Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, WILBUR, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT !”

Wilbur cringed at the sound of his roommate Schlatt’s drunken complaints. Dammit, was he really gonna get screamed at for a bill that wasn’t even his responsibility?

“I can pay, Will, no problem,” Schlatt’d said, and then he never fucking did. It wasn’t Wilbur’s fault and Schlatt knew it.

Apparently, his expression had changed to something Schlatt found insulting, and Wilbur began to slowly back away as he watched his roommate’s sharp-toothed sneer grow.

“Y’think this’s funny, uh? We got no fuckin’ heatin’, Will, we’re gonna f- freeze off our asses! Quackity’s gone ‘n left m’, n’ you never fuckin’ paid the bills, man, y'r just causin' us problems!” Something dangerous was growing behind Schlatt’s eyes. Wilbur didn’t like it.

He put his hand on the doorknob, ready to tear the hell outta there before Schlatt got too mad and broke something in a drunken rage, but that turned out to be the wrong move.

Wilbur’s stomach turned to ice as he watched Schlatt’s grip on the very sharp, very dangerous broken wineglass shift to something a bit more… purposeful.

“Why don’ I j’s do us both a favour, uh, British boy, n' end our problems righ' here??” the man slurred.

Wilbur laughed, a breathy wheeze originating from fear more than anything else. “Fuck no, dude,” he whispered. “I kinda like being alive, actually.” He began to twist the knob, the door creaking as he did so.

Schlatt whipped the glass towards him before Wilbur had time to react, little glittering shards of agony burying themselves all throughout Wilbur’s arms. 

“WHAT THE FUCK, SCHLATT?!” he screamed, scrambling to unlatch the door and get the fuck out of there before his crazy roommate could get any closer.

Schlatt’s low, hysterical laughter followed him all the way out the door.

—---------

It became abundantly clear, after approximately five minutes of running and then a solid hour of walking, that Wilbur had fucked up rather magnificently. 

He was at the edge of the whole city, still sluggishly bleeding, with no medical supplies on hand & no more house (he assumed that last part to be true after, y’know, his roommate threw a fucking wineglass at him) and absolutely alone.

Wilbur didn’t even know how he’d made it this far.

Adrenaline, man , he thought to himself, sitting down on the gravelly ground.

He had to be in shock. No way he wasn’t.

…What the fuck did he do now?

…

He could keep walking? Maybe think about it while he did…?

Sure. That seemed like it’d work. Wilbur could keep walking.

He got up, dusted himself off, and continued limping towards an unknown objective.

—----------

It was nearly morning, a rich yellow glow flooding the land around Wilbur. He was in a woodland-prairie-like area, trees slowly shifting from sparse to thick as he continued walking. The shock hadn’t worn off yet, he didn’t think. That wasn’t good, but he had to keep going anyway. Returning to the city would be a suicide mission at this point. Why in the name of Prime had Wilbur decided to keep fucking walking?

….Hey, maybe he’d run into some country nut’s cabin. That seemed plausible. This definitely looked like a place some tryhard lumberjack would make their home in, anyway.

The sun finally fully rose, warm sunbeams encompassing Wilbur in a comforting embrace. He paused, looking up for a moment, and Wilbur’s jaw dropped at the sight before him.

The woods yawned up ahead, thousands of golden bright trees spread far and wide. Before them all, Wilbur staggered forwards, eyes alight, captivated by the alluring glow. He barely noticed how he stumbled towards the massive plants, drawn unconsciously forwards. 

It was so warm. The forest looked so… welcoming. Surely. Surely somebody lived here. They could help him. 

A faint rumble echoed through the pines, and a path appeared before him. Hazily, Wilbur wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. It was as if the woods had sensed his presence, and mercifully decided to show him the way forwards.

He breathed a quick thank you to Prime for the luck, and moved on into the glow, oblivious to the avian eyes watching him with childish excitement.

—--------

The path didn’t seem to end, despite the scenery around it changing quite a bit. The trees still shone golden as before, but it was muted, tints of copper and bronze breaking through the sparkling coat. It was as if they were tiring just as he was.

Wilbur slid into a seated position on the trail, back propped against a nearby trunk. For a moment, everything was quiet and peaceful. He could forget the wounds, glass stuck deep within. He could forget the exhaustion, forget the fact that he was a random college kid in a random forest, gravely injured, and was probably going to die before he made it to the end of the path anyway.

It was so, so warm. 

He felt himself slipping away into the fuzzy, static arms of sleep-

“Look! A thing!”

His sleepy bliss was ripped away at the painstakingly clear sound of voices.

Startled, Wilbur opened his eyes to find two creatures crouched before him.

They were eerie things, ever-changing; bird one moment, human the next, impossibly short and yet infinitely tall.

He tried to move, but found himself frozen, stuck like stone before their otherworldly gaze. Their eyes, voidlike in appearance, the huge black orbs absent of everything and yet encapsulating the whole universe, pulled him in and trapped him in place, mind stretching far, far away.

The creatures in context chittered quietly, surprised he’d opened his eyes at all.

“Oh, its seeing-eyes look so strange… So scared,” Creature Two whispered.

“...Maybe it’s running from something?” Creature One asked.

Creature Two shook its feathered head, warbling. “Of course it is, ⌿⊑⟟⌰⋉⏃, look at it. Such wounds…”

They crept closer, the air around them shimmering with a charged aura of strangeness. It filled Wilbur’s ear with staticky fuzz, and he felt his consciousness breaking away.

Creature Two traced a birdlike claw down his cheek, tailfeathers twitching interestedly.

“It’s beautiful, lit in the sun like this,” the thing murmured.

Wilbur’s mind was blank, body frozen in fear and yet his thoughts were calm. He felt strangely safe, secure and warm before them, suddenly sure that they were his guardian angels. He had nothing to fear, surely...

His eyes closed, and Creature One made a short sound of alarm.

After ensuring he was okay, they observed him for a moment longer, before seemingly coming to a conclusion.

“Let’s bring it to the den,” One said decisively. Two nodded, and they crowded even closer to the prone form of Wilbur with an odd, leaping gait.

The claw tracing his cheek suddenly became a painful scrape, possessively carving down Wilbur’s face.

“Go back to sleep, little being,” the bird-things crooned, necks craning down to his own, stars and galaxies and life bursting into existence within the dark enclosures of their eyes, and all Wilbur knew was darkness.

—-----------------------

There is a new being,

We have found,

And it is beautiful.

May we keep it?

…

The forest thought,

And the forest nodded.

—----------------------

Chapter Text

It had been a normal day, as far as days go. Techno and Phil had had a successful hunt, managing to snag an absolutely /succulent/ Outsider, and were going to bring it home for their growing Theseus to enjoy. The sun was warm, the trees were perfectly golden, and the Forest felt good.

"If rest-of-days are good as this one, Theseus will grow strong in very little time. He is such a bright hatchling, Techno," Phil cooed.

 Techno's tailfeathers fluffed in amusement at his bond's fond tone.

 "Surely they will," he smiled. "The Forest favors him, this-of you know."

Phil blinked at him, a mild warble beginning to form words in his throat, but whatever it was went unsaid. 

The forest was whispering.

Not crying in distress like when cruel Outsiders came to hurt it, not singing adoration like when Techno and Phil first found Theseus. 

Just whispering. Whispering of a "fourth one," of brown hair and "inside outsider" and small, frequent wounds. Of something new and beautiful.

Entranced by the murmurs, Techno dropped the leg of Outsider he'd been carrying right into the dirt, and darted towards where the whispers were most condensed, ignoring Phil’s alarmed squawking.

Rushing through the golden trees, simultaneously ready to decapitate and to adopt, Techno broke through onto the Path.

The murmurs were deafening here. 

And the forest never opened the Path for just anyone.

He heard Phil’s laboured breathing as his bond crept up behind him, obviously not happy with having to run to catch up with Techno.

“Of-where are they taking you, Techno?!” Phil snapped. “Know-of-they are anticipatory, but I cannot tell! Bond-must explain!!” 

Techno was promptly reminded that Phil couldn’t hear the Forest as he could. He sighed.

“It is new-friend, Phil. The Path wouldn’t open otherwise.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “New Theseus-like?”

Techno shook his head. “No, no, new being. Not one of us. Not a baby. Not an enemy.”

Phil looked confused at that admission, but when Techno’s head snapped towards the location of the forest’s whispers once more and took off sprinting, he wasn’t that far behind either.

—------

His first impression of the creature was that it seemed to be asleep.

Nearing the thing, its arms coming into clear view, Techno picked up the pace. It was wounded, the poor thing, bleeding from many tiny cuts scattered all over them.

“Look! A thing!”

Techno scowled at Phil’s excited chirp. Yes, Phil, it was the thing he had told him about. He was going to wake it; that wasn’t good.

As if Techno’s thoughts had brought action from the creature, its eyes shot wide open, pained and full of fear. Techno chittered in quiet concern.

“Oh, its seeing-eyes look so strange… So scared,” Techno whispered.

“...Maybe it’s running from something?” Phil asked.

Techno scoffed. “Of course it is, Phil, look at it. Such wounds…” They didn’t come from just anything, and even if it was running from its own stupidity, it was surely still running. No wonder the Forest had taken it in. It was lovely.

Techno couldn’t help but touch the thing’s cheek, tailfeathers twitching with interest. 

“It’s beautiful, lit in the sun like this,” he cooed.

