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Bubby was not where he was supposed to be. That was the case for most of his life, but it felt especially true in this instance. The point was only made all the more clear by the number of precautions set in place to keep him and other terrestrial animals away. Mostly him though. Not that it stopped his escapades; of course, he viewed it as more of a challenge rather than the insurmountable obstacle it was supposed to be seen as.
While other animals may have been swayed to find food elsewhere, Bubby was determined to get to the bird feeder. Fucking humans and their favoritism. They'd already gotten one of the non-stick poles, it was in the middle of the yard, so there were no nearby trees he could drop down on it above from, and they'd had the audacity to spray him with the garden hose once.
What the people hadn't accounted for was his overwhelming tenacity and intelligence. They'd pegged him as some common grey squirrel, and that was going to be their downfall. He would take whatever advantage he got, even if it was the human's preconception that he'd give up after a few failed attempts.
They thought they'd taken all the necessary precautions to deter the average squirrel and had gone on their merry way. But Bubby was hellbent to prove he was anything but average.
He knew the people left their home at sunrise five days out of the week, so it was the prime time to strike as he saw their two cars pulling away. Scampering down from his vantage point in a nearby tree on the far side of the yard, Bubby darted across the lawn and to the house ahead of him. Easily scaling the brick wall with a few upward bounds, Bubby struggled a moment to pull himself up the gutter, but after a few moments, he was at the top of the building.
Thrashing his tail behind him, Bubby eyed the bird feeder from the lip of the storm drain. It was still a reasonable distance away, maybe five or six body-lengths away, but he was confident it was a do-able distance. Then, shaking his head free from any leftover qualms, he dashed to the end of the room, then pelted across it and leaped into the air.
Soaring through the air uncontrollably was a terrifying experience that he hoped to never feel again, but it ended quickly enough as he thumped against the side of the bird feeder. Reaching out with desperate hands, Bubby gripped the metal rim for dear life and painfully drug himself back upwards. He was not going to have gone through the dizzying experience of hurtling through the sky for nothing. Flopping down onto the rim of the feeder, Bubby heaved out a few heavy breaths but couldn't help the exhilaration that crackled over him at the feat he'd performed. In the end though, outsmarting the humans felt a lot more like child's play now that he'd actually done it.
Once he'd caught his breath, the next challenge was to figure how to actually get the birdseed out. Unfortunately, the only outward-facing openings were inconveniently shaped holes that Bubby assumed were specifically meant for beaks and not squirrel hands. Sadly for the humans, another thing they hadn't seemed to anticipate from him was his unwavering dedication to go to the extreme.
So, Bubby proceeded to squeeze himself up through the largest possible at the bottom of the feeder. As you do. It made his ears pop to fit his head through, but once he had, he was in the clear to wriggle his shoulders and hindquarters in as well.
It took a bit of scrabbling through a layer of birdseed to reach the top of it where the air was, but he was in!
The only problem was, that it was only after he'd eaten his well-earned spoils that he realized he was stuck. The hole he'd come through was angled just so that you could get in but not get out. Whirling around the small space, his heart rising into his neck, Bubby felt around for any possible escape route. Because if the people came back and caught him inside the bird feeder they'd set up with so many contraptions just to keep him away, Bubby had no doubt in his mind that they'd kill him.
Feeling desperately around the top of the bird feeder, he found the lid unmovable from the inside. Trapping him indefinitely in the plastic, brightly colored tube. Or at least until the humans came back and shoved him under their car wheel or something. Shivering at the thought, Bubby swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and analyzed the rest of the yard to take his mind off the overwhelming fear that he was not going to allow to paralyze him.
The people had no cat that he knew of, but that wasn't guaranteed that other cats didn't frequent the yard. It was unlikely, he had been scouting the house for days now, but it wasn't like cats ever abided by any rules anyway. He didn't think any birds would come to bother him as long as they saw him trapped in the first place. Unless it was a hawk that managed to spot him. Then he'd be fucked. More than he already was anyway.
Either way, he was stuck till the people came back or till another animal came by and ate him! He doubted he'd miraculously be able to work himself out on his own, even with his genius mind. He knew his limits, and prying off a lid that you could only open from the outside was one of them.
Squeezing his eyes shut in a miserable sort of frustration, Bubby had to force himself not to let out a bark of hopelessness. He could... Figure a way out. He wasn't doomed by a fucking bird feeder. He could get out just fine. He would just need the right opportunity to free himself. He could do it.
