimidating, and there was no doubt he could handle himself. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault that a group of people had decided to wander into the grounds. 

But it was downright scary that this was the second time people had trespassed. 

First the local cryptid hunters with their alcohol and guns, thankfully easy enough to intimidate into running off, but now a crew with cameras and, from what Techno had described, a smooth talker as a leader. 

And a definite plan in mind. 

While they may not have been, initially, intent on using force to get what they wanted, they had seemed pretty dead set on coming back. Even if they were a bit spooked. 

At least, that was what Techno had described. 

Caera would have to talk to him later, he made a mental note himself. But for now, it was probably best that Techno was working with Tommy about the situation. 

The kid needed someone calm to help him process this. He looked up to Techno, the man had basically shown him the ropes when he had first arrived, helping him through his own struggles and anxieties as he learned to relax a bit and let himself just be a kid. And, from what the pinkette had told him, Caera knew the two’s interactions helped Techno as well. While not saying explicitly anything he was struggling with, the man never did, it seemed to Caera that helping Tommy allowed him to relive some aspect of his own youth he never got to fully experience. 

It was best for Techno to tell the intern about the intruders. 

Caera leaned his head in the direction of the front office, picking up bits of the conversation. 

“...need you to be keepin’ an eye out…” 

Techno. He noted the thick drawl on the man’s words. 

“...can do that…” 

Tommy. The accent, the stiffened voice. 

“...ya still…’s okay to be worried…” 

Techno. Caera nodded at the reassurance. 

“...know that…I’m fine…” 

The vet stiffened at the slight raise of voice, the little snap to the end of his sentence. 

“Really now?” 

Silence. 

Then a light sniffle. 

“...no…” 

Oh…oh Tommy…  

“...’s okay…’s okay to be scared some…” 

Caera stopped his eavesdropping at the sound of a hand patting the intern’s shoulder. 

Of course Tommy would be scared. 

“Is he alright?” Philza’s voice, though quiet, still cut through Caera’s thoughts. 

“He will be, hopefully.” Caera leaned back against the couch. 

“He said some things that worry me.” the bird man continued to stare down the hall, ear feathers twitching. “It’s not my place to assume but I’m guessing he’s not done well in the past.” 

“None of us really have.” The vet cringed inwardly, stifling his own memories as they bubbled angrily towards the surface, riled up from the morning’s events. 

“How are you, though?” he asked. 

He watched Philza’s expressions closely, noting the dropping of the ear feathers and the slow, curling inwards as he tucked his limbs closer to himself. 

“Mate, I’ve not felt safe since the minute I arrived in this world.” the man admitted. “I’m sorry but, even here I-I don’t…” 

He stammered for a moment before sighing heavily, tucking his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead onto them. 

“I know, I keep bringing it up, and I know…I know you’re all trying your best to help, but…” Philza took a breath. “I’ve been chased for as long as I can remember, and it’s not your fault, but if these people keep showing up then… I’ll be honest, I don't know what to do.” 

“If I’m not safe here, where I know you are trying to help me, then where can I be?” he stated. 

Fuck.  

Caera blinked. 

A memory broke angrily through the barrier he had placed. 

_____

“I’m supposed to be safe here!” he screamed, throwing the mug with a loud crash into the wall. “I’m supposed be fucking safe here!” 

“You are safe!” a jarring voice shouted back at him. “You’re just selfish! Selfish and pathetic! And now you’re breaking things! You think I feel safe with your idea of whining?” 

_____

He shook his head, gripping tightly to the edge of his sleeve. 

He wasn’t going to be like that. Not with the station’s crew. Not with Phil. Not with anyone under his charge. 

“Is there anything we can do to help you feel safer?” he asked. “Any routines you’d like to set up for yourself? Any foods you’d like for breakfast? Any topics we should avoid? Sounds that bother you?” 

Philza’s ear feathers fluffed, then settled, lightly bobbing in time with his breaths as he inspected the vet. 

Looking for a lie.  

“I know this place is different, and I know you’re struggling with adapting,” he explained. “And while we can’t always guarantee that park visitors won’t be stupid, we can guarantee what it is we do here.” 

“So, until we can find someplace that you can feel truly safe in, is there anything from us that you would want us to do or not do around you?” he asked. 

There was a long pause, filled only by the faint mumblings of the conversation between Techno and Tommy in the front office, and the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall. And, now and then, a light shuffling sound as feathers were shifted. 

Finally, Philza nodded. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I can’t name anything off the top of my head right now but, I can put together a list if that works?” 

“Totally cool man.” Caera grinned. 

“And, I’m sorry I’m being-” 

“Oi none of that!” the vet took the man’s hand.

 “No apologising!” he said lightly. “You’re our guest and my patient, you don't need to apologise for anythi-” 

What felt like a sharp rock slammed into his upper back, right behind his shoulder, leaving an awful pinching sensation and the feeling of something flooding into his veins. 

For a moment, Caera sat there, stunned, before he reached behind him and pulled at the offending object lodged within him. 

Before he could even register the sight of the tranquilliser dart in his hand, all hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

Glass was shattered. 

Tommy was screaming. 

Caera could hear the sounds of Techno throwing punches, slamming his full weight into whoever his attacker was. 

___

Glass shattered…

___

He didn’t think. 

He only reacted. 

Caera flung himself over the couch, bolting into the front office with a shout to Philza to hide, before slamming his own fist into the man holding a blow gun. 

His fist cracked into the blurred face. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Again and again until his knuckles bled. 

It wasn’t enough. 

A sharp kick to his stomach- was all it took for Caera to tumble to the ground, gasping for air as a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, holding him down. 

“Why the fuck aren’t the darts working yet?!” his captor shouted. 

“Cause it takes- agh!” Caera’s eyes landed on Techno, pinned beneath a green hooded man in a dust mask, shoving a knee into his gut.

Of course Techno would still be talking.

 “Takes ten to thirty minutes -get off!-” the pinkette lunged upwards, throwing the masked man off balance for a moment. “For it to kick in!” 

“You did not plan this well.” Techno hissed, finally shoving the man off of him, only to stumble as his leg, a dart still sticking out from it Caera noted, gave out beneath him. 

He could hear Tommy whimpering from somewhere as Techno was shoved back to the ground. 

Carefully, and with the sinking sensation of dizziness beginning to take hold, Caera craned his head towards the sound. 

The intern was huddled against the wall, his wrists taped behind him, his eyes glazed and distant as he hiccuped for breath between whispered swears. 

____

 Caera huddled in the corner, his face to the wall, hands covering the back of his head and neck. Pressing against his ears as the shouting continued. 

He was supposed to be safe. 

He was supposed to be safe here. 

He was supposed to be safe here! 

He was supposed to keep them safe here! 

____

“Tommy!” he called out, struggling against his captor. 

The intern didn’t respond, staring blankly at nothing. His eyes gone into somewhere else, some memory he shouldn’t be forced to relive. 

Caera snarled, kicking at the man trying to tape his own wrists together. 

“You fuckers!” he landed a blow to his captor. “You fuckers! I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll kill-” 

Tape was shoved over his mouth, locking it shut. 

____

“Shut up or I’ll tape that mouth of yours shut!” 

 Caera clacked his jaws tight, burying his face further into the corner until the walls pressed indents into the sides of his cheeks. 

Supposed to be safe

Supposed to be safe

Supposed to be safe

Supposed to be safe

____

“Maybe we should just use another dart?” 

The voices were beginning to grow muffled. 

Caera tried once more to kick at whoever held him down. It was hardly more than a light shove. 

“Only if you…if you want…murder on yer hands as well- ow!” 

He saw Techno, prone on his back against the pale blue carpeting, his wrists bound similarly to his own behind him, the masked man’s foot pressing squarely into his chest. 

Only to be jerked back sharply. 

“Murder?!” the man took a step back. “It just- it’s just supposed to knock you out-” 

“Not…immediately…not like movies…” Techno was panting, his breathing growing shallow and laboured from the tranq. 

Caera was too, he realised with a sense of panic as his vision started to swim. 

He could feel his blood grow warm, then cold, then warm again. 

Oh gods they didn’t use big game tranquillisers did they?! 

“Looks like…meant for smaller…hah…smaller critters but still…two’s enough to…to kill ya…” Techno mumbled painfully. “Ya…ya might as well…finish the job…got three witnesses…’f ya…just leave us…l’ke…this…” 

Caera didn’t remember much of what happened next. Only that the world seemed to grow numb, his vision faded in and out as voices and shouts called out to one another, muffled. As if underwater. 

While he didn’t fully fade from consciousness, there was still nothing he could do. His limbs grew unresponsive, his muscles heavy to the point it took every effort to just keep breathing. 

In and out. 

In and out. 

In and out. 

The one thing he did know, the only thing he truly could sense was happening in that twilight time of sleep and awake, was that Philza was being taken. 

That he’d failed. 

___

Failed to protect....failed....

___

When he finally came to, he was on the couch, laying on his stomach. His vision was greyed out, as if staring through a tunnel, covered in a fog. His head ached terribly and his mouth was dry. 

Caera laid there, unmoving. Processing what all had happened. 

He was alive, there was that much. 

The tranq hadn’t killed him. 

But, he and Tech would still need to visit the hospital if- 

Except…they couldn’t. If they went to the hospital now, if an ambulance was called, they’d be asked questions. The cops would get involved. 

Philza…

____

“You wanna get the cops involved?! Is that what you want?!” the blurry face shouted. “They’ll lock you up! They’ll lock you up and me up and then where will you be?! Fucked! That’s what! You’ll be fucked! No one will want a violent, troubled teen in their house! You wanna fuck up your life?! Go ahead! Call the damn cops! See if I care!” 

____

Caera flinched as a series of tremors struck him, spasming outward from his chest and into his fingertips, he lay there, twitching as his muscles began to wake up.

He vaguely heard a voice muttering a faint swear before he felt hands drape a thick blanket over his back, followed by those same hands gently prying the blood stained shirt away from his shoulder- 

Right… he remembered. The dart had lodged in his upper back. 

“...trapezius…” he mumbled through chattering teeth. 

Shakes and chills sometimes accompany waking up from anaesthesia, as the nerves fire signals into the muscles…. He quoted in his head, groggily attempting to make sense of what was happening. 

What had   happened. 

“...’s cold…” 

“Morning big man.” he heard Tommy’s response, quiet and shaky but still an attempt. 

That was good, his drug addled brain thought. After seeing the intern…after seeing what had happened, it was good he was able to talk so soon. 

“...’t hit the…trapezius…” he continued to mumble. “...’s deep.” 

Needs pressure, then cleaning and stitching, preferably by a doctor-  

No doctor! He grit his teeth as he felt the nerves in his back come to life, sending a deep throb through his shoulder as he felt the heat of blood seeping from the wound. 

There was a pause as he heard Tommy shuffle about before applying something cold and damp over the puncture and FUCK that stung! 

“Sorry!” he heard the intern quickly apologise, though he felt the blonde’s hands continue to press firmly against the wound on his back. “You were bleeding a whole lot I thought…I was…gods…” 

Caera felt the boy’s hands beginning to shake as they pressed the cloth, soaked in rubbing alcohol no doubt, tighter against his skin. 

“Told ya…’s deep…” he winced, gritting his teeth against the pain, trying to reach a hand behind him. 

Almost as if Tommy knew what he was searching for, he felt the kid’s hand within his own, squeezing tightly as he rode out the pain of the wound cleaning. 

____

…small hands carefully wiped away the blood from his face…

____

He shook his head, immediately regretting it as he felt the world spin. 

“Ow…” Caera took a moment to steady his vision, focusing on the new tv on the wall, then the couch cushion beneath his cheek. 

Back to the tv. 

Back to the cushion. 

Until he felt, at least somewhat, less likely to puke. 

“How’s Tech?” he asked as he felt Tommy place a gauze pad over the puncture. 

“Awake.” the intern replied, placing another pad in place and taping it tightly over the wound. 

“Awake and…pissed.” 

Caera slowly dragged himself upright, pulling the blanket around him tighter as he shivered, cringing as the motion pulled on the injured muscle in his back. 

“Did you get…you…” 

“Shot?” Tommy shook his head. “No they just-just tied me up I…I didn’t…” 

Caera quickly took the intern’s hands as the kid began to sniffle. 

____

…he took the small hands in his own…

____

“Hey hey Toms?” he squeezed the hands. “Toms look at me?” 

Tommy blinked, taking a shaky breath. 

“I just…I couldn’t move-” 

____

…”I didn’t know what to do”....

____

“It’s okay kid.” Caera finally broke, pulling the intern in for a hug. “It’s okay.” 

“No it’s not!” Tommy sobbed into the vet’s shoulder. “It’s not okay! It’s not- They took Phil! Caera they shot you and Tech and they took Phil!” 

“Why do- why do people keep taking my friends?!” the teen continued to bawl. “Why do they keep taking- why do they always leave?! Why do they have to leave?!” 

And…Caera didn’t know what to do. 

Between the stinging pain in his back, the whirling images of everything before him, and that awful….awful memory that kept roiling to the surface within him…he didn’t know what to do. 

So he just sat there, holding the intern, holding his little brother as he sobbed into his shoulder. 

It was only until he heard the clattering jingle of metal that he finally looked up. 

Techno stood in the entrance to the lounge, his uniform traded for a set of worn out, mud spattered riding leathers, and a helmet clutched in one hand. Dangling from around his shoulders were a series of spike strips. Tucked under his arm was a crowbar. And in his free hand was what looked like a brick style cell phone, old and cracked and with actual buttons beneath its flip screen that he was rapidly dialling. 

“What the ever-loving hell are you doing Tech?!” Caera would have jumped from his seat if he wasn’t so dizzy. 

“Getting him back.” Techno’s eyes didn’t look up. But his voice was laced with something dark. Something angry and boiling and lunging at its leash to be released. 

“You just woke up from a fucking tranq dart!” Caera snapped. “Sit down! You’re gonna make yourself sick!” 

Techno ignored him, instead holding that god awful zombie of a phone to his ear as the call was picked up. 

“Where the fuck did you- where did you even get all this shit?!” Caera could already see that his protests were not about to work. Because of course they wouldn’t. 

Because of course Techno wasn’t about to let anyone get away with what they had just done. 

“Same person I got the riot shield from, don’t ask questions.” Techno huffed before returning to the phone. 

“Yeah Skeppy?” he stated solemnly. “I need to borrow your roommate’s motorcycle. And by borrow I mean it’s definitely not coming back in one piece.”

Chapter Text

“So, exactly how the shower in the RV works, right?” Kristin asked, receiving a confirming nod from Niki. 

“Yup!” the woman handed her a towel and a bottle of soap. “Just, probably not very warm, I hope that’s okay?” 

“No no that’s fine!” Kristin assured, folding the towel up around her hands. “It’ll be nice actually, considering how hot it’s been.” 

It had been hot, far more than she had grown to expect from the past few days. The RV’s air conditioner had been struggling, rattling and hissing ominously as it struggled to cool the large vehicle. Before the sun had even risen high enough to be considered noon, they had been forced to pull over at the nearest rest stop to allow the engine to cool. 

It had been an anxiety inducing nightmare for Kristin, balancing between hiding from anyone that pulled into the stop, and trying not to overheat. 

Hiding her wings under a shawl had proved useful, only for so long. Until the accumulated heat from the layers of feathers and cloth became too much. Whenever she could, she would stretch out her wings in front of one of the fans in the rest stop, letting the air blow through her feathers, wicking away the sweat and heat of the day. Only to quickly wrap them up whenever someone she didn’t recognise walked past. 

It was a strange place, this rest stop. 

While she had grown accustomed to the human’s designs within the RV, she had yet to see what an actual, stationary dwelling was like. Even if it was considered a communal, temporary dwelling, it was still crucial to understanding these new creatures a bit further. 

Quite similar to the RV, there was a shared dining and cooking area, albeit not nearly as complicated, or cozy for that matter. Large windows, covered in screens to keep out the insects and layered with drapery to avoid the harsh sun, lined the walls. The floor was simple, concrete she had been told, and the walls made of brick and painted in layers of white. 

“The insulation is simple but it does help in keeping the worst of the sun out.” Eret had explained. 

Kristin viewed it much like the cave she used to live in. The cool concrete beneath her feet similar to the stone in a way. 

Unlike the RV, however, there were no places to sleep. Unless one was tired enough to use the stacked up cots in the corner, it looked as if the rest stop was merely meant to be for quick stops. To fill up on water and gas, and perhaps spend a day to just rest beneath the fans of the communal kitchen area. Or to save water with the showers. Not nearly as nice as the RV’s shower, merely two faucets separated by brick walls and a lockable door for each, tucked away in the back of the restroom. But, they were far more roomy than the little box of a shower she had previously been using. 

Which would be wondrous on her overheated, cramped wings. 

While normally she would have preferred something warmer, the cold water that soaked into her feathers was a godsend. 

Kristin flapped her wings about beneath the faucet, finally getting in a much needed wash to the skin beneath the feathers, before fluffing them out and fluttering them to dry. Flicking the excess droplets all across the walls around her with a muffled giggle, pitying whoever needed to use the shower after her only to stumble across a cubicle of splattered water and soaked feathers and soap suds. 

She could clean it…but it would be funnier if she just left the next person baffled. 

And it wasn’t as if she had been seen, she reminded herself as she re-dressed, scrubbing her hair dry with the provided towel- oh! She paused, running her fingers through her hair, marvelling at the softness. 

It was unreal! 

What the hell was in that soap?! She wondered, plaiting her hair and tying it back before flinging the shawl across her shoulders, hiding her wings. 

In the RV she had normally just used the bar soap, uncertain if anyone had any specific soaps they didn’t want to share. She reminded herself to ask Niki just what sort of soap she’d been given. 

It was evening now, she noted, eyeing the empty communal space of the rest stop. The single table and chairs casting long shadows across the grey floor, an orangey-purple haze washing across the white painted walls, broken up by only some old posters and cork-boards full of dusty pamphlets of the local attractions from years past. 

A single glance told her those attractions, various locations of interest within this desert, had long gone. The layers of dust, the yellowed pages, the brittle crinkle at the edges of the papers. The empty chairs, the chipped table, the stove too clean and unused. 

The quiet. 

The light ticking of the fan above her head and the soft rush of the desert wind as the evening drew on, were the only sounds within the rest stop. 

Was it even maintained beyond checking the electrical and water? She wondered. 

It looked so…empty…

Kristin’s eyes narrowed. 

It was empty, and lonely, and far, far too close to what she had seen before. When that… thing …had devastated her home. Had begun to consume, and tear, and take, and leave empty and lonely and lost. 

She hugged the shawl tighter about herself. 

She hated that feeling. 

That emptiness. 

That gnawing want for something, for anything, to fill the void. 

But, she reminded herself as she turned to leave the building. IT’S not here. 

That thing wasn’t here. This was a new world, a new place void of its touch. 

At least…

_____

The tendrils lashed out amongst the storm, latching around Philza’s form, flinging him from her grasp and into the coming darkness of that eternal maw before her. A void of teeth and tearing limbs and empty dark and nothing and everything and screaming-

_____

She hoped it wasn’t here. 

Kristin shuffled the shawl about her wings once more, opening the door to the oncoming heat of the evening desert air…and froze. 

Something was wrong.

The RV was parked close to the rest stop’s entrance, shielding her from view of the other side. Muffled voices fluttered in and out of her hearing, sending a chill down her spine as she caught the words. 

“... gotta get hurt, just hand over…” a stranger’s saccharine voice cooed mockingly. 

“...call the cops…” Puffy’s threatening response. 

“....no signal…” another stranger, laughing.

“....we don’t have much…” Eret’s calming voice, attempting to deescalate the situation. 

“...us the RV then…” the first voice once again. 

The sounds of shuffling, Michelle whimpering, Niki suddenly shouting a threat. 

 It didn’t take much to know her family was being robbed. 

Kristin felt a low snarl break from behind her teeth as the feathers along her back and neck prickled, puffing up angrily. 

How DARE they?! 

She stalked forward, crouching low, wings flaring outwards slowly. Feathers puffing up angrily the closer she neared the RV. She could already see the booted feet of the intruders from beneath the chassis, kicking up dust as they started to shove at her family. 

How

DARE

THEY!!! 

______

She lunged at the intruders to her cavern, her home, her family. Hissing and spitting and flailing her clawed hands at their faces, smacking them hard with her wings as she kicked up dust and shards of stone and dirt from the mouth of the cave. Hoping it was enough to spook the humans away from her cave. 

From her home. 

From the last bit of family she had left. 

The last glimpse of kind words and gentle embraces, the last voices of her people, the last blind eyes of the old woman who still resided with her. 

_______ 

Kristin launched herself with a heavy flap of her wings, leaping over the RV and landing, screaming, atop the shoulders of one of the intruders. Her claws dug deep into their back as the impact of her weight slammed them hard into the ground with a startled yelp. 

Before their companion had a chance to react, she had tackled their legs, knocking the strange weapon out of their hands as she pinned them beneath taloned feet and hands. Staring darkly into their eyes, teeth bared, wings mantled as if she were to snap at their neck, as if they were prey. 

And she would have. 

She would have snapped her jaws around their throat and sucked in the hot, fear laced blood that would have sprung from their veins, letting it drip across her lips as she spat at their companion to begone. 

Until a sharp scream from Michelle dragged her violently from those thoughts. 

Kristin choked slightly, clicking her jaws shut in reaction to the scream as it dawned on her…

This wasn’t her world. 

These weren’t the same humans. 

These were thieves, threats to her family, sure. But they were not what they were in her world. 

They were not here to take her family to some dark prison, to be tortured, to be enslaved, to be eaten…. to be sacrificed to…that thing….  

These were just humans. 

Stupid humans to be sure, considering they had attempted to rob her family. 

But that action didn’t warrant her killing them. 

Instead, she gripped her claws into the shoulders of the one pinned beneath her, snarling, glaring into their eyes. 

“LEAVE!” she hissed. 

Then released her grip. 

Before she had even drawn her next breath, the two robbers had fled into the oncoming twilight, their car screeching down the empty, dust covered road. 

For a long moment, there was only silence, as Kristin followed the dust trail until it left her sight. Before a quiet voice, shaking, and nearly at a whisper, called out. 

“Miss Kristin?” 

Kristin finally turned back to her family. 

And witnessed something she never wanted to see. 

The three of them, huddled around Michelle, the little girl whimpering softly. All of them with their eyes wide and glazed in sharp, haunted fear.  

Kristin took a step back. 

“I-I…” she put a hand over her mouth, only to draw it away as she noticed the strong tang of blood still seeping from her claws. 

“I….” another step. 

“I’m sorry.” she spread her wings. “I need a moment.” 

And took to the skies. 

But not before hearing a faint call for her to return.

Chapter Text

His lungs burned! 

Warren slammed his feet into the ground as he careened towards the cornfields. 

Right foot. 

Left foot. 

Right foot. 

Left foot. 

Breath in. 

Breath out. 

Breath in. 

Breath out. 

His throat was so dry, his mouth filled with cotton and bloody spittle caked around his cracked lips. His legs were numb from running. His feet bleeding, having worn through his shoes some time ago.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running for. There was no time in this place, not anymore, relevant or otherwise time was something long gone to the depths of his memory. However long that would last. 

All he knew, was that his family was gone. 

His life was gone. 

The void of the house that once held his family had been created and replaced before his very eyes.

The house where they had been was no longer that house.

 The occupants were strangers. 

Kind strangers, who’d offered to help him. At least, that was what he assumed they’d been saying. He’d been so scared…too frightened to comprehend anything aside from wrong wrong wrong WRONG WRONG WRONG! 

And then he’d seen it. 

The endless tendrils of everything and nothing, the tear across the house that was there and not, a brief glimpse of his family, calling out to him, begging for him to come back. Cut away by the image of this new family, this wrong family, this wrong house, this wrong place, this wrong time- 

Everything was wrong! 

And so he’d ran. 

And had continued to run. 

Long after that thing had found him again, swallowing the lands around him, twisting them, changing them, spitting them into more…wrongness. 

He didn’t question why it was following him, why he even bothered to continue running from it. 

There was no questioning fear. 

He simply did the only thing he could. 

And ran. 

And ran. 

And ran. 

Until, as the blackness of a void-filled night engulfed him, his legs finally gave out. 

A bone broke. 

He didn’t know which one. 

He didn’t care. 

And he collapsed, heaving for breath against the cold, muddy earth and collapsed cornstalks. Each breath in sent a screaming agony through his lungs, as if every gulp of air was not enough, never enough, sending his head spinning and his vision blurring between reds and greys as his chest heaved painfully. Each exhale a harsh, scratching cough as his dried throat and lungs seeped blood from the cracks formed within the membranes of the flesh, too dry to flex with each breath. 

And Warren lay there, gasping, choking on the air that should have sustained him, now betraying him. His breaths coming in harsh wheezes, loud and so horrendously obvious. Anything could hear him. 

That thing could hear him. 

And he could hear it. 

The crushing and twisting of cornstalks, the upheaval of earth, the splattering of mud and shattered stone, the deafening silence of nothing. 

It was coming. 

It was coming and he was going to die. 

Not yet…

Not yet…

Hello…

Not yet…

And now there was a voice amidst it all. 

