Chapter Text
“What’s wrong Phil?” the stranger chuckled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Those were the last words Tommy heard from the strange man that day. The last words he had heard before he saw his friend, the man he’d considered almost a father, grow sheet white. The avian’s feathers flattened, his ears dropping tight against the sides of his head as he took a single step back, breath stuttering as if stifling a scream.
And then he’d shrieked.
And bolted to the skies.
______
Philza never talked much about his past. Not to Tommy at least, or even Caera for that matter.
But Tommy could guess.
The way the man would flinch whenever someone walked up behind him. The way he heavily favoured his right leg on rainy days, walking with a cane sometimes. The way he kept his arms and neck covered in long sleeves and high collared tunics, no matter the weather. The way he’d change the subject regarding anything about his parents, about his family, about the crest stitched into the scrap of cloth he kept tucked into his pocket.
Tommy knew it was rude to assume things, but it seemed so obvious.
“Phil’s a runaway prince, I tell you!” he explained to Caera one night over their shared meal in the village square, a hearty stew and bread and watered down ale to finish off a hard day's labour. A free meal provided for the village’s labourers along with their daily pension.
Caera had spat out his drink, laughing, pounding his fist against the massive table, turning some heads and garnering a few angry “shush!”-es from the fellow workers, intent on listening to the small village band playing beside the fountain in the square.
“Philza?!” Caera had smirked, elbowing Tommy’s side. “Our bird man?! A prince?!”
“Don’t you laugh at me you lanky bastard!” Tommy elbowed him back.
“And I’m serious! Don’t you think he’s, you know, too cool to just be another one of us?” he tried to explain. “Like, he knew Techno before any of us, and that man’s an exiled King so, I mean it’s not that far out of the realm of possibilities.”
“They coulda’ been friends, meeting up when their respective kingdom’s an shit went to do whatever king’s and such do when they invite each other over.” the lad grimaced at the gross flavour of his drink.
“Gods I miss milk.” he muttered.
“Thought you were ‘big man Tommy Innit’, totally an adult now?” Caera smirked.
Tommy huffed. “Just cause I’m an adult don’t mean I like adult bev-er-ages!”
“Tastes like piss.” he chugged down the watered ale, gagging as he reached the dregs before slamming it down on the table, shuddering. “Why can’t we just have plain water?”
“You wanna die from the shits then be my guest.” Caera sipped from his drink.
Tommy could swear he saw the man cringe at the flavour, even if he hadn’t made any complaints.
“But seriously,” the lad tried again, “I stand by my theory. Phil is a runaway prince who didn’t want to take the throne. That’s why he knows how to read and write and speak all those languages and why he doesn’t bare his arms and such, he’s still got that habit of not letting himself get tanned like a commoner you-”
“If he was, Toms,” Caera shook his head. “Don’t you think his folks’d be looking for him? I mean he’s not exactly subtle, he’s pretty easy to recognise. So why’s no one coming by all ‘hey you seen this bird dude? He’s a high profile royal person and needs to come home-”
“Yeah but you don’t see anyone looking for Techno!” Tommy countered. “And man’s is a king!”
“A banished king,” Caera corrected. “No one’s looking for him cause he’s not wanted back in his kingdom.”
Tommy frowned, picking at his stew.
“So you’re telling me, our bird man over here, looking nothin’ like the rest of us folks, can read and write and knows other languages, and is a better hunter than most of the hunters in this village,” he listed. “Is just some guy? Come on Cer!”
He watched as the redhead’s brow furrowed, his amber eyes glancing across the village square toward where the aforementioned Philza stood, chatting with one of the guards and a musician who had taken a break from the night’s festivities.
“I don’t think he’s just some guy,” Caera shrugged. “But I’m not gonna press him.”
“Argh yer no fun!” Tommy scowled, digging frustrated into his stew. “I still think he’s a prince.”
“Toms look at it this way.” Caera took another sip of his ale. “What if you were some noble, possibly disgraced for some reason, would you really want people talking about it behind your back? Let alone one of your friends?”
Tommy paused, chewing on a thick chunk of mutton that had somehow not been diced the correct size for the dish.
“I…guess?” he agreed, hesitantly.
“And say you were a noble that, for whatever reason, was spooked by people coming up behind you and maybe had scars on your body that you don’t want people to recognise or ask about.” Caera continued. “Don’t you think you’d want people to, I dunno, not pry into your past? Particularly if it hurts you to do so?”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah…I guess, I just…I dunno. I mean Techno was pretty open-”
“Techno didn’t want any distrust or rumours flying about, so he was honest.” Caera corrected. “I mean the guy’s a scary lookin’ mother fucker, of course he’s going to want to be as open as possible with folks who might not trust him.”
“And Phil’s not scary?” Tommy huffed. “The guy’s fuckin’ terrifying when he wants to be!”
“When he wants to be, sure.” Caera finished up his drink. “But look at him and compare him to Techno, who’s a bunch of villagers gonna trust from visuals alone? A friendly bird man or an asocial boar creature?”