For now though, Bubby shoved another pawful of birdseed into his mouth. And in a lot of ways, it tasted like defeat.
. . .
Bubby had to have drifted off at some point because he was abruptly blinking awake to a bright afternoon ray of sunlight going directly into his eyes. Letting out an agitated grunt, he flicked his tail up over his face in a futile attempt to block out the light to let him go back to sleep. When he finally resigned himself to awakeness, it took a moment to fully rouse himself, but when he was coherent enough to finally take in his surroundings, Bubby noticed an odd sound off to his right.
Snapping to an upright position, instantly fearing the worst, Bubby squinted out at the rest of the lawn. To his surprise, though, it wasn't anything, well, anyone dangerous. Or, at least, not yet.
The mallard hadn't seemed to have spotted him yet, or if they had, they hadn't bothered to wake him. And apparently, they were currently too invested in poking around the shaded grass to notice his eyes on them as well. They were primarily brown in color, with the defining stripe of blue on their wingtips and sharply marked tail feathers. Aside from their blatant obliviousness, the only oddity about them was the multitudes of green leaves meticulously stuck under their head feathers. Bubby didn't know exactly how the mallard had gotten them in place, but it looked like it took a lot of effort, so he put it on the backburner of questions to ask. The first was to ask if they could get him out of the fucking bird feeder.
Bubby smacked his hands against the inside of the bird feeder with a huff, wincing slightly at how hot the plastic had become, "Hey! You! Quit your fucking- look up here!"
The mallard's head swiveled around comically before they spotted him. Bubby almost wanted to fall back with relief as they waddled over, scanning the entire bird feeder over because fucking finally he could get out of the forsaken thing.
Eventually though, the mallard settled on an overly-chipper sounding "Hello!"
Grinding out a short "Hello," in return, Bubby flicked his tail impatiently, a second away from breaking into a spiel about maybe helping him get out of the death trap he was in. But before he was even able to get to that, the mallard was pressing on with conversation. As if they were completely unaware of him being trapped inside a plastic tube.
"My name's Harold Coomer, and I use he and him pronouns. You are?"
Trembling with the effort of not pulling all his fur and then some out, Bubby jerkily sat back onto his haunches, "Bubby. I use he and him as well."
"Well, you do seem to have gotten yourself into quite the predicament!"
Bubby blinked, "I hadn't noticed," he took a short breath to keep his tone from veering into anything outside of civil, "Would you be willing to help me out of this..." Bubby wrinkled his nose as he glanced around the inside of the tube, "Predicament then?"
Ruffling his feathers, Coomer tilted his head a few degrees to the side, "Of course! But I do have to ask, how did you manage to get yourself up there? Let alone inside."
Ignoring the hint of teasing humor in Coomer's voice, Bubby looked away as the mallard waddled forward to inspect the pole and presumably the bird feeder itself, "I scaled the roof of the people's house and jumped from there to here. They obviously assumed I'd give up at the precautions they'd taken already, but as long as they continue to leave free food out and underestimate me, it's... Fine, I guess."
"I suppose there are some upsides to being thought little of then," Coomer said jovially before rising back to his full height, "I do think I am going to have to send you tumbling if I am to rescue you, though!"
And, not given any more forewarning than that, Coomer flapped upwards with a few strong wing beats and knocked himself right into the side of the bird feeder. Bubby felt the breath leave his lungs as he toppled through the air; a mix of seeds flew around him as he once again arced through open sky. The whole event was over far sooner than his leap from the roof, but it was ten times more dizzying in that when he crashed to the ground, his skull knocked into the side of the plastic, and he was sent rolling head over heels a few feet further into the yard.
Thoroughly dazed by the whole ordeal, he'd completely missed the top of the feeder, having fallen off at some point. Or at least he had until Coomer landed just outside of it. Jumping to alertness, only to smack his head on the plastic of the bird feeder again, Bubby let out a pained groan as he hauled himself free from the fucking nightmare contraption.
"It seems my plan worked!"
"Seems it did," Bubby grumbled, trying to work himself back to his full height only to feel a stab of pain through his head. Grunting at the sensation, he doubled over, trying to paw at where his fucking brain was hurting.
"Fuck damn it," He hissed, blinking back the sudden wetness in his eyes. Black swarmed the edges of his vision as he toddled backward a pace and- he knew this was bad, but no matter how hard he tried to focus back in on the situation at hand, he physically couldn't. The spikes of pain only flared more fiercely as he tried to keep his eyes open. So, Bubby did the reasonable thing and collapsed into the darkness of the unconscious.