Voices. 

Many. 

Hello…

Hello…

Little one…

Hurt…

Little one is hurting? 

Can help…

Can help you…

Can help you little one…

Warren could only wheeze in response. 

He had to be hearing things. 

He had to be! 

That thing that was following him, it was fucking with his head now! It was already tearing him apart and this was the first stage wasn’t it! 

No…

Not that…

WE are not THAT…

Not that THING…

Something warm coiled up around Warren’s hand. 

Something warm, and damp, and…gentle. 

So…so…gentle….

IT takes…

Takes…

Twists and breaks…

Breaks and returns…

Returns wrong…

Wrong…

Whatever was holding his hand flowed to his shoulder, his leg, his throat, his face. Lightly touching, almost snuffling, like the nose of a dog. Curious and timid and gentle. Leaving a faint dampness in its wake. 

Can help you…

Escape…

Help you…

Make RIGHT…

No more wrong…

Right…

Make things RIGHT…

Heal you…

As if the very words put the thought into his his, Warren shrieked as the agony of his situation hit. His thigh was throbbing! The bone was shattered. His chest crackled, his lungs filled with dried flesh and blood, threatening to choke him where he lay. He thrashed, kicking and clawing at the thing the held him, only for it to suddenly coil around him, restraining him. 

STOP FIGHTING!

Can help you…

Don’t fight! 

Help…

Trying to help…

Don’t you want help? 

Can help you heal…

Help escape….

No more pain…

Don’t fight…

No more pain…

The voices morphed, changing from some strange, amorphous sound, to something familiar. 

His mother. 

His father. 

His siblings. 

His friends. 

It was tempting. 

It was so tempting, to just let go, just let the voices do whatever it was they promised. To let those soothing, familiar sounds of his parents, his siblings, their reassurances that everything was alright, that everything would be okay, take him. 

But there was something deep inside him, something that screamed, that fought, that begged for him not to. 

Nothing good would come of this. 

First the thing that was chasing him, and now these voices and their strange tendrils around him, this wasn’t something he should touch. Wasn’t something he should even being witnessing. 

No human was ever supposed to encounter whatever these entities were. 

But the pain in his leg and chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the throbbing of his heart as it pounded in his head, and that horrid snapping, crunching sound of that THING that had chased him here, was growing. 

Can help you…

Can help you…

Help you little one…

Help… 

“What…what do-do I do?!” Warren finally asked, his voice rasping, trembling as flashes of white began to flood his vision from the pain in his leg. 

The damp restraints around him loosened, now seeming to cradle his broken form rather than hold him still. 

The warmth of one them crossed his forehead, smoothing the sweat laden hair from his face, leaving a thick, copper scented smear of moisture in its wake. 

Be our vessel…

Vessel…

Take up our Blade…

Heed our demands…

And we will heal you…

Protect…

Protect you…

Protect from that which does not belong here… 

There was silence for a long moment. 

A long moment that lasted hardly a second, painfully still and empty and yet somehow still echoing with the tearing of the THING some ways off. Growing closer. 

Closer. 

Closer. 

Warren squeezed his eyes shut and gripped at the thing that held him, cringing as it squished in his hand, splitting itself to form what felt like fingers, lacing amongst his own. 

“I accept!” he gasped. “I accept! I accept! Please! Please help me! Please!” 

The thing that held him slipped across his mouth, gathering the dried blood from his lips, hissing in what sounded like delight. 

It is done…

And then Warren was pulled. 

What direction, he didn’t know. Only that his body was suddenly yanked.

And his vision was flooded with red.

Chapter Text

“We’re not writing this into the log books, Tommy.” 

The intern glanced up from his seat on the floor, pausing in his scribbling of notes into his journal. 

“S’not the log book.” he mumbled before continuing to scratch the pen across the pages. 

Words, doodles, scribbles, none of it would make sense to Caera. 

They made perfect sense to him. At least at the time they were being produced. 

Techno had suggested it, actually. He remembered the man holding out a paper and crayon to him one day, after a rough series of events had sparked a recent, painful memory to his mind. 

“The fuck you want me to do with this?!” he had spat. 

“Whatever you need to do to get your thoughts out.” the man had said. “Words, scribbles, hell tear it up and eat the crayon if you want.” 

“Hell’s that supposed to do?” Tommy had asked, genuinely confused, but curious nonetheless. 

“Well, some people find it helpful to find a way to vent their frustrations onto something physical.” Techno had sat down beside him. “Sometimes it’s healthy, like going for a walk or punching a pillow, sometimes it’s weird, like filling up a bathtub and screaming under water until the feelings are gone.” 

Tommy had spluttered. “Who screams into a bathtub?” 

“I do, and it’s very useful for me. I'll have you know.” the pinkette had grinned. 

“Point is, people sometimes feel intense emotions, and those emotions can boil over and make them feel pretty terrible if they’re left inside for too long.” he explained. “And it can result in releasing those emotions through means that aren’t…healthy for yourself or others.” 

“You had a rough day kid, try taking it all out on that paper there.” 

And the habit had stuck. 

Tommy gripped the ballpoint pen in a white knuckled fist, digging the point in spirals across the page, leaving deep swirls of blue ink behind in scale-like patterns. 

It helped. 

A bit. 

At the very least it gave his hands something to do. 

Much like Caera. 

Tommy glanced up at the vet, still wobbly on his feet as he shuffled half heartedly through the kitchen. His arm in a sling to keep from aggravating his shoulder. He’d not bothered to put on a new shirt, the blood soaked one still hanging loosely from his good arm, the binder beneath was absolutely ruined though.

Not that it seemed to deter him from the task at hand, whatever that was. 

It looked like cooking? Baking? 

The man was dumping flour and milk into a bowl, kneading it into dough with his good hand, before tearing small handfuls from it and smashing them against the counter top, squishing them into thick pancake-like shapes. Finally stabbing a hole into each with his thumb and chucking them all into a frying pan, where they began to sizzle pleasantly. 

“Whatcha making?” Tommy finally asked, closing up his journal. 

He stayed where he was on the floor. 

It was a 'kitchen-floor-sit' kind of situation, he decided. If he needed to get up he would, but for now, the cool tiles pressing against his legs provided a much needed sense of stability.

Grounding.

Safety. 

Kitchen floors tended to have that effect after a stressful day. 

Surely it would work after…well…

“Fry bread.” Caera mumbled, flipping a flat, donut shaped chunk of the bread within the pan. 

“Smells nice.” Tommy nodded. 

“...’s good, sometimes.” The vet shrugged, wincing at the movement with a quiet swear. 

There was a long pause. 

The kitchen was quiet, save for the hissing of the oil within the pan as the scent of fried, salted flour soon filled the air. 

“You okay big man?” Tommy finally asked. 

“Ha!” Caera faced him, grinning, eyes watering and red.

 “Not in the slightest!” he chuckled, then sobbed, dropping to his knees. 

Immediately Tommy was at his side, grabbing his hand, squeezing it reassuringly as he fought his own urge to join him in crying. 

He’d cried enough today. 

Hell, he’d cried enough for the week. 

He didn’t want to cry anymore. 

“Oh…oh goodness…” 

Tommy’s head shot up at the new voice in alarm. His eyes landing on a pair of figures within the doorway of the kitchen. 

He gripped Caera’s hand tighter, shuffling between him and the figures. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” the intern spat. 

He’d had enough of un-announced, unwanted ‘guests’ within the station. He’d had enough of crying, had enough of fear, had enough of seeing his family hurt. 

He was willing and ready to fight someone if he had to. 

“Whoah whoah hold on!” one of the figures, a man in a blue hoodie - who the fuck wears a hoodie in the middle of a fucking desert? In the daytime?!- and glittering eyes, stepped into the kitchen, arms held up in reassurance. 

“I’m Techno’s friend, Skeppy?” he said, glancing between the two park rangers. “Techno needed to borrow my roommate’s bike-” 

“Motorcycle.” said roommate; another hoodied man - fucking what?!- the hood pulled up over his head and a scarf across his face, burying his features in shadow; corrected. 

If it weren’t for his rather short stature in comparison to Skeppy, and his surprisingly squeaky and friendly toned voice, his hidden features would have read as intimidating. 

“-motorcycle,” Skeppy continued. “I dropped it off but he looked, well…and the place- look I just wanted to check up on you-” 

“I insisted we check up on you.” the roommate stepped forward, placing a basket of something onto the kitchen table. “Once I heard what Skeppy described of the place, I got some baked goods set up and some drink mixes-” 

“-Point is, we were worried.” Skeppy nodded. 

Tommy felt Caera grip his hand tighter. 

“Did you call anyone?” the vet’s voice was quiet, little more than a strangled whisper. 

The two roomates glanced at one another. 

“Did you… want us to call anyone?” the scarf wearing man asked. 

“Kinda figured if it was something Tech was doing-” Skeppy explained. 

“-you wouldn’t want to get the cops involved, but,” his roommate shrugged. “We can always-” 

“No!” Caera snapped. 

Tommy flinched, noticing the two men quickly raise their hands once more. 

“Sorry, sorry…I’m sorry…didn’t mean to…” Tommy felt Caera squeeze his hand again. 

“Sorry but,” the intern took a breath, gesturing to the vet. “No cops. Please.” 

“Can do, no cops.” Skeppy gave a thumbs up. 

There was a pause. 

A long pause. 

Awkwardly so. 

Tommy saw the two men fiddle a bit with their pockets, the edges of their hoodies, rocking back and forth on their shoes, glancing about the room. 

Just…who the hell were these weirdos? Tommy wondered. And how did Techno, of all people, know them? 

“So…uh…” Skeppy finally broke the silence. “Do you need us to do anyth-” 

“Your fry bread’s on fire.” the scarf wearing man pointed out. 

“Fuck!” Caera shot up from Tommy’s grasp, quickly returning to the now sparking frying pan, desperately attempting to flip the little breads. 

“LANGUAGE!” the scarf wearing man wheezed. 

….what the fuck Techno?! Tommy now had even more unanswerable questions about his co-worker.

Chapter Text

He was breathing. 

Weak. 

A horrid, strained wheeze that must be taking immense effort. 

If it weren’t for the whistling breath, the struggling rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought he was dead. 

His skin was so cold, even the blood from his wounds had turned purple and stuck, frozen to the spears piercing his shoulders and wings. 

A quick test of picking up his hand, letting it fall, watching it collapse limply to his side, told her he probably couldn’t feel anything anymore. 

Had no strength left. 

Was on death’s door.

But he was breathing nonetheless. 

She had watched him fighting the whole way up the mountain, tearing with tooth and claw at his captors, screaming what she could assume were insults and swears in defiance even as they lashed him to the altar, even as they pierced his limbs in place, even as they said their prayers. 

Long after they had gone. 

He had only stopped after IT had arrived. 

Briefly. 

Hardly more than a second. 

IT didn’t even notice him. 

A piece of it sliced through his being, she had seen from her hiding place, and only then had he grown silent. 

For a moment- after that awful sensation of IT faded from existence, after the fabric of reality had stitched itself back together- for a moment, she had thought him dead. 

She had crept from her hiding place, cautious, light footed and silent. 

She had placed a hand to his cheek, feeling for anything. For warmth, for life, for breath. 

Anything. 

She had felt movement then. 

Faint, weak, she had felt him lean into her hand. Had felt the faint dampness of tears staining his cheeks. Had felt the slightest hint of warmth on his breath. 

Finally, she had seen him breathing. 

And now she was here. 

Miles away from that awful place. Hidden where no human could reach. Where that THING’S touch had not yet taken root. 

She had carried him there. Removed the spears with a sickening crack, cut him loose from the sharp cords that bound him. Tucked his wings, tattered and molting from stress and plucking, to his back. And cradled his broken frame here. 

Kristin placed another bundle of wood by the fire within the cave. The flames danced gently in their makeshift hearth, casting golds and reds and oranges, glowing soft and warm across the cave walls. Illuminating the paintings, ochre and chalk and soot, smudged and faded from time. Stories of hunts, of alliances, of great beasts that had died out long ago, of a terrible shapeless creature swallowing them all. 

Of winged beings being spat out from its maw. 

Winged beings that no longer lived. 

Winged beings that were long, long gone. 

She had thought she was the last. 

After the death of the final clan member some hundred years ago, she had been alone. 

So, painfully, dreadfully alone. 

But then that morning, she had heard it. 

A cry, at the base of the mountain, a language she hadn’t heard in a century. A voice broken and angered and terrified that filled her with fear and hope in a way she could not describe. 

She hadn’t dared intervene. 

Outnumbered as she was. 

All she could do was hide, and wait, and pray, and hope. Hope that some god, whatever was left in this lonely, empty world, heard her plea. 

Please! Please spare him! Please!  

And it seemed as though whatever last deity still lived, had done so. 

Kristin brushed a lock of dusty blond from the young man’s face. Narrow with starvation, scruffy and scarred and layered with dried dirt and blood from however long he had been captive. The remaining bits of grey down-feathers on his cheeks looked as though he had been plucking them himself. As were the feathers that poked out from the sides of his ears, split and ragged and broken. 

His wings were no better. 

A dusty grey, caked in dirt, he had no flight feathers. The insides of his wings were nearly barren, still pricking with droplets of blood where the quills would have grown in from. 

She was all too familiar herself with the symptoms of stress, of plucking one’s own feathers as a means of grounding. 

A terrible, terrible habit, but understandable in his state. 

He looked so thin, she noted. It was a wonder he had even had the strength to fight as he did the entire way up the mountain. The small amounts of ragged clothes he still wore, ill fitting and worn and threadbare, hardly hid the story his skin told. 

Black tattoos around his forearms, the markings of his clan. A deep, knotted scar across his shoulder, a series of pockmarks on his side, a brand on his hip, the slight bend in one of his ribs, the way one leg refused to straighten out fully, even when lying prone on his back. 

He was no stranger to surviving.  

Had he been human, however, it was doubtful he would have. 

Kristin traced the tattoos on his forearms, matching up the symbols to those on her own. 

Different clans. She noted. 

She read out his story, the various lines and dots and rings about his arms, each containing their own tale. 

Her finger traced a series of dots. 

He was from the far north. 

She turned his arm over carefully, watching the dots spiral into a single line. 

His clan was old. 

She finally ended at a thick, black ring around wrist. Stopping the pattern. 

He was the last of his clan. 

As alone as her. 

The last ring had been poorly done. As if by his own hand. 

And, from the looks of things, it most definitely was. 

A final chapter in his story. So he thought. 

The young man's eyes fluttered open, pale blue. No sclera. A narrow, cat-like pupil. 

Quite the opposite to her own, near solid black. 

A faint whine escaped him and she was immediately by his side, gently stroking his hair. 

“It’s alright.” she whispered. “You’re safe. It’s alright.” 

She received little more than a confused nod of acknowledgement before he promptly fell limp once more, mumbling wordlessly. 

Kristin sighed heavily. 

Why did their meeting have to be like this?

She wished it could have been under better circumstances. Wished that perhaps, some pastoral meeting of two lonely people in a field, under the bright sky and peaceful breeze, would have been their fate. 

Not this offering to the horrid glimpse into the tear of reality that threatened to take back what it had once created. Not this fear that had set her hackles crawling. Not the violence and the blood and the pain and the weakened breaths of a lone survivor. 

Not this poor, lost man, bleeding out on the cave floor. 

But there was no helping what could have been, she decided. Only fixing what was. 

Kristin heated up a cauldron over the fire, warming up a series of rags and water, before digging up the remainder of her stash of healing salve and sewing supplies, settling herself once more by the young man's side. 

She cleaned his wounds and sutured what she could, wiping away the dirt and grime of years of captivity across his face. Gently binding up what didn’t need stitching, layering the last of the healing salve across his cuts and bruises. 

Only stopping once she reached his wings. 

Normally, she wouldn’t touch them. 

Not counting folding them up to make carrying him easier, and binding up the punctures from the spears, she wouldn’t dare touch them. But, she would ask when he was awake. 

...if he wakes...again…  

Kristin shook the thought from her mind. 

Her -well, their, she supposed- their people’s remaining connection to the gods. The gifts of mercy bestowed upon them in the depths of the Formless Beast, their means of apology for their sufferings. A means of escape, a means of freedom, a message of forgiveness. 

To touch another’s wings was the ultimate gift. Reserved only for partners or the parents of children as a means of teaching how to preen. 

This was not a gift she had earned from him. 

But...they looked...they needed to be cleaned…

Kristin’s ears twitched as she heard the man flinch in his sleep, his wings trembling at the motion. 

Reluctantly, she made up her mind to ask when he was awake. 

It didn’t take long for her wish to come true. 

As she began preparing a warm stew in the single cauldron she still had, her ladle knocked against the rim. Echoing across the cave. Sending the man shooting upright with a cry, his arms flailing and wings flapping about as he scrambled to his feet, only to drop hard to his hands and knees.

Kristin was immediately by his side, catching him as he collapsed, shaking his head violently as he tried to shove her away from him. Flailing weakly as he tried to pull away, still not fully aware of where he was. 

“Shhh shh shh! You’re alright! It’s alright!” She soothed, carefully drawing him up until he was sitting beside her. 

He continued to flinch, his eyes wide in confusion and fear, flicking about in every direction as he sat there, trembling, no doubt questioning what he was seeing. 

He probably hadn’t seen one of his own in years….she realised with a sorrowful pang.

“See?” Kristin took his hands, extending her wings behind her, watching as his eyes widened in disbelief. 

“You’re safe now.” She reassured him, stroking the back of his hands with her own. “It’s just me. You’re safe.” 

The man just continued to stare, dumbfounded, stunned. 

He blinked.

His eyes flicked about rapidly and he blinked again. 

And then his hands darted upwards. 

Kristin flinched, chiding herself inwardly, of course he’d be scared! Of course he’d try to defend himself- 

Except the expected blow never came. 

Cautiously, she pried her eyes open, only to see the young man still before her. His hands held up to either side of her face, trembling, as his eyes locked with her own. 

There was a pleading sheen to those eyes, sky blue and whirling in shock and disbelief at the sight of her. At the sight of her wings. At the sight of proof he was no longer alone. 

He was asking for proof, for evidence he wasn’t dreaming, she realised. 

Kristin took his hands in her own and gently brushed them against the glossy feathers protruding from her ears, letting his touch linger as long as he needed. 

She expected him to grab at the feathers in shock, but for someone who’s shoulders were still bleeding from their wounds, he held his hands perfectly steady beside her ears. Gently tracing the edges of the feathers with hardly more than a fingertip, his eyes wide and beginning to water. 

And then he laughed. 

Quietly and broken, his fingers still tracing the edges of her feathers. 

Kristin placed her hands beside his face, now twisting in a confused mess of joy and pain, and wasn’t surprised as he leaned into her touch. A faint purr resonating from his throat as he retracted his hands, only to press them against her own, further into the sides of his face. Relishing in the touch he had been denied for so, so long. 

That she herself hadn’t felt in nearly a hundred years. 

She felt her own broken laugh erupt from her body as her own realisations struck her. 

She wasn’t alone. 

She wasn’t alone! 

She wasn’t alone!

Right there, sitting before her, albeit confused and hurt but equally overjoyed, was another of her people! 

Gods, where was he from?! 

What was he like?! 

How long had he been alone? Was he even alone? Were there others hidden away to be used as offerings? 

So many questions bubbled to the front of her mind. But she only managed to ask one. 

“What-what’s your name?!”

The young man before her paused. 

“I’m Kristin,” she quickly added. “What’s your name?” 

The man seemed to try to speak, eagerly, as if desperate to continue what must have been the first real conversation he had in years. 

Except….

There were no words. 

Only a strangled, single note came from him as he tried to speak. 

He tried again, and yet the same note fizzled out, fading hollowly as he sat there.

Stunned. 

And then he laughed. His eyes wide in confusion and fear once more. 

And that laughter turned to tears. 

Then sobs. 

Until finally his hands dropped to his sides, his head flinging back as he let out a strangled wail, before falling into Kristin’s arms. Sobbing. 

It was then, as she held him, shushing him and stroking his tangled hair as he sobbed, that she finally felt it. 

A deep, angry wound within his chest. Physical, and not. Bleeding still and yet no skin had been punctured. Existing and tangible, and yet only visible in her mind's eye, and even then, there was doubt. 

A mark of the Thing , she realised in horror. When he had briefly come into contact with that thing , the Formless Beast. 

The Maw. 

It had taken something from him. 

What exactly she did not know, but it was gone. 

And he was left, wordless and trembling in her arms. 

Kristin pulled him close to her, letting him bury his face into her shoulder as he sobbed at the loss. 

It wasn’t long before she felt herself begin to cry as well.

Chapter Text

“....bo......ub…bo…” 

Tubbo groaned. 

Blinked slowly. 

Everything hurt. 

His vision flickered. First red, then white, then red again. His eyes felt so dry, almost glued shut, it took a few tries for anything to register within his sight, blinking repeatedly to clear up his vision. 

When he did, however, when he finally left that tunnel of greys and reds and whirling, aching, confusion; he wished to the gods he hadn’t. 

He was pinned. 

Bound in place by tendrils of…something? Nothing? He couldn’t tell. The colours and patterns that swirled within his vision were at once beautiful and horrifying, sending stabs of pain through to his brain at the mere sight of the…things…that held him. 

That BURNED him. 

He let out a strangled cry as the pain registered. 

His head, his legs, his ears, they burned. As if acid had been thrown onto him, as if his bones were slowly being crushed and reformed, shifting and tearing into a new formation. 

He kicked and thrashed involuntarily at the pain, his screams muffled as he bit his lip to stifle the noise, a new fear lodging itself into his consciousness. 

He was being watched. 

He was being watched and whatever was looking at him was hungry. Starving. Waiting. 

Tubbo froze, his jaw clicking shut as he forced himself to hold still. In some brief moment of clarity within his pain stricken mind, he knew he’d get nowhere by screaming. By making his injuries, however they had been caused, worse. 

He took a breath, shaking, hugging his arms about himself, and released it. 

Another breath in. 

Then out. 

Then in. 

Then out. 

It hurt.

It hurt so much! 

But there was nothing he could do, he reasoned, not until he knew where he was. What had happened to him. What he was dealing with. 

He avoided looking at the tendrils writhing about his legs, avoided focusing on the sensation of them grasping about his head, slashing through his ears. 

Instead, he dug his fingers into his shirt, tracing the embroidered patch of a bee, feeling for the individual threads, counting the stitched up holes. 

It wasn’t much. 

But it helped, if only for a bit. 

“....tub…bo…” 

His eyes snapped open again, glancing frantically for the voice. 

Right! He remembered, he’d woken up to it. To that voice calling for him. 

He’d woken up to it…after falling…after it had grown dark….heard it calling out, weak and hurting, and had followed it to…to…

The horrid memory of turning the corner, of falling, of thousands of knife-like things grasping hold of him, tearing into him, digging through his skin, his organs, his soul, tearing, rearranging, destroying- 

He whimpered at the memory, desperately shaking it from his mind as he tried to focus on the voice. 

“...tub…bo…” 

He glanced about once more, finally registering his surroundings. 

Above him, some twenty or so feet up, was a jagged crack. Stars and moonlight and a cool, evening breeze, drifted down from it. And from there, all sense of familiarity, of comfort of his own world, ended. 

The fissure he had fallen into was writhing. 

Breathing. 

Somehow a black, empty void of nothing. 

And yet a mass of life, and colour, and teeth, and tongues, and tendrils of existence and everything and death, whipping about, manically searching for something to tear into. To re-form. To re-arrange. To make wrong.  

To consume. 

Tubbo knew without a doubt what this thing was. 

He’d never seen it before. Nor anything like it. 

Never heard of it or imagined it, not even in his wildest nightmares. 

And yet, he knew upon sight what it was. 

A Maw. A beautiful and horrifying, endless, Maw, filled with the decaying and dying and alive and deceased bodies of its victims. 

Birds. Goats. A bobcat. Snakes.

Some alive and shrieking. 

Most, dead. And thankful for it. 

The Maw consumed them all. Ever hungry. Ever vast. Void and Emptiness and Hunger incarnate. Desperation and Apathy, Hatred and Destruction and Rebuilding. All of it. 

It was all of it. 

And it had him. 

“...tub…bo…” 

His eyes finally caught sight of a figure, dangling on the living wall of fissure opposite him. Arms and legs broken and bent and stretched wrong, skin mottled dark and pale where it shone through between the tendrils of life and death that bound it in place. Blood, a colour it shouldn’t be, dripped from the figure’s mouth and nose, seeping from deep lacerations across it’s legs and arms and chest. Wherever a tendril wasn’t burrowing into its being, or tearing, or pulling, or breaking or- 

“Ranboo?!” Tubbo thrashed, against the void that held him back, at the sight of his friend. 

Ranboo hardly looked like how he remembered him anymore. His face contorted into something unrecognisable…horned…monstrous…His body destroyed and reformed into the mess that it was now. 

But the voice was the same. 

The tone, the cadence, no matter how pained and weak. 

He was Ranboo. 

He was…still alive. 

He was…

Suffering.  

Tubbo shrieked. 

A mixture of agony and anger and rage at what had become of his friend. 