“You have a point I guess.” Tommy reluctantly agreed, finally managing to swallow down the disgustingly thick slice of mutton. “Gods who was in charge of the stew tonight? Does no one know how to carve meat?!”
“Oi mind yourself Innit!” a voice called out from the far end of the table. “I gave you an extra slice cause I wanted to be nice!”
“Yeah well you can’t cut mutton for shit Tubs!” Tommy waved his spoon in mock threat at the smaller boy. “Didn’t know the butcher was letting the apiarists cut meat these days!”
“Quackity needed an extra hand and I had all my work done.” Tubbo shrugged. “Unlike some thresher I could name-”
“I will boil your teeth!” Tommy grinned mockingly.
“Oh hush! The ale’s not strong enough tonight to deal with your shit, lads!” Caera groaned, rubbing his face with a hand. “I’m going to bed if you’re gonna keep up with your yellin’.”
“Sucks to be you then,” Tommy puffed up, quickly shovelling the rest of his stew into his mouth. “I’m gonna try my hand at a dance!”
“HA!” Tubbo sputtered, before dodging the spoon that was tossed at him.
“I will fight you Tubs!” Tommy hissed, grinning wickedly as the smaller brunette launched himself over the table, tackling him with muffled laughter.
The two boys tumbled away from the tables and into the main courtyard of the square, continuing to try and pin the other to the ground in some made-up-on-the-spot wrestling game.
____________
Unnoticed by either of them, Caera simply stood, grabbed another cup full of ale, a bit less watered down this time, and made his way to where Philza was still chatting with the guards, briefly catching the tail-end of the discussion between them.
“... spot at the harvest now and then so I can go hunt more, I can get ya’ some hares while I’m out, what ya’ say mate?”
“Gods its been ages since we’ve had any decent hare!” Padraigh, leaning against his spear, seemed to agree with whatever proposition Phil was making. “Can you guarantee you can get the fatter ones? None of those stringy old bucks from a snare?”
“Mate I never use snares.” Philza assured. “And the bigger they are, the slower they tend to be- Cer!”
Caera nodded as Philza hoisted his tankard in greeting, tapping the edge of his own cup against his friend’s before taking a spot beside him.
“You trying to pawn your work off onto the guards there old man?” he elbowed the avian in the ribs.
“Pawn?!” Philza made an exaggerated gasp. “I do no such thing!”
“We all switch up chores Cer, you know that.” the blonde grinned. “And didn’t I see you trying to sneak down to the stream to visit a certain undyne lass when you were supposed to be weaving with Toms?”
“Oi that was one time!” Caera groaned, still smiling, still grateful for the laughter of his friend.
He couldn’t really imagine a time without Philza, though, he could still somehow remember when the man had arrived in the village.
Eight years ago, in the dead of a brutal winter, he recalled. Caera himself had only recently lost his parents to the cold that had seeped into their small cabin, unable to keep the fire lit, freezing all but himself. Having been buried under the piles of furs and blankets his parents had wrapped him in, and even still he’d been found sickly and frostbitten.
His missing ear and toes, and recurring aches in his joints, still evidence of that awful time.
It had been perhaps a week after he had been found and cared for by Bad, the village druid, that Philza had arrived.
Limping through the snow, Caera had seen him through the window. Stumbling now and then as the wind caught against the massive pair of wings across his back.
When he’d told Bad, the druid had rushed outside, quickly ushering the man into his small hut, where after only a few minutes of warming up Philza had immediately taken to Caera as if they’d known one another all along.
Caera had rambled on about how many chickens and ducks the back of the hut housed during spring, about how he was apprenticed to be a weaver, about how cool his scar and missing ear was and how much cooler Phil’s wings were and wow can you fly with them? Are they real? Are you an angel?
All questions Philza readily answered as his broken leg was splinted and his wings dried off and warmed under a layer of blankets. Yes, he could fly with them, they were very real. And no, he was hardly an angel, just a human who was a little different.
His family all had wings like him, he’d said.
To which Caera had asked where they were and if they were coming to the village too.
And Philza had smiled sadly and shook his head, saying they wouldn’t be coming.
Caera knew too well what that had meant.
“My family’s not here anymore either.” he’d taken Phil’s hand. “Lots of us here don’t have families now, but I can be your family if you want?”
Philza had laughed at that. A gentle laugh of sorrow and acceptance.
But years later, now that Caera was the master weaver and Tommy his own apprentice, that proposition had come true. Whether agreed in words or not, Phil was his family now. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
____________
Philza watched as the dark haired woman strode into the square, her gaggle of wards toddling about around her as she began passing off each child to their respective parent or caregiver, before taking a space in line for the shared supper.
He smiled as she glanced briefly at him, returning his grin with a wink and a blown kiss.
Philza flushed, uncertain of how to react, his feathers fluffing up. He suddenly felt viscerally conscious of the action.