Phil nodded, expression soft and saturated with adoration for the pretty new creature. 

The thing’s eyes closed, and Phil made a clipped caw of alarm.

“It’s fine, Phil,” Techno murmured. “It’s comfortable with us, now.”

“...Let’s bring it to the den,” Phil said decisively. Techno nodded, smiling at his bond’s smart choice. 

His talons, still tracing the thing’s face in awe, began to press a little hard. Techno didn’t really notice.

The thing’s eyes opened again, lazily, as if it took effort to do so much as blink.

“Go back to sleep, little being,” Phil crooned, and it fell limp in Techno’s arms almost instantly.

—---

The entire trip back to the den was something Techno spent floating in awe. Such a cute new thing! So lucky he was, to be in commune with the forest. If it was sentient, it would make a good friend. If it wasn’t, it would make a wonderful pet just as well.

 As soon as Phil and Techno had returned to the den-nest, the being was deposited in a newly made nest Phil threw together as quickly and as comfortably as possible for it.

After ensuring it was still asleep, and that it seemed comfortable in the tree-knoll that they called their home, Phil crept away to Theseus’s nest in order to keep him far, far away from the new creature.

As much as Techno knew Theseus would be happy to meet the new thing, Techno also knew he needed to treat its poor little wounds. They were red, pulsing with the faintest hint of infection. 

Honestly, the creature was lucky it wasn’t worse.

Hoping the same things his kind used to treat themselves would work on the thing, Techno rooted through their emergency kit and brought out the usual selection of herbs and mosses.

“Here we go,” he whispered, mostly to himself, as Techno began the procedure.

/// First things first, the foreign body embedded in its wounds needed to go. Techno peered at the most obvious of them, and stretched it out with his talons, quickly locating the shard pressed deep into its flesh. With his other hand, he grabbed the shard and yanked it out as quickly and safely as he could. 

Before much blood could well up in the new incision, Techno grabbed the usual antiseptic-moss and stuffed it full. After slathering the thing with a mixture of chewed-up leaves to numb the area, Techno moved on to the next wound. ///

A few hours passed, only the first of which was actually patching the creature up. The other two were watching it to ensure that a, it didn’t wake up, and b, it didn’t have adverse reactions to their medicine.

Sometime through it all, Phil had slid silently into the room, and helped Techno get rid of the mess left behind.

“Thank you for that, Tech,” Phil cooed, embracing his bond lovingly. 

“It wasn’t trial-for-I, Phil. No need to be worrying.” 

“Still,” Phil sighed. “I hate to think it could harm-become. Hurt is never good.”

Pressed together as they were, relaxed and tired from the hard work, they did not notice the creature’s eyes creep open.

Nor did they notice the panicked fear that occupied its gaze, at least not until it opened its mouth and let out an extremely loud shriek of fear.

----------------

Chapter Text

The first thing Wilbur noticed was that he was warm. Warm and rather comfortable, laid in something not unlike a bed.

The second thing he noticed was that the pain in his arms had subdued rather greatly, leaving only a faint fizzy sensation in their wake.

Wilbur's eyes blinked sleepily open, gazing out upon the room he was occupying. It was a quaint thing, surprisingly bare for what Wilbur assumed to be someone's room.

It certainly wasn't his, anyhow.

... Why was he in a room that wasn't his?

Wilbur's senses came rushing back all at once, memories of the golden woods and Schlatt's drunken rage and the strange bird-things hitting him like a truck.

Now fully, scarily awake, Wilbur turned his head and was met dead-on with a cryptid bird creature straight out of a children's storybook.

No longer confused or made complacent by pain, Wilbur did what any human would do in his situation. He screamed.

The bird-thing’s heads snapped towards him at a speed beyond humanly possible, which only served to intensify his shriek. They looked… impressed, somehow, at his terror, as if they hadn’t been expecting the force of it all.

Oh my Prime, I am going to die, thought Wilbur. I am going to die in the woods because of creatures that should not logically exist, and nobody is going to know. Hey! Maybe I’ll be a cautionary tale- “don’t go into the woods out back, sweetie, some stupid college kid went missing there!”

His screams faded to hysterical chuckles at that, the idea somewhat funny to him. At least I know my body’s response to life-endangering situations now. Crazy laughter. What a world.

The bird-things hadn’t rushed to kill him yet, waiting in an incredibly patient manner for Wilbur to quiet down. One of them- Creature One, Wilbur remembered, what a stupid, stupid thing to call it- whispered something to the other, and stalked off, its strange, click-clack bobbing way of movement screaming feelings of WRONG WRONG WRONG all down Wilbur’s spine.

Creature Two took that moment to near his prone body, massive swirling eyes affixed directly to the poor human’s wide, frightened ones.

The effect was immediate, Wilbur’s body relaxing from its stiffened pose and adrenaline response fading almost instantly. 

What the fuck? ….This should be scary. I was terrified a second ago, why the fuck am I not screaming my ass off? What the hell?

“What did you do? Why am I here?” Wilbur rasped. Creature Two warbled a not-laugh, reaching out to tap Wilbur’s shoulder with its sharp talons.

“New-being was injured,” Creature Two whispered. 

Its voice sounded like a buzzsaw and a rushing river, echoes of itself layered one over another, reverbating throughout Wilbur’s brain in an unnatural chorus of otherworldly noise. 

“The forest told us of where it was. It is beautiful. We can keep it.”

Creature Two grinned, an expression that shouldn’t have been possible with its birdlike features. Wilbur shuddered.

The thing crept even nearer, limbs twisting awkwardly as it crouched down to meet Wilbur head-on. A pink feather fell from it, drifting slowly down onto the nest-bed Wilbur lay in. 

“...What do you want from me?” Wilbur questioned, barely daring to breathe.

Even if he couldn’t be afraid of this thing, he could at least be cautious.

Fuck, Wilbur really wished he could be afraid right now.

“Ours, for now,” Creature Two responded. “All ours. Lovely, lovely; such a strange thing here. Why did new-being run? Why was it running?”

“I- I don’t understand,” Wilbur stammered. None of this was making sense. The thing wasn’t making sense. “Running?”

Creature Two chirped in agreement. “Running. Why?”

Wilbur shook his head, heart pounding. “I wasn’t running. Listen, I’m not here to- to  do anything to you, hurt your forest, do anything, I’m just some dumb college kid- Please don’t do anything to me. I- I’m-”

His panicked rambling was cut off by a sudden spike of pain from his shoulders.

Right, the glass.

Creature Two frowned at this, and shifted its gaze to inspect Wilbur’s wounds instead. “Being is not healed yet… Strange,” it remarked.

Wilbur didn’t hear it.

The second the thing had looked away, all of his adrenaline, his fear, every single panicked emotion its inhuman eyes had kept locked away inside him burst free.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, his vision was sharp and painful and bright. Wilbur needed to run. Wilbur needed to run. Wilbur needed to run.

Unthinkingly, the brunette shoved the thing’s roaming arms away from it, twisting with as much force as he could manage. It let out a shriek of surprise and pain, staggering away from him. 

Wilbur leapt to his feet, heart drumming in the back of his throat. I need to go, I need to go-

He sprinted away from the room, out into what looked somewhat like a hallway. Head whipping side to side, Wilbur spied an entranceway with light seeping through it.

There.

Wilbur dashed for it, breaths coming fast and painful in his chest. He heard the pat, pat, pat of the creatures behind him, their shouts and noises, their urging him to turn around- to look into their eyes- Wilbur screwed his eyes shut and leaped out of the doorway.

Relief, for a moment- the forest was thick, he could surely lose the bird-things within it- and then horrible, white-hot, gut-wrenching panic because Wilbur was falling. 

His eyes burst open. Wilbur looked down at the ground below him and a choked cry left the man’s dry mouth.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die because I leapt out of a tree higher than my fucking college building, I’m going to die running from fairytale nightmare-things and I’m going to die. 

Wilbur let himself go limp and waited to hit the ground, to hear the crunch of flesh and bone, to feel agony and then nothing at all.

…

It never came. 

Instead, the terrified man felt a hard impact against his skull, a thunk that made his brains feel mushy and body feel like foam.

A sob tore itself from his throat as Wilbur faded out of consciousness, the bird-thing’s strong arms wrapped painfully tight around him.

The last thing he was aware of was that Wilbur was no longer falling.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Quiet, ambient noise filtered throughout the nest that morning, accompanied by the delicious scent of fresh meat. Phil was preparing a meal for Techno and their Theseus, as Techno hadn’t gotten much to eat after the events of the day before– and Theseus was a growing chick. He needed as much food as he could eat.

It was peaceful, all things considered, but Techno still felt somewhat ruffled.

It had tried to escape; the forest’s lovely gift had run from them. 

“Do not worry, mate,” Phil had reassured. “It was running, scared-was it. It did not know we are forest-friends. The forest will ensure it is knowing.”

Techno appreciated the words of his bond. He truly did. But something ugly, something angry flared in his chest each time he recalled the creature throwing itself out of their door- running, trying to run from them. His arm still ached a bit from where it had torn away one of his precious pink feathers.

Luckily, Techno had caught the being mid-glide. A small knock to the head, just as they did with any prey-creature to prevent a painful death– surely not enough to hurt a creature like it– and their forest-gift was safe and limp in Techno’s arms.