He bit, he clawed, he kicked, he tore, no longer capable of feeling the pain of his own injuries as he desperately ripped himself free of the living wall of death that bound him. 

He tore his way across the fissure, violently thrashing, kicking, slamming his whole head into anything that tried to block his way. 

Before cutting down his friend.

Cradling his broken form against him. 

Bolting upwards. 

Climbing. 

Clawing. 

Heaving himself out of the fissure. 

Running. 

He didn’t remember what happened next. 

Didn’t fully know how he was even capable of escaping. 

But now, here he was. 

Lying against the floor of a canyon, arms curled around his friend, limp and trembling within his grasp, staring in horror and disbelief at what had become of him. 

Of himself. 

His own legs were bent, furred, hooved. Soaked in blood and sore beyond belief. His ears  were much the same, goat-like in nature. A pair of bloodied nubs protruded from his skull, fresh and aching, no doubt the source of the pain within his head. 

Everything was sore, weak. New and shaky and horrible and wrong. 

He knew instinctively what had happened. 

The Maw had reformed him. 

Had reformed Ranboo beside him. 

His friend was sprawled out across the sandstone ground, twice the height he should be. Limber and narrow and fused with -or into- the creatures he had shared the fissure with for who knew how long. 

His limbs were far longer, far slender, the bones reshaped to more like a cat's, save for the still existing fingers on his hands. A tail, tufted and nearly his whole body’s length, was curled weakly about his legs. Long, pointed ears lay flat against the sides of his head, trembling in pain. A single horn, jagged and antler shaped, had burst from the side of his head. His hair had grown mane-like from his neck and shoulders, black and white. The piebald patterning splattering across his now, velvety carapice-like replacement of skin. 

Blood, both green and red, seeped from numerous gashes across his torso, his legs, his arms, his face…anywhere that had been changed was leaking with blood. As if the violent alterations had squeezed it from his skin like some gorey sponge. 

His breath rattled in his chest with each, agonised, wheeze. 

He was far, far worse than Tubbo. 

He needed help. 

Tubbo gripped his friend’s hand, stifling the tears that threatened to form in his eyes as Ranboo whimpered, squeezing his now clawed fingers around pale skin. 

“...tub…bo…” 

“I’m here, you’re gonna be okay, I’m here.” Tubbo reassured him.

“...hurts…” 

“I know man,” he gave his hand a squeeze. “I know.” 

He needed help. 

He needed help but there was nothing he could do! 

He had no clue where he was, how long they’d been in the fissure. His phone was gone. He couldn’t contact anyone. And if he could…what the hell could they even do at this stage? 

He sniffled, wiping his own bloody nose across his sleeve. 

“We’re gonna- we’re gonna be okay.” he whispered, for himself as well as Ranboo. “We’re gonna be okay.” 

He didn’t believe in the gods, not really. 

But still, he prayed.

And high up on the canyon wall, outside his view, a small light was slowly making its way down the cliff face in answer to those desperate prayers.

Chapter Text

To say Caera felt like shit was understatement. 

Every little thing, every tiny inconvenience, was adding up into him, with his face buried in his arms at the kitchen table. Silent save for the occasional shaky breath, his face damp, his eyes bloodshot. 

If anything, he felt sick. 

Exhausted from the day’s events yet too anxious and worried to sleep. Thirsty from the dehydration the tranquilizer had caused, but too sick to his stomach to attempt drinking anything. His appetite was gone despite having not eaten since that morning. 

At least until a gloved hand pushed a plate of cinnamon and sugar dusted fry bread in front of his face. 

“You don’t have to eat it. I just need someone to watch it, keep the cat away from it ya know?” Bad, the strange man who had arrived shortly after Techno left, gave a light smile. 

At least, Caera assumed it was a smile, the way the man’s eyes curled up at the corners. 

The rest of his face was covered in bandages. 

He’d removed the scarf and hoodie after some time, claiming he ‘felt he could trust the station not to make any rude comments’. Beneath said clothing was a layer of gauze bandages, covering nearly every inch of his skin. Anything that wasn’t beneath his shirt or pants was wrapped in the off-white strips. Even his hands and head were covered, with a pair of arthritis gloves and a loose beanie. Stray bits of pitch black hair poked out from beneath the edges of the hat. 

Leaving only his eyes exposed, a strange milky colour, almost white, the skin surrounding it a dark purple.

Bruised looking.

And if it weren’t for his expert navigating of the room, Caera would have thought him blind. 

As it was, Bad was…strange. But, Caera wasn’t one to judge. Bad was a strange name, Bad behaved far too nicely to be a friend of Techno’s, in his opinion, but the man looked like he’d been through some shit. If the bandages were anything to go by. 

Although, he didn’t seem to move as if he were in pain…then again, he could just be far enough along in healing from whatever had caused him to be so bandaged, that he wasn’t bothered by it anymore? Caera wondered. 

Or, it was far simpler than that. 

Bad was just self conscious about his appearance after whatever happened. 

You would know all about that. He cringed inwardly, shuffling the bloodied remnant of his shirt over the blood soaked binder…his stomach growled, the scent of the cinnamon and sugar was getting to him. 

“I’m not eating the whole thing.” he mumbled, taking a small loaf of the bread. “Just taste testing.” 

“Never assumed you were.” Bad smiled again. “You want anything to drink? I can get you some water?” 

“Liquid seems kinda…unsafe at the moment.” Caera cringed at the thought of anything fluid entering his throat. After he had puked shortly after Techno had left, he didn’t feel safe touching anything fluid. Not with the nausea. 

At least with the solid bread, he could take tiny little bites. Small nibbles, just enough to melt in his mouth and swallow down. 

“Ah no problem, I can get you something else though.” Bad chirped, rummaging about through the kitchen, as if he had lived there his whole life. 

“Here!” the man finally set a large glass of ginger ale, filled with ice cubes and topped with a straw, before the vet. 

“Should help with the nausea, and you can suck on the ice if you want. Or eat them, that might help trick your brain into thinking it’s solid.” Bad’s eyes crinkled up again, a pleasant smile, as he took a seat opposite Caera. 

“Thank you.” the vet gratefully took the offered beverage, cautiously testing a short sip of the drink before giving up at the texture of fluid in his mouth. Resorting instead to fishing a cube of ice from the glass, popping it into his cheek before resting his head on his arms once more, slowly sucking the cube. 

The brief hint of ginger flavour, still encasing the ice, did seem to help the nausea, if only for a bit. And the actual ice itself was a godsend on his growing headache. 

“Feeling a little better?” Bad asked. The bandage over his brow seemed to tilt to one side, as if he had just raised his eyebrows at the question. 

“A little.” Caera said, his voice scratchy and quiet. 

“Well, a little is still progress, and any progress is good.” Bad’s eyes crinkled up into a smile once more. 

“You smile a lot.” Caera stated. 

“I-oh…oh you can tell?” the man seemed genuinely startled, pressing his hands to the sides of his face. “Oh goodness, I-I thought no one could see my expressions-oh this is…oh boy…” 

Caera quickly back-pedalled, hoping he hadn’t accidentally touched on anything sensitive. 

“Sorry! Sorry I meant, your eyes do that little crinkly thing-I thought you were smiling, I’m sorry!” he apologised. 

“Sorry?” Bad seemed confused for a moment before shaking his head. 

“No no don’t be sorry! It’s a good thing!” he assured the vet. “I’m happy! I’m…I’m actually really happy you can see me smile.” 

His eyes crinkled up again. 

“I-I don’t like taking them…” the man gestured to the bandages. “Don’t like taking them off. It…it uh…I don’t like it.” 

“I think I get ya.” Caera tapped the strap of his binder. “At least somewhat.” 

“Ah,” Bad nodded. “Yeah it’s…it’s a bit like that but more…less for me and more for others, I don’t really wanna scare anyone.” 

“But it is a little for me.” he added quietly. “Not...easy looking in the mirror some days.” 

Caera nodded, understanding.

“I’ve never done well with things happening outside my control.” he stated. “Whatever gives you more power over how you perceive yourself, or how you want to be perceived, no judgement. Go for it.” 

Bad smiled again. 

“It’s nice meeting someone who gets it.” he said. “And, nice meeting someone who can still tell when I smile.” 

“I’ve missed that.” he added. “Skeppy still struggles with it and he’s been living with me since before…well…” 

“This.” The man gestured vaguely to his whole self. 

“I mean, he’s a bit similar but…actually no that’s not my place.” Bad shook his head. “Forget I said that!” 

“Will do.” Caera nodded. 

For a moment there was silence between them. Only the sounds of the ginger ale fizzling within the glass, the ice cubes clinking as Caera proceeded to fish one out again. 

“Oh, shit, did Tech ever introduce you to us?” he finally asked. 

“Firstly, language,” Bad chided. “And secondly, kind of?” 

“He talked about you all in texts and sometimes when he came by to visit.” he shrugged. “You’re Caera, right? The station veterinarian?” 

“Yup.” Caera popped the ice cube into his mouth. “Station vet. And record keeper. And the smiling face at the front desk. And the silver tongue that smooths over any misunderstandings with our boss and any Karens that think the park is just some playground for their kids to run loose in.” 

Bad laughed. “Oh boy, it most certainly is NOT a playground…” 

“No it is not.” Caera agreed. 

“How do you know Techno, if it’s okay to ask?” he added. 

“Oh!” Bad seemed to sit up a little straighter, eyes darting to the side, then back to Caera once more. 

“Well, uh,” he scratched under his beanie. “I’m not sure how much he’s cool with us telling you, but it’s safe to say we were all roommates for a couple of years.” 

“When he first arrived here in Dust Mouth,” Bad continued. “We sort of took him in. Well, Skeppy kinda just asked if we could keep him really.” 

Caera chuckled at the sudden image of the blue hoodied man holding up a tiny Techno, like a kid who had found a puppy and was begging to keep it. 

“And we did, and he eventually got a job here at the station and sometimes comes back to visit and such.” Bad finished. “If he’s alright with us telling the whole story, then I’ll tell you more, but that’s the basic gist of it.” 

“Ah, was just wondering.” Caera nodded. 

“He doesn’t talk to you about before the station?” Bad asked. 

“Not really,” the vet cautiously took a sip of the ginger ale, finally able to drink a mouthful without feeling as if he was about to gag. “Kinda always keeps to himself, and then sometimes does or says something that’s just…really out there.”

“ ‘S why I was surprised he knew you guys.” he poked at the plate of fry bread. “Never mentioned he had any friends.” 

“Eh, he’s always been that way.” Bad waved a hand. “Sometimes I worry about him though. Never talks much about things outside his work, never mentions if he has friends, just kinda…” 

He held both his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Eh?” 

“Eh sounds about right for Techno.” Caera smirked, then frowned. “I hope…I hope he’s okay.” 

Bad’s eyes crinkled gently. “Knowing…knowing a bit about his capabilities…I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Chapter Text

The engine beneath him roared as he careened down the desert road, nearing steadily closer to the small dust cloud of a van on the horizon. His hair had been flung out of his usual braid, and were it not for the helmet across his face protecting him from the wind burn that was sure to come from how fast he was going, Techno would for certain have been blinded by a cascade of pink. 

Catch them! 

Catch them! 

Hurt friend! 

Hurt our friend! 

The crow! 

Save the crow! 

Catch them! 

KILL THEM! 

KILL! 

KILL! 

KILL!

CONSUME!

CONSUME!

BLOOD! 

He tasted metal in his mouth. Felt hot crimson flowing from his nose. His mouth. His eyes. His ears. 

Flooding down his face and across his throat, painting his breast a deep ruby beneath the riding leathers, soaking into his shirt. 

He didn’t care. 

He couldn’t feel the headache anymore. The pulsing throb in his face. The aching soreness of his leg where the dart had punctured. The burning of the wind against his bare fingers, clutching white knuckled to the handlebars. 

Techno didn’t care. 

Not when there was this much at stake. 

It hadn’t taken him long to wake from the dart, or more accurately, he hadn’t fully succumbed to it. 

____

…changed…

…you will be changed…

…resilient…

…we destroy…

…destroy the unnatural…

…poisons…

…drain them from you….

He hung there, suspended in the sickeningly warm air of the being’s grasp, limp and paralysed as the voices echoed within his mind. The wound in his chest from…whatever had been chasing him…still open to the elements. Still bleeding, and yet wasn’t. Still throbbing, yet painless. Still there, and not. 

“...what…do you mean?” he choked. 

Warm, grasping limbs and hands and fingers, coiled around his form. Supporting him, holding him. Gentle, yet belying a strength beneath their fleshless forms. Just as easily as they could caress him and bind his wounds and sooth his hurts, they could snap his bones. Break his skin. Shatter the very essence of his soul into little more than agonising shards. 

Terrified was not even remotely close to what he felt, but it was the only word he knew that could describe even a fraction of his current emotions. 

….immune….

….stronger…

…we take…

…take the impure…

….cast it out…

…cast out…

…protect you…

….protect…

….protect…

_____

Techno ducked lower to the motorcycle, pressing his chest against the fuel tank, gripping the seat with his legs as he revved the engine, sending the poor thing into a speed wobble at the sudden shift in drag before righting itself once more. Tearing down the highway at breakneck speed. 

The speedometer was long past redlining by now. 

The engine screamed, sending a deep, snarling rumble through his body that rattled into his very bones. 

He doubted the machine was meant to survive these speeds for long. 

He didn’t need that long, however. 

Just needed long enough.

________

He flinched as he felt a shapeless hand press against his broken leg, whimpering as the pain, though dulled, still throbbed within the affected limb. 

….help you…

…help you…

…heal you….

….help you….

The pain lessened, slightly, as the…hand…limb?....thing, pressed against it. An act that should have been agonising, instead, soothing. 

Maybe…maybe this thing, however terrifying it was, maybe it really was trying to help him? 

….see?...

….sooth the pain….

….heal you…

…make stronger…

…stronger….

“Wha…what about- Agh!” Warren cried in pain as another limb pressed against the non-existing and still-there wound within his chest. 

Where that…thing…that Maw…that endless mouth of teeth and void and aching hunger, never satisfied, never content, had tore into him. Had burrowed deep within his very being, tearing and ripping and twisting and…taking…

“Please!” he shrieked, clawing at the limb, still attempting to press against his wound, as if trying to stifle the bleeding that was and wasn’t happening. That flooded across his tattered shirt. 

“Please! Please stop!” his attempts to claw, to kick, to tear the limb from him, was stopped abruptly. More limbs, more muscles, more tendons, more organs, more warm, metallic blood, hot and burning against his skin, pinned his arms where he floated. 

…HOLD STILL!...

….STILL!...

…HELPING YOU!...

…HELPING!....

Warren sobbed between broken gasps of pain, as the limbs continued to bind him in place. As his thigh bone snapped harshly back together, burning as the bone healed at a pace far too rapid for his body to contend with. As his lungs were cleansed of the dried blood, the ruptured vessels scabbed over and healed and left unscarred, pristine, filling his breaths with hot, damp air that scorched like acid. Perfectly, horribly, efficient. 

And then the wound within his chest, there and yet not, still gushing with blood and completely whole, never existing. 

The limb pressing against it was a brand, hotter than fire and searing, cauterising, stitching and melting and burning his soul back together. 

And yet, he was still…still…

___________

The fuel tank would be empty in another half hour if he kept up this speed for much longer. 

But Techno didn’t need nearly that long. 

He reached the van. 

Passed it. 

Continued for another few miles before screeching to a stop at the side of the road. 

And then, he uncoiled the spike strips from where he had wrapped them by his hip, tossing them out across the road, and waited. 

Even as the van skidded to a stop, even as the brakes squealed in protest against the tyres, burning the black rubber and leaving a long, dark streamer of smoke behind it, there was no chance of it stopping in time. 

With a gunshot of a bang, the tyres were caught on the strips. Lacerated and shredded beyond repair, piling up dangerously into the wheel-wells as the van finally sputtered to a stop. 

__________

….fix you…

…FIX…

…make better….

….BETTER…

….ours…

…ours….

….our blade…

….OUR BLADE….

….OUR VESSEL….

….BLADE….

…..BLADE….

…..BLADE…..

….BLOOD….

….BLOOD….

…..BLOOD!!!!!....

…..BLOOD!!!!!!!!

Warren shrieked until his voice was gone, until he was too weak to fight back against the limbs that forced his body to heal far, far too quickly. 

It hurt! 

It hurt! 

It HURT! 

Would it have been so bad, his mind briefly wondered between the flashes of agonising white and red that was now his world, if he had let himself be consumed? Let himself be taken by the Maw? Was death so wrong to wish for, now that he knew the alternative-

SILENCE!

Red stabbed through his brain and he went limp once more, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, locked within his body, unable to move. Unable to shriek. Unable to fight. 

All he could do was breathe. 

And wait. 

And pray for death. 

DO NOT THINK OF SUCH THINGS!

WE HELP YOU!

HELP YOU!

DO NOT BE UNGRATEFUL!

WE HELP YOU!

WE LOVE YOU!

LOVE YOU!

Love you! 

Love you!

….love you….

….love you…..

…..love you….

…..love…

……love….

……love…

His mind went black. 

There was nothing now. 

No pain. 

No thoughts. 

No beginning. 

No end. 

Only….

Only…….

…..only…..

The Blood. 

____________

Furious was not a word that could accurately describe how Techno had felt when he had come to from the dart. 

He had felt the damp, scratching sensation of Lincoln’s tongue on his face. Heard the soothing purr of the cat as he slowly dragged himself back to his feet, prying the tabby off of him before handing him to Tommy and hauling Caera onto the couch. The world had spun as he moved, still fighting the chemicals that circulated through his blood. 

When Tommy had asked, confused, as to how he had woken up so fast, he couldn’t respond. 

Not even he fully understood his deal. The bargain he had made, and the effects it would have on his body, even after all these years. 

Instead, Techno stalked to his room, silent and angry, and gathered what he needed from under the bed. 

This day had started off shit, and had only gotten worse. 

First the not Station 3, then the idiots who decided they were going to poke around where they shouldn’t, and now…. 

He paused, staring back down the hallway towards the living room. Where a distraught Tommy was carefully cleaning the vet’s wound. 

And an all too knowing Lincoln sat, staring back into his soul. 

“You and I will talk later.” he had pointed at the cat, before dragging his leathers into place around him. 

___________

There was no pain. No Maw. No empty, vast, expanse of hunger and apathy and hate and nothing. There was no past. There was no family, all playing in the backyard at the edge of the farm. No mother calling the children for dinner, no father bantering with the neighbours, no siblings tackling him with laughter and squeals of joy. No knowledge that those memories had been consumed by the Maw, torn from his being when he had been touched. No knowledge that the family he knew he should remember, but couldn’t, had been flung away from this world, into another. Where he could not go. 

No knowledge that, once the Maw had latched hold of him, it had taken it all. All of it. All of his memories. All of his past. Wiped it clean. Left him empty, lost, knowing he should know what his mother looked like, the way his father laughed, the smiles of his siblings, knowing that he knew once. And no longer did. 

There was nothing. 

Just the knowledge that he knew that he didn’t know anymore. 

There were no wounds from his escape from the Maw. 

Just the scars, visible and unseen, there and not. 

There was no Warren. 

Just The Blood. 

And he was its vessel. 

And like a dark baptism of fire and gore, the Blade burst to the surface of the blood filled puddle, cradled at the bottom of the canyon. 

Coughing his lungs free of the fluid, he clawed his way from the reddened pool, wheezing and hacking as more of the sanguine liquid continued to spill from his mouth and nose. 

And then he stood, and staggered forwards into the night. Numb and lost and nameless, the Blade ventured forth from the canyon and into the vast expanse of the desert that lay before him. 

And mourned. 

And did not know why. 

_______________

The sun beat down across the black riding leathers, baking the wind dried blood of his shirt to the fabric. Sticking disgustingly to his skin. 

Techno snarled at the van. 

The visor of his helmet was flooded with red, a gruesome sight to anyone who would witness. 

He barely took notice. 

Blood could not mar his vision. 

“First this morning,” he whispered.

….it follows you…

…leaves footprints…

…follows you…

…the Maw…

…THE MAW!...

 “With the fucking not Station 3, and the little stunt you pulled,” he let the crowbar slip before catching the end of it. Letting the hooked end slam against the asphalt road. 

….not listening…

…you did not listen…

….YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO US!!!!!!

“Then these bastards, poking around.” Techno began to stalk towards the van, dragging the crowbar against the asphalt, letting the loud snarl of metal sparking against the ground echo towards the van. 

“And Phil getting fucking taken!” he hissed. “And my family getting hurt for it!?”  

….NOT LISTENING!!!!!

NOT LISTENING!!!!!!

YOU ARE OUR BLADE!!!!!!

OUR BLADE!!!!!

He felt his chest twinge in pain. 

He snarled. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” he said under his breath. 

OUR BARGAIN!

BARGAIN!

“You know, a bargain goes both ways.” Techno stopped before the van. “Start holding up your end of it, and maybe I’ll start holding up mine, you eldritch meat bag!” 

And then, he launched himself through the air.

Chapter Text

“Auncle Eret?” 

Eret turned at the question and the tug on their arm. 

Michelle stood beside them, eyes downcast, a half finished drawing in her free hand. 

“What’s wrong kiddo?” Eret gave the skewers of food a little turn over the fire they watched. Sending the mixtures of vegetables and meats and tofu sizzling, as the spices sprinkled across them burst into sparks and melted wondrously over the dinner. 

“Is Miss Kristin coming back?” Michelle gripped their sleeve tighter. 

Oh.  

It had been nearly two days since the incident with the attempted robbery. Nearly two days since they had witnessed the woman’s…scary side wasn’t really the right words for it. It wasn’t enough to just describe her actions as scary. 

She had been terrifying. 

The same Kristin who had played alongside Michelle, who had talked for hours with Puffy and Niki, laughing musically at Eret’s terrible jokes and joining in with the family at every meal. Offering to contribute now and then, even showing them her world’s recipes, or the equivalent of. Meticulously explaining in detail how each spice paired with each vegetable, which ones were best for each season, how they were harvested, how she used to hunt. 

That same Kristin, not more than two days ago, had her claws buried deep into a man’s chest. 

Had bared fangs Eret never even noticed she’d had. 

Had nearly killed. 

Right in front of their family. 

She hadn’t, though, they reminded themselves. 

She hadn’t killed, she had terrified and maimed but she hadn’t killed. And then she had run away, scared and confused and guilt ridden at what she had done. 

Since then, the family hadn’t moved from the rest stop, uncertain of what to do. 

Should they wait for her to come back? Should they search for her? Should they continue on without her? 

That last option had been quickly overruled the second it had been proposed. No one wanted to leave her behind. They knew she hadn’t meant to scare them, they knew she was defending them, and considering what she had lost of course she would be more than a little terrifying in protecting them. 

If anything, they wanted to thank her. 

But, no one had any way of contacting her. 

Of telling her it was alright, that they weren’t scared of her, that she was welcome to return at any time. 

And so, they had stayed where they had stopped. Hoping that wherever she was, it wasn’t far. That she could see them, or find them again easily. 

Niki had insisted on leaving out a plate of dinner every night atop the roof of the RV, just in case. At least…there was comfort in knowing the plate was always empty by morning. 

Eret’s gaze trailed across the spare plate, wrapped in foil, beside the fire pit. 

Still warm. 

They reminded themself to deliver it to the top of the RV. 

“I don’t know.” they admitted, taking a skewer from the fire and placing it onto a cooling rack beside them. 

“I miss her.” Michelle leaned against their side. “She was very nice.” 

“I miss her too, kid.” Eret agreed, letting their eyes sweep across the desert, now laden with the golds of sunset. Hoping that they would see some sign of her, a dark speck floating on a thermal, or a large feather caught in the nearby brush. 

But, like the past two days, they saw nothing. 

Eret handed Michelle a small plate of dinner and motioned her to take it to her moms, before settling beside the fire, keeping watch. Hoping Kristin knew she was welcome to return. 

____________

Kristin fanned out her wings, letting them catch the last rays of the sun, sending a deep warmth flooding through her bones as she watched the little RV camp from her perch. High up on a nearby mesa, near a valley not too far away from the camp, where she had taken refuge after running. 

She already missed the little family. 

The days had not been kind, she’d been grossly dehydrated and the sun had left a sore, pink burn across any skin that was exposed. She’d taken to sleeping throughout most of the day, spending her mornings and evenings hunting and searching for water, when the sun had yet to warm the earth and the light was dim enough to be unseen. 

During the coldest parts of the night, she had found herself huddled within a large crack on the face of the mesa, tucking herself small and blanketed by her wings for warmth. Not at all unlike her days on her own in the empty, lonely cave she had once inhabited long ago. 

Kristin gave her wings a light flutter, sending the feathers fluffing up and ruffling, angling them for the sun to hit just right to cook off any parasites that might have lodged within them during her rest. Before carefully running her fingers through the soft quills, smoothing and re-aligning them, lightly stroking the vanes. 

Philza always made preening so much easier, able to reach the downy feathers along her shoulders and back and the base of her wings that she could never quite get to. Sometimes pressing a little kiss to the back of her neck as he went, before tying her hair into a plait, braiding bright ribbons and little gems and shells and flowers into patterns along the shiny strands. 