. . .
Awareness returned in fleeting moments. Air brushing over his pelt in a distinctly uncomfortable way that made him shiver, rolling over onto the comfortable and familiar flooring of old wood, curling into a soft huddle of what he could only assume was the softest patch moss in the entire neighborhood. Something was tickling his nose though, so he finally figured it was time to fully return to the realm of awakeness.
Blinking his eyes open, Bubby immediately realized the thing he was tucked into was, in fact, not moss and rather the chest feathers of a certain annoying mallard who'd saved him from certain death.
Scrabbling backward, Bubby shot a glare to the mallard in question, only to feel another pang of hurt strike through the back of his head. It wasn't nearly as bad as when he'd first crawled out of the bird feeder, but it was still enough to make him grit his teeth.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," Coomer said softly, though Bubby swore he saw a hint of amusement in his eyes, "I didn't- I couldn't leave you out there in that yard without knowing you'd end up okay so I figured it'd probably be alright with you to bring you somewhere safer."
Bubby sniffed, finally glancing around to his surroundings. And like he'd guessed from a half-awake state, it was some small tree hollow. He could tell it was the stretch of forest just beyond the bird feeder house from the smells outside. Which, luckily, wasn't too far from his actual nesting place anyway. The hollow was almost too small for him and Coomer to fit inside, so it was a wonder how the mallard had got his unconscious form in at all.
Glancing back to Coomer though, Bubby twitched his tail closer around his hind paws, "I don't... Get why you picked me up from the yard, but thank you regardless."
Coomer ruffled his wings in a shrugging motion, "Well, I could never leave a friend out on his own in the open like that! Especially with the fall I gave you, it's the least I could do."
Bubby blinked, confounded, "You- we're friends?"
"Of course!" Coomer chirped, sincerity dripping off every word, "Friends always help one another out."
They hadn't even known each other for a whole day, yet Coomer was already jumping to call them friends. And friends weren't exactly a thing Bubby had time for, but he couldn't possibly bring himself to deny the mallard with how genuine Coomer sounded.
It wasn't like they would ever meet again anyway, so it likely didn't matter.
Going more still than he would have liked to admit at that thought, Bubby couldn't help the sting of dissatisfaction at the idea of never meeting Coomer again. Because- well, even if he and Coomer had only known each other through rescuing him from a fucking bird feeder, Bubby couldn't say that he hadn't appreciated the company in some base way. Even though he kept trying to tell himself he was above that sort of feeling.
And it wasn't like he only wanted to spend time around Coomer because he was the only other animal he'd talked to in a while either! He seemed interesting despite his oblivious nature and obviously figured that they would be seeing each other again at some point, so it... It wouldn't hurt to confirm it.
"Well," Bubby coughed, straightening back up to his full height of reaching up to the bottom of Coomer's head, "Thank you uh, again for getting me out of that damned bird feeder, but you could... Come visit me again if you liked," Jerking his gaze away from Coomer's, Bubby turned to stare outside of the hollow, feeling his ears fold back against his head, "Not- not here, I don't actually live here, but I wouldn't mind if you wanted to meet again-"
"We could just meet here again?" Coomer suggested, that same amused look returning to his eyes as he glanced outside the hollow as well, "Would three days' time be alright?"
Forcing out a nod, Bubby watched as Coomer puffed his feathers out, waddling toward the entrance, his eyes crinkled with some sort of mirth.
"Well, I'd best be on my own way, but I'll see you in a few days, Bubby!" Then, alighting into the air, Bubby watched the retreating form of Coomer flapping his way through the sky, a stray feather trailing after him and floating down to land at the base of the tree.
He still couldn't quite place the mixed feelings swirling around in his chest, but he was purposefully choosing not to place why his heart was pounding so hard and started out of the hollow as well.
. . .
It probably would have been a lot easier on himself if Bubby had actually screwed his head back on straight and gave Coomer a dismissal "Oh, sure," rather than agree to meet up for what ended up being weekly get-togethers. He would have had so much more spare time to actually collect food for winter like he was supposed to be doing with the cold season approaching. He could have been keeping better tabs on the other animals in the area so he wouldn't get shocked by a stray possum wandering underneath his tree.