Phil brought it back in, letting Techno go and look after Theseus for a while. He was rather obviously angry, and time with their chick always helped cool Techno off.

Before he knew it, Techno was soundly asleep, Theseus curled up snugly in his arms.

And now Techno was awake, settled next to Phil and practically devouring the meal he’d made. Phil cooed happily at Techno’s obvious enjoyment, reaching a talon over to drift down Techno’s ruff feathers. 

Techno blinked smilingly back, hind-talons scratching a soft rhythm into the wood beneath them.

A few moments passed in calm silence before Phil shook out his wings and crept upright. Techno blinked once more, a question.

"I-myself is checking on forest-thing," Phil responded. "It will food-require."

Techno sighed in acknowledgment, a bit of his former annoyance at the creature returning as Phil mentioned it.

"Theseus-nap, I shall ensure," Techno told his bond. "Then to you I go."

Phil bobbed his head agreeably, and stalked off towards the creature's resting place. 

"Nestling?" Techno murmured.

A small, scaly claw pawed at Techno's arm as a response, baby chirps trailing from Theseus's little beak.

He was an adorable chick, that was for sure; Phil had nearly cried when they had first set eyes on the baby. Big, round, sparkling blue eyes that shone with innocent curiosity; chubby in the way all babies were-- but covered in soft, dangerously fluffy red down from head to claw.

Theseus's little tail was no less adorable, a mound of poofy feather that swished and bobbed around constantly. He was a smart little chick, and knew so much already. Techno and his bond were very proud.

"Here, now," Techno cooed, scooping the chick up. "Rest, for growing-nestling."

The pink-feathered cryptid wandered over to the main nest where he'd slept the time before. "Stay," Techno told Theseus. 

The little one nodded as he was set down, but Techno didn't miss the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Hopefully, the nest was intact when Techno returned.

—--------

 Phil was leaning over the unconscious creature when Techno arrived, a length of string in his talons. 

 “Hello, Phil,” Techno spoke, making sure the other knew of his presence.

“Oh! Greetings, mate,” Phil replied, never once turning away from whatever he was doing with the creature and the string.

As if he’d sensed Techno’s curiosity, Phil began to explain.

“To ensure of-it will leave-not, I am branding it with the Forest’s symbol. You will know-always the location of our gift, Techno!” The cryptid turned his head towards him, and grinned wide, beak just slightly ajar; teeth shimmering in the morning light.

Techno’s eyes widened slightly, and he returned the smile.

“My bond always-thinks newly. So proud.”

Phil chirped, happy, at the praise, and grabbed Techno’s forearm with his talons; yanking him closer in order to show off the work he’d done.

The string from earlier was tied simply but securely around the thing’s lower leg, a piece of the Forest’s tree-wood looped onto it– somewhat like a collar for the limbs. Onto the tree-wood, the Forest’s symbol was engraved deeply and with clear care. Techno was only looking at it, and the Forest’s voices were already whispering in his ears once more. He hadn’t even needed to leave their den.

Images and thoughts and emotions conveyed the Forest’s words as always, flashes of protective adoration and appreciation and flock, flock, nestling, new nestling, always protect, one of us, one of us sinking their noisy-bright claws deep into Techno’s mind.

He barely noticed himself sinking to the ground, one claw lifted to trace the creature’s face in the same pattern he had when Techno and Phil had first stumbled across the poor thing.

Never-matter if it runs, Techno thought. Always-here, we will catch it. 

Phil’s talons closed over his own, gently guiding them away from the forest-gift’s face, urging Techno to get up. 

Techno stood, but reluctantly. He huffed, tail bristling slightly in annoyance. 

“I know, mate, I know,” he cooed sympathetically. “But leave-must of-we, healing-need it still has.”

“Surely waking-not?” Techno asked, eyes still fixed firmly to the sleeping being.

Phil warbled his affirmation. “No waking. Not-short sleep. Long-times, sure I am.”

 
 Satisfied, the pink-feathered cryptid turned from the forest-gift’s prone form and towards his bond. “Let us check on Theseus, now,” he told Phil. “Nestling has mischief-eyes.”

 Phil’s caw of laughter at Techno’s words sparked a hint of amusement in his own eyes, and the two exited the room with a calm warmth flaring in their chests.

—-------

Chosen, chosen, wake. Wake, wake, and do not run;

We love you. We will care for you.

Do not leave the Forest.

—-----

Chapter Text

Wilbur was yanked sharply into awareness by a stabbing pain in his stomach. His eyes strained against their lids, breaths deep and raspy. Curling around himself instinctively, the brunette let out a high-pitched whine at the agonizing sensation, scared and confused and not all the way there. He felt weighed down by a thousand pounds of cotton fluff, aware he was hurting but unsure of anything else. 

He hadn't noticed he was moving, squirming in his discomfort, until Wilbur fell off of whatever soft surface he'd been laid on and onto hard wood floor. The whine cut off abruptly, eyes wide at the sudden shock of falling. 

(Fuck,) Wilbur's brain helpfully supplied.

He laid there, barely daring to move, taking deep breaths and attempting to process despite the pain.

One by one, his memories trickled back in. 

Crazy roomate, check; bird cryptids, check; yeah, I'm not at home right now.

But what could he even do?? Wilbur was alone, with no form of communication for help whatsoever. He was honestly just lucky he wasn't dead yet.

Shuddering at the thought, Wilbur rolled painstakingly out of the ball he'd curled up in, shakily maneuvering himself into a sitting position. The brunette took a deep breath and looked around the room, aware he'd been making noise and hoping nothing had heard it.

The coast, as far as Wilbur could see, was clear. He wasn't sporting any new injuries, besides whatever was sending ripples of discomfort through his guts. Wilbur took one more slow inhale before pushing himself to his feet.

The room around him was small and bare, but still somewhat cozy. Now that Wilbur didn't have terrifying avians around him, he was able to take in more detail about the place compared to last time he awoke.

There was a thick, soft bed of moss on top of a large, circular, carved wooden basin positioned a few feet off the ground; Wilbur presumed that was what he'd fallen off of.

Wilbur took a few tentative steps forward. 

Nothing jumped out of nowhere to kill him, and the floor seemed perfectly stable, so Wilbur took a few more until he was all the way across the room, just barely over the threshold of the open wall acting as the room’s little door. 

He knew better than to just run for it, now that the knowledge that this cozy little place was occupying a tree hundreds of metres off the ground, and as Wilbur did not have wings, stupidly jumping out of the first open space he saw would absolutely just kill him. Odds were, he wouldn’t have a pink feathered creature to catch him next time.

Click, taaaaaap~ Scrip!

Wilbur’s eyes shot impossibly wider, head whipping towards the source of the sound.

Down the hall, barely six feet from him, a single talon crept into view. The rest of its owner was not yet visible, but as the second talon came into view, and then forest-green feathers followed–

Wilbur bolted back to the moss-bed, heart so far up his throat he was choking on it. He crammed himself soundly into the wooden bowl, eyes squished shut, trying his hardest to pretend he’d never left the space the bird-things had so clearly placed him into.

The click-tapping footfalls entered the room, pausing for a moment as their owner examined its contents.

A quiet, satisfied churr came from its direction. Good to know I did the right thing in pretending to be asleep, Wilbur thought bemusedly. At least it’s not going to kill me on sight now that I’ve done what it wanted, right…?

Waxing on what would or wouldn’t please the avian monster thing didn’t do anything to stop it from nearing Wilbur’s curled body, though; the scraping sound made by its talons got louder and louder until a cold, firm object began to tap rhythmically against Wilbur’s neck.

“Wake, sleeper,” the thing cooed in a sing-song tone.

Wilbur stayed motionless.

The cryptid above him sighed at his lack of response, before reaching down and grabbing something on Wilbur’s leg. His pantcuff, maybe? What did it want with that??

“The Forest wants you to Wake, sleeper,” the thing crooned again, and this time Wilbur could not control his reaction, soft buzzing hands from an unknown origin reaching and grabbing and pulling and–

His carefully held breath whooshed out, a forced return to its normal, calm intake and outtake. His eyes slid open, but not in the way one who is scared would open them, more like a child lazily waking on a weekend. 

Wilbur was awake, he had already been awake, but now it was obvious to the creature as well as himself.

What the fuck? Wilbur wondered. 

(He had a feeling that was going to become a standard part of his vocabulary now.)

“Good,” it churred, and a single talon brought his chin towards the creature’s own, forcing WIlbur to meet its gaze.

The horrible, horrible calm-safety sense from yesterday was all-consuming now, the big unending onyx planes of its eyes somehow causing his adrenaline to slow to a trickle, his brain practically purring with satisfaction at the terrifying, dangerous situation he was in.

Wilbur couldn’t look away.

“Hunger, you are?” the thing asked. Its beak bent inexplicably into a frighteningly human smile, as if it knew how the brunette was feeling and thought it was funny.

Wilbur didn’t want to answer. Wilbur did not want to answer that question. Wilbur simply was not going to reply to that question.

“Yes,” he replied. “Very.”

Fuuuuuuck. 

—-

Creature Two (or was it One? Wilbur forgot, and honestly didn’t care at this point, they both sucked and didn’t deserve proper names) had dragged Wilbur out of the nest, grip vice-tight on his fragile (still injured!) human arms and deposited him in another, similar-looking room to the one he’d previously been in. The only real difference was that *this* particular room had a door, of sorts.