She traced the tips of her ear feathers, the only feathers her clan ever trimmed, the tips carved into small diamond shapes and bound with a bright red ribbon. 

Her clan’s symbol of marriage. 

Philza had been so confused the first time he’d seen her trimming her ear feathers, a circle for being single, a triangle for being betrothed. It had taken some time to convince him that it wasn’t any form of repression, that everyone in the clan did it -had done it- and it was a sign of pride for her. A little piece of her people she had managed to save after all these years. 

And while Philza himself couldn’t bear to trim the feathers along his ears, she hardly blamed him knowing how painful his memories regarding clipped feathers were, he still managed to eventually assist her in keeping her own feathers trimmed to shape. Binding the tips with a long, red ribbon every morning with a light kiss to her cheek. 

Kristin smiled. 

She knew there was no real reason to keep the feathers cut or bound, there was no one left to know what they meant. 

But she knew. 

Philza knew. 

And that was all that mattered. 

Her thoughts were shattered just after twilight, as she heard a cry, weak and terrified, from the base of the valley, followed by quiet whimpers. And the awful….familiar….sensation of something that should not be here….briefly brushing its presence into reality before fading once more. 

Kristin felt her feathers bristle, her breath caught in her throat as she turned to look towards the sounds. The pained whimpers down in the valley. The quiet shushing and words of reassurance. Echoing across the stony walls. 

And as if she felt history repeating itself, she carefully began to make her way towards the sound.

Chapter Text

Philza tried. 

He really did. 

Tried to do something. Protect, run, hide, attack, anything. 

But whatever had hit Caera, had hit him too.

A sharp thwump to his upper arm and a biting sting at the impact site, was all he registered before he tore the thing from him, flinging it aside. Only to feel the horrible sensation of something wrapping tight around his wings- 

He shrieked, snarling, snapping his teeth at his attackers, desperately trying to claw his way back into the corner. Back into the dark, muddy puddle of his cage. Back into the only semblance of safety he still had. 

Hands grasped his feathers, tearing as he continued to hiss, continued to claw, continued to bite. Until he felt the ropes tighten, slipping around his legs, his arms, pinning them as he was dragged from the safety of his cage- 

Philza swung his fist, landing it squarely into the face of a glasses wearing brunette, only to feel something grab the ropes around his wings once more and pull-  

Pain shot through his back and shoulders as he finally collapsed, desperately trying to writhe away from the grasping hands, the sharp fingernails, the heavy knees to his spine as he was pinned to the muddy ground. His arms bound behind him, his ankles tied together. Feathers were pinched and torn and pulled as his wings were lashed far too tight to his back. A gag shoved between his teeth and a-

-cloth was cinched over his eyes. For a moment, Philza froze. Instinct tearing into him at the worst possible time. And when that second was over, when he finally snapped out of the reactive action, it was too late. 

He was shoved onto the ground, landing hard on his back, sending a stabbing pain through his injured wing. His cry was cut short as another cloth was slipped between his teeth, muffling him as his arms and legs were bound together. His broken shoulder screaming in pain at the movements. 

And somehow, it hurt far less than the sharp cry he heard coming from the front desk. 

Tommy, he recognised. And a part of him tried to fight against the bindings cinched around him as a deep rooted instinct that he hadn’t felt in many, many years, flooded forth- 

Flock! 

Flock! 

Protect! 

Flock! 

Flock hurt! 

Protect! 

Flock!-

-flock! Protect the flock! 

The words screeched in his mind as he felt the tiny clawed hands pulled away from him, leaving thin scratches in their wake as he watched the little one carried away into the sky, to safety. 

He hoped. 

He dove back into the fray, tackling a human aiming their spear at an older flock member, sinking his teeth deep into their neck until he knew they wouldn’t move again. Before hauling the elder onto his back and running towards the edge of the cave, handing them off to their family, turning back into the hellish cavern that had once been his home. 

Another scream split through the air. 

His name was called, desperate and pained. 

He dove towards the cry, dodging the broken shards of pottery amongst the cave floor, his bare feet slipping on the mix of blood and lamp oil, nearly sending him tumbling into the rising flames flooding the cavern. 

He choked, pulling his tunic over his mouth and nose and fanning the smoke away with a wing as he scanned the cave for the voice. His sight finally landing on a blurred face…one he knew he should remember… 

He ran after them. 

Slipped. 

Caught himself. 

Cut his hand on a shard of broken pottery. 

And felt the horrifying snapping of bone shatter through his body as a bolo wrapped violently tight around his legs. Another on his wings. Another caught his arm as he tried to protect his face, cinching his wrist against his throat, his free arm reaching out towards the blurred face as-  

-hands gripped his legs and arms, hauling him up over someone’s shoulder, like some hunted creature. 

Philza writhed against his restraints, trying to kick, to bite, to hit, anything. 

Nothing worked. 

His captor held him fast.

Not again! He felt tears form as he heard Caera swearing weakly, the vet’s breathing growing heavy and laboured as he was carried past. Please no! No no no no-

-”No! Fucking- I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” 

Not his flock!

Not his flock! 

Not his flock! 

Please gods not his flock! Please! 

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll-” an iron cage was shoved over his mouth, locking his jaws shut as a chain was wrapped about his throat, pulling tight. He thrashed against it until the pressure on his throat grew, his vision blurred, his lungs strained for air as black spots fluttered at the corner of his eyes-  

-he felt himself growing dizzy as he was carried out of the station. For a brief moment, there was sun on his back as his captors hauled him outside, the heat of the air only sending his senses spinning into further confusion, before dropping him into something shaded. 

Shaded, and yet hot. The air was thick and the floor of whatever he had been deposited into was burning. 

A vehicle , he realised as he felt the hands return, folding his body and wings to fit within the space he had been placed in. 

He felt a whine escape his throat as the hands touched his aching shoulder, now throbbing in pain from the constant movement. And to his surprise, he could swear he heard a faint “sorry” as the hands pulled away. 

Only to feel a wave of nausea flood him as the vehicle tore out of the station parking lot before everything faded- 

His flock was gone. 

Those unlucky few that hadn’t fled were now little more than reddish stains within the cave they had once called home, or crammed into the cages deep below the earth that he now found himself in. 

He didn’t care anymore about the tight fit of the cages, so long as he at least had some semblance of the people he called family, still with him. 

He didn’t know who the old man was whose back was pressed against his, nor the child huddling by his side or the young woman who had buried her face into the crook of his arm at some point in the night, sobbing at her loss. He knew none of them, their feathers were different, their markings not of his clan. But they were his flock now. And he would guard them with his life. 

He wouldn’t fail how he did last time. 

When the humans came to take the old man, he launched himself at them. He managed to bite an arm off before a muzzle was implemented. 

The old man did not return to the cage. 

After discovering the one wall of the cage was formed of earth rather than stone, he and the woman hatched a plan. For days they dug, claws bleeding as they formed a hole just large enough to fit the child into. And when they finally broke through to the other side, they sent the boy through. 

The child promised to bring his clan to help them escape. 

The child never returned. 

When the hole was discovered, the two remaining occupants of the cage were dragged out. 

He remembered the brand, the whips, the shrieks of the woman, the burning pain of feathers being torn. 

He remembered being placed into a new cage. Crowded with more survivors from other clans. Remembered being unable to position himself in a way that would allow the wounds to heal right. Remembered the kindness of a stranger saving their water rations to clean the wound when it grew infected. 

Remembered the woman was not so lucky. 

She passed, in a cage opposite him, just as crowded. Unnoticed until a day later. 

He’d lost his flock again. 

The new cage was divided, a few still held out hope of escape or rescue. A few didn’t. Some decided it would be best to simply do as they were told in the hopes of receiving better treatment. Most did not. 

Fights broke out. 

A death occurred. 

The cage was separated. 

He was left with the same stranger who had helped him, and two children. 

He never learned the stranger’s name. They never spoke, only pointed at things for him to comment on, and kept his wounds clean. 

The children didn’t speak his language. Their markings, again, from a different clan. 

He tried to learn. He eventually understood a few words. 

But by the time he could speak full sentences, another group of humans arrived and took them away. 

He tried to fight them, tried to keep the children from them. But he was weaker now, having been trapped for who knew how long. His efforts were only rewarded with a hot iron burying itself into his side, leaving deep burns along his ribs and a fever that nearly killed him. 

The voiceless stranger, again, was all that kept him alive. 

For years, life was much the same pattern. 

He would fight as his flock was removed one by one. He would be placed into a new cage. He would try to protect them. He would be forced to watch as they were all taken again, one at a time. 

A slow, soul crushing, series of years. 

And years. 

And more years. 

Time stopped having meaning. 

Speech no longer came to him. 

Scars continued to form across his frame. 

He never stopped trying to protect those he lived with, long after their faces blended together, long after his memory failed him on who was who, when was when, why he was here, how he had come to be here. 

Until finally, he realised, the cages were all empty. 

He waited. 

Waited days, weeks, months, he didn’t know. The only measurement of time being the few guards that came to feed him, slowly growing grey before being replaced, and those growing grey too as their human lives faded in a blink. 

It only became apparent that he was alone, truly alone, when he overheard a single word from the guards. 

“Last” 

He was the last. 

There would be no more of his kind to fill the cages. 

And after days of disbelief, at the vague hope he had misheard those words, he finally dug out the pitch coloured inks a long dead flock mate had left buried in secret within the cage floor, and scratched with his claws the single black, ring across his wrist he had hoped to never witness. 

“Last” it meant. 

Endling. 

But now…

Now he’d had a flock. 

He’d had Kristin. 

He knew she was alive. He knew she was here. Somewhere in the desert. Searching for him. 

And he had the station. 

He had Tommy, he had Caera, he had….

They were gone now. 

He’d lost his flock again. 

Philza felt the blindfold about his eyes growing damp as a mournful keen shattered through the vehicle. 

He couldn’t help it. 

Why must every family -every flock- he found, why must they all be taken away? Why must he lose them? Why couldn’t he ever keep anyone? Anything? 

He was tired….

So….so very tired….

_____________

Grant clapped his hands over his ears at the sound, feeling a horrible ache begin to gnaw in his chest as the near sobbing cry echoed through the van. 

First the vision. That horrifying vision of that thing- that living wall of death and life and love and blood and flesh, breathing across his face as it screeched at him. A language he couldn’t understand, images of that pink haired man, eyes blazing, a sword of bone and blood and flame cleaving the earth into pieces, revealing bleeding muscle and sinew wherever it scarred the land. 

Images of Darren, of Simon, of himself, desperately trying to claw away from writhing tendrils of reality, tearing through their very souls and extracting pieces of them. Shattering them, reforming them, throwing them out nameless and hopeless and lost into a world of decay and rebuilding and spite and hate and wrongness . 

And now, this creature. 

So human- no, he had to be human. Just, just another form. Lying on the floor of the van, confused and hurt and sobbing. 

They’d hurt him. 

They’d hurt him and-

Oh gods they’d hurt the people at the station! 

They could have killed them! 

The pink haired man did say something about two darts being lethal, and one being dangerous- were they dying? Did they just become murderers?! 

And for what?!

“Darren I can’t!” Grant buried his face in his hands. “I can’t do this! I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” 

The keening continued.

Chapter Text

Philza, was what he called himself. 

She knew it wasn’t his birth name, she knew he didn’t remember that anymore. But, he had chosen Philza, he had chosen a name for himself, and that was what mattered. 

It had taken ages before he could finally speak, the words never forming right in his mouth, his voice dying the second it reached his throat. Frustration and sorrow blooming across his eyes at each failed attempt to try and hold any form of conversation. 

It didn’t help matters that they spoke a different language, Kristin realised when she first heard him attempt to speak. When she had tried to talk to him and he had stared, confused, at her. Having only understood basic words and introductions, at least that was what she gathered from their first interaction. 

It was difficult, but they made it work. 

They had time, and Kristin had patience. 

“Did you want help with your wings?” she asked, motioning towards the sickly, plucked and clipped feathers across the man’s back. 

He took a long moment, running his fingers through his ragged hair, pulling small knots out from the long, flaxen strands as he worked on understanding the question. Before slowly drawing his wings up around him, glancing between them and her. Uncertainty and caution lacing his eyes. 

“I’ll be very careful.” Kristin promised, fanning her own wings out wide and letting them settle around her on the cave floor, patting the pile of blankets and pillows beside her in invitation. 

Philza tucked his wings tighter to his back, hugging his arms around his thin frame as he watched her. Like a cat that didn’t fully trust the fish being held out to it. Before finally shuffling closer to her, settling beside her. Still curled tight, his limbs pressing against him almost painfully. His knees pulled up to his chest and his arms crossed around them, his wings definitely pushing bruises into his boney back with how close he kept them to himself. 

Kristin held out her hand, slowly, letting him take his time to allow her to touch his arm. 

He flinched. 

Unintentional. Understandable. She had to remind herself. 

Kristin pulled away, settling her hands, palms facing up, against her lap. Keeping her expression neutral and soft. 

She wouldn’t rush him. She would let him trust her on his own time. 

Though, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed at the sudden lack of interest in her. He had been so ecstatic at realising he wasn’t alone, at the knowledge there was at least one other like him. 

And then that excitement had been torn away with the realisation he couldn’t speak.

Could barely understand her. 

Was still in pain. 

He had slept for most days, only waking to eat the slightest amounts of food and water, occasionally letting Kristin check his wounds and reapply any salves or bandages. But once it was over, he was curled back up in his corner. His back pressed tight against the wall. His arms and legs tucked up to his chest with a hand covering his face protectively. Small and unresponsive, save for the slight mumbles and jerking twitches in his sleep. 

And the occasional whimper as the pain of that strange, non-existent and yet still-there wound within his chest, un-treatable and horrible, flared and faded throughout the days and nights. 

Kristin wished there was something she could do for him, anything to ease his pain, anything to help him heal. 

She worried, though. 

He was weak. His trust wavered constantly, understandably so. But, she hoped that this wouldn’t end up creating some strain on their relationship. With one unable to know the other’s language, and the other incapable of speech as of yet, she hoped there wouldn’t grow any sort of animosity or distrust between them. 

She just wanted to help. 

She hoped she wasn’t hovering too much. 

She hoped he understood her concern. 

Oh gods what if he thought she was being creepy? Always watching him, always asking to check his wounds, always waking him to eat something -shit! Did he think she was controlling his food and water?! She hoped he didn’t think that! Gods, what did he think of her asking to preen his wings?! Was that something weird in his clan-

Kristin nearly jumped as she felt a hand on hers, lightly brushing against her palms. She glanced at the man beside her, his eyes wide in concern, pointing at her face. 

She felt something damp trickling down her cheeks. 

“Oh…” Kristin wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, rubbing away the tears. 

“Sorry, sorry I-” she stammered. “I’m still not used to…well, you’re alive and, I’m not quite used to the concept that I’m not alone…gods I hope I’m not being weird or pushy-” 

She paused as Philza took her hand, turned it until the palm was facing him, and then closed his eyes. Pushing his forehead against her palm with a deep sigh, lightly pressing his hand against the back of hers. 

He was warm. 

His skin was dirty, cleaned up as best as possible with the limited supplies she’d had, but still coated in a layer of dust and grime. 

But…smooth. 

Alive.

Present. 

Here. 

She felt her fingers instinctively stroking his forehead, briefly combing through the strands of greasy, matted hair, before his hand guided hers to his cheek. 

Damp with tears that spilled freely from his eyes. His breaths shuddering as he pressed her hand tighter to his face, sinking into the touch of another being that wasn’t trying to hurt him, that was like him, that was lonely. 

That hadn’t felt contact with another of their kind in many, long, lonely years. 

Kristin carefully placed her other hand against the opposite side of his face, and was surprised at how quickly he leaned into her touch. His own hands laying over hers as he very nearly fell against her, slowly acclimating to the sensation of another being having contact with him. 

Before suddenly pulling away, shaking his head, muttering brokenly. 

“...n...h…rts…..⊑’⍀⏁⌇….t….⏁’⋔☊⊑…..⊑…⍀⏁⌇….n…..” he shuffled back into his corner, burying his face into the crook of his arm as he made himself small once more. His shaking limbs drawn tight against him as he became little more than a ball of tattered feathers, clinging to the stone wall of the cave. 

Kristin hugged her arms around herself, a deep ache forming in her heart at the sight. As much as she wanted to hold him close, hug him, comfort him… -comfort herself- … tell him he was safe, she knew she couldn’t. 

He was trying so hard already. Trying so hard to understand her, to speak her language, to let her help him. Trying so hard to grow used to the idea that she was real, that he wasn’t alone.

Trying so hard to associate physical touch with comfort rather than pain. 

It hurt to watch. 

__________________

Days passed. 

Then a week. 

And another. 

Philza was no longer shuffling on his side anymore, finally able to take a few shaky steps now and then. He even said full words instead of the broken mix of syllables and chirps. His injuries had finally reached the itching stage of healing. 

Improvement, if only a little. 

Although, Kristin noted the way he heavily favoured one leg. The one that never fully stretched out. Limping and leaning against the walls of the cavern as he made his way to her side by the fire pit. 

Had the injury been far worse than she had thought? She worried. 

“You’re limping.” she handed him a bowl of stew, rabbit and winter roots in a salty, hearty broth. 

He nodded, taking the bowl. Before setting it beside him and drawing up the baggy pant-leg of his trousers. 

Probably far too big for him, Kristin noted, but at least they were comfortable and clean. A far cry from the tattered rags she had found him in. 

Philza pointed out the bend in his leg, where his knee refused to straighten completely. 

“⍜⌰⎅...old…” he said quietly. “...fell…⌰⏃⋏⎅…wrong…” 

He grinned sheepishly. 

“...cold…⊑⎍⍀⏁⌇…” he struggled briefly to explain, pointing at the entrance to the cave and storm clouds billowing outside. “⌇⏁⍜⍀⋔...s….storm….?” 

“Ah,” Kristin felt a wave of relief, knowing the injury was old. “It flairs up during cold weather, like rain storms and snow?” 

“Snow!” Philza nodded. “Snow….⏚⟟⏁☊⊑…” 

He scowled, poking lightly at the old injury. “Bitch. ⏚⟟⏁☊⊑.” 

Kristin chuckled. 

“You calling the snow a bitch?” she asked, smirking. “Or you calling your leg a bitch?” 

Philza paused, mouthing out the words she had said, before finally nodding. Emphatically pointing at his leg. 

“Bitch!” he asserted, grinning as Kristin burst into laughter. 

____________

The days passed once more. 

Philza’s limp faded slightly. His wounds still seemed to itch but at least he was no longer whimpering in his sleep, or waking up clawing at his bandages, hissing and sobbing in a language Kristen still couldn’t understand. 

He did still have rough nights though. 

Kristin woke with a start, a muffled cry echoing through the cave one night. And after a moment of panic, she noticed the source illuminated in the light of the still warm coals of the fire, Philza. Still in the corner he had claimed for himself, his back pressed against the cavern wall, curled up small atop the piles of furs and nearly buried under the rugs. A hand pressed tight over his mouth, his eyes clenched shut as his wings trembled behind him. 

“Philza?” Kristin dragged a blanket about her, cautiously making her way to the shaking man, kneeling beside him as she neared. “Are you alright? Does anything-” 

She yelped in surprise as he flung his arms around her, burying his face into her shoulder, trembling and sobbing quietly. 

For a moment she was stunned. From both his sudden change in demeanour and the feeling of arms around her, another body against hers…after so many long…lonely years…the sensation of another’s warmth against her skin, of a heartbeat pressing against her chest, the weight of a tangible being…his arms wrapped around her…

It was both a wonderful relief and…..and a horrible confirmation of just how alone they had both been. 

Kristin swallowed, her throat tight as the warmth and weight of another being holding her threatened to overwhelm her mind. Before she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders, cautiously, ensuring he was alright with the action, giving him plenty of room to move away if he needed. 

Before pulling him tight against her, stroking his hair, shushing reassurances to his ears as she rocked back and forth, holding him. 

He cried. 

It wasn’t the first time she had witnessed him crying. But this time was the first time she noticed his sobs were that of relief, rather than pain. 

“You’re safe.” she whispered, running her fingers through his still, unwashed hair. “You’re safe, you’re not alone, you’re safe.”

Chapter Text

Simon forced his eyes to remain on the road. 

He wanted to look back, wanted to reassure Grant. 

Wanted to yell at Darren. 

This whole idea had been stupid from the start, he mused. Yeah sure, the dreams had been growing more frequent, everyone in the group was getting them now. The images of a desert, mesas dripping with a deep red liquid, the sky alight with tendrils of colour and void. Beautiful and wrong . 

But if anything, those dreams were warnings. 

Warnings to stay away , not go plunging head first into a place they were unfamiliar with, a place that only made the dreams worse. A place full of things that fucked with their equipment, made their photos blurry, their videos glitched, their audio corrupted. Any evidence they could have seen would just be destroyed by…whatever the fuck was messing with their recordings, so what was the point in staying here? 

But then Grant had seen the creature in his dreams. Flung here from a storm that never happened, a giant maw stretching infinitely wide across the desert, spitting out strange beings and swallowing others whole before disappearing entirely. 

He’d seen the man, angelic and terrifying, wings of hellish black and eyes a near solid, mercury blue, staring into his soul and screaming at him to leave. 

And of course, Darren had wanted to find it. 

Believing it was a premonition, the man had insisted they all track their dreams, mark every location they had seen within it, try to find it amongst the maps and the dusty plains. 

If Simon thought that was going too far, he knew that what they had just done was damning. 

He winced as the keening continued. Pulling at something in his chest. 

It hurt. 

The guilt of what he had just done, the fear of what he had seen, the pain of the sound reverberating within his ribs in some unearthly manner. 

The image of the three at the station flashed before his eyes. 

The kid, his hands zip-tied together, huddling against the wall. The redhead, struggling for breath as the tranquilliser had taken hold. The pinkette, his words slurring together, his eyes blazing with a fury that Simon understood. 

The pink haired man was that group’s protector, the older brother who took the hits while being a shield, the one who took the blame when they were in trouble. 

Simon knew that look, he claimed that position himself with his own group. 

He could only imagine the pain of seeing Darren and Grant, helpless and hurting, just trying to protect their family. 

He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. 

“This is wrong.” he stated. 

“Hmm?” Darren glanced up from where he had been pouring over a folder of photos and notes in his lap. 

“You heard me.” Simon spat, keeping his eyes on the road. “What we just did? That was fucked up and you know it.” 

He could sense the way Darren scowled at him, before he heard a sigh. 

“Simon…I…” the man stammered, before finally taking a breath. “...yeah…” 

“...yeah that was…yeah…look I just-” 

“I don’t want to hear it, Darreb.” Simon let up on the gas. “There is literally no excuse for this!” 

“Oh and what do you suggest we do huh?!” his friend snapped. “Everything we’ve witnessed so far, the dreams, the pit, the fucking…whatever the fuck that one guy was…Simon you saw what was in those dreams! What was in the teeth! Anything that has to do with that is dangerous and deadly-” 

“You think he’s dangerous?!” Simon gestured to the creature, still bound on the floor of the van, still weakly fighting against the ropes that bound him, his breathing heavy and strained as the tranquilliser burned through his system. 

“Look at him!” the driver hissed. “He was injured, Darren! They were taking care of him! You think those guys would have been treating him that well if he was dangerous?!” 

Darren stammered for a response. 

“You saw what those teeth did to that one crazy guy’s mind though-” 

“He’s not the Teeth! You idiot!” Simon felt his blood beginning to boil. “I’m turning this van around.” 

“Oh and what?! Get the fucking cops called on us?!” Darren countered. “Return him to a group of either dead or really fucked up folks who probably can’t even safely take care of him anymore let alone themselves after what we did?!” 

“And whose fault would that be!?” Simon was fuming. 

“SHUT UP!!” Grant sniffled. “Shut up! Just shut up!” 

As if a flip had been switched, Simon found he no longer had the will to fight with anyone anymore. 

He just wanted to go home. 

There was silence for a long moment. A thick, overheated quiet that made the air grow stale and taste of salt. 

Finally, he spoke. 

“So, what do we do now?” he said quietly. 

“I…I don’t know.” Darren whispered, turning back to the folder. 

The keening continued. 

_________

Darren cringed as the keening continued, echoing through his ears and reverberating through his chest. 

It hurt!  

How could a sound hurt?!  

It wasn’t the only sound that hurt. 

“I can’t do this…can’t do this…can’t do this….I can’t…Dream…I can’t…” Grant's muffled whimpers on the floor behind him made his stomach clench in…something. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it wasn’t good. 

He reached behind him, searching for Grant’s hand as he kept his eyes on the photos in his lap, the notes attached to them, adding to them with a shaky hand as he fought to write against the rattling of the old van. He finally found Grant’s shoulder and gripped it tight, still reading through the notes. 

“We’re gonna be fine man,” he tried to reassured.

Tried to reassure himself....

Gods....gods what the fuck was he doing?! He knew this was wrong, everything about this screamed at him that this wrong! 

And yet...he had to. 

As if another force entirely was pulling at him, he had to. Was compelled to! He couldn't stop. Not now. Not when they were this close! Not when they had evidence literally in the back of their car! 