But no, instead, he was running out to their meetup tree once a week and wondering whether Coomer was doing okay while lying down in his own nest at night. The recollection alone was enough to have his tail flick in embarrassment.
He couldn't deny that he did like spending time with the mallard, though. He enjoyed Coomer's presence more than anyone else he'd had the chance to be around, and it helped that he had a sense of humor too.
They were both similarly inclined to messing with humans, and Coomer had the actual means to do so without facing much consequence. Being nearly twice Bubby's height and with the ability to fly, he could easily avoid people if they decided to go after him, and he was just the right size to cause a decent amount of mischief.
Shaking his head free of any errant thoughts of their previous escapades, Bubby turned his gaze to the darkened sky at the sound of flapping wings. Landing on the ground next to him, Coomer glanced around, "Seems like it's going to rain tonight, Bubby! Would you still be willing to join me at the river?"
Bubby shrugged, "Might as well; being out in the rain tonight would be better than slogging through the mud tomorrow."
As Coomer leaned down for Bubby to climb onto his back, he did so with a lot less apprehension than he had the first few times. Flying was still a terrifying experience, that was still a solid fact, but it was a lot more comforting knowing that Coomer would never let him fall. And, idly readjusting the few leaves tucked into the back of the mallard's head feathers, Coomer took off back into the sky.
He'd asked once about the leaves placed in his head feathers, initially wondering why the mallard was so meticulous about the upkeep of them. But from the uncomfortable look he'd got at the time, he'd quickly figured it was something a little more than just decoration. Coomer had seemed hesitant to divulge anything but ultimately seemed to come to some decision Bubby wasn't partial to and had turned to look at him fully.
"Bubby, you... Know I am a man, right?"
Nodding unsteadily, Bubby watched Coomer's wings drop somewhat with relief.
"Well, not everyone sees me as a man. So, The leaves make my outward appearance more of what they expect of a traditional male mallard! It doesn't make me any less of a man, though."
"Of course," Bubby nodded again, more confidently this time as he wrapped his head around what Coomer was and wasn't saying, "If you ever need any help with ah... Adjusting them, I can't imagine it's very easy with that beak of yours. I'm... Here. To help." He said awkwardly, turning his head away at the bright look Coomer sent him in return.
Coming back to attention as Coomer sailed a bit lower toward the ground, Bubby watched the tops of a few trees fly by as Coomer searched for a landing spot. Once he found one though, and made a safe landing, Bubby didn't waste much time hopping from his friend's back. Despite knowing that he was safe up in the air, it didn't mean he wasn't any less nervous up there.
"Well," Bubby sniffed, "Doesn't seem to be raining now at the very least. Might want to head to the river before we get caught in the storm."
Waddling past him, Coomer brushed him with one wing, "A good storm never hurt anyone Bubby! It's just a little rain."
"Maybe just a little to you," he huffed, following after Coomer at a measured trot, "You're the one with the waterproof feathers for the skies sake! I'll get soaked through."
"I would keep you dry, Bubby! Don't you trust me?" Coomer wheedled with his most charming tone making Bubby's ears heat up.
"Coming from the mallard who splashed me the last time we visited the river together, I'm not quite sure I do."
"How about I swear not to splash you this time then," he vowed, a plain smile in his voice.
Bubby heaved an overdramatic sigh, "But it's fair game next time then?"
Letting out a laugh, Coomer jumped into the river, which Bubby hadn't even realized they'd gotten to the edge of yet, "Of course! All's fair in love and war!"
Ignoring the first part of that phrase, Bubby bounded a way's upriver to the rocks jutting out of the lazily moving swell. Jumping onto one of the upright stones, he clambered atop the structure to watch Coomer swim in a few circles before going upside down for some treat beneath the surface of the water. So, while Coomer busied himself with getting a few snacks, Bubby stretched himself out onto the cold stone.
Despite Coomer's warning of rain, the night so far was fairly calm, there wasn't much moonlight filtering through the clouds, but it was plenty to see by so far. Surfacing with a snail in his beak, Coomer quickly snapped the thing up before glancing over in his direction, "Bubby, did I ever tell you that I used to live with humans?"
Immediately jerking upright much to his bones complaint, Bubby blinked out at Coomer, "You did not."
"I very much did!" He said with a lively quack, "I wasn't raised with my Mummy and Daddy, I don't remember much from then sadly, but I was raised with people!"
Readjusting himself to get a better look at Coomer, Bubby glanced the mallard over, "How did you escape then? Were they terrible?"