 Any questions Wilbur’d dared to ask were met with a simple warble or chirp, as if Wilbur could understand bird-speak, and then it had left with another calming churr, and the door slammed with the familiar sound of a human-craft lock. 

All of the blood drained out of Wilbur’s body.

Default to stupid humor, default to stupid humour, c’mon, Wilbur, where’s the funny names from earlier? You kept your head while it was dragging you through the hall, but it’s left you alone now! That’s good, that’s a good thing, Wilbur. C’mon, c’mon, don’t freak out–

The repressed adrenaline flooded him anyway, the thing’s big black eyes no longer feeding the brunette’s nervous system calm warmth. His head felt as if it was dunked in ice-cold water, and his heart was beating so hard Wilbur thought it might explode.

“Deep breaths,” Wilbur muttered. ‘Calm. Calm…”

Tears began gathering in his eyes, dripping slowly out onto the wood beneath him. 

It’s better than screaming, Wilbur thought, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Was he here to be butchered, eaten? Had he misunderstood the creature’s question? Had it been asking him if he wanted to be their midday snack?

The thought brought a wobbling hint of a smile to his face, but Wilbur definitely did not want to go out as a bird’s midday snack. That would fucking suck. 

The only thing he could do was wait, though. 

Wait, and think, but thinking was hard and his head hurt and so Wilbur sat there, tear tracks drying on his face, staring at the locked door and waiting in silence for the creature to return.

Chapter Text

Phil traipsed happily towards the food storageroom, humming bubbily to himself as he went.

Food for the Forest-friend!! He hadn't been able to feed it the day before, when he'd given it its binding-cuff-- some of Phil's finest carving, if he did say so himself-- and so hearing it confirm his assumptions on hunger made the bird quite happy.

Forest-friend...

Phil didn't know if it had a name, and Techno had taken to calling it various forms of "Forest-gift," so Phil figured "-friend" was as good a suffix as any.

"Similar as we," Phil mused, trodding into the storageroom. "Teeth-tongue-voice same as we, so food same as we." He nodded, ruff puffing up slightly at the thought of possibly sharing a meal with the forest-friend. What better way to bond than over the universal constant of consumption?

Phil glided happily around the room, collecting bits and snippets of various meats for the forest-friend to enjoy. Outsider here, horn-runner there, shortfly and loudshriek... Yes, this was shaping up to be a good first meal for their forest-friend.

Arms full to bursting, the avian wobbled back towards the room he'd placed the creature in. He swished the entryway open with a tail-bump, lock clicking open in recognition. 

"Food for beautiful one!" Phil trilled brightly.

He bobbed over to the seated form of the forest-friend, and set the copious assortment of food down in front of it. Phil then crouched down to eye-level, looking at the creature a bit closer. It'd been oddly silent since he'd arrived; where was all the fuss from earlier?

“...Beautiful one?” Phil chirped again, softer this time.

At first, silence; neither being moved.

But then Phil drew breath to speak once more and an ugly noise burst from the forest-gift’s mouth.

It was wet and thick and somehow gave Phil the feeling of drowning in a pond far too deep, all rough waves and sharp pain and staggered, short gasps of breath. It was crying out for something Phil could not understand, wordless as the calls were, and it made the avian’s chest ache for the poor creature.

The noise, now it had started, seemingly could not stop; it was full-out wailing now, and Phil’s desperate attempts at calming it seemed to do nothing but cause the being worse pain. 

Phil sighed, reluctant to exert his will on it at a time of such vulnerability but resigned to the fact that the Forest would not let it be hurt. If he was going too far, he would be stopped. Surely the Forest would stop him.

Phil grabbed the being’s liquid-drenched face, sticky with the liquid it had been seeping from its eyes- a sign of sickness? Injury? Or perhaps just like those horn-runners, the ones that drip before they sprint- and forced it to meet his eyes. A choked-off whimper left the forest-friend’s throat before all its movements stilled, Phil’s wide eyes feeding its nervous system a steady stream of utter calm.

His other talons snuck down to the creature’s leg, grabbing the Forest’s emblem tight from where it lay on the forest-friend’s cuff. 

“ Calm Down,” Phil crooned. The thing fell limp against his grip almost instantly, eye-drips ceasing as it did so. “No-harm, food. Feeding Forest-friend, does it see?”

The thing opened its mouth once more, and Phil tensed, but all it did was inhale deeply, breath whooshing wetly through its open jaws. 

“ How Do You Feel?” Phil asked, the Forest’s static humming throughout his body, their essence using him as a conduit as the Forest crept into the forest-gift’s thoughts, soothing and stroking and pulling. Phil could see exactly the moment it gave in, closing its eyes and whispering,

“I’m so hungry.”

“I’m so hungry, and tired, and I don’t know if you’re going to kill me or eat me or what you want me for; I don’t know if I’m a pet or a showpiece or if this is all a drug-induced coma dream and I’m going to wake up in the hospital to Schlatt’s apologetic face, and I’m just a kid Prime damn it, the fuck did I ever do to deserve….?”

It trailed off into mumbles, trembling in Phil’s ever-steady grip.

The avian cocked his head, thinking.

Fear, hunger, confusion. 

Those were easy enough to solve. Their Forest-friend would be doing wonderful very soon, Phil could make sure of it!

The avian let go of the creature’s face with a cheerful chirp, and it lurched forwards, clearly not expecting to be let free so soon.

“Hunger fixed-will-be!” Phil warbled triumphantly. “Soon Fear, then Confusion. Safety-here! Friend. Gift-forest-friend, yes?”

The being just stared, eyes red-rimmed and overwhelmed.

Ah, best-start with hunger, Phil mused. Others come later.

“Food,” the cryptid explained once more, lifting a chunk of Outsider to his beak and taking a sizeable bite. He chewed, then swallowed, and gave the forest-friend an encouraging look.

It stayed still, contemplating, and Phil waited patiently for it to respond.

Eventually, it reached slowly forwards with one of its strangely fleshy talons and snagged a small strip of dried horn-runner. It brought the meal to its mouth tentatively, glancing towards Phil for approval again. Phil cooed, and it bit down awkwardly.

After a few more moments of chewing, a swallow came. The thing sat there looking rather annoyed with itself, but didn’t do anything more.

Around a minute passed- was it waiting to see if it was danger-food? Bad-meal? No, no- and as the forest-friend had seemingly deemed the food edible, began to practically devour everything in sight.

Phil chuckled softly at the sight.

Finally, the thing had lost some of its fear, its inhibition.

Progress.

Phil sat back on his haunches and let the thing eat, time passing comfortably as it downed everything Phil had brought.

It was peaceful, the avian mused. He could live with this.

The peace was broken by the sound of the door opening. 

“Tech?” Phil asked, swiveling to peer at the entranceway. If his bond was here to check on him, that would surely be normal. It had been a while since Phil had left to check on the forest-friend, after all.

Instead, he was met with the wide blue eyes of Theseus. The fledgeling cocked his head slightly, a baby chirp leaving his mouth, and Phil bolted towards the doorway before the forest-friend had time to notice someone new had entered the room.

He snagged Theseus from the ground, slammed the door behind him, and ran headfirst into Techno. 

“Bond.” Techno panted. “Thes-” 

“Have,” Phil responded in kind. “Make sure not-return.”

Techno’s eyes lit up at the realization that Theseus was snug in Phil’s arms, and gave his bond a grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” Tech murmured, and Phil nuzzled his beak affectionately.

“How is forest-thing?” Tech asked, Theseus snug in his pink-feathered arms.

Phil sighs. “Eats-now, but leaving-fast was I. Concern. I return soon, surely.”

Techno nodded understandingly. “Contain-Theseus, I will,” he reassured his bond. “No worries. Return.”

Phil gave his nestling and bond one last warm churr before twisting on his hindtalon. He had to return to the forest-friend; it was surely worried about his sudden exit.

Phil truly hoped this wouldn’t be a setback.

Forest, please, tell it we love it.

Forest, please, do not let it leave us.

Forest, please.

Chapter Text

The forest-friend hadn’t budged despite Phil’s reckless exit, too tired to do anything other than sit there and look confused. Phil took a deep breath, simply glad it had stayed, and then sat back down beside it.

“Left sudden,” Phil apologized. “Being safe? Being fine?”

It opened and closed its mouth a few more times, blinking slowly as if it hadn’t expected the question.

“...Just fine,” it settled on, “but I can’t tell you if I’m safe or not.. That’s more up to you, since I’m your… pet, or whatever.”

Phil chuffed lightly at that, nudging the being’s arm. It flinched back violently at the well-meaning contact and Phil warbled in concern.

“...” 

The forest-friend wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Phil sighed.

“Come, now,” he chirped, grabbing the creature’s arm. “ Follow Me. ”

—----------

Theseus was not a stupid chick. He was the Biggest Avian and he knew it! Techie and Philza seemed to disagree though. They thought Theseus didn’t know about the Being in their den. But the Forest liked him, just like it liked Techie. And it told him things.

It told him that he had a new nestmate! A flockmember! It whispered to him of brown fur and brown eyes and a warm heart fresh for the fluffing. The Forest beckoned him to it. And Theseus liked the Forest. It was big and gold and safe, and it was the whole world.

So Theseus followed its call, wriggling his way out of the Nest where Techie slept soundly and waddling towards the hall, red tail swaying as he did so.

His exit was superb! Nothing could stop the great Theseus!

….