But what are we even trying to prove? he wondered. What was the point? He had a decent enough urban exploring channel, and ghost hunting was just a gimmick that could be easily faked anyways...it wasn't as if this was for fame....but still...

he...

he had to do it...

He HAD to do it! 

He had to find this creature, had to pick his brain, had to get rid of the loose ends....bing the feathered one....the one that was left....the one that escaped......

"Darren...I can't...you....don't listen to it...don't...." His thoughts were shattered as he heard Grant's muffled sobbing behind him.

Darren forced a smile, though he knew it wasn’t seen behind the dust mask. “We got physical evidence of the weird shit going on here, we got proof about the dreams, we got someone we can ask-” 

“SHIT!” Simon yelled. 

Darren felt the sudden lurch of the van, slamming his back against his seat. He lost his grip on Grant as the man was flung backwards from the force of the brakes. 

And then he was yanked forward as the van screeched to a halt.

The keening sound stopped. 

Everything went white…..

There was a ringing noise….

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

His face felt like it had been punched…..

.

.

.

.

His arm ached…… 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

His stomach felt hot………

.

.

.

.

_________

Grant groaned, blinking as he dragged himself up onto his knees. 

What the hell happened? 

He’d heard Simon yell, heard the tires rupture as the man had slammed his foot against the brakes, heard the van screech to a stop, heard the loud pop of the airbags going off. 

Had felt himself launched to the back of the van where he had crumpled against the creature…person…they had taken. 

His ears were ringing as he hauled himself onto his knees, rubbing at a sore spot that was beginning to form on his arm where he had landed wrong.

What I get for not being in a proper seat I guess… He mused. 

And then realised. 

Shit!  

He turned back to the winged being, still bound, still laying on the floor of the van. Though now, he was pressed tight between one of the storage boxes that had been flung back against him, and the sealed back door of the van. 

Shit shit shit!  

Grant knelt beside the person, dragging the box away from him, pulling him out from where he had been crammed into. Laying him out carefully on the floor as he pressed a hand to his neck, searching for a pulse, listening intently for breathing. 

A heart beat. 

Another. 

A breath. 

Then another again. 

Grant sighed in relief. 

He may not have known much first aid but at least the man before him was still alive, there was that much. 

“...f….fuck AGH!!!” 

Grant’s head whipped around at the scream, his eyes landing on a sight he’d hoped to never witness. 

Darren was writhing against the seatbelt, blood soaking through his dust mask, his right arm held tight to his chest, his free hand shoving at Simon as the man tried to cut him loose from the seat. 

“Darren-Darren look at me!” Simon gripped his friend’s face in his hands. There was a deep cut across his forehead, staining his bandana,the blood leaking into his eye, colouring the whites a dark red.“Look at me, okay? I know it hurts, I’m sorry! But I have to get you out of this, okay?” 

Grant was frozen. Unable to move as he watched Darren continue to swear, crying out in pain as Simon pulled the deflating airbag away from his friend, revealing a deep cut to Darren’s abdomen….a shard of spiked metal pierced out from the wound. 

Grant felt himself grow distant at the sight of dark red staining the front of his best friend’s shirt and pants. Like he had fallen into a tunnel and was watching everything slowly fade off into a blur at the far end. 

He saw the shattered windshield, saw the spike strips that had flung up through the glass, pieced together what had happened to Darren…

He thought he heard Simon yelling at him, waving a hand in front of his face…something about a first aid kit…yelling at Darren to not pull out the shard….

And then, he heard a loud crunching sound. 

Grant turned, craning his head up towards the noise, still in a daze. 

There was a hooked end of a crowbar piercing through the top of the van. 

It slid down, slicing through the roof as if it were butter. 

A pair of clawed hands burst through the gash. 

Gripped the edges of the roof. 

Pulled. 

The burning gold of the sun poured into the van, illuminating the figure that stood crouched above. A beautiful, hellish being, clothed in black. A reddish fluid flowing freely from beneath the helmet it wore, hands taloned like the claws of a dragon. 

It lifted its hands, tearing the helmet from its face, allowing a wreath of sunlit rose tresses to tumble across its back, framing its face. 

A face of blood. 

Blood poured from its eyes, its ears, its mouth, its nose. Splattering onto Grant’s face as he stared, awestruck and horrified at the beautiful, terrifying, visceral being that glared down at him. 

The once grey-blue eyes of the pinkette at the station, were now a deep black, the irises gold. And seeping like tears from his lashes were streams of the sanguine liquid. 

To the other two in the van, this was the extent of what they saw tearing into their vehicle. A poetically terrifying man, hell bent on taking back what was stolen. 

But Grant saw more. Far far more than he had any right to. 

A crown of gold, a halo of spikes that stretched like twining crowns of ribs. His clothes covered in the flayed musculature of some creature, like a second skin. The skulls and bones and organs of creatures tangible and unimaginable wreathed about his shoulders like a cape. Fire dripping from his eyes and flowing about him, hellish wings that caught the sun and made it their source. 

This was no longer a simple human, no longer the pink haired man they had shot at the station. 

This was a god. 

A god of vengeance

                                 and life

                                                   and death

                                                                      and blood

                                                                                           and wrath

                                                                                                                and carnal

                                                                                                                                     and viscera

                                                                                                                                                            and blood….

                                                                                                                                                                                    Blood….

                                                                                                                                                                                                           Blood…

                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Blood..

                                                                                                                                                                                                     Blood…

                                                                                                                                                          BLOOD!!!!

                                                                                                                BLOOD!!!!!!!

                                                            BLOOD!!!!!

                     BLO☌D!!!!!

                                         TH⟒ BLO⍜D IS ALL! 

                                                                          THE BLOOD IS LOV⍀! 

                                                                                                                        T☌E BLOOD I⟒ THE L⟟FE GIV⌇R! 

                                                                                                                                                                             R⋏TURN T⍜ ⏁HE BLOO⌇! 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                Y⏃U WILL R⎎TURN T⟒ THE BLOOD! 

                         ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍.    ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔     ⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍.     ⍙⟟⌰⌰      ⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍.    ⏚⟒☊⍜⋔⟒   ⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏.   ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏.  ⏁⊑⟒  ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ 

  ⋔⏃⍙'⌇    ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇.   ☊⊑⏃⋔⌿⟟⍜⋏.     ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇

                                                                                                                      ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇

                                                          ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀

⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⎍⌇

                                      r̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛

                                                                                                    ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̵̢̡͎͎͉͕͙̟͎̙̗̜̹̻͖̻̈́͋̾͘ͅͅḛ̵̇t̶̢̥̝̫̪̃͂̈̃̄̎̐͛͛̈́̎̏̈́͂͒̔̉́͠͠ư̷͖̺̹̺̠̳̈͆̕͝ȓ̷̡̢̡̤̳̜̼̳̖̩̮̼̗̣̘̩̣̯̈̾̌͋̑̐͊̆̃̈̿͌̔́̈́͜͝͝ņ̶̢̛̞̲̦̦̭͍̯̞̮̪̦̯̖̯͌̃͛̾̿͜ͅ ̷̡̝͚̈́̃̀͑̃̾̔t̷͙̖̥̓̈́͐̓̊̚̕o̵̗͕̞̳͓͕͙͈̳̫̦̥͓̲̯̓̋̈́͒̐͌̈́̒ ̶̦̩̦̮̬̮̳̱͇͇͔͈̪͍͔̗̭͇̗̦͇̲̑̈́̐̽̏̽́̇̇̏̎͑̊̑͑͂̄͌̽̿͜ử̸̥̪̫͚͉͙̩͖̤̀͒̽̅̇̋̂͋̀̓̈̿̒̅̀͛ş̷̧̡̡̛̦̙̳̳͙̘̦͎̰̞̹͓̝̹͎͔̹̓̋͂̂̃̀͗̾̿̿̽̓̃̃̂͛̕̕͜͝ͅr̶̢̡̧̡̛̪̣̤̟̠̘̞͓̥̰̻͎̙̘̤̪̼̯͓͔̱̮̮̝̱̦͉̝̣̗͇͍̳̝̭̫͌̌͆̓̂̒͗̀͜͠͝e̷̤̳͓̮̭̦̪̪͚̰͕̙̘̽̿̊̈́͛̅̾̕͜ͅt̷̨̢̨̢̛̩̱͇̼̤͓̯̩̹͔̼̘͔̟̻̩̍͋̍̈̈́̃̽̂͑̉̂͂̍̔̈́̃̒͊͆̽̾̿̈́̆̂͑̀̃́̂͆͘͘͝͠ͅų̵̡̢̢̢̡̡͍͙͔̞͎̳̟̗͍̞͇̘̪̩͚̹͚͙̞̲̲͖͇͍̹̪̤͇̯̣̗͎̫̫͉̜̘̑̀͂͌̔̉̂̊͊̎͐̈̅͝r̸̢̢̢̢̨̲̜̞̩͖̞̖͚̲̜̦̙̰̭͍̦͚̱̯͙͍͙̲̺̼̳͚̞̩̖̬̗̼̭̦̯͌̍̅͋̃̎̒͌̆̽͑̉͑̃̏̐̅̑͂͊̓̈́̍̐̓̋͂̔́͘̕̕̚̚͘̕ͅͅn̷̫̯̣̻̭͓͐̓̌́̀̔͝ ̷̡̨̧̨̨̛̭̦͓̝̯̯̼̳̞̪̰͍̻̲̟̱̟̟̲̳̞̬͎͎̪̫͉̖͎̩̖̗̮̼͔̏̍̾̇̈́̐̉̅̏̎̆̔̅̑̾̾͛̈̓͊͘͘ͅţ̸̛̛̯̭̻͍͕̫͓͉̯̟̬̬͖̻̐̒̋̉̈́̃͂̄̋͆̈́̑̒̉͒̇̈̋̊̐͋̓͂̐̍̌͆̀̓́̾̎̌̔͛́͒̓̚͝͝͠ͅo̵̡̢̡̗̰͓͖͔̺̪̮̦̠̱̗̪͇͎̞͛̾̉͋̍̂͂̄̆͌̽͌̽͘͘͝͠ ̶̨̡̬͚͍̝͍͓̦̳̜͍̬̦̫̱̹͎̺̟͙͓̞̭͈͚̪͓̖̤̭͍̠̬̦̻̼͇̉̿̐̀̋̈́̌̌̊̃̈̈́͐͂̌̆͛̈́̀̿̾͊̆̐̿̏͒̉̅͊̈̔̕̚͘͜͝͝͝u̷̮̭̠̰̯̥̹̫̳̙͖̙͓̻̺͙̦͑s̴̨̛͔̤͚͇̗̰̏̑̈́̐̑̃͌͌͂͒̇̓̄̂͋̆͐̓̏͆͆̃̓̒͋̂̄̍̉̐͛̓͒̑̇́̕͘̕̕͝r̶̢̡̧̡̛̪̣̤̟̠̘̞͓̥̰̻͎̙̘̤̪̼̯͓͔̱̮̮̝̱̦͉̝̣̗͇͍̳̝̭̫͌̌͆̓̂̒͗̀͜͠͝e̷̤̳͓̮̭̦̪̪͚̰͕̙̘̽̿̊̈́͛̅̾̕͜ͅt̷̨̢̨̢̛̩̱͇̼̤͓̯̩̹͔̼̘͔̟̻̩̍͋̍̈̈́̃̽̂͑̉̂͂̍̔̈́̃̒͊͆̽̾̿̈́̆̂͑̀̃́̂͆͘͘͝͠ͅų̵̡̢̢̢̡̡͍͙͔̞͎̳̟̗͍̞͇̘̪̩͚̹͚͙̞̲̲͖͇͍̹̪̤͇̯̣̗͎̫̫͉̜̘̑̀͂͌̔̉̂̊͊̎͐̈̅͝r̸̢̢̢̢̨̲̜̞̩͖̞̖͚̲̜̦̙̰̭͍̦͚̱̯͙͍͙̲̺̼̳͚̞̩̖̬̗̼̭̦̯͌̍̅͋̃̎̒͌̆̽͑̉͑̃̏̐̅̑͂͊̓̈́̍̐̓̋͂̔́͘̕̕̚̚͘̕ͅͅn̷̫̯̣̻̭͓͐̓̌́̀̔͝ ̷̡̨̧̨̨̛̭̦͓̝̯̯̼̳̞̪̰͍̻̲̟̱̟̟̲̳̞̬͎͎̪̫͉̖͎̩̖̗̮̼͔̏̍̾̇̈́̐̉̅̏̎̆̔̅̑̾̾͛̈̓͊͘͘ͅţ̸̛̛̯̭̻͍͕̫͓͉̯̟̬̬͖̻̐̒̋̉̈́̃͂̄̋͆̈́̑̒̉͒̇̈̋̊̐͋̓͂̐̍̌͆̀̓́̾̎̌̔͛́͒̓̚͝͝͠ͅo̵̡̢̡̗̰͓͖͔̺̪̮̦̠̱̗̪͇͎̞͛̾̉͋̍̂͂̄̆͌̽͌̽͘͘͝͠ ̶̨̡̬͚͍̝͍͓̦̳̜͍̬̦̫̱̹͎̺̟͙͓̞̭͈͚̪͓̖̤̭͍̠̬̦̻̼͇̉̿̐̀̋̈́̌̌̊̃̈̈́͐͂̌̆͛̈́̀̿̾͊̆̐̿̏͒̉̅͊̈̔̕̚͘͜͝͝͝u̷̮̭̠̰̯̥̹̫̳̙͖̙͓̻̺͙̦͑s̴̨̛͔̤͚͇̗̰̏̑̈́̐̑̃͌͌͂͒̇̓̄̂͋̆͐̓̏͆͆̃̓̒͋̂̄̍̉̐͛̓͒̑̇́̕͘̕̕͝r̶̢̡̧̡̛̪̣̤̟̠̘̞͓̥̰̻͎̙̘̤̪̼̯͓͔̱̮̮̝̱̦͉̝̣̗͇͍̳̝̭̫͌̌͆̓̂̒͗̀͜͠͝e̷̤̳͓̮̭̦̪̪͚̰͕̙̘̽̿̊̈́͛̅̾̕͜ͅt̷̨̢̨̢̛̩̱͇̼̤͓̯̩̹͔̼̘͔̟̻̩̍͋̍̈̈́̃̽̂͑̉̂͂̍̔̈́̃̒͊͆̽̾̿̈́̆̂͑̀̃́̂͆͘͘͝͠ͅų̵̡̢̢̢̡̡͍͙͔̞͎̳̟̗͍̞͇̘̪̩͚̹͚͙̞̲̲͖͇͍̹̪̤͇̯̣̗͎̫̫͉̜̘̑̀͂͌̔̉̂̊͊̎͐̈̅͝r̸̢̢̢̢̨̲̜̞̩͖̞̖͚̲̜̦̙̰̭͍̦͚̱̯͙͍͙̲̺̼̳͚̞̩̖̬̗̼̭̦̯͌̍̅͋̃̎̒͌̆̽͑̉͑̃̏̐̅̑͂͊̓̈́̍̐̓̋͂̔́͘̕̕̚̚͘̕ͅͅn̷̫̯̣̻̭͓͐̓̌́̀̔͝ ̷̡̨̧̨̨̛̭̦͓̝̯̯̼̳̞̪̰͍̻̲̟̱̟̟̲̳̞̬͎͎̪̫͉̖͎̩̖̗̮̼͔̏̍̾̇̈́̐̉̅̏̎̆̔̅̑̾̾͛̈̓͊͘͘ͅţ̸̛̛̯̭̻͍͕̫͓͉̯̟̬̬͖̻̐̒̋̉̈́̃͂̄̋͆̈́̑̒̉͒̇̈̋̊̐͋̓͂̐̍̌͆̀̓́̾̎̌̔͛́͒̓̚͝͝͠ͅo̵̡̢̡̗̰͓͖͔̺̪̮̦̠̱̗̪͇͎̞͛̾̉͋̍̂͂̄̆͌̽͌̽͘͘͝͠ ̶̨̡̬͚͍̝͍͓̦̳̜͍̬̦̫̱̹͎̺̟͙͓̞̭͈͚̪͓̖̤̭͍̠̬̦̻̼͇̉̿̐̀̋̈́̌̌̊̃̈̈́͐͂̌̆͛̈́̀̿̾͊̆̐̿̏͒̉̅͊̈̔̕̚͘͜͝͝͝u̷̮̭̠̰̯̥̹̫̳̙͖̙͓̻̺͙̦͑s̴̨̛͔̤͚͇̗̰̏̑̈́̐̑̃͌͌͂͒̇̓̄̂͋̆͐̓̏͆͆̃̓̒͋̂̄̍̉̐͛̓͒̑̇́̕͘̕̕͝r̷̢͙̯̹̙͈͙̮̘͉͚̮̲͖̭͖͙͚̲̺͇̖̝͉̤̮̹̒̈́͊͜ͅę̸̡̧̧̨̭̟̻͈͉̻͕̮̻̜̟̠̝̳̟͙͕̯̯̠͖͉̭̥̭̤̗̭̩̮͓̝͖̖̲̖̪̙͓͇̟̯̬̩͇̝̏̈̑̈́͌̄̀̏͑͐̂̓͂̽̄̆̈́̀̄͛̍̉͗̈̈̓̉̎̈̓̋̒̕̕̚̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅt̷̢̡̧̛̛̗̻̼͚̱͚͔͙͔͓̦͇͖͔̻̦̳̞̖͕͈̙̲̲͎͔̝̙͖̼̰̖̏͑̑̌̏͑͊̈́̂̂̓͐̈͂̿̉͆͐͊̈͆̋̅̏̃̆͆͐̿̿͛̐̌̍͋̈́̎̈́̈́̒̄̏̈́̓͑̂͐̇͂͌̚͘͘͜͝͠͝ų̴̧̢̢̡̢̢̨̨̹̠̫̖̙̼̖̭͉͍͎͎̭͉̫͚̭̙̼̻̝͔̭͉̭̤̱̰͈͓̫͉̲̩̘̣̙̜͓̥̩̜̦̖͎͕̫͒̽̈́̓̈́͌̎̏̃̃͋̄͆̇͆͐̇̂͑̉͒̒̐͌̇̏̎͂̒̿͐͘͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅr̴̢̧̡̡̧̨̤̜̺̜͓͖͈͍̰̣͈̝̗͉͉͓̝̮̠̻̼͓̪̣͈̰͇͙͈͙͕̦̦̬̫̱̦̺̫̭̯̙̗̦͍͎͎͚̰͖̞̮̤͚̠̮̱̀̒̊͗̍͒̔̊̈́̏͌̔̆̒̑͗̊͑̑̏͗̄̐͘̚͜͝ͅņ̵̧̛̛͔͙͎̯͕̪̭̮͙͗͐͗̐͒̈́̐̇̇́͌̐̂̾̿͌̉̒̔͛̂̅̿͌̇̒̓̇̈͋̈́̾̎̍́̍͗́̓͐̕̚̚̕͜͠͝͝ ̸̢̢̢̢̢̖̥̝̦̗͙̘̮̪̪͓̮̬̯̟̜͎͖̮͍̖̳̤̱͈̱̳̟̪͕̯̖̫͍̘̼̺͕͙͔̮̝̟̻͈̄̈́̽̎̿̒̆͂̐̎͌̍̊̀̍̂̓͂̿̆̃̋̽̋̾̆̎̾͌̋́̎̽͗͛̎͘̚͜͜ţ̷̨̡̡̡̡̢̧̛̛̥̝̘̫͓̠̗̠̳͉͉̹͍͕͍͎̗͔̟̮̙̦̱͈̟̫̭̼̻͙̥̟̬͕̦̦̱̟̲̩͔̬͍̫͕̟̖͚̺̩͔͎͎͍̥͚͓̺̓̃͑̌̆̽̏̇̈́́̌̾͛̐̀̊͛̍͐͂̈́̂̆̄̍͛̑͛̌̆̔̃̀́͂̊͒̅̀̄̐̔̓͌̆̈̈͂͒͌̊̊̕͘̚͘̚͘͜͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅo̵̢̢̨̨̨̨̫͎̠̘̪̲̗̫̪͔̱̞̙̙̪͚̙̘̟͈͙̖̤̘̩̻͍̰̭͔̱̺͙̹̥̳̦̥̞̮̹̬̦̣̦̱͍͍̹̪͚̥̻͓̗͕͕͕͍̞͈̠̔͗̄͐͋͂̍̃͑̊̌̓̂̊̑͑̇̐̾̓͗̒́̋̿̄̌͌͆̅́̈́̎͗̄̆̕͘͘͜͜͝ ̸̢̧̧̨̧̧̡̛̙̯͓̭̹̣͖̙̮̩̯͉͎͔̼̪͖̫̦̤̤̣̥̳̻͎̠̠͇͍̘̠̞͔̻̩̤̝̥̟̺̖͕͎̥̫͖̗̪̦̝͇̞̯̪̞̯̤̤͋̈́̎̔̌̇͋́̋͆̔̋͌̍̏̉͆̅̈̇̉̓̽̿͒̈́̔̔̅͌́̔̉̎̐͒̕͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅų̸̨̧̛͚͇̮͕̭̳͓̞̜͇̹̗̦͇̝̥̹̼͓̞̬̟̺͍͚̫͎̤̘͎̭̰̬͍͙̣̳̣̬̞͓̜̔͒̇̂͗̐̓̿͋̈̊̈́̊́̾̉̄͆̈̈́́̈́̆́̔̔̈́̓̒̓̓̑̌̐̋̆̒̅̈́͐̿͆̐́̏̇̂͛̅͘̕̕͜͝͝͝͝͝ş̵̡̢̡̧̧̡̨̝͖̫̱̬̞͚̩̳̤̯̭̯̥̤͙̣̜̘͕̬̣̞̰͙̤̲͇̜͖̦̞͈͉̪̹̮̹͕͖̟̓̃̋̒̈́̈́͘͜͠ͅr̷̢͙̯̹̙͈͙̮̘͉͚̮̲͖̭͖͙͚̲̺͇̖̝͉̤̮̹̒̈́͊͜ͅę̸̡̧̧̨̭̟̻͈͉̻͕̮̻̜̟̠̝̳̟͙͕̯̯̠͖͉̭̥̭̤̗̭̩̮͓̝͖̖̲̖̪̙͓͇̟̯̬̩͇̝̏̈̑̈́͌̄̀̏͑͐̂̓͂̽̄̆̈́̀̄͛̍̉͗̈̈̓̉̎̈̓̋̒̕̕̚̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅt̷̢̡̧̛̛̗̻̼͚̱͚͔͙͔͓̦͇͖͔̻̦̳̞̖͕͈̙̲̲͎͔̝̙͖̼̰̖̏͑̑̌̏͑͊̈́̂̂̓͐̈͂̿̉͆͐͊̈͆̋̅̏̃̆͆͐̿̿͛̐̌̍͋̈́̎̈́̈́̒̄̏̈́̓͑̂͐̇͂͌̚͘͘͜͝͠͝ų̴̧̢̢̡̢̢̨̨̹̠̫̖̙̼̖̭͉͍͎͎̭͉̫͚̭̙̼̻̝͔̭͉̭̤̱̰͈͓̫͉̲̩̘̣̙̜͓̥̩̜̦̖͎͕̫͒̽̈́̓̈́͌̎̏̃̃͋̄͆̇͆͐̇̂͑̉͒̒̐͌̇̏̎͂̒̿͐͘͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅr̴̢̧̡̡̧̨̤̜̺̜͓͖͈͍̰̣͈̝̗͉͉͓̝̮̠̻̼͓̪̣͈̰͇͙͈͙͕̦̦̬̫̱̦̺̫̭̯̙̗̦͍͎͎͚̰͖̞̮̤͚̠̮̱̀̒̊͗̍͒̔̊̈́̏͌̔̆̒̑͗̊͑̑̏͗̄̐͘̚͜͝ͅņ̵̧̛̛͔͙͎̯͕̪̭̮͙͗͐͗̐͒̈́̐̇̇́͌̐̂̾̿͌̉̒̔͛̂̅̿͌̇̒̓̇̈͋̈́̾̎̍́̍͗́̓͐̕̚̚̕͜͠͝͝ ̸̢̢̢̢̢̖̥̝̦̗͙̘̮̪̪͓̮̬̯̟̜͎͖̮͍̖̳̤̱͈̱̳̟̪͕̯̖̫͍̘̼̺͕͙͔̮̝̟̻͈̄̈́̽̎̿̒̆͂̐̎͌̍̊̀̍̂̓͂̿̆̃̋̽̋̾̆̎̾͌̋́̎̽͗͛̎͘̚͜͜ţ̷̨̡̡̡̡̢̧̛̛̥̝̘̫͓̠̗̠̳͉͉̹͍͕͍͎̗͔̟̮̙̦̱͈̟̫̭̼̻͙̥̟̬͕̦̦̱̟̲̩͔̬͍̫͕̟̖͚̺̩͔͎͎͍̥͚͓̺̓̃͑̌̆̽̏̇̈́́̌̾͛̐̀̊͛̍͐͂̈́̂̆̄̍͛̑͛̌̆̔̃̀́͂̊͒̅̀̄̐̔̓͌̆̈̈͂͒͌̊̊̕͘̚͘̚͘͜͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅo̵̢̢̨̨̨̨̫͎̠̘̪̲̗̫̪͔̱̞̙̙̪͚̙̘̟͈͙̖̤̘̩̻͍̰̭͔̱̺͙̹̥̳̦̥̞̮̹̬̦̣̦̱͍͍̹̪͚̥̻͓̗͕͕͕͍̞͈̠̔͗̄͐͋͂̍̃͑̊̌̓̂̊̑͑̇̐̾̓͗̒́̋̿̄̌͌͆̅́̈́̎͗̄̆̕͘͘͜͜͝ ̸̢̧̧̨̧̧̡̛̙̯͓̭̹̣͖̙̮̩̯͉͎͔̼̪͖̫̦̤̤̣̥̳̻͎̠̠͇͍̘̠̞͔̻̩̤̝̥̟̺̖͕͎̥̫͖̗̪̦̝͇̞̯̪̞̯̤̤͋̈́̎̔̌̇͋́̋͆̔̋͌̍̏̉͆̅̈̇̉̓̽̿͒̈́̔̔̅͌́̔̉̎̐͒̕͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅų̸̨̧̛͚͇̮͕̭̳͓̞̜͇̹̗̦͇̝̥̹̼͓̞̬̟̺͍͚̫͎̤̘͎̭̰̬͍͙̣̳̣̬̞͓̜̔͒̇̂͗̐̓̿͋̈̊̈́̊́̾̉̄͆̈̈́́̈́̆́̔̔̈́̓̒̓̓̑̌̐̋̆̒̅̈́͐̿͆̐́̏̇̂͛̅͘̕̕͜͝͝͝͝͝