"Quite the opposite! I was given all the care a duckling could have asked for. Likely, it was safer than being raised out by some pond; skies know I would have been too curious for my own good. But they let me go free!"
Bubby tilted his head slightly, "They just released you. Coomer, you can't truly expect me to believe you. Humans kill ducks. I've seen it!"
"Well, yes, I won't pretend I know their true intentions for having picked me up to raise me," Coomer conceded, "But I met you because of them to be truthful!"
Ruffling his feathers against the night air, Coomer glanced downstream a ways, "I don't typically visit the home of the humans who raised me, but I'd been on my way there for a brief look-over when I had a feeling I needed to stop for a moment! Curious that it happened right overhead of you, but some things are fated to be, I suppose!"
Bubby shrugged, "Either way, I'm grateful you were there. I'm not... One to believe in fates or whatever but I- I am happy you were the one to rescue me from that goddamn tube. I didn't have too many other people I talked to before, so... Augh," Bubby dragged one paw down his face, nervously twitching his tail, "I don't want to sound too sappy, but I'm happy we're friends, okay. You've been... Too nice to me at times, and I'm grateful for your companionship."
Coomer only blinked at him for a moment, a moment which didn't last long before a look of elation crossed the mallard's features. Jumping up from the water onto the already crowded rock next to him, Coomer immediately tucked Bubby under his bill, pulling both his wings forward to encircle him.
Initially flinching at the contact, Bubby almost pulled back before realizing how soft Coomer's feathers were despite being in the river only seconds before. Danm water-resistant feathers. Settling his own heart down, Bubby allowed himself to lean into the touch, knocking his head against the mallard's chest.
"Oh, you have no idea how happy it's made me to hear you say that, Bubby!"
Pulling away after a moment, Coomer glanced down at him with a softened expression, only interrupted by a sudden water droplet falling onto his beak from above.
"Well," Bubby puffed, "There's the rain you were talking about."
Coomer glanced up toward the dark clouds overhead, "Indeed... It would probably be best to get out of the rain quickly. It seems like a big storm tonight! You wouldn't be against staying in our meetup hollow for the night, would you? I'm not quite sure either of us would be able to make it to a more dry shelter with how fast it seems to be rolling in..."
Shaking his head, Bubby glanced up toward the sky as well, "I'm not partial to looking too drowned tonight, so we'd best head back now."
And as if the clouds above had some sort of vengeance against him, a fat droplet landed directly onto Bubby's head.
Shaking his fur out and impudently throwing a glare in Coomer's direction at the laugh he made, Bubby hopped atop the duck's back, "Let's just go."
"Can't argue with those orders," Coomer said brightly, stretching his wings out once before taking off once more.
. . .
They only got back just in time before they heard the first crack of thunder in the distance. Jumping off Coomer's back, Bubby tucked himself away into the corner of the hollow, glaring out at the heavy rain that'd begun out there.
"You know, if you hadn't said anything about not wanting to get wet out there, I think maybe we would have been fine," Coomer teased, leaning away from him to preen his wing feathers.
Scoffing, Bubby ran one paw over his drenched tail, "Of fucking course it'd decide to curse me."
"Well, since we do live in a desert, I can't exactly say it's a bad thing necessarily. We haven't got a heavy rain all year!"
"And so the skies decided to pick today of all day's?" He complained, "We were having a good outing, and the rain decided to ruin it!"
"Truly despicable," Coomer chided, a playfulness evident in his words.
While they both groomed their respective pelts and feathers, Bubby kept watch over the outside of the hollow. Occasional flashes of distant lightning would light up the sky, followed by their subsequent thunderclaps, but otherwise, it seemed to be a regular storm. The rainwater wasn't even coming in; the wood was perfectly dry, and with the feathers Coomer had left and the bits of lichen Bubby had stashed away inside the hollow, it was a lot warmer than expected.
Bubby would go as far as to say it was actually peaceful for once. But, of course, since the night was against them after all, it wasn't long before Bubby heard a repetitive sound in the distance. One that was distinctly not thunder.
Perking back up, Bubby once again glowered out into the rain, flexing his ears forward in an attempt to pick the sound out over the sound of the rain. "Do... Do you hear that?"
Coomer lifted his head from under one wing, sleepily blinking over to him, "I'm not sure I do Bubby, what are you hearing?"