Two minutes later, held tight in Techie’s arms and being gently scolded, Theseus probably should have felt mad.

He probably should have thrown a fit and told Techie that the Forest wanted him to see the new friend, it wasn’t fair, but Theseus wasn’t even listening to what his sire was saying.

Do You Know What We Mean Now? The Forest asked, and Theseus nodded, eyes wide and tail thumping against his talons.

The forest-thingy was so cool! It was the second Biggest Avian in the world. After Theseus himself, of course. It was cooler than his sires, and maybe even cooler than the Forest!

He’d only gotten a glimpse of it before Phil had scooped him up but wow! It was unlike anything Theseus had ever seen before. No beak, very few feathers and such limited fur! It should have been ugly but it wasn’t. It was beautiful like the Forest on a perfect day, all sweet hazelnut, pine needles and calm breeze. 

Ignoring the Forest’s amused whispers at his declaration of its Uncoolness, Theseus grinned. He was absolutely going to find a way to see it again.

Techie and Phil couldn’t keep him away from the creature forever, after all!

—----

Theseus’ chance came early the next morning. He’d faked being asleep in order to be left alone by his sires, their adoring coos at his “unconscious” state letting him know when it was safe to move or when he needed to stay still.

Apparently, the creature had eaten so much of their foodstock that they were nearly out. With Theseus at home, they needed as much to eat as possible, and with the forest-creature as an added beak to feed Techie and Phil needed to do a lot lot lot of hunting to make up for it all.

They would be gone almost the entire morning, and Theseus’ heart jumped at the realization.

Thank you, Forest, Theseus thought, because who else could have blessed him with this?

The nestling waited, playing the part of sleeping chick until he was sure his sires were completely absent from the den.

Then he popped up, unable to stop all his feathers fluffing as a low excited warble built in the baby avian’s throat. Theseus scampered down the hall, momentum nearly crashing him against the walls as he turned. The door to the creature’s nest was just ahead! He was almost there!

The chick chirped loudly, barely noticing in his excitement, and crashed to a halt right before the entryway to the creature’s den.

His big eyes blinked owlishly up at the door, at the latch that Theseus could not reach, even if he stood on his tip-claws, and realized that this would not be as straightforward as he had thought,

The nestling whined, feathered tailpuff lashing behind him in frustration.

The Forest observed with a detached amusement, adding teasing remarks whenever Theseus fell or his plans failed. 

“Being a shriekfly,” Theseus scowled at the air around him. ‘ Mean,” he added, just for a little extra sting. 

The Forest only cackled in reply.

Theseus glanced around him. Maybe there was something to stand on??? A chunk of wood, or…

Or a Nest, Theseus realized, shooting upright with a rosy-cheeked grin. His nest! He could use his nest! It was a wooden bowl-shape, filled with moss, a few feet off the ground. Easy to drag. He only needed to be a metre or so taller anyway– it was perfect!

The chick scrabbled away, laughing delightedly at his own brilliance.

The next thirty or so minutes saw Theseus huffing and puffing, pulling his nestbed all the way down the hall to the door with every single muscle in his fluffy baby body. 

“Difficult!” Theseus complained. The Forest was silent, but he could feel them laughing. It made him scowl- he was a Big Avian! He could do this! With renewed enthusiasm, Theseus continued the drag.

It only took three more excruciating minutes before his nest was perfectly in line, right under the latch. Any exhaustion from the hard work evaporated nearly instantly at the thought of getting to see the being again. 

Theseus climbed up onto the nestbed with such force he nearly tipped it over, a trembling claw reaching out to push the entrance latch open. The door creaked to the side, light cutting a bright path into the pitch-dark room.

Theseus tumbled in with a screech, landing upside-down.

The awkward position gave him a perfect view into the room- and into the hazel brown eyes, stretched wide with unnatural animality to them, staring directly back at the small avian.

The chick in question smiled. 

Chapter Text

Schlatt’s shaky hands reached up towards the lightpole’s middle section, fingers pressing down in order to paste the poster firmly across the metal surface. He sighed once it was done, stepping away to scan the paper and ensure it wasn’t about to fly off.

…Hey, there was a spot that needed a bit extra glue. 

“Hand me the tape, Quackity?” 

He could hear the man behind him shift, huffing out an annoyed breath of air.

“It’s been two days since we started putting up posters, Schlatt. Nobody’s called, and they’re absolutely everywhere. I don’t think it’s an issue of nobody seeing them, man.”

Schlatt acted like he hadn’t heard the other man. “Tape, Quackity.”

“This is why I broke up with you, meatheaded idiot,” Quackity mumbled under his breath. But he handed Schlatt the roll of tape anyway, and went silent, waiting for Schlatt to finish up.

“...Any posters left?” he asked.

Quackity shook his head. “Nah. C’mon, let’s get back to the apartment. It’s late.”

Lucky for the beanie-clad man, Schlatt was either too tired to notice or didn’t especially care that Quackity had shoved the last couple posters deep into his jacket pockets. Could you blame him, though? As much as he didn’t exactly *like* the older man, he definitely liked WIlbur, and could see how Schlatt’s guilt about whatever had happened was eating him up inside. 

When Schlatt had turned up on Quackity’s doorstep holding a missing poster and his eviction notice, Quackity had been just about ready to slam the door in his face; but something about Schlatt’s voice as he asked- “Please, Quacks, I- I need your help-” had softened his heart.

Was he making a stupid mistake? Definitely. Did he regret it? Not as much as he should have.

The man had looked absolutely miserable as he’d trudged into the house, shedding his coat in the entryway without a single ounce of care.

“Wilbur’s missing,” was the first thing he’d said, sitting on Quackity’s ratty couch and clutching a mug of warm coffee in his hands. (The mix he’d used was expired, but Quackity wasn’t about to tell Schlatt that.)

“Wilbur’s missing, and I’m the reason, and my damn landlord evicted us- me- It’s- It’s all fucked, Quacks, please let me stay, if for no other reason at least for Wil? I know you were friends. He’s not answering any texts, he’s been gone for two *days* without a single notice, I checked with Sally and with Dream and everybody he knows in uni and he’s just-”

Schlatt’s rambling was cut off abruptly when Quackity stood up and hugged him. It was a brief one, and when Q pulled away he was wrinkling his nose in disgust but it was enough of a distraction to give the man a pause, a breather.

“...I’ll help you look,” Quackity had said, refusing to meet his eyes. “And you can stay, but only until whatever happened to Wil’s confirmed. Dead or alive, if we find him, you’re out, understand?”

Schlatt had nodded, completely agreeable, and the two had struck a deal. Allies, for the time being- a weird way to think about it, but hey. They weren’t fighting, and that was good as anything.

Quackity unlocked the door to his small apartment and let Schlatt in before him, dusting his shoes off on the doormat before turning and locking it. 

“I’m feeling up for some takeout tonight, “ he sighed, plopping down onto the couch and practically purring with satisfaction at the soft comfort. “Greasy, trashy takeout.”

Schlatt nodded, humor sparkling in his eyes. “Sure, I gotchu. McDonald’s?”

“Hell yes,” Quackity grinned, and the two settled into a comfortable silence, ignoring the looming air of stress; even if just for the night. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur's face scrunched up in distaste at the chaotic featherball that had deposited itself so unceremoniously upon the floor before him. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but he knew for certain that it wasn't big enough to eat him. That was a massive relief to the brunette's pounding rabbit heart. 

For a brief moment, Wilbur thought perhaps it was some sort of owl, or even just a clump of furs; not even a creature at all. But then it looked at him, teeny beak opening to unleash an oddly adorable cheep. It was alive.

The thing flopped slightly forwards, looking disgruntled about the backwards position it had landed in.

"...Hey, little guy," Wilbur murmured.

Upon hearing Wilbur's voice, the little guy perked up slightly, red-fluff head and big blue eyes affixing him with a stare full of childish wonder. 

"You're real young, aren't you?" Wilbur smiled, sitting back.

"Cheep! Chirpchirp NEST chirp SIRE chirp FOREST," the creature exclaimed. It looked at Wilbur expectantly, clearly proud of its excellent speech capabilities.

"Sires?" Wilbur mumbled confusedly, forgetting for a moment that the red fluffball was perfectly capable of hearing him.

It perked up excitedly, waddling over to him and gestring a bi wildly with its talons. "GREEN BIG CHEEP!!" it cried. In a softer, more sassy tone, the bird child added, "Pink forest chirp BIG sire."

"..So the other two are your caretakers of some sort?"

The kid simply shrieked out of apparent joy and sat down firmly, staring into Wilbur's eyes in a way  that made it look a bit constipated.

Wilbur smiled placatingly at the thing, not wanting to displease it and invoke the wrath of its "sires," who Wilbur figured were the other, larger bird-things. 

"...FOREST," the chick cheeped again, louder this time and with a demanding tone to its voice. "CHIRP FOREST friend CHEEP chhiirp!!" 

The fluffy child stomped its taloned foot against the floor, tail swishing impatiently for Wilbur to give it more of a solid response.

The man found that... startlingly endearing. 

This one was young; it might not be like its parents. (Sires? Older siblings? Wilbur wasn't sure what they were to it exactly-) He scooted a bit closer to the thing, watching as its tail swished slowly to a stop, eyes gazing up at him in adorable, childish amazement.

"Gleep," it burbled.

"Gloop," Wilbur agreed with a grin.