                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ş̵̡̢̡̧̧̡̨̝͖̫̱̬̞͚̩̳̤̯̭̯̥̤͙̣̜̘͕̬̣̞̰͙̤̲͇̜͖̦̞͈͉̪̹̮̹͕͖̟̓̃̋̒̈́̈́͘͜͠ͅr̷̢͙̯̹̙͈͙̮̘͉͚̮̲͖̭͖͙͚̲̺͇̖̝͉̤̮̹̒̈́͊͜ͅę̸̡̧̧̨̭̟̻͈͉̻͕̮̻̜̟̠̝̳̟͙͕̯̯̠͖͉̭̥̭̤̗̭̩̮͓̝͖̖̲̖̪̙͓͇̟̯̬̩͇̝̏̈̑̈́͌̄̀̏͑͐̂̓͂̽̄̆̈́̀̄͛̍̉͗̈̈̓̉̎̈̓̋̒̕̕̚̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅt̷̢̡̧̛̛̗̻̼͚̱͚͔͙͔͓̦͇͖͔̻̦̳̞̖͕͈̙̲̲͎͔̝̙͖̼̰̖̏͑̑̌̏͑͊̈́̂̂̓͐̈͂̿̉͆͐͊̈͆̋̅̏̃̆͆͐̿̿͛̐̌̍͋̈́̎̈́̈́̒̄̏̈́̓͑̂͐̇͂͌̚͘͘͜͝͠͝ų̴̧̢̢̡̢̢̨̨̹̠̫̖̙̼̖̭͉͍͎͎̭͉̫͚̭̙̼̻̝͔̭͉̭̤̱̰͈͓̫͉̲̩̘̣̙̜͓̥̩̜̦̖͎͕̫͒̽̈́̓̈́͌̎̏̃̃͋̄͆̇͆͐̇̂͑̉͒̒̐͌̇̏̎͂̒̿͐͘͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅr̴̢̧̡̡̧̨̤̜̺̜͓͖͈͍̰̣͈̝̗͉͉͓̝̮̠̻̼͓̪̣͈̰͇͙͈͙͕̦̦̬̫̱̦̺̫̭̯̙̗̦͍͎͎͚̰͖̞̮̤͚̠̮̱̀̒̊͗̍͒̔̊̈́̏͌̔̆̒̑͗̊͑̑̏͗̄̐͘̚͜͝ͅņ̵̧̛̛͔͙͎̯͕̪̭̮͙͗͐͗̐͒̈́̐̇̇́͌̐̂̾̿͌̉̒̔͛̂̅̿͌̇̒̓̇̈͋̈́̾̎̍́̍͗́̓͐̕̚̚̕͜͠͝͝ ̸̢̢̢̢̢̖̥̝̦̗͙̘̮̪̪͓̮̬̯̟̜͎͖̮͍̖̳̤̱͈̱̳̟̪͕̯̖̫͍̘̼̺͕͙͔̮̝̟̻͈̄̈́̽̎̿̒̆͂̐̎͌̍̊̀̍̂̓͂̿̆̃̋̽̋̾̆̎̾͌̋́̎̽͗͛̎͘̚͜͜ţ̷̨̡̡̡̡̢̧̛̛̥̝̘̫͓̠̗̠̳͉͉̹͍͕͍͎̗͔̟̮̙̦̱͈̟̫̭̼̻͙̥̟̬͕̦̦̱̟̲̩͔̬͍̫͕̟̖͚̺̩͔͎͎͍̥͚͓̺̓̃͑̌̆̽̏̇̈́́̌̾͛̐̀̊͛̍͐͂̈́̂̆̄̍͛̑͛̌̆̔̃̀́͂̊͒̅̀̄̐̔̓͌̆̈̈͂͒͌̊̊̕͘̚͘̚͘͜͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅo̵̢̢̨̨̨̨̫͎̠̘̪̲̗̫̪͔̱̞̙̙̪͚̙̘̟͈͙̖̤̘̩̻͍̰̭͔̱̺͙̹̥̳̦̥̞̮̹̬̦̣̦̱͍͍̹̪͚̥̻͓̗͕͕͕͍̞͈̠̔͗̄͐͋͂̍̃͑̊̌̓̂̊̑͑̇̐̾̓͗̒́̋̿̄̌͌͆̅́̈́̎͗̄̆̕͘͘͜͜͝ ̸̢̧̧̨̧̧̡̛̙̯͓̭̹̣͖̙̮̩̯͉͎͔̼̪͖̫̦̤̤̣̥̳̻͎̠̠͇͍̘̠̞͔̻̩̤̝̥̟̺̖͕͎̥̫͖̗̪̦̝͇̞̯̪̞̯̤̤͋̈́̎̔̌̇͋́̋͆̔̋͌̍̏̉͆̅̈̇̉̓̽̿͒̈́̔̔̅͌́̔̉̎̐͒̕͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅų̸̨̧̛͚͇̮͕̭̳͓̞̜͇̹̗̦͇̝̥̹̼͓̞̬̟̺͍͚̫͎̤̘͎̭̰̬͍͙̣̳̣̬̞͓̜̔͒̇̂͗̐̓̿͋̈̊̈́̊́̾̉̄͆̈̈́́̈́̆́̔̔̈́̓̒̓̓̑̌̐̋̆̒̅̈́͐̿͆̐́̏̇̂͛̅͘̕̕͜͝͝͝͝͝ş̵̡̢̡̧̧̡̨̝͖̫̱̬̞͚̩̳̤̯̭̯̥̤͙̣̜̘͕̬̣̞̰͙̤̲͇̜͖̦̞͈͉̪̹̮̹͕͖̟̓̃̋̒̈́̈́͘͜͠ͅr̷̢͙̯̹̙͈͙̮̘͉͚̮̲͖̭͖͙͚̲̺͇̖̝͉̤̮̹̒̈́͊͜ͅę̸̡̧̧̨̭̟̻͈͉̻͕̮̻̜̟̠̝̳̟͙͕̯̯̠͖͉̭̥̭̤̗̭̩̮͓̝͖̖̲̖̪̙͓͇̟̯̬̩͇̝̏̈̑̈́͌̄̀̏͑͐̂̓͂̽̄̆̈́̀̄͛̍̉͗̈̈̓̉̎̈̓̋̒̕̕̚̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅt̷̢̡̧̛̛̗̻̼͚̱͚͔͙͔͓̦͇͖͔̻̦̳̞̖͕͈̙̲̲͎͔̝̙͖̼̰̖̏͑̑̌̏͑͊̈́̂̂̓͐̈͂̿̉͆͐͊̈͆̋̅̏̃̆͆͐̿̿͛̐̌̍͋̈́̎̈́̈́̒̄̏̈́̓͑̂͐̇͂͌̚͘͘͜͝͠͝ų̴̧̢̢̡̢̢̨̨̹̠̫̖̙̼̖̭͉͍͎͎̭͉̫͚̭̙̼̻̝͔̭͉̭̤̱̰͈͓̫͉̲̩̘̣̙̜͓̥̩̜̦̖͎͕̫͒̽̈́̓̈́͌̎̏̃̃͋̄͆̇͆͐̇̂͑̉͒̒̐͌̇̏̎͂̒̿͐͘͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅr̴̢̧̡̡̧̨̤̜̺̜͓͖͈͍̰̣͈̝̗͉͉͓̝̮̠̻̼͓̪̣͈̰͇͙͈͙͕̦̦̬̫̱̦̺̫̭̯̙̗̦͍͎͎͚̰͖̞̮̤͚̠̮̱̀̒̊͗̍͒̔̊̈́̏͌̔̆̒̑͗̊͑̑̏͗̄̐͘̚͜͝ͅņ̵̧̛̛͔͙͎̯͕̪̭̮͙͗͐͗̐͒̈́̐̇̇́͌̐̂̾̿͌̉̒̔͛̂̅̿͌̇̒̓̇̈͋̈́̾̎̍́̍͗́̓͐̕̚̚̕͜͠͝͝ ̸̢̢̢̢̢̖̥̝̦̗͙̘̮̪̪͓̮̬̯̟̜͎͖̮͍̖̳̤̱͈̱̳̟̪͕̯̖̫͍̘̼̺͕͙͔̮̝̟̻͈̄̈́̽̎̿̒̆͂̐̎͌̍̊̀̍̂̓͂̿̆̃̋̽̋̾̆̎̾͌̋́̎̽͗͛̎͘̚͜͜ţ̷̨̡̡̡̡̢̧̛̛̥̝̘̫͓̠̗̠̳͉͉̹͍͕͍͎̗͔̟̮̙̦̱͈̟̫̭̼̻͙̥̟̬͕̦̦̱̟̲̩͔̬͍̫͕̟̖͚̺̩͔͎͎͍̥͚͓̺̓̃͑̌̆̽̏̇̈́́̌̾͛̐̀̊͛̍͐͂̈́̂̆̄̍͛̑͛̌̆̔̃̀́͂̊͒̅̀̄̐̔̓͌̆̈̈͂͒͌̊̊̕͘̚͘̚͘͜͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅo̵̢̢̨̨̨̨̫͎̠̘̪̲̗̫̪͔̱̞̙̙̪͚̙̘̟͈͙̖̤̘̩̻͍̰̭͔̱̺͙̹̥̳̦̥̞̮̹̬̦̣̦̱͍͍̹̪͚̥̻͓̗͕͕͕͍̞͈̠̔͗̄͐͋͂̍̃͑̊̌̓̂̊̑͑̇̐̾̓͗̒́̋̿̄̌͌͆̅́̈́̎͗̄̆̕͘͘͜͜͝ ̸̢̧̧̨̧̧̡̛̙̯͓̭̹̣͖̙̮̩̯͉͎͔̼̪͖̫̦̤̤̣̥̳̻͎̠̠͇͍̘̠̞͔̻̩̤̝̥̟̺̖͕͎̥̫͖̗̪̦̝͇̞̯̪̞̯̤̤͋̈́̎̔̌̇͋́̋͆̔̋͌̍̏̉͆̅̈̇̉̓̽̿͒̈́̔̔̅͌́̔̉̎̐͒̕͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅų̸̨̧̛͚͇̮͕̭̳͓̞̜͇̹̗̦͇̝̥̹̼͓̞̬̟̺͍͚̫͎̤̘͎̭̰̬͍͙̣̳̣̬̞͓̜̔͒̇̂͗̐̓̿͋̈̊̈́̊́̾̉̄͆̈̈́́̈́̆́̔̔̈́̓̒̓̓̑̌̐̋̆̒̅̈́͐̿͆̐́̏̇̂͛̅͘̕̕͜͝͝͝͝͝ş̵̡̢̡̧̧̡̨̝͖̫̱̬̞͚̩̳̤̯̭̯̥̤͙̣̜̘͕̬̣̞̰͙̤̲͇̜͖̦̞͈͉̪̹̮̹͕͖̟̓̃̋̒̈́̈́͘͜͠ͅr̷̡̧̢̧̡̨̢̛̛̛̛̛͚͉͚̳̖̥̥͍͍͔͖̤̤̺̞̦̬̬̰̝̱̖̘̱͕̟͙͓͉͈̪̫̠͕̱̞̩̜͚̜͚͎͙̗̱̫̺͇͈̹̠̼͈̣̣͎̖̬̩͙̼̬̺̻̲̪̃͋͌̐͋̂͌̓̑͒̆̂̽̈́̆͊̋́̔͒̾̃̑͛̄̆̃̿̏͑̅̾̎͐͋̇̿̆͆̇͐̾̇͗͂̿͑̈́͊̌̂̅͛͂͗̎̑͗̋͋̐̆̈̄̇͋̎̈́̈́̒́͋̓̌͛͘̚̚̚̕̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅẹ̸͙͓̥̯͔̤̠͖̪̯̹͖̩̆̑̇͊͗̑̒̍̉͋͌̃͠͝ṱ̶̡̢̨̢̛̹̙̝̩̦̫̹͚̦̯͕͕̘͕̥̘̯͈̤̬̙̬̭̩̻͎͙͚̳̟̞̩͎̠͓̜͉̖̖͖̜̹͎͑̆͐͌̂̄̌̉̕͝ͅͅͅų̸̨̨̧̛̩̠̲̠̫̫̱̻̞͖̻̮͖̠̺̥̣̟̙͂͂̒̇́͋̿̌̅̉̈́̋̋̔͘̕͜͠͝ͅŗ̷̢̨̧̡̨̛̳̥̞̬̻̙͇̱͔̗͕̩̘͎͉̥̘̼̗̦͓̜̙̯̜̰͓̭̯̹̙͓͍͕̆̾̐̀̓̇͗͑̽̓̆̊̇̎͋͂͗̈̀̽͒̓̾̋̍͋̎̇͛̓̈́́͛̃́̑͌̐̄̌̓̋͛͐̆̈́͗͋̚͘͜͜ņ̷̛͈̰̘̭̞̙̮̫̽̃̍̈́̈́̏̇͆̉͛̅͊̊̅̍̈̋̽̆͛̂̀̋͌̍͌̌̐͆̍̎̒̍̎͂̉̍̏̌̇͋̀̃̂̀̍͛́͛͐͛̽́̓̋̏̌̈́͗̌̈́̿̒̌̌͋͑̕͘͘͘̕̚͜͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅ ̷̢̢̡̡̧̧̢̧̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̞̯͔͉̜̘̳̳͎͈̭̠̘̭̫̯̣̤̘̣͇̼̰͓̲̗͙͇̘̙͉͎̥̙̮̞͍͎͎̬̻̙̼̯͖̥͚̭̹̣͉͖̤͖̠͚̠̖̜̼̣̳̥͙̫̙̤̗͚̥͓̼̰̬̲̹̼̣̬͇̫͎̃̊͂̄̇̓̓͊͂̀̀̄̊̌͂͋̃͊̈́͋̄̈́̊́̍̒̍̒͆̃̓́̉͒̔̌̇́̍̈́̆͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅt̶̢̧̨̡̡̡̧̢̻̤͖̫̭̞̲̭̻̳̹̦̘͎̠̫͉̦̤͍̼̺̪̰̘̝̤̳̥̯̞̯̜̠̬̗͖̙͖̗̫͕̮͓̘̼̹̘̪͕͇̬͉͉̠̯̖͕̠̑̑͐̆̒̒̐͗̈͂̈́̓̐̓̕͜͝͝ͅo̷̡̨̧̡̢̡̢̧̧͔̙͕̫̫͕̤̟̘͓̦͖̣̳͓̲͇͓̝̙̞̼͓̯̻͈̣͕͚̰̳̗̞͈̭̻͉̗̰̜̗͈̻̺̗̗̬̪̞͇͔̙̟̫̯̳̳̬͍̫̺͍̪̦̯̱͓͍̻̣̞̯̜͍̤̺̫̪̞̰̘͈̳͈̹̘̬͊͛̑͐̅̾̋̎͛̔͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅ ̵͉̬̘͖̣̻͚͉̻̠̥̜̟̥̼̬̪̪̠̝̲̰̬͎̥͉̘̫́͋̏̎̑̄͛͋̆̄̓̅͗̏͛̃̇͘͝u̶̡̧̧̢̡̢̢̧̡̧͕̲̜̘̖̩̮̲̰̮̭̤̪͙̯̻̹͇̠̦̮͈͍̜͈͎̯͙̞̺̦̟̠̼̪̲̹̮̖̺̹̗̳̹̹͔͓̼͕͚̮̩̱͙̯̘̟̤̹̭̜͂̒̈́̀̋͗̈́̍̐͌̂̑̓̊̄͗͗̂́̔͒̈̓̽̄̎̍̐͒̊̂̑̊̾̍̾̽̅̈́͗̎̄̈́̏̈͐̉̏̽͗́̒̑̉̏̈͐̏̈́̆̽̔̈́̎̑͌̋̈̕͘̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͝͠ͅš̶̢̧̡̢̧̨̨̧̢̧̧̢̛̯̝̤̖̫̫͎͈͈͎͕̫̲͈̜͎͕̺͎̻͓͈̖̭̻̫̱̙̺͎̳̰͎͖͓̳̰̥̱̮̜̹͚̟͍̗̫̟̲̳̺͖̝̩͎͇̀̋͛͂̑̇͐̈̀͊̋̋̇͐̈͑̉͑͌̿̅̽͆̍͊̐́̚͘̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅr̷̡̧̢̧̡̨̢̛̛̛̛̛͚͉͚̳̖̥̥͍͍͔͖̤̤̺̞̦̬̬̰̝̱̖̘̱͕̟͙͓͉͈̪̫̠͕̱̞̩̜͚̜͚͎͙̗̱̫̺͇͈̹̠̼͈̣̣͎̖̬̩͙̼̬̺̻̲̪̃͋͌̐͋̂͌̓̑͒̆̂̽̈́̆͊̋́̔͒̾̃̑͛̄̆̃̿̏͑̅̾̎͐͋̇̿̆͆̇͐̾̇͗͂̿͑̈́͊̌̂̅͛͂͗̎̑͗̋͋̐̆̈̄̇͋̎̈́̈́̒́͋̓̌͛͘̚̚̚̕̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅẹ̸͙͓̥̯͔̤̠͖̪̯̹͖̩̆̑̇͊͗̑̒̍̉͋͌̃͠͝ṱ̶̡̢̨̢̛̹̙̝̩̦̫̹͚̦̯͕͕̘͕̥̘̯͈̤̬̙̬̭̩̻͎͙͚̳̟̞̩͎̠͓̜͉̖̖͖̜̹͎͑̆͐͌̂̄̌̉̕͝ͅͅͅų̸̨̨̧̛̩̠̲̠̫̫̱̻̞͖̻̮͖̠̺̥̣̟̙͂͂̒̇́͋̿̌̅̉̈́̋̋̔͘̕͜͠͝ͅŗ̷̢̨̧̡̨̛̳̥̞̬̻̙͇̱͔̗͕̩̘͎͉̥̘̼̗̦͓̜̙̯̜̰͓̭̯̹̙͓͍͕̆̾̐̀̓̇͗͑̽̓̆̊̇̎͋͂͗̈̀̽͒̓̾̋̍͋̎̇͛̓̈́́͛̃́̑͌̐̄̌̓̋͛͐̆̈́͗͋̚͘͜͜ņ̷̛͈̰̘̭̞̙̮̫̽̃̍̈́̈́̏̇͆̉͛̅͊̊̅̍̈̋̽̆͛̂̀̋͌̍͌̌̐͆̍̎̒̍̎͂̉̍̏̌̇͋̀̃̂̀̍͛́͛͐͛̽́̓̋̏̌̈́͗̌̈́̿̒̌̌͋͑̕͘͘͘̕̚͜͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅ ̷̢̢̡̡̧̧̢̧̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̞̯͔͉̜̘̳̳͎͈̭̠̘̭̫̯̣̤̘̣͇̼̰͓̲̗͙͇̘̙͉͎̥̙̮̞͍͎͎̬̻̙̼̯͖̥͚̭̹̣͉͖̤͖̠͚̠̖̜̼̣̳̥͙̫̙̤̗͚̥͓̼̰̬̲̹̼̣̬͇̫͎̃̊͂̄̇̓̓͊͂̀̀̄̊̌͂͋̃͊̈́͋̄̈́̊́̍̒̍̒͆̃̓́̉͒̔̌̇́̍̈́̆͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅt̶̢̧̨̡̡̡̧̢̻̤͖̫̭̞̲̭̻̳̹̦̘͎̠̫͉̦̤͍̼̺̪̰̘̝̤̳̥̯̞̯̜̠̬̗͖̙͖̗̫͕̮͓̘̼̹̘̪͕͇̬͉͉̠̯̖͕̠̑̑͐̆̒̒̐͗̈͂̈́̓̐̓̕͜͝͝ͅo̷̡̨̧̡̢̡̢̧̧͔̙͕̫̫͕̤̟̘͓̦͖̣̳͓̲͇͓̝̙̞̼͓̯̻͈̣͕͚̰̳̗̞͈̭̻͉̗̰̜̗͈̻̺̗̗̬̪̞͇͔̙̟̫̯̳̳̬͍̫̺͍̪̦̯̱͓͍̻̣̞̯̜͍̤̺̫̪̞̰̘͈̳͈̹̘̬͊͛̑͐̅̾̋̎͛̔͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅ ̵͉̬̘͖̣̻͚͉̻̠̥̜̟̥̼̬̪̪̠̝̲̰̬͎̥͉̘̫́͋̏̎̑̄͛͋̆̄̓̅͗̏͛̃̇͘͝u̶̡̧̧̢̡̢̢̧̡̧͕̲̜̘̖̩̮̲̰̮̭̤̪͙̯̻̹͇̠̦̮͈͍̜͈͎̯͙̞̺̦̟̠̼̪̲̹̮̖̺̹̗̳̹̹͔͓̼͕͚̮̩̱͙̯̘̟̤̹̭̜͂̒̈́̀̋͗̈́̍̐͌̂̑̓̊̄͗͗̂́̔͒̈̓̽̄̎̍̐͒̊̂̑̊̾̍̾̽̅̈́͗̎̄̈́̏̈͐̉̏̽͗́̒̑̉̏̈͐̏̈́̆̽̔̈́̎̑͌̋̈̕͘̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͝͠ͅš̶̢̧̡̢̧̨̨̧̢̧̧̢̛̯̝̤̖̫̫͎͈͈͎͕̫̲͈̜͎͕̺͎̻͓͈̖̭̻̫̱̙̺͎̳̰͎͖͓̳̰̥̱̮̜̹͚̟͍̗̫̟̲̳̺͖̝̩͎͇̀̋͛͂̑̇͐̈̀͊̋̋̇͐̈͑̉͑͌̿̅̽͆̍͊̐́̚͘̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅr̷̡̧̢̧̡̨̢̛̛̛̛̛͚͉͚̳̖̥̥͍͍͔͖̤̤̺̞̦̬̬̰̝̱̖̘̱͕̟͙͓͉͈̪̫̠͕̱̞̩̜͚̜͚͎͙̗̱̫̺͇͈̹̠̼͈̣̣͎̖̬̩͙̼̬̺̻̲̪̃͋͌̐͋̂͌̓̑͒̆̂̽̈́̆͊̋́̔͒̾̃̑͛̄̆̃̿̏͑̅̾̎͐͋̇̿̆͆̇͐̾̇͗͂̿͑̈́͊̌̂̅͛͂͗̎̑͗̋͋̐̆̈̄̇͋̎̈́̈́̒́͋̓̌͛͘̚̚̚̕̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅẹ̸͙͓̥̯͔̤̠͖̪̯̹͖̩̆̑̇͊͗̑̒̍̉͋͌̃͠͝ṱ̶̡̢̨̢̛̹̙̝̩̦̫̹͚̦̯͕͕̘͕̥̘̯͈̤̬̙̬̭̩̻͎͙͚̳̟̞̩͎̠͓̜͉̖̖͖̜̹͎͑̆͐͌̂̄̌̉̕͝ͅͅͅų̸̨̨̧̛̩̠̲̠̫̫̱̻̞͖̻̮͖̠̺̥̣̟̙͂͂̒̇́͋̿̌̅̉̈́̋̋̔͘̕͜͠͝ͅŗ̷̢̨̧̡̨̛̳̥̞̬̻̙͇̱͔̗͕̩̘͎͉̥̘̼̗̦͓̜̙̯̜̰͓̭̯̹̙͓͍͕̆̾̐̀̓̇͗͑̽̓̆̊̇̎͋͂͗̈̀̽͒̓̾̋̍͋̎̇͛̓̈́́͛̃́̑͌̐̄̌̓̋͛͐̆̈́͗͋̚͘͜͜ņ̷̛͈̰̘̭̞̙̮̫̽̃̍̈́̈́̏̇͆̉͛̅͊̊̅̍̈̋̽̆͛̂̀̋͌̍͌̌̐͆̍̎̒̍̎͂̉̍̏̌̇͋̀̃̂̀̍͛́͛͐͛̽́̓̋̏̌̈́͗̌̈́̿̒̌̌͋͑̕͘͘͘̕̚͜͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅ ̷̢̢̡̡̧̧̢̧̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̞̯͔͉̜̘̳̳͎͈̭̠̘̭̫̯̣̤̘̣͇̼̰͓̲̗͙͇̘̙͉͎̥̙̮̞͍͎͎̬̻̙̼̯͖̥͚̭̹̣͉͖̤͖̠͚̠̖̜̼̣̳̥͙̫̙̤̗͚̥͓̼̰̬̲̹̼̣̬͇̫͎̃̊͂̄̇̓̓͊͂̀̀̄̊̌͂͋̃͊̈́͋̄̈́̊́̍̒̍̒͆̃̓́̉͒̔̌̇́̍̈́̆͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅt̶̢̧̨̡̡̡̧̢̻̤͖̫̭̞̲̭̻̳̹̦̘͎̠̫͉̦̤͍̼̺̪̰̘̝̤̳̥̯̞̯̜̠̬̗͖̙͖̗̫͕̮͓̘̼̹̘̪͕͇̬͉͉̠̯̖͕̠̑̑͐̆̒̒̐͗̈͂̈́̓̐̓̕͜͝͝ͅo̷̡̨̧̡̢̡̢̧̧͔̙͕̫̫͕̤̟̘͓̦͖̣̳͓̲͇͓̝̙̞̼͓̯̻͈̣͕͚̰̳̗̞͈̭̻͉̗̰̜̗͈̻̺̗̗̬̪̞͇͔̙̟̫̯̳̳̬͍̫̺͍̪̦̯̱͓͍̻̣̞̯̜͍̤̺̫̪̞̰̘͈̳͈̹̘̬͊͛̑͐̅̾̋̎͛̔͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅ ̵͉̬̘͖̣̻͚͉̻̠̥̜̟̥̼̬̪̪̠̝̲̰̬͎̥͉̘̫́͋̏̎̑̄͛͋̆̄̓̅͗̏͛̃̇͘͝u̶̡̧̧̢̡̢̢̧̡̧͕̲̜̘̖̩̮̲̰̮̭̤̪͙̯̻̹͇̠̦̮͈͍̜͈͎̯͙̞̺̦̟̠̼̪̲̹̮̖̺̹̗̳̹̹͔͓̼͕͚̮̩̱͙̯̘̟̤̹̭̜͂̒̈́̀̋͗̈́̍̐͌̂̑̓̊̄͗͗̂́̔͒̈̓̽̄̎̍̐͒̊̂̑̊̾̍̾̽̅̈́͗̎̄̈́̏̈͐̉̏̽͗́̒̑̉̏̈͐̏̈́̆̽̔̈́̎̑͌̋̈̕͘̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͝͠ͅš̶̢̧̡̢̧̨̨̧̢̧̧̢̛̯̝̤̖̫̫͎͈͈͎͕̫̲͈̜͎͕̺͎̻͓͈̖̭̻̫̱̙̺͎̳̰͎͖͓̳̰̥̱̮̜̹͚̟͍̗̫̟̲̳̺͖̝̩͎͇̀̋͛͂̑̇͐̈̀͊̋̋̇͐̈͑̉͑͌̿̅̽͆̍͊̐́̚͘̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅ

It dropped into the van with a heavy thud. 