Getting to his paws, Bubby crept toward the lip of the tree, "It... Almost sounds like barking? But humans don't let their dogs out at night, and especially not in storms like this, so I don't know what a dog is doing out here. Probably lost."
Resting back on his haunches, Bubby listened as the barking slowly drew closer. It sporadically faded in and out of earshot, plainly lost like he'd guessed, aimlessly roaming the forest, but it was definitely coming nearer.
Yelping at something in the dark, Bubby snorted, glancing back to Coomer, who'd lifted his head all the way to watch him. "I did hear that one," Coomer mumbled, "Is it headed our way?"
"Seems like it." Bubby grimaced at the thought of the dog slinking around outside their tree, tearing up the grass, and stinking the place up with its smell.
An abrupt howl not forty feet away was enough to make the both of them jump, a burst of adrenaline flashing through Bubby as he honed back in on the treeline. It was hard to catch any of the smaller movements over the sound of the rain, but Bubby swore he could hear its breaths just outside.
Another burst of lightning overhead was all the conformation Bubby needed to confirm the dog's presence. He felt he fur along his hackles rise at the brief sight. The dog's black coat looked oily in the brief flash of light, its eyes gleamed with something like bloodlust and it was staring directly into the hollow back at him and Coomer.
It could smell them, and Bubby could hear the dog coming right for them.
Jerking back from the opening in the wood, Bubby pinned himself against the back of the hollow by Coomer as the dog leaped up to meet them. Shoving its muzzle into the space with them, the dog showed off its fanged teeth with a growl that rattled Bubby's bones worse than the thunder outside.
Seeming to realize it was just out of range from grabbing either of them, the dog retracted its maw and landed back on the ground. And for an extremely hopeful moment, Bubby wondered if it'd just backed off, realizing they weren't going to be easy to get to and were not going to be worth the effort.
But as one of the dog's massive paws crashed onto the wood just outside, sending a spray of splinters back at them and a spiderwebbing of cracks through the old wood, that hope fled him.
"We- we're fucking trapped," Bubby breathed, not taking his eyes off the paws digging at the wood outside to make room for the dog's whole head. "If we leave, that thing is out there- if we leave it'll get both of us. We're fucking dead, what is- what do we do."
"Well," Coomer said breathlessly, his eyes locked onto the dog's paws just like Bubby's own, "I'm going to draw it elsewhere is what we'll do. I can fly out after you get to better safety."
"You can't sacrifice yourself, you idiot," Bubby barked, "That thing is going to grab you as soon as you go out there!"
"It's going to grab both of us if we do nothing," Coomer retorted. And before Bubby could do anything to stop the mallard from throwing his life away, Coomer was jumping forward with a hiss, beating his wings fiercely against the dog's paws. And mallards were already so much smaller than dogs. It didn't help that the one outside was big enough as it was, and Coomer was a little smaller than average.
Coomer was out there trying to lead the thing off on his own though just so he could escape. Lurching out toward the edge of the hollow tree, Bubby could just see the faint forms of the dog and Coomer near the base of the tree.
A part of him desperately wanted to help Coomer try and fight the dog off, but there was only so much he could do as a squirrel. Dogs and squirrels were practically fated enemies after all. He'd heard more horror stories than he could count about families getting caught by beasts like the one Coomer was fighting off.
Light flashed through the trees again as a bolt struck a neighboring tree to his own, only serving to make Bubby's heart pound even harder. Swiveling his head in the direction of where the lightning had hit, Bubby's eyes instantly trained on the tongues of flame dancing up into the air despite the rain.
The fire was hot enough not to be put out by the storm just yet.
Desperately glancing down to the fight taking place below him, confirming, yes, Coomer was still trying to draw the dog away, Bubby felt a dangerous idea formulating in the back of his head.
Jumping from the wet bark he was clinging to, Bubby hit the muddy ground hard, stumbling over his paws for a moment before dashing toward the burning tree. From the sound of renewed barking, the dog had seen him, but Coomer didn't seem to be letting it get any closer. Scurrying up the tree, Bubby headed in the direction of the flames.
The smoke was thick nearer to the blaze, making Bubby's eyes water and his head spin with a renewed exhaustion. Forcing himself closer to the fire though, Bubby grabbed onto an unlit part of a flaming branch. Then, crunching through the wood with his incisors, he jerked his head away and started back down the tree, trying to make sure the flame stayed aloft and didn't drag on anything unnecessary.