A pause.

"...Do you have a name?" Wilbur asked. 

He didn't quite know if the kid knew enough English to understand the question, but its sires seemed to get the gist of his statements so hopefully the tiny bird would too.

It paused, face screwing up in concentration at his words, opening and shutting its teeny beak quite a few times.

"...Big... Big Tahm-ee," it settled on. Then it frowned, shaking its head no. "Big.. Tom-e! Tommy. Tom tommy cheep TOMMY!" 

Wilbur's eyebrows shot up in disbelief at the stunningly human-sounding name. He'd been expecting something unpronouncable, a swirl of clicks and caws he could never imagine to make himself, but no. 

No, this red fluffy endearing child was just Tommy.

"Tommy," Wilbur whispered incredulously, a small smile teasing at the edge of his lips.

"Hi Tommy. I'm Wilbur."

The little one looked up at him with its big round eyes, blinked once, and slowly, deliberately-

"Wil-by."

"....What? No. Nope. Uh-uh, Wilbur."

The chick smiled at him, perfectly innocent.

"Weelberr."

"Fuck, that's worse than Wilby- Please, just Wilbur. Please."

"Wobblah!" it declared proudly.

Wilbur groaned.

-----------

Five minutes and lots of painstakingly pronounced "WILL- BUUUUUR's" later, the kid was finally able to say his name.

The first time it had happened, both Wilbur and the chick had been so ecstatic that it had flung itself onto his lap, curled up, and cooed at him in a way that made the brunette's heart *melt.*

"Aww, you're such a gremlin," Wilbur grinned, one hand carding gently through the thing's not-fur not-feathers. 

It cheeped happily in reply. "Sire forest friend good good chirp brother, Tommy Wilbur cheep."

"Mm-hm," Wilbur hummed, leaning back  against the wooden walls of the room.

This was wonderfully peaceful. He felt safe like he hadn't in *days.* 

"Sire home soon," Tommy piped up. "Friends now, cheep cheep show Forest sire!"

....Wilbur's stomach dropped to his knees.

He hadn't known that the other  two weren't home. No wonder Tommy'd been deposited so roughly into his room- it hadn't been unlocked by one of *them*, it had been unlocked by the chick himself.

All species, from what he could tell, that were even semi-sentient, had strong bonds with their young. Bears, types of birds- and itf they found * you * with said young, they would *rip you to shreds.*

"Oh fuck," Wilbur breathed. "Tommy- Tommy, mate, you gotta go. "

The little guy in question cocked his head in confusion. "Go Tommy go?" it asked.

"You- You need to leave, Tommy, theyll hurt me, or-" a memory flashed through him so hard it hurt. 

There was a type of bird that would kill their young if they found human scent on it, wasn't there? Oh fuck, Wilbur couldn't take any chances, hell no.

"Get out, Tommy," Wilbur growled, scared and shaky. The chick scowled, still not understanding.

Wilbur shot to his feet, Tommy yelping in shock as he was elevated. Stalking over to the door, Wilbur ripped Tommy off of him, holding the kid over the threshold in his trembling, weak grip.

"Don't try to come back in, Toms, please," Wilbur whispered.

The fledgling looked hurt, confused, concerned, but finally seemed to understand him. A slow nod.

Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was put him down before the others got back and-

there was the sound of talons scraping, caws and bird sounds and they were back.

Green wings rounded the corner, and several things happened all at once. 

Wilbur tried to fling Tommy away in order to make it not seem as if he was holding their child by the scruff in a threatening manner and subsequently be massacred. 

 Tommy, meanwhile, was not keen on this, and grabbed for Wilbur's arms with his sharp, sharp claws.

Human skin isn't built to hold off against unnaturally sharp objects like those.

Wilbur's flesh, forearm to wrist, slid off the bone like butter. Tommy and the slab-strings of muscly, fatty skin hit the ground with a *thud*, the former shrieking in horror as he fell.

(Lucky for Wilbur, he passed out before he'd even had the time to start bleeding.)

Chapter Text

Techno didn't know why all of their hunting trips just had to be interrupted right at the end by something new and devastating- be that devastation good or bad- but he did not like it.

Chapter Text

Phil felt sick.

Chapter Text

Quackity exhaled, watching as the cold night air spun his breath up and away to the stars. He shifted a bit on the bench where he sat, and readjusted his beanie. A shiver crawled over the man, and Quackity grit his teeth against it, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring a thicker coat. 

A buzz from his jacket pocket drew Quackity's attention away from the molasses-slow progression of the moon across the night sky. A disinterested glance revealed it was a timer he'd set previously- 11:30.

Quackity sighed, stretching as he got to his feet and began the careful trudge back to his apartment. He sent a quick text Schlatt's way and then silenced his phone, tucking it back into his pockets.

The city was beautiful at night.

Tall buildings stretched up like the pillars of the earth, a gargantuan concrete jungle home to millions of dreams.

As long as Quackity looked up, he could imagine maybe there was something other than human out there; something fantastical and unreal.

They couldn't be the only ones who got to partake in such beauty.

.. Oh, this was his apartment complex.

The man brought his gaze back down to the sidewalk before him, rummaging in his pockets for the keys. He trudged up to the doorway and fumbled a bit before finally cracking it open.

The warmth hit him like a truck, and Quackity practically melted, a peaceful smile growing across his face. 

"You really should come with me on one of these walks, Schlatt," Quackity called. 

A few clunks sounded from the kitchen, but the other man gave no response.

Quackity shucked off his boots and coat, tucking the former under a stool and the latter up on the coatrack. The college kid stretched, listening to his bones crack and huffing, satisfied.

There was a weird smell coming from the kitchen.

"Schlatt? You making a midnight snack or something?" 

Quackity wandered curiously towards the kitchen, more clanks his only answer.

The man peered into the kitchen, searching for his temporary roommate's whereabouts. 

"Schla--..."

The brunette was sat slumped over at the kitchen island, glass of deep red liquid in hand. Two wine bottles Quackity forgot he'd even had lay open on the countertop, one knocked over and dripping a stream of cherry red wine all over the counter.

The whole room stank of alcohol.

Schlatt raised his head, grinning dumbly at him. "Quacks! Why've ya been hol'n out on m'? This here's damn good st'ff!" 

"Schlatt, put the glass down."

Schlatt sighed dramatically, head lolling to the side. "Don't wanna."

Quackity stalked forwards with a hiss and smacked the brunette across the face. Schlatt, momentarily stunned, didn't stop the other as he grabbed the wineglass from his hand and threw it out the kitchenette window. 

When his brain came back online, Schlatt frowned.

"... Wasn't nice a ya."

"What wasn't NICE, Schlatt, was you getting fucking drunk while I was out of the house," Quackity snarled. "Trying to keep this a secret? Guess what, man! I found out!"

Schlatt glared at him, eyes glimmering with something distinctly predatory.

"I'll do wh'ver I damn please, Quackity." The brunette began rising unsteadily to his feet, and Quackity was reminded just how much taller and stronger Schlatt was compared to him. 

Holy shit Quackity was glad he'd gotten rid of the wineglass.

"... Schlatt, let's take this to the living room." Away from the knives and glass bottles.

Schlatt raised one eyebrow, having followed Quackity's gaze to the knife block. He grinned, red stain teeth on full display.

"Y'scared, lil ducky?"

Quackity swallowed, and stared him down.

"You're drunk, and you're looking at me like you wanna fucking kill me, Schlatt. I'm not stupid. I know Wilbur wouldn't leave the house if you were just cussing at him," he bit out.

Schlatt's eyes flashed, and the predatory grin turned into a growl. He took a step towards the shorter man, hand resting behind him right next to the knife block.

Quackity stepped back and placed a hand on the lower cupboard. 

"Wh'can ya do about it, huh? I can-"

A latch clicked.

"I have a gun, Schlatt."

Schlatt's eyes widened.

"...Y' can't kill me."

Quackity exhaled sharply. "No, I can't. But if you attack me first, I absolutely could shoot in self defense. Are we clear?"

Schlatt glared at him, before the tension broke and he shouldered past the shorter man.

"You better be heading to your bedroom, Schlatt."

Quackity heard the man groan, but then heard his footsteps turn towards their shared room. He followed, and the second Schlatt collapsed onto the mattress, he locked the door from the other side. 

An angry cry echoed from inside and Quackity hurriedly shoved the couch across the doorway. A thump, another, as the man battered the door with his fists- and then Schlatt seemingly gave up.

Quackity sank to the floor, trembling hard.

Holy shit.

Holy shit was he glad Sapnap had forced him to go hunting last year.

Holy shit was he glad he'd thrown that wineglass out the window.

Holy shit was he glad Schlatt wasn't just a little bit drunker and a little bit stupider.

....Holy shit.

Quackity clicked the safety off and on on the pistol once more just to be sure. He set it to the side carefully, hand shaking.

He couldn't sleep on the couch since it was blocking their room, so Quackity turned to the next best thing.

The man went to the closet, heart still pounding like a war drum, head throbbing as blood rushed through his ears.

He grabbed a blanket and spare pillow, before heading to the ratty loveseat and settling down.

Prime, he hoped he'd be able to sleep tonight. He'd need to reason with a sober Schlatt tomorrow and couldn't be so damn cranky; he might just kick him out without a second thought.

Fuck.

Quackity clicked off the lamp and sunk into the moth bitten cushions with a gentle sob.