Grant shrieked.

Chapter Text

He looked feverish. 

Kristin watched with growing concern as Philza groaned in his sleep, tossing the blanket from himself and fanning out his still ruined wings, before curling tight once more into his usual balled up sleeping position. 

He shouldn’t be feverish, though. She thought. 

He wasn’t warm, but he was still sweaty. He kept throwing the blankets and pillows and furs away from his back in his sleep. He scratched often around his shoulders when he was awake- oh…

Moulting! She realised with a start. 

It had been so long since she had witnessed another moult, she had forgotten what it looked like outside of her own experience. 

It wasn’t pleasant.

A full week, twice a year, of itching, tender skin. A visceral hatred for pressure along the back and shoulders. The mood swings, the paranoia of becoming flightless and helpless, the burning of new pin feathers growing through the empty quicks to replace the old, some growing impacted, some becoming blood feathers if treated wrong. 

Just, a whole week of miserable aching muscles and burning, stinging skin as one’s body rapidly dropped the old, dying feathers and replaced them. 

She knew all too well from her own experience just how frustrating and uncomfortable a moult could be. 

But…

This meant he was healing. 

If he wasn’t strong enough, if his immune system was still too weak, his body wouldn’t allow for a full moult. 

As miserable as he was about to become, this was a good sign. 

Though, that didn’t change the fact he probably was horribly unprepared for it, Kristin realised as she watched him finally give up on sleep entirely. 

He rolled off of the pile of furs in his corner and stretched out onto the ground, planting his forehead firmly against the cool floor of the cave. Fanning out his ragged wings to either side and scraping them against the stone with an aggravated hiss. 

“Philza?” Kristin called out as she set down the logs she had been carrying in for the cave’s hearth. “You alright there?” 

He rolled his head in her direction, the remaining feathers along his ears slumping as he frowned. 

“....no…” he groaned. “....ow….wings…hurts…burning….” 

Kristin rolled a log into the hearth, poking it into place with a stick. 

“You’re moulting.” she explained. “First time in a while I would guess?” 

Philza crossed his arms in front of him, resting his chin atop them as he pondered the question. 

“....forgot…long….time?” he buried his face into his arms, hissing. “...hurts…” 

Normally, at least in Kristin’s clan -she wasn’t certain about others- moulting was a very reverent time for those experiencing it. It was thought of as a time of change. A time to cast off any transgressions, regrets, or sorrows along with the old feathers, and welcome in healing and growth alongside the new pin feathers. 

It was a time of connection. As each person moulting was cared for by either their families or partners or closest friends. 

A nest would be made for them and whoever was trusted enough would be given the honour of helping them preen and provide comfort when the aches grew too much. 

Kristin missed that time, there was no replacement for her grandparents carefully tending to her feathers, for her friends carrying her to the hot pools within the deeper parts of the caverns to soak and relax the itching skin of her wings and aching muscles along her back. 

For years, many hundreds now, she thought, she’d done so alone. Unable to fully work out the pain in her spine, unable to reach the little itches along her back, unable to twist some of the more stubborn pins out into full feathers. 

She could only imagine, without access to anything to help with just general, day to day preening, what Philza had gone through. 

His wings were still as ragged and dirty as they had been when she found him. Clots of old blood and dirt still clung to his skin in what must be pinching clusters. Feathers were askew, crooked and twisted wrong, all angled in directions they shouldn’t be. The muscles on the wings themselves had atrophied something terrible, thin and trembling even still as they struggled to raise themselves any higher than where he usually held them tight against his back. 

He’d not let her touch them, but neither had he attempted to touch them himself. The few times he had attempted, he had stopped with a warble of pain, before pulling the wing back against his side, too tender to fully attempt to clean. 

Now, with his moult underway, would be the perfect time to finally pick out all of those awful clumps that were pulling on his feathers, tugging on his skin. It would be the perfect time to finally relax the muscles in his back and wings that must surely be aching from lack of use for so long. 

If…that was…if he let her. 

“Philza,” she knelt before him, holding a hand out. 

He looked up at her from his heap on the cavern floor, wide blue eyes glazed in discomfort and pain. 

“I can help you with your wings,” she stated. “I can take care of preening them for you while you go through this.” 

She ensured she enunciated each word slowly, letting him take his time to process what she had said as he translated in his mind. 

He took a moment, nodding for her to continue. 

“I don’t know your clan’s culture regarding preening or moulting,” Kristin gestured to his wings. “But I can perform mine.” 

“I can make a nest, and make you food, and show you where to find ash and hot pools to clean your feathers.” she continued. “And, I can help you preen.” 

She watched him closely as he processed her words, noting his eyes widen slightly. 

“But,” she added. “I will only do so if you want me to. And I will stop at any time if you’re not comfortable with it.” 

“I want you to feel welcome and safe here,” she smiled. “If you just want to be shown the ash stores and the hot pools, I can do that too. Whatever it is you’re most comfortable with.” 

For a moment, he was quiet, mouthing out each word she had spoken and eyeing her hand. His brows furrowed as he pondered the question, then softened, his eyes growing wide with a mixture of caution and eagerness. As if finally grasping her intent, but still uncertain of what he wanted for himself. 

Finally, he took her hand, pressing her knuckles against his forehead. 

“...please?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

Kristin felt as if a wall had finally lifted from between them. 

She squeezed his hand. 

“Of course.” she helped him to his feet and began, almost excitedly, guiding him further back to the tunnels leading deeper into the mountain. 

It had been ages since she had assisted anyone with this task, a part of her felt fluttery and nervous, another part excited and joyful. 

Gods it had been far too long! She thought as she retrieved a tallow lamp before taking Philza’s hand, gesturing to him to follow. 

She lit each torch with the lamp that lined the tunnel, keeping it illuminated after she noticed his hesitancy to go near the dark. 

She pointed out the various paintings along the walls as they travelled, hoping to ease his mind away from any thoughts of his imprisonment; gods knew he must be terrified of being led down through dark tunnels. 

“I don’t know if your clan believed the same but,” she gestured to the image of a winged being, their feathers falling about them like leaves, flowing out on the wind to be picked up by small birds amongst the sky. “Many of us like to keep our feathers once we’ve dropped them all, and say our prayers and wishes to our ancestors -or the gods, whichever fits best for the occasion- over the feathers and then scatter them into the wind.” 

“And then the Messengers come to retrieve them and deliver them to whoever we prayed to.” she pointed out the birds carrying beakfuls of feathers. 

Philza smiled, tracing a finger across the old stone painting. 

“I…think…did…similar…” he said. 

There was a fondness to his voice, Kristin noted. As if reminiscing on an old, pleasant memory. 

Or, in his case, the brief emotion he must have felt in knowing he once held a memory like that. 

It was clear now he had none of his past, they had been taken completely. But still, he retained brief details, small glimpses of what life must have been like. He knew that he had once had a memory of something similar to what she was describing. And while that memory was gone, the emotion it left still remained. 

“Would you like to do that?” she asked, finally entering into the large, domed hollow at the end of the tunnel. 

The scent of ash and salt reached her nose. 

She heard Philza sneeze. 

“...yes…” he finally said, rubbing his nose, his brows quirked at the odd scent. “...familiar…” 

Kristin went about the hollow, lighting more lanterns and torches within the large room. 

“The scent is familiar?” she asked. 

She saw him nod, another smile crossing his face as he watched the room grow to light. 

A series of pools, dug out and modified with years of shell cement and digging, surrounded a bubbling spring, sending steam up into the domed ceiling and out a flu in the centre. Where it led, Kristin wasn’t sure. The place had been built long before her time and she doubted anyone who had been alive before her even knew who the first creators were. 

To the far side of the room, away from the pools, sat a pit of ash. Built up over the generations of dumping the hearth ash into the pit and covered in a wax coated canvas to keep the steam from solidifying it. 

Kristin hauled the canvas off of the pit, revealing the dry, grey and white powder beneath. And immediately was blinded by the sudden cloud of dust created as Philza practically flopped into the pile. 

She sneezed, rubbing her nose as she glared at the sight of the man creating small puffs of dust as he rolled about in the ash. 

“Your clothes are gonna be a fucking mess.” she chided, crossing her arms. 

“....soft…” Philza grinned, coated head to toe in ash as he patted the pile beside him. 

“I’m not cleaning them you shit! You got them dirty, you get to clean them.” Kristin smirked as Philza’s grin was replaced with mock terror before he planted his face directly into the ash. Blowing a puff of the grey powder into the air as he groaned. 

“Ah yes, very mature.” Kristin rolled her eyes as the man continued to shuffle about in the ash, rubbing the powder into his hair and across his exposed skin, before flinging his shirt off and carefully fluttering the ash across his wings. 

“I take it you got this?” She asked, to which he gave a light nod and gingerly laid onto his back, stretching his wings out and flicking them upwards until they had been nearly buried in the ash. 

For a moment, Kristin was surprised at how easily he seemed to move the feathered limbs after so long. Surely they must be aching from the amount of movement they experiencing- 

-Philza winced. 

She froze as she saw him stiffen, gritting his teeth as a small tremor shot through his wings. 

“Philza?” Kristin took a step forward. “Do you need help?” 

There was a moment of silence. 

Not true silence. 

The spring still bubbled pleasantly across the cavern, the faint crackle of the torches that lit the massive room still flickered merrily within their fastenings. 

It wasn’t true silence, but, it was quiet nonetheless. 

She saw his fingers clench as his chest heaved with a sucked in breath, before relaxing with a light sigh. 

“...m’ …alright…” he assured her, his eyes glittering. “...just…stiff…” 

He gestured to his wings, now nearly buried within the ash. 

“Okay,” Kristin nodded. “If you need anything just shout, I’m going to work on getting everything set up for you.” 

A half hearted thumbs up was all she needed to feel secure in leaving him to himself in the cavern. She didn’t want to leave him alone for too long, she didn’t know how he would deal with pain in his wings if he was alone…but if he was confident in himself, and if she wasn’t more than a shout away, it was probably fine. 

Whatever doubts she may have garnered, any fears that he might fall back into his stunned, silent self that he had been not so long ago at the slightest pain to his wings, were dashed when she heard faint, smothered laughter echoing through the cavern hall. 

Kristin smiled. 

He’d laughed a few times, genuine laughter and not the confused, uncertain, broken sounds she had heard when he had first woken up. 

This laughter was softer, less pitched, far more relaxed and intermixed with chirps and whistles and hiccups and left her with a grin and a warm, fluttery feeling in her chest. 

It was…it was good to hear him laugh. 

Kristin gathered up a series of pillows and blankets and shuffled them into a vaguely circular shape, chuckling as she heard the tell-tale splashes and chirps of what was probably a very soaked bird-man enjoying what must be his first real bath in ages. She didn’t blame him, even in her years spent alone it was hard not to feel that sudden burst of giddy delight when soaking in the pools. Something about the warm water and pleasant atmosphere, despite the loneliness, was just…freeing in a way. There was no shame in splashing the water about like a chick or fledgling, everyone did it no matter their age. Some innate urge to make as much of a mess with the water as possible was born into all of her kind, and who was she to deny instinct? 

She layered a final blanket into place, not too close to the hearth to feel uncomfortable, but not too far away to feel cold. A perfect semi-circle of pillows and bed rolls and blankets for supporting ones wings as they lay out to dry and be preened and carded through and fluffed and old feathers removed and new pins twisted open and sore muscles to kneaded out and just….

Kristin hugged her arms about herself, her wings fluffing and smoothing and then fluffing again. 

Another person …she thought. Another pair of wings to care for, another pair of hands to card through her feathers and align the vanes and reach those itches she could never manage to sooth. Another soul within her home. 

The what ifs, the doubts, the feelings of this whole scenario being unreal, some cruel trick of fate, washed over her and was immediately crushed aside with a shake of her head as she turned back towards the cavern tunnel. Clean clothes and towels in hand she smothered the doubts as she made her way down the tunnel, following the flickering torches and painted walls. Finally stopping once she reached the cavern proper. 

For a moment, the silence returned. 

The not-true-silence of a bubbling spring and crackling torches. 

And now the faint rippling of water lapping against the short walls of the pools. 

He was half in the water, half out. His head resting on his arms against the wall as his wings floated weightless behind him. Streams of murky red and brown and grey drifted from his form. From his wings. 

Revealing feathers darker than the blackest piece of obsidian beneath the layers of dried blood and mud and grime and ash. 

She’d assumed his wings were a darker colour than his hair, an uncommon trait to be sure, but never had she imagined such a stark contrast between the two. 

Now completely free of years of grime, having refused to place his head near water for so long, his shoulder length hair was a honeyed gold. So bright and vivid, a spark of sunlight within the dimness of the caverns. 

And as if chasing the sun across the sky, deep black, downy feathers grew from the nape of his neck, cascading down his scar laden back and seeping, like ink in water, into the forms of the wings that floated behind him. A void of night sky that consumed all the light within their tattered feathers. 

And those mercury blue eyes that watched her as she stood there, smiling and filled with a gentle mischief- 

He spat a stream of water at her. 

Kristin rolled her eyes. “Again, how very mature of you.” 

“...you think…I am funny…” Philza chuckled. 

“Only slightly.” Kristin tossed the towels towards him. And then flung the clean clothes onto his face. “Get dressed you goof.” 

Philza shook the pile of clothes from his head, and miraculously, didn’t manage to drop them in the pool with him. 

“What…is goof?” he asked, his ear feathers twitching curiously as he shoved the towel over his hair, keeping himself still within the pool as he dried his hair off. 

“Goof means stupid.” Kristin grinned. 

“...not stupid…” Philza returned the grin. 

“The good kind of stupid.” Kristin fluffed her wings before turning down the tunnel once more, leaving him to take care of drying off on his own. 

She sat down within the semi circle, retrieving her bone pick from its sheath within her belt, and held it up to the firelight. 

It was a simple thing, a curved ‘beak’ on one end, a set of comb-like teeth just behind the curve, leading into a handle that finished off at a pick. 

The beak for hooking out bits of grime that fingers couldn’t quite grasp. The comb teeth for fluffing out vanes. The pick for layering or separating shafts into place. 

She only had the one. 

She wondered if he would like to make one himself? Or if he wouldn’t mind a gift? 

Her thoughts were cut short as Philza knelt beside her, lightly bumping his forehead against her knuckles. 

“Hey.” she held up the pick for him. 

His eyes briefly crossed it, before he settled his back against the semi-circle of pillows, gingerly stretching his wings out across the pile. 

They didn’t open all the way, Kristin doubted they could without help, but she wasn’t about to push him too hard. 

“It’ll be faster if you’re facing away from me, so I can reach your back easier?” she questioned. 

He gripped her hand. 

“...can’t…I…I don’t…” he struggled for words. “I’m….sorry…”

And then she remembered the scars along his back, hidden under the growing layer of down, and it made sense. 

She squeezed his hand in return. “It’s okay, I understand. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

He held onto her hand a moment longer, those mercury blue eyes scanning between her own and the pick within her free hand. Back and forth, a breath, a light shake to his grip. The not-silent silence returned. 

The fire crackled in the hearth. 

Kristin’s feathers rustled against the floor as she fluffed and smoothed them while she waited. 

In the distance, she could hear the light pattering of rain outside the cave’s entrance. 

Finally, Philza shifted until his left wing was laid on her lap. 

He guided her hand to the first, tattered, damp feathers, and released his grip. 

Kristin worked within that semi-silence, listening carefully for any signs of pain or discomfort from her patient. 

She saw him flinch, visibly pulling the wing away from her touch at first, before settling its full weight across her legs. He would tense now and then whenever she reached a tender spot, a scar that hadn't quite healed yet, a set of feathers stuck together with clotted blood that hadn't melted off within the hot springs, a stiff joint, a knot in the muscle. Each malady she would tend to carefully, layering a thin salve across the scar, gently picking through the clot, carefully massaging the stiffened joint and aching muscle. 

A few times he winced and she would stop her work until she felt his hand brush against hers, a quiet ask to continue. 

Once, when she reached midway across his wing, he cried out in pain, his back arching away from her and hand gripping hers to stop. 

“I’m sorry!” she smoothed his hair away from his face, feeling the sharp pang of guilt at the sight of tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes as he caught his breath. 

“I’m sorry!” she squeezed his hand. “Do you need me to stop? We can take a break-” 

She was surprised when he guided her hand back to the wing, still shaking as the residual pain slowly ebbed. 

“Are…are you sure?” Kristin squeezed his hand. “It’s okay to stop-” 

Philza shook his head, pushing her hand against his wing insistently. 

She relented, carefully avoiding the location that had hurt him as she picked through the feathers once more. Fluffing the down and smoothing out the vanes, lightly twisting open a few early pin feathers that had begun to grow in and making a small pile of the loose feathers that fell out on their own. She wasn’t about to pluck them, not even so close to falling out, she wouldn’t dare pull any feathers from him until he was ready. 

Eventually, over the course of the hour, after she had switched sides and was nearly halfway through his right wing, she heard his breathing soften. His occasional touch on her hand lessened and his flinching had stopped altogether. 

Kristin glanced across from her work, her eyes meeting his. Half lidded and still reddened from the earlier bits of pain, he seemed almost asleep. Half in and half out of wherever he went when dreaming, his face had relaxed and his breathing had evened out to the steady, shallow breaths of not-quite asleep. 

A sort of twilight phase, she recognised. Relaxed and mentally gone to the world, but still lucid enough to understand one’s surroundings. 

Not quite as blissful and content as she had remembered seeing others, remembered feeling herself. But, it was still good. 

“You still with me?” she smiled, brushing her knuckles across his forehead. 

He muttered something in that language she didn't understand, lightly catching her hand in his and holding it, staring at her curved talons and tracing the lines of scars and calluses across her fingertips from years of sewing and hunting. 

A low purr rumbled from his throat as he groggily nodded, releasing her hand. 

“...I’m….goof….” he mumbled quietly. 

“Yes, yes you are.” Kristin smiled as she continued her work. 

He’d fallen completely asleep when she’d finished. 

The next few days were much the same. 

Philza would make an absolute fool of himself in the ash pile before soaking in the springs. Kristin would carefully pick through the feathers, working out the stiffened, unused muscles of the atrophied limbs. Both would sit together in that not-true-silence of the cave, with the noises of the pick ticking through feathers and each other’s quiet sounds of life for company. 

The pile of dead feathers grew larger with each day. 

The new pins across Philza’s back and wings would be twisted open and fluffed and smoothed by gentle hands. 

Little by little, the once void dark plumage of his wings returned to their full glory. A deep, night sky with shimmering hints of blues and purples and greens. Dark and beautiful and full of loss and life at once. 

And when the time came for him to cast the dead feathers to the wind, Kristin could only watch as a new emotion welled up within her at the sight. 

As she watched him step out onto the ledge of the cave, his wings catching the sunlight as he held his old, dead, tattered feathers to the wind, as she watched a sorrowful smile cross his face as the last one drifted into the distance of the mountain peaks, Kristin laughed. 

A single, confused, tearful laugh as she flung her arms around him. 

….

Chapter Text

Grant was screaming. 

Darren was screaming. 

There was so much screaming…

Simon gripped tight to Darren’s hand as the man tried to wrench himself from the car seat, clawing desperately at the piece of metal piercing through his abdomen. His dust mask was growing redder by the minute with each thrashing shriek as he kicked at Simon, no longer recognising who was who, where he was, what was happening, that all of them were in danger- 

Grant’s scream was silenced by a horrific crunching sound as that…that thing…that thing that had followed them, hunting them like some desperate, hungry creature….that man, his face streaming with red and a manic grin tearing at the corners of his mouth…his teeth bared and somehow far, far sharper than a human’s should ever be….that monstrous creature that had torn through the roof of their van…a snarling boar tearing its tusks deep into a carcass, flinging the flayed skin aside to reach the blood filled organs…

The man slammed his boot into Grant’s chest, knocking the brunette hard against the door of the van and…

Simon felt as if his heart had stopped as the door was shattered from its hinges and Grant was thrown outside with a harsh wheeze. 

He could barely register the sight of the brunette, rolling across the crumpled door and curling up on his side, coughing harshly as he fought to regain whatever air had been knocked from his lungs on impact....

All he felt was red. 

Simon launched himself at the blood covered creature before him with a snarl. All thought of self preservation tossed aside, only the red and the taste of iron and the rush of heat in his chest at the sight of his friends in pain...in pain because of that thing...

He would die before he let it kill them.

Darren was hurt. 

Darren was hurt bad . 

And now Grant -who had done nothing but stare in fear at the creature that had dropped into the van, Grant who had given no indication of violence or retaliation, Grant who was arguably the most innocent out of all of them in this endeavour, rejecting the initial ideas and admitting he couldn't continue-  was lying limp across the door of the van, covered in the sanguine dust of the desert as he coughed for breath. 

There was no bargaining with this creature anymore, Simon knew that. There would be no room for pleas, for begging for forgiveness, not after what they had done to the creature’s friends…family…hell, he would have done the same himself. 

He didn’t blame the creature for his actions, it was simply wreaking vengeance. 

But Simon wasn’t about to let their positions become reversed. Just as this creature was avenging its own, he too would protect his family. 

He lunged, barreling into the thing’s waist, knocking it from the van and out through the torn-away door. Slamming it hard to the ground with a loud crack as the wind was knocked from its chest and he was certain he felt something break beneath his weight-

Fiery pain tore across his back in five, even strips as the creature slashed its arm over him, tearing its clawed fingers deep into muscle and bone as it tore him from it and flung him aside. 

It took far too long for Simon to recover. To recognise what had just happened between launching himself at the creature and suddenly realising he was being slammed into the side of the van, leaving a reddish smear across the vehicle. Long enough for himself to suddenly feel weightless for a moment as his arms were gripped by claws, that could not have been or ever be from a human, hoisting him up into the air to meet the face of a being that was far taller than it had ever been, far taller than it ever should be. And for a moment, all recognition of this creature, dangling him from his bruising wrists in the air, all things that could be once associated with ‘human’, was gone. 