Finally landing back on the ground, Bubby raced towards Coomer and the dog. Distantly he could see an injury on the mallard's wing, but he had to focus on his first and foremost objective; saving both of them.
Jumping between the dog and Coomer's abrupt standstill, Bubby brandished the flaming branch at the dog, watching a bright fear light the canines eyes at the flame. Cowering away from the fire, the dog's tail tucked close to its body as it jerked a step back. Darting forward again, Bubby could feel the heat of the flame inching closer to his face as it worked its way down the branch. Finally though, the dog whimpered, turning tail and running back off into the darkened forest.
As soon as the dog was out of sight, Bubby dropped the burning branch onto the ground before it could burn off any more of his fur than it likely already had. Panting for a few moments, he watched the last of the flames on the stick fizzle out into embers, bouncing and popping till there was nothing but charred edges remaining.
Spinning around, Bubby let out an abrupt cheer, darting toward Coomer before stopping short at finally seeing the state the mallard was in. There was a visible bite mark on one of his wings like Bubby had seen in passing, but the majority of the leaves tucked in his feathers were missing, and one of his eyes was closed. The other was sparking with so much joy that it snapped Bubby back into his body, and he bounded forward to look at the injury on Coomer's wing.
"Bubby that- you were amazing!"
Feeling his heart do some sort of funny thud at the compliment, Bubby twitched his tail in irritation with himself, "It was nothing," glancing around, he jerked his muzzle in the direction of the overhanging roots under their hollow tree, "Let's just get out of this goddamn rain."
Carefully leading Coomer under the relatively dry overhang, Bubby let the mallard seat himself before getting to work at cleaning off the injury. The bite didn't look to be too deep luckily, but Coomer likely wouldn't be flying for the next week, or at least until the wound healed over. The dog didn't seem to have taken out any of his flight feathers, so it wasn't like he'd have to wait for them to regrow.
"Why did you run back to save me?" Coomer asked after a few minutes of him looking over the wound in relative silence, "I probably could have dealt with that mutt on my own, you know! I had it on the ropes there!"
Puffing out an incredulous laugh, Bubby rolled his eyes, "We're friends of course, that's why. And if you had it on the ropes, was you getting bit all part of the plan then?"
Coomer chuckled, shaking his head slightly, "Well, no. But I am delighted you came back, even if it was just to squander all your talents on little old me."
Furrowing his brow, Bubby nudged Coomer with one paw, "No, they're not being squandered on you. I like you, you idiot."
It took him a second to process his own wording, but once it registered, Bubby froze. Risking a glance up to Coomer, the mallard was already meeting his stare, eye alight with another thing Bubby wasn't quite brave enough to place.
The mallard snorted, sending a wave of immediate shame cascading down over Bubby, making him want to curl up in his nest and never get back out again. But he was still aware enough to notice Coomer had started talking again, so he tried to stowe enough of his mortification away to listen to a rejection speech.
"No- shoot, that came out wrong. Bubby, I like you too. More than I could ever say with words. I'm not- I just was surprised you liked me as well!"
Feeling some of the ice in his veins begin to unthaw, Bubby let out a short chuckle, knocking his head into Coomer's- well, Bubby supposed he could drop the formality finally. Seeing as they did like each other- Harold's neck. "We sure are a pair, aren't we?"
Letting out a soft sound in return, Harold leaned a bit further into him, "A good pair, I'd say."
And to that, Bubby couldn't disagree. He stayed leaned up against Harold for a while longer before the cold of the night, and the fact that he was drenched all over again finally caught back up to him with a severe shiver that caught him by surprise.
"Damn rain," he sniffled, leaning further into Harold, "You couldn't have picked a sunnier day?"
"You're absolutely right; I'll pick a sunnier day for our next date," Harold agreed, lifting his uninjured wing slightly, "You'll stay warmer closer to me?"
Ignoring the burst of heat rushing to his features at the idea of this having been their first date, Bubby eventually nodded, begrudgingly crawling beneath the mallard's raised wing. Not begrudgingly out of any still-repressed feeling, but more of a habit that served to make Harold smile at the fuss he put up.
Curling closer to Harold, Bubby snaked his tail out from beneath the mallard's wing to drape over his feathered back. And despite their adrenaline-filled evening, Bubby could feel exhaustion pulling at his form all in one swoop. Sagging limply against his partners side, Bubby gingerly patted the wing draped over him.
"Goodnight Harold."
"Goodnight Bubby."
And with that, Bubby fell asleep, safe at last.