The woman laughed, a light, melodious sound of playfulness at his horrendously obvious blush and subsequent hiding of his face in his tankard.
“Aw Phil!”
He nearly spat the ale at Caera, the young man was smirking as he patted his shoulder mockingly.
“You big softie, why don’t you talk to her?” the lad chuckled. “Maybe exposure will help get rid of that constant red face of yours-”
“Shut!” Philza took a hefty sip of the ale before glaring back at his friend. “I have talked to Kristin, I’ll have you know!”
“Really?!” Caera gasped. “Why haven’t you told me?! I’m practically your son and you never told me about a potential mother-”
“Cer I will remove your remaining toes and string them up for a necklace, now shut!” Philza buried his face into the tankard and chugged down the rest of the drink, wiping his face clean on the back of his hand.
“I have talked to her. Many times,” he clarified.
The stupid flush refused to go away.
The ale certainly hadn’t helped.
“And,” he added. “I’m going to talk to her again tonight.”
“Oh?” He saw Caera quirk a brow.
“We already agreed to share a… dance… and maybe take a walk…” he stammered.
Fuck!
Caera wouldn’t stop looking at him, waggling his eyebrows.
“Sure sure,” the man nodded, before reaching into his trouser pocket and retrieving a small sachet of herbs, handing them out to Phil. “Just make sure your walk stays safe, you know?”
Philza swatted the herbs aside.
“Caera I will steal your kneecaps!” he hissed.
Gods damn that stupid flush.
“Well that’s just rude!”
The lilting voice behind him sent a chill up his spine.
“Threatening your sort-of son?” He felt Kristin place a hand on his shoulder and instantly froze. His mind seized at the hand that now played with the edges of his hair.
“He’s-he’s not my son! Well not really I-I mean…Kind of?”
If he knew of the term ‘short-circuit’ he would have felt as if his brain had done exactly that.
“Hi…Kris…” he finally faced the dark haired woman.
One hand still fiddling with his hair-
…that’s nice…actually…head scritches…head scritches good… His bird brain cooed at the sensation of her nails lightly scratching behind his ears.
-her other clutching her half eaten bowl of stew, as if she had chugged the majority of it down upon receiving it before finding him amongst the square.
“Hello Philza.” she smiled, sipping from the bowl for a moment before setting it onto a nearby table, motioning for him to join her.
He did. Dumbly. Ignoring the muffled laughter of Caera as the younger man dashed away to break up the fight between Tommy and Tubbo that had apparently grown out of hand.
“You wanted to walk with me later?”
His mind was shot back to the present as he felt her hand leave his hair, returning to the spoon within the bowl as she slowly began to finish the stew.
“I-I…” Philza cleared his throat, fluffing and then smoothing his feathers as he did.
…Kristin…so pretty…lovely…give head scritches again?
Stupid bird brain! Always latching onto affection, so trusting of whoever it deemed to be flock . Sometimes he wondered if it was a separate entity altogether and not just some remnants of his ancestry that refused to die off.
“I did, yes.” he stated. “If you’re alright with that?”
“I think a walk would be splendid.” Kristin’s eyes glittered in the firelight. A deep black, almost as dark as her hair, speckled with the various oranges and golds of the torches and candles that lit up the square.
So pretty…
“Would you…want to dance as well?” he asked.
She laughed.
“Perhaps another night,” Kristin sighed, still smiling, her hand now curling around his own, running her fingertips over his knuckles.
“Corralling toddlers all day has taken a bit of a toll, sorry.” she explained. “I’d much rather go for a quiet walk. But thank you for asking.”
And then Philza felt her lips brush against his cheek, a light little promise as she said softly, “Tomorrow dear.” before leaning against his shoulder.
He ignored the flush that now returned to his face at the action, and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms and a wing around her, resting his chin atop her head as they listened quietly to the village musicians play.
She was warm.
…like the warm…warm nice…head scritches…ask her on a date…courtship? …courtship! …give gift?
“Are you purring?” Kristin’s eyes glanced up at him, a mischievous crinkle in their corners.
“I-uh…it’s a warble.” he said sheepishly. “It’s a reflex…”
“...cause you like me?” Kristin squeezed his hand.
“...cause I like you…” he agreed quietly.
Oh gods… Now she knew.
Of course, it was hard to hide that he liked her, she was always so sweet to the kids, always throwing jokes around. Playful and fun and humorous and pretty. She’d never asked about his wings, about his scars, about his past, why he was here.
He felt as if just being in her presence alone was living a new life, away from all of that. Lost happily in her loving gaze.
Why had he taken so long to tell her this? He wondered.
He felt another kiss pressed to his cheek as soft fingers scratched beneath the feathers behind his ears, soothing the itches and smoothing out the vanes so carefully.
“I like you too.” was the quiet reply.
Philza felt her stand, taking his hand.
“Let’s talk about it.” she grinned. “Over a walk.”