,,..////

Harsh morning light filtered through the little bathroom window, shining down on the pitiful, shaking form inside.

Schlatt wiped his mouth with a square of toilet paper, barely managing to flush before he was retching over it once more.

This hangover was bloody brutal.

He had a distinct sense of deja vu, and shuddered because now all he could think of was Wilbur and how he woke feeling like he'd done something damn bad and he felt it now like a spider creeping up his spine screaming 'you fucked up, you fucked up so bad-'

The brunette's thought process was shut up by the bile rising in the back of his throat. Holy shit how much stuff could his stomach afford to exhume??

Damn him for thinking he could limit it to half a glass. Damn him for even giving into half a glass.

God his head hurt so bad. The lights were killing his vision, Prime.

He'd been doing so good.

He'd been doing so damn good.

Sure. "Recovery isn't linear", and all that, but holy nether hadn't Quackity said he would just kick him out if he fucked up like this?

A wave of hot cold shot over Schlatt's limbs and his breath hitched with a whimper. Quackity.

Oh Prime, what if he'd done something to Quackity?

The thought had him hunched over the toilet bowl once more, staring at the red vomit collected in the bowl, shaking with airless sobs.

This was all his fault, wasn't it? He'd basically killed Wilbur. Quackity didn't trust him, probably never would. And fuck, he was right not to. Schlatt wasn't a good person.

He chuckled drily at that, but immediately regretted it as his stomach clenched up once more.

Christ, this headache sucked.

Schlatt buried his face in the toilet bowl again, resigning himself to another hour of being suspended in this position as his body forced out all of last night's regrets.

Chapter Text

Wilbur woke up feeling like something had crawled into his mouth and died. Prime's sake, this was the third time this week, or something like that. He grimaced, rubbing his hands across his head and trying to regain his bearings.

Would he have to spend every other day waking up with his life flashing before his eyes?? Wilbur really hoped not. This was terrible for his life expectancy, surely. Christ.

Wilbur opened his eyes onto the sight of the green cryptid staring directly at him, barely three inches from his face.

He flung himself backwards with a yelp, feeling a weird sense of deja vu amidst the terror.

Why deja vu?

 ... Oh, right, it was cause this was how he'd woken up every other day here at this damn place. Wilbur scowled.

Despite Wilbur's ungraceful awakening, the thing hiccoughed happily, rusted needle voice sending gooseflesh spiraling all over the brunette.

"Safe!" it cried. Scratching its talons across the wooden floor, the green bird thing stalked over, craning its neck and grinning with a mouth full of human like teeth.

The sound of its nails on the firm wood made Wilbur's teeth hurt.

"Safe," it repeated, twisting one of its wing feathers in its hand-things. "Techno hunt-left, Theseus out-is." The feather-mangling didn't look comfortable, but Green wasn't reacting to it in a painful way to Wilbur focused instead on his reply.

"As safe as I can be in this situation, I guess....?" he chuckled, dry and insincere.

It nodded. "Does ⟟⏁⏁⌰⟒ ⏚⟟☌ ⋏⟒⌇⏁⌰⟟⋏☌ remember?" 

Wilbur blinked. "Does... what?" 

It tried again. "Does little big one remember?"

Trying not to feel mildly insulted by being called a "little big one", Wilbur reached back throughout his memories.

He'd been alone. A little red bird had... No, it was called Tommy. He was Tommy. Wilbur had... Oh, what the fuck.

The brunette went cold, blood crashing against the shores of his heart. He discarded the memories of his injury altogether, focusing on- well. He needed to know. He had to know.

"I- Tommy. Is he safe?"

Green twisted its head even further to the side, bent at a freakish angle. It looked contemplative.

Wilbur felt his stomach roll at the pause. (Please let him be safe, Oh God, Oh Prime,) Before he could vomit all over the flooring of their little room, Green perked up excitedly.

"Theseus!" it cawed. "Tommy-same. Tommy-Theseus. Safe!"

So he had misheard Tommy's name. Oh, whatever. Tommy was better than whatever the fuck Theseus was anyway.

More importantly, however- "Thank you," Wilbur breathed, body sagging with relief. 

He looked down at his shaking hands and chanced a sad smile. Was he really so desperate for a companion in this strange scenario that the first thing to give him kindness he'd instantly imprinted on?

He was, and Wilbur knew it.

How long had it been?

The green cryptid poked him with its claws, bringing Wilbur back into focus. "Huh?"

It smiled in that too human way again, and then proceeded to pick Wilbur up and practically throw him into a soft, beanbag-like bedding. "Rest and eat," it told Wilbur. "Blood-give, blood-gone. More."

Wilbur didn't have the faintest idea of what that meant, so he just stared into the creature's eyes and blinked.

It gave a fond (fond?) sigh and deposited a pile of jerky stuff like what he'd had a day or so ago across the bed-thing. "Eat," it warbled.

Wilbur picked up a strip and sniffed it, hesitant to actually put it into his mouth. The bird seemed to recognize this, and shuffled towards him to grab a piece and put it into it's own mouth to show- *here, see, I eat it. It's safe,* and swallowed with a grin.

It looked kinda stupid, sitting smiling all dopey with the outline of an entire strip of jerky traveling down its throat. Wilbur smirked, and began to chew on his own piece.

Damn, it was actually pretty good. No seasonings or anything, but the game was probably nice in this forest and all, if these things looking so well-fed were any signal.

(Wilbur still didn't know if they were going to eat him. The chances did seem to be dropping by the day, but you could never be too sure with strange creatures.)

Sharp tapping on the door turned both Wilbur and the green cryptid's head towards the doorway. 

"Need?" asked the cryptid.

The door began to crack open, shuffling pitpats of little talons on the ground betraying the visitor even before Wilbur could see the red fluffy haunches and little delicate grabby hands which meant Tommy.

"Wimblah?" the nestling whispered. 

"Here," Green replied simply, and Wilbur watched as Tommy's eyes shot impossibly wider with happiness. 

Something static sage shot through him and suddenly, there was nothing more Wilbur wanted than to hug Tommy once more.

The hatchling scampered full speed over to the bed, too short to see into it. "Up!" he demanded, squeaky voice tell tale of his impatience.

Green gave a hacking giggle Tommy seemed to take as comforting and lifted the fluffy boy into the air, plopping him down right next to Wilbur.

"WALLBY!!" Tommy shrieked, forgetting all their name practice in his moment of joy. Wilbur laughed, gleeful smile threatening to bruise. "Hey, Tommy," he grinned. 

Or he would have, but Tommy threw himself at the brunette, muffling the words in puffy red down. 

They lay in a messy, giggling pile for longer than Wilbur would like to admit before Tommy began to quiet down, clutching at Wilbur's unwashed sweater. The brunette could feel his heart beat in tandem with his own, a comforting pulse warm against the mild air.

Wilbur wrapped himself around the fluffy chick and let himself forget Green, let himself ignore the memories of his arm and his panic and his pain for a moment longer.

There was his br- this child in his arms, and Wilbur was just fine with that.

////

The Forest loved Theseus.

The Forest wanted him happy.

So it searched.

And it found.

And it ripped its find out of the deep hole it had been buried in,

and it fed its find months of could-have-been time, engorging it on slowly built trust made by a boy who did not exist anymore.

When the Forest had a fat, thick, strong kernel in its hands, it shoved the find back

from where it came.

And it worked.

This boy would never let Theseus go.

The Forest had made sure of it.

Chapter Text

Phil's heart was warm.

Chapter Text

After the entire ordeal with Wilbur's being-eaten misunderstanding, (and way too many reassurances on Wilbur's part that he wasn't still afraid, no harm done, no way, while Tommy giggled in the background) Techno ushered everybody out of the nestroom and into the general central space, proclaiming it was time to eat. 

Tommy, who'd thrown himself at the centermost chair-like object in the room the second Wilbur had let go of his little claw-hands, yelled out a "HORN-RUNNER, HORN-RUNNER!!" that Phil followed up with a much softer declaration of "Shriekfly, if-willing."

Techno nodded, the strange mishmashes of words seemingly making total sense to him. "And this-one?" he asked, turning to Wilbur with a smile.

"What does Wilbur want?"

The brunette blinked, unsure what to say. He was hungry, of course, and thirsty, but he didn't know if "A glass of water, please" or "Cereal" would be any semblance of understandable to the creatures.

Phil had fed him all the times before and it was good; maybe he could ask for whatever that was.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispered. "What did you give me last time?"

The green avian's eyes widened a little, surprised to be asked. "Ah! Outsider, horn-runner, dry-shriekfly. Desire-again, does Wilbur?"

Wilbur nodded, relieved. "Y-Yeah! Outsider, uh," he began, turning back to Techno, "Outsider, horn-runner, and, water, maybe? You guys- You guys drink water, right?"

To his utmost contentment, Techno sang out an affirmation. "Drink-life, drink-life. Yes. Forest will tell any-word Wilbur-know Techno-Theseus-Philza do not. Never fear."

Wilbur smiled tentatively, unsure what he'd meant by the last part but soothed by the first.  He made a quiet resolution to ask Phil about the "Forest" and their strange reverence of it later. "Thank you, Techno." 

The avian's pupils blew up in happiness at whatever he'd said, ruff enlarging. "Name-used... Thanking-of-you, Wilbur. Such name. Very use." Before Wilbur could reply, Techno turned and bobbed away, a jump to his already strange step that made the human wince; he'd forgotten how strangely these things moved.