Replaced with features that were at once nothing like what he had ever seen, and everything he could imagine at once. 

Not human, never human, and yet so human it was horrifying. 

The scissored teeth that peered through the gash of a smile, the tusks that coiled outwards and outwards and outwards and outwards…the corners of the mouth splitting ever wider as the mouth opened to speak…words he couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand, and yet knew all at once…words of anger…anger…ANGER….ANGER!!!! 

Hurt! Hurt them! Hurt them! Loved them! You hurt them! We love them! And you hurt them! Feel what they feel! Feel what they FEEL! Feel what WE feel! Feel it! Feel it!!! FEEL IT! All of it…all of it! ALL OF IT! 

Claws gripped his wrists. 

Claws gripped his ankles. 

Claws tore at the gashes across his back. 

Tusks burrowed into his chest. 

And he was pulled-

Blinding red pain shattered through his sockets. His arms, his legs, his shoulders, his hips, his spine…each vertebrae being bent backwards as he was slung upwards and bent wrong…as if he was splitting in half…

He couldn't even scream...

He was going to die…

For a brief moment, time slowed. 

Simon could see Grant, curled on his side, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. Darren, falling out of the van, dragging himself towards the monster that was tearing him apart, pleas on his lips as he clawed at the creature’s legs. 

And then- 

Do…

Do you love them? 

Love them? 

We love them…

Our vessel…

We love our vessel…

Love…

Love…

Love…

Love….

Do you…

Love them…

Want to save…

Save them…?

Simon was floating. 

There was no pain…no burning brands along his back, no tusks burrowing into his chest, no awful lighting aches within his shoulders and hips and spine…just…

Warmth. 

Save them…? 

Do you wish…to save them?

Do you…love them? 

The warm liquid washed over him…the smell of something familiar began to flood his mouth and nose…familiar…

Comforting…

Wrong….

He sat by the campfire, teasing a stick into the coals with his fingertips. 

“The fuck dude?! You’ll burn yourself!” Darren swatted his hand away. 

Simon grinned, shoving his hand quickly into the fire, passing it through the coals, barely feeling a light singe before holding the limb up, untouched. 

“Not if I’m fast enough!” he chuckled. 

“Don’t fucking do that man!” Grant chided, tossing him a marshmallow. “You’re gonna burn yourself trying to show off one of these days!” 

“Nah!” Simon shook his head, quickly running his hand through the flames once more. “I’m not gonna be stupid, I’m just having a bit of fun.” 

“Fire’s not something to fuck around with Simon.” Darren scolded, slapping the man’s hand once more. 

“Neither am I.” Simon tossed the marshmallow into the flames, letting it catch before quickly removing it and popping it into his mouth. Carefully enclosing the flame as he had done numerous times before, killing it instantly before blowing the remaining smoke from his nose. 

Love them….

Love them…? 

The warm liquid washing gently across his frame, the faint scent of wood smoke, the light tinge of flame on his tongue…

He could see himself…wreathed in flames, bursting forth from the pool of red beneath the earth, blood and fire, a god of fury and vengeance and love and love and love Love ….

Love them…? 

Protect them?

Can help…

We can help…

Love you…

Love you…

Love them…

Love you-  

“Please!” 

The familiar voice…that painfully familiar voice sliced through his mind, severing him from whatever he was seeing…whatever he was feeling…whatever that thing- 

Simon felt as if he had been flung back into his body, as whatever he could call his soul fell from the eyes of that creature before him…that demon…that…that….

Pain erupted from everywhere yet again. 

The gashes on his back, the terrible tearing sensation in his hips and shoulders, the wrong way his spine and chest were being bent, the awful cracking of ribs as he was wrenched apart- 

“PLEASE!” 

He could barely see in between the flashes of red and stabbing pain behind his eyes and the sharp, strangled scream from his own throat, the familiar green hoodie of Darren. 

Kneeling, his good hand gripping the pant-leg of the once human thing that held him aloft, sobbing. His other still tucked close to his chest. 

Blood still oozed sickeningly from his wound.

“Please! Stop!” 

Darren peered up at the thing that…somehow…began to look smaller…less monstrous…

Simon felt the grip on his wrists and legs loosen. 

“Just take him and go! Please!” Darren coughed. 

His mask was gone. 

His face was covered in blood, dribbling from his mouth.

And as if whatever had possessed the person that held him had melted away, Simon felt himself fall. The claws…hands…that had held him aloft, suddenly weak and straining to keep from dropping him as he was settled onto the ground. 

The pain still burned across his back, still spiked through his joints and undoubtedly shattered ribs, still ached through his bones and sent fire arcing through his spine…but then there was Darren. 

There was Darren, holding his head, gently brushing dark locks from his face. Tearfully apologising as he carefully cradled him close. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so stupid! I’m sorry!” accompanied the sight of the now…horrifyingly human form of the pinkette that had nearly killed him, stumbling away from the van, the bound and unconscious figure of the bird creature in his arms. 

Simon felt himself slipping, limply allowing Darren to try and prop him up to breathe easier, as he watched the figure shuffle, almost weakly, towards a motorcycle on the side of the road. Tenderly looping the bird creature’s arms over his shoulders as he clambered onto the vehicle, carefully checking the unconscious man’s form, his eyes full of fear and concern and…anguish…

And then he faded entirely. 

Simon felt himself slip into the gentle hands of unconsciousness to the sounds of Darren’s apologies, Grant’s rasping breaths, the faint clinking of broken glass still crumbling from the van, and a motorcycle rumbling its way into the distance. 

And…

He felt…

He felt….

He felt….

He….

____________________

Darren gagged at the taste of blood in his mouth. 

It wasn’t from his wound, he knew that. He’d bit his tongue and now it was filling his mouth with blood- 

He shoved Simon’s hands away from him, trying to speak, trying to spit out the blood that kept pooling in his mouth and throat, trying to explain what was wrong, what hurt, what had happened-

“S’ not-” he spat into the mask. “Lung…fine…can breath! Simon! Stop! Stop!” 

He could feel the other man’s hands pushing on his chest, pinning him back against the seat before trying to undo the buckle of the seatbelt that was now cinched tight against his waist from the impact…trying to pry away the slowly deflating airbag….

Darren had seen the metal spike, briefly, before everything had grown white and red with pain and the harsh pressure of sudden weight against his torso. 

He’d seen it fly through the windshield, had felt the sudden force of the metal spike pierce his abdomen, the growing heat around the wound…and then the pain. The feeling of wrongness, the feeling of burning, acid and ice and fire all pulsing in tandem with his heartbeat around the spike, like some sick cage of muscle and bone were forcing themselves to fuse around the intrusion before it damaged anything else. 

He needed it out…

He needed it out…

He NEEDED it OUT! 

He shrieked. 

“Out…get it out…get it…out ….Simon…please…get it out…” he choked on his blood, on his cries of pain as his eyes welled up with new tears at each agonising breath that his chest forced itself to take. A sudden jerking spasm, forcing air in and out of his lungs by instinct alone. 

“Get it out…get it out…get it out…” he pleaded, clawing at his friend’s hands. “Please…please…please…hurts…please…” 

“I know-hurts I know it hurts I’m sorry, Darren stop! Stop it!” 

Hands grasped his own as he tried to grab at the piece of metal. 

“Don’t touch it! You’ll make it worse- Darren! Darren listen to me!” 

Darren flung his arm out, and shrieked again as he discovered a brand new pain flare up from the movement- 

Broken. 

He continued to flail, to beg for Simon to take the metal out, to stop touching him, stop hurting- it hurt! It hurt! It hurt! 

And then he finally realised the hands were no longer on him….

And there were screams not coming from his throat…

Darren clenched his teeth as he forced himself to pry the seatbelt from his waist and turn around- 

Grant was curled on the ground outside the vehicle, his hands clawing weakly at his chest, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried once, then twice to stand. Only for his arms to give out beneath him as he collapsed, one arm reaching out towards-

The van rocked as the sickening slam of bone and muscle was flung against the shell of the vehicle. 

A cry of pain was broken from the sound, Simon’s voice now shattered as blood smeared itself from his back and across the van as he was flung against it and then grabbed and then- 

It was that pink haired man from the station…

Except…

It wasn’t…

It looked like him. His height, his build, the three recent scars across his cheek. Everything was correct, right down to that stupid, rose pink hair, now loose about his back and shoulders. A pastel shroud across a black clad creature…

For that was all that Darren could comprehend of the thing that stood over Simon…this thing, once the man at the station, now a creature. That moved wrong. That jerked its limbs about as if it were a puppet being pulled this way and that, bones snapping at each awful lunge of its legs and arms. A smile tore its way across its face, teeth bared, snapping with a chilling, delighted clicking sound at the sight of the blood smudged across the van. 

This wasn’t…

This wasn’t human. 

Not anymore. 

There was no reason behind those gold and black eyes, blood streaming like tears across its face and mouth and nose and ears and everywhere -oh god there was so much blood!!!!- as it hauled Simon’s stunned, limp, shattered body above it’s head- 

It was going to tear him apart…

Darren shrieked, clawing out of his seat, falling out of the destroyed door of the van, stumbling as torn muscles screamed at his movements, finally dragging himself to the creature’s feet and-

This thing was long gone from being reasoned with. 

He knew that. 

He knew that the minute he saw the flickering of reality beginning to warp and skew the closer he got to the creature. 

He knew this was no longer just the man from the station, pulled this way and that with disgusting crunches and wrongness and the spray of blood.

He knew the tearing of the real and the unseen that split forth before him, revealing a being of muscle and sinew and blood and bone and life and death and fire and carnage and wreathed in the endless entrails of pulsing, living, breathing, flesh and LIFE and LIFE and LIFE and LOVE AND LOVE AND LOVE, all bursting through the black leather riding gear, straining against the skin and bone of this once human man…desperate to let itself be free… 

He knew there was no reasoning with it. 

It’s hold on the man was too deep. It’s LOVE for its vessel was too strong to break through. It’s LUST for blood and violent companionship was overwhelming, threatening to crush Darren where he knelt. 

He knew all of this. 

He knew, the minute he saw this being, tearing its way into his vision, into his reality, into his mind…

He knew all of this the minute he witnessed it. 

For how else is one supposed to begin comprehending a God?

And he knelt. 

And he begged. 

For it was all he could do. 

He screamed and cried and sobbed and clawed at the feet and legs of this being that was LIFE and LOVE itself and pleaded, desperately, for mercy. 

But it was only when an offering was given, that the God controlling the pink haired man…or perhaps the pink haired man was the God now?...it didn’t matter…nothing mattered now… finally paused. 

Still holding Simon above him, heaving for breath like some twisted sacrifice, bent backwards until his ribs were straining against his chest and his legs and arms were beginning to snap at their sockets, the blood from the wounds across his back dripping down over the God’s head, a crown of crimson along his once rose coloured hair. 

And it looked at Darren. 

Black eyes, pitch coloured and ringed in golden firelight, and an awful, terrible, bleeding smile, regarded him with what he could only describe as playful curiosity. 

“Just-” Darren coughed, tearing the mask from his mouth as it forced more blood back down his throat, and spat.

“Just take him!” He pointed at the still form lying within the van. 

“It’s what you wanted from us, just take him and go! Please!” he begged, blood still streaming from the puncture in his tongue, spilling out onto the black leather of the God’s/Man’s riding gear.

Darren would have kissed the boots of the being, the ground even if it helped to convince the thing further, as he continued to plead. Sobbing, for the thing to just go, just leave, that he was sorry, that he wouldn’t return, just take the bird thing that it wanted and leave! All the while the blood from his mouth continued to soak the already red dust of the desert ground beneath the being a deep crimson.

He only stopped when he saw the thing before him suddenly grin ever wider at the sight of the blood that painted its boots, that splattered across its pant-legs and the hand of Darren that clawed desperately at it. 

And then just as horrifically and suddenly as it had smiled and torn through into the reality that he knew, the thing was gone. 

With a choked gasp and a stumble, the man from the station had returned, very nearly dropping Simon as he staggered back. Away from Darren. And carefully deposited the dark haired man onto the ground before leaning heavily against the side of the van, panting and gagging until he dropped hard to his knees and puked. 

Darren didn’t know what to do, what he had just witnessed, who he should be trying to talk to now- 

Simon whimpered, weakly trying to raise his hand. 

Damn the pink haired man and whatever fucked up thing resided within him! Darren dragged himself towards Simon, ignoring the now heaving, coughing pinkette beside the van. 

“Si-Simon!” Darreb smoothed the man’s hair from his face as he took in his injuries-

He couldn’t-

He couldn’t-

He…

He didn’t notice, didn’t care that the pinkette was standing now, carrying the bird creature -that had caused them so much pain and grief and hurt- away from the wreckage of the sight. 

He didn’t care. 

He’d gotten them all…they were all so fucked up and it was all his fault…his stupid, stupid, STUPID curiosity- 

Had to

     Had to…

Had to…

     Have to…

  Have to…

          Have to…

Have to…

           Can’t stop now…

                                         Can’t stop….

“No…no no no no no!!!!” he began to sob.

     In too deep…

Have to know…

            Follow him…

                   Follow the ☌⍜⎅⌰⟟⋏☌ …

                          Follow the ⏚⌰⏃☊☍ ⏚⟟⍀⎅…

           Return what was lost…

          ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⍙⏃⌇ ⌇⏁⍜⌰⟒⋏.....

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so stupid I’m sorry-”

      Return what escaped…

Return what is OWED….

                  ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⍙⏃⌇ ⌇⏁⍜⌰⟒⋏!

                            ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⍙⏃⌇ ⌇⏁⍜⌰⟒⋏!

             ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⍙⏃⌇ ⌇⏁⍜⌰⟒⋏!

                        Owe me

           Owe me 

   OWE ME

          ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏ ⏁⍜ ⋔⟒! 

     ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

                  ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

          ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

He felt sick, felt as if his insides were wrong as the heavy twisting of guilt and whatever, horrific COMPULSION fought with one another within him. 

He didn’t know when Grant had crawled to his side, only that he was grateful for the quiet, gentle hands that guided him to lie down. That began robotically tearing up strips of cloth and binding them tight about his wound and locked his broken arm into place. That curled shakily into his own hands as they both tried to comfort one another before going limp as exhaustion forced them into unconsciousness.

  ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

  ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

  ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

  ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

  ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⟒!

f̴̣̼̲̤̯͈͚̱̈̀͠į̴̱̼̼̪̗̺͈͈̰̗͔̹̰̀̅̑͜͠n̸̪͓͙͊́̀͊̊͂̀̎̉̚͝ͅͅd̸̢̢͕̤̩̫͓̥̜̖͕̗͓̥͒̂̒́̀͑͊̚ ̷͎̬̗̖͔̽̊̃͐͐̽̈͘m̸̡̢̛̥̗̲̅̈́̀̒͆͐̈̆́̋͒͜e̴̢̡̧̨̘̝̫̜̟̖͔̫͖̽͝

f̴̡̛͈͙̖̼̐́̔̈͗͂͛̈́͂̾̿̋̈́̒̕͠͠į̵̢̡̡̢̢̯̜̘̦̮̥͈̹̟̺̺̭̻͕̰̼̩͍̭̤̰̪̼͙̻̙̰̯͇̝͓̥̮͚̫̝͕̤͒̂̑̍̑̐̓̂̿̇̔̌͆͝ͅͅn̸̨̢̧̢̛̗͎̖͎̜̖͇̫̫͍̰͖̝̯̹̿̔͋̆͋̾̀̀̊̀̉̄͂̈̅̓̑̈́͘͜͜͝͠ḑ̸̡̢̨̨͈͙̣̮̥̬͖͓̼̘͕̮͇̦̠̤͓̣̯̰̻̤̩̻̗̳̘̥͎̝̭̱͚̣͉̝̥̹̟̣͚͓̳̤̪̝͒̀̎̑̊̄̑̈́̔̓̃̀͛͑̆̐̋̌̾̈́̏̎̔̕̚͘͜͜͝͝ͅͅ ̷̧̨̤͔̫̞̜̣̻̤̙̩̰̬̘̖͈̺̥̬̇͜m̵̨̢̡̛͚̠̻̼̰̩͔̼̙̗͚͖̼̗̠͚̮͔̻̤̘̙̘̜͉͕̜͖͍̮̣͔̓͒̑͌̈̿̓̄̆̃̒͐̇̍̀͜ͅĕ̵̡̨̧̨̢̧̡̛̪̻̰̦̥̻̦̜̭̻͙͈̲̦̿̓̿̊̅̄̈́͐̔̂͒̃͑̈̀̃͒͛̔̾̆̃̈́̈̈́̎̿͜ͅ

f̸̧̡̡̛̻̗̣̫̞͕͉̩̖̝͎͕̖̮̩͖̯̰̯̖̞̠̯̝̭̞̠̂̊̓͂͋͗̓͗͐͘͝i̸̧̧̡̢̨̛̛͚̜̞̤̘̘̗̝̼̺̤̼̫̖͉̫͔͎͉͍̜̘̮̪̼̭̟̖͓̭̗̘͚̼̝̥̼̻͙̱͍̮̤̣͚̭̹̙̬̤͓̪̣̰͙̗̳̯̞̙̩͎͚̦̞̗͍̥̦̤̼̻̻̱͓̥̹͚̩͖͙̠̻̬̹̯̣͉̦͎̱̻͉̩͙̙̣̩̦̭̫̝̹͈̭͖̹͚̘͙̻̩͑͒̄̓́͆̍̽̎̅̐̒̄̋̅̄̾̀̽̓̿̎̂̊̌͑̀̏̌͗͑̂̿̈́̀̔̏̈́̀̌̒̓́̌̔̆̇̈́̕͘̕̚̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝n̷̡̢̡̢̢̡̛̛̛̛̛̘̥̬̮͓͈̗͎̹̦̘͙̣̘̦̞͚̭͕̦͇̺͇̱̓͐̉͊́̃͂̓̑̀̅͗́̊͊͊́̽̀̓͂̀̄̒̏̈́̈̒͗̎͑͗̓͂̆̂̈́͆͐͋́͂̀́̃̓̓̾̆̋̑͛̆̈͑́̐̑͐͛̑̿̏̔̎͛̎͐͆̈́̒́̅̅̄̊̄̆͛̈͛̈́̀̓́̓̐͆̒̈̍̍͘͘̕̕̕͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅḑ̸̧̡̡̛̛̛̯̣̙͉͉̤̗̣̣̱̤̱̳̰͈͉͇̺̳̖̻̫̜͇̥̫̺̼̫̞̺̖̥̟͔͇̖̱͚̱̤̦̜͓̜̬͙̦̰̟̻͙̫̼̫̯̲̣̝̥̥̘̺̪͎͎͋́͊̄̀̒̀͌̐͛̆͊͒͆̅̿̍̏̈́̑̏̀̽̿͌̅́͐͆̽̈̈́̀̐͂̒̿͆̈̃̆͛̂͋̀̌̄̑̆̅̈́͗̊̐̃̌̏̍̌̓͒̈́̈́̍͋̓̍̍͋͑͐̌̇̆̕̚͘͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ ̶̢̧̢̨̡̡̨̡̧̨̧̨̨̢̧̛̛̛̱̫̪͖̳̫̹͔̤̦͍̙̺̱̗͓̤̯͉͍͎͓̟͚͙͔̖͈̤̠͖͔̩͉͕̪̘̗͔̬͎̠̤̖̩͖͈̻̖̗̙̜͎͓̳̖̩͎̤̭̖͖̪̳̫̤̭͖̣̼̖̯͓͚͚̭̦̦̼͉̲̻̮̠̬̤̝͎͚̲͈̦̱̩̺͙̗͎̞̠̹̰͖̘̰̭̦̝̏͗̓̐̈͗̔̒͌̀͌̀͆̐̂̍̉͛̃͛̈̂͑͂̌̒̈̑̂̀̔̏̈̊̒̔̐̆̽̃̃͆͊͋̐́̅̎̔̾̽̉̃͂͛̂̐͂͌͊̂̓̓̀̀̈́̽̇͗͗͗͆̀̿̓̽̈́͘̚͘̚̚͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅm̴̧̧̡̡̧̡̛̩̼̖̼͚̣̱̰̳̲̣͍̤̳̣̜̩̩̤͎̙̤̟̟̦̳͔̯͙̼̖̥̹̜̩̗̥͉̜̞̭̱̣̞̞͇̭̱̼̗̮̼͎̳̜̹̬̣̮̬̦̼̫̖̯͇̻̣͚̩̗̩̱̜͈̬̖͍͉̐͋̈̎̈́̽̏̿̓͒̈́̐̈́̃́̉̉̈́͒͆͋̉̑̌͌͋̒͛͋̍̀͂͐͑̎̀̾̍̏͒͊̀̾̀͊̎͆̈́̀͒̊̀͛͋͊̂͆̄́̔͛̈͆̑͌̀͗̊̀́͑̈́̂̐͊̂̄͊́̄̓̕̕̕͘̕̚̚̚̕͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅȩ̵̧̧̢̡̢̢̢̨̧̡̫͙̱̻̞͎̙̹͈̳̣͕̮͇̬͎̬̺̣̭͇̞͕͚̣̯͎̟̱͖͇̺͓̳̥͈̳̱̤͍͔̙̟̱͇͔̼͇̬̼̹̘̝͙͓̝̥͈̳͖̪̠͍͕̞̳͚̼͉̫̖̜̰͚̹̻͚̘͎̰͖͔̫̥̝͎̱̬̻̯̯͓̬̩͚͕̩̳̜̹̪͙̫̪͉̜̤̠̹̳̙͙̮̩̟̳̫̣̳͔̫̩͎͑̈́̔͗̓̄͐̿̍͊̉̆̔́͌͛͋̇̊̇̊̈͂̋̀̎̅̍͆͛̎̓̄́̈̉̐̋̀̓̌̒̓̃͗̓͑͌̉͆͊̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅ

Chapter Text

She was there. 

She was there again. Her black hair in his hands, trailing between his fingers as he combed out the knots and picked free the twigs and dirt of the forest from the night before.

She was crying. 

Quietly. She’d only cried loudly once, and he hoped she’d never have to again. 

“They’re gone.” he heard her voice tremble. “They’re all gone.” 

He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, pulling her close to his chest, feeling her wings move aside to let him hold her ever closer. He drew his own around them both, shrouding them in quiet softness as the dawn-light began to warm his black feathers into a soothing blanket of comfort. 

She used to wake like this now and then, not as frequently, back when they still lived within the cavern. The cave of her people he had grown to call home. The cave he was resurrected in, he thought.

 For in a way, it was a resurrection. 

His life, whatever it had been, died the minute the Maw had touched him, had torn it from him. His memories burned away, ashes in the snowy winds that drifted about the mountains he had been sacrificed in. 

For it was a form of death, he decided, that he had experienced. Death of someone who knew he should know things, who knew there was life before the pain within the cages, before the smokey darkness of cramped bodies and blood and wounds that refused to heal.

Who probably had a family, parents, perhaps a lover.

Maybe children. 

A name.

But that person was gone now, whoever they were. 

And in their place was him. 

Philza. 

Reborn in the golden warmth of the caverns he had been carried to after his Death. His wounds healed, his speech regained, new words taught as the knowledge of vocalising grew stronger with each day. 

Those same caverns, that shelter he had grown to love, that home he had cared for as greatly as Kristin…

They’d left them. 

Stained now with the blood of their own people, they had no place there anymore. 

It was sacrilege what they had done. 

What they’d had to do to survive that awful, horrible day. 

The bite wound in his shoulder still burned, the punctures in his back and sides ached with a fierce guilt and a fiery sting whenever he moved. 

Kristin still swayed on her feet now and then from her own injuries, still hissed when moving her right wing wrong. 

And he felt the guilt grow deeper as a twinge of anger would boil in him at the sight. 

They’d hurt her. 

They’d hurt her and they’d hurt him and then…

It was nearly twelve years since he’d first heard Kristin cry. 

Back when he still had no memory of how to form speech, back when he shied away from the light of the torches and flinched at shadows flickering across the walls, back when he barely had the strength to raise his wings above his head. 

He’d heard her crying, softly, hardly more than a faint whimper into her pillow not long after she’d woken one night.

Words, he’d learned later meant ‘alone’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘gone’, were whispered between the tears. And he’d cautiously tried to brush a hand across hers in comfort, only to feel the sharp sting of contact with another being he hadn’t grown accustomed to, and had quickly retreated back to his corner. Feeling more guilty that he had acknowledged her pain, yet couldn’t bring himself to do anything for her, than if he'd just stayed in his corner and left her alone. 

But he’d grown since then. 

He’d healed. 

And whenever she would wake, crying for her people, for her grandparents, for her friends, for those whose songs would never be heard again by her ears, he would be there. Holding her close, reassuring her that he was there, that he was real, that wasn’t going to leave, that he wasn’t going to die again. 

He would brush her hair, he would kiss her face and hands and tie her braids back into place. He would run his fingers through the feathers of her wings, speckled and soft, and straighten the vanes and smooth the down between her shoulder blades where the wings joined to her back.