Turning back towards Phil and Tommy, Wilbur was met with an adorable sight. Tommy was flat on his back, half-asleep, whilst his sire pet his head with one talon, humming softly as he did so.

Wilbur let the scene sink into him for a few moments, slow smile rippling across his visage.

He felt a little bad for disturbing them, but Wilbur was still curious, and now was good a time as any to ask.

"...What's this forest you all keep talking about?" Wilbur wondered, watching Phil as his gaze snapped up to meet the brunette's.

"The Forest?" Phil whispered, talon stilling in Tommy's feathers. The little one let out a grunt of annoyance but remained otherwise still.

"...The... Forest," he confirmed. "What is it? Why do you use it like- like God? Like Prime?"

Phil's face wrinkled in thought, but the rest of him remained still, gazing across at the human. Wilbur couldn't take his eyes away from the cryptid's, that same slow sedative drip hooking itself deep into every vein as he stared. 

"...Phil?" he said, voice small.

"The Forest is here," Phil began. 

He didn't sound quite right. ...He sounded like he did when Wilbur was kidnapped found. 

"The Forest is beyond-we. The Forest knows. The Forest is you-I-Theseus-Techno."

Wilbur couldn't feel his limbs.

"The Forest knew-of-you, Wilbur," Phil cooed. "The Forest takes-moves-gives."

"The Forest is everything. No-more word needed. Does Wilbur understand?"

And normally, this wouldn't be enough. Normally, Wilbur would press for more, ask until he had a book's worth of knowledge, till he was educated and educated damn well on the subject at hand, but the hooks in his veins held him sluggishly still, iron tangy static brain wobbling about in his skull as Wilbur nodded.

The two were still, moment frozen in saccharine drug fuzz and wide green eyes.

Then Phil blinked and Wilbur was sent reeling backwards, lungs heaving and heart pounding as the avian shook his head furiously, like a dog shaking off water from its coat.

"Apologies for fright, Wilbur," Phil cawed lightly, sounding completely unapologetic. "The Forest wished to explain its presence. This one-feels-not-hears. Words-easy, though."

Wilbur pushed himself back upright onto his shaking knees, and nodded once more, wordless and quiet.

"I-It's okay, Phil."

The avian nodded, seemingly satisfied. The brunette, still half-dazed, dragged himself over to Tommy and plopped down next to the chick, one hand carding through his red fluff as Wilbur worked to regain his bearings.

"Techno!" Phil piped up, the happy exclamation bringing Wilbur's attention to the pink cryptid in the entryway. "Thank-food, mate."

A wordless chuff of happy welcome as Techno handed Phil a few chunks of meat (and an entire, unplucked chicken, throat torn open in a clean but wild way), and trodding over to Tommy and Wilbur in order to deposit a leg of what looked to be deer before Tommy and then a small cut of some unidentifiable meat onto Wilbur's lap.

It was cooked, thank god, and didn't look to be too much for him to eat (much unlike the massive amount Tommy had been given, dear Prime.)

A wooden container of water was deposited next to him with a thunk, and then Techno ambled away to go sit beside Phil.

"Thanks," Wilbur told his retreating form. 

"Welcome," came the call of reply from Techno, draped lazily across his mate's lap some six feet away. "Bond-said portion-size. Need-more, ask."

"Ah, no this is fine, thanks," Wilbur called in response. He doubted he'd be able to stomach much more than this anyway, what with not having had enough to eat the past few days.

Funny how the body's response to starvation was to reject food once it finally got it.

Wilbur picked up his cup and took a sip, untensing with a sigh of bliss as the cool water slid down his dry, semi-sore throat. He'd needed this, for sure.

The meat was dry, but good, still flavored like a seasoning Wilbur hadn't ever had before but wasn't complaining about. He assumed that deer had to be the horn-runner, and shriekfly must have been a chicken, from Phil and Tom's meals. This had to be Outsider, then. Maybe cow or lamb? Wilbur didn't really think they were native to this... the Forest, after all.

It was good, and filling, so Wilbur shrugged it off and kept eating.

The room was quiet as its occupants dug into their meals, but it wasn't awkward. Tommy was curled around his feet, gnawing aggressively at the meal bigger than his entire body, whilst Techno and Phil took turns throwing bits of meat at one another and seeing who could catch it with their beaks. It was domestic, peaceful; safe.

And for the second time since Wilbur had been taken, he felt at home. 

Chapter Text

Quackity threw his dish into the sink with a groan, one hand scratching behind his head as he trod back into the living room. The crash of ceramic sounded out loudly behind him, but the bedraggled man didn't give it so much as a glance.

He'd barely slept that night, mind churning over what he'd need to do in the morning, and so Quackity didn't hesitate as he grabbed the beaten leather couch blocking the door to their room. No use staying up to think if you don't decide on a plan, after all.

Dragging the couch back to its original location, Quackity wiped his hands on his jeans and rapped his knuckles against the door, quick before his resolve failed him.

"Schlatt?"

A disgruntled croak filtered through the wood. Quackity waited a second more before sliding down into a heap, back against the doorway and legs clutched tight against his chest. 

He heard some creaking as Schlatt moved about the room, crashing into something unidentifiable as he quested for the exit. Quackity felt a thud vibrate against his body, Schlatt bouncing off a door he'd obviously expected to now be unobstructed.

"The door's still locked," Quackity said softly.
Silence, for a bit. Then: Aggravated cursing could be heard, mumbled but distinct. Despite himself, a corner of Quackity's mouth turned upwards in the start of a smile.

Eventually, Schlatt cooled off, going quiet. Quackity heard him thunk down into a seating position, the man's tired hum running straight through the door and into his flesh.

He bet if you removed the door, they'd be barely an inch apart, both man's backs pressed up to the wooden slab between them, kept away by a lock and the knowledge of Quackity's .44 only a few feet from his hands.

The thought sent a cold chill down his spine, but Quackity couldn't tell if that was good or bad. Maybe it should have been bad. 

"...y'gonna kick me out, now?" came Schlatt's eventual question. He sounded raw, tired, resigned. He sounded like a man with nowhere to go and nothing to do about it.

"Don't feel bad bout it, Quacks... er, Quackity," Schlatt sighed. "Ya warned me. I was jus' stupid enough ta ignore it."

Quackity clenched his fists in his lap and screwed his eyes shut.

He remembered all the times when they'd been together and Schlatt had gotten close to hurting him, remembered the time he had- the time Quackity had said enough was enough.

He thought about late-night calls with a sad-sounding Wilbur, the brunette asking him what to do about Schlatt's... moods.

He remembered having to go through every bottle he owned, even the high-class rose that had been a gift from Sap, and throwing it out, letting the bottles crash into soaking sparkling little shards against the insides of the garbage bin.

Quackity exhaled, unclenching his fists, and opening his eyes.

He'd made a choice.

Steeling all his resolve, Quackity began to speak.

"I'm not kicking you out, Schlatt."

The shocked bark of incredulous laughter that came from the man behind the door made Quackity wince. "You're gonna let me stay?! Quackity, are you actually fucking crazy?!"

Quackity clicked his tongue, but a little hysterical laugh bubbled up out of his torso anyway. "Yeah, I think I might be," he croaked, wobbly grin splitting his face in two. 

Silence. Quackity could feel the disbelief through the door, thick and bright and overwhelmingly honest.

"I'm gonna hurt you again, Quackity," Schlatt whispered. He sounded more sober than he had in fucking forever, and Quackity hated that he chose now of all fucking times to be that way.

"I know."

"I'm gonna fuck up, and I'm gonna keep fucking up, Quacks, what the hell? Are you stupid or something??"

Quackity didn't reply, head tilted up towards the ceiling as Schlatt's incredulous laughter faded into quiet, hiccuping sobs.

"Probably," he finally replied. "I probably am."

Schlatt chuckled wetly. "If I was a good person, I'd tell you no. I'd just... waltz on out of here, 'n go die in the streets or something, but..."

"But you're not a good person," Quackity finished for him.

"Ayup!" 

The two were quiet after that, Schlatt's hands tip tapping against the floor in a soft repetitive rhythm.

"I'm not gonna leave you alone in the house, though," Quackity finally added. "Not again. I don't care if I'm going to the local 7-11 at the ass crack of dawn to buy Primeade, you're coming with me. Clear?"

Schlatt was almost instant in his reply. "Bein' treated like a kid, or dying outside my old apartments? Wow, what a hard decision," he deadpanned.

Quackity sighed. "Alright, asshole," he said, rising to his feet and reaching for the door knob. "You won't vomit on me if I open this door, will you?"

"No, sirree."

Without further words, Quackity unlocked the bedroom door and twisted the knob outwards. 

The face he was met with looked like a sad, wet dog. A really ugly, sad wet dog that had probably spent half the morning throwing up, if the stain around his mouth said anything. Quackity wrinked his nose.

"C'mon, big guy, let's get you some water."

He reached out a hand to Schlatt, who, (much to his chagrin) grabbed it with no hesitation. 

"I definitely need it," Schlatt remarked, and Quackity found himself smiling up at the mess of a man with an easy familiarity that should have made his skin crawl.

It didn't, though, and if Quackity seemed to be extra gentle with Schlatt the rest of that day, well.

Whatever he "should" be feeling, he could feel that tomorrow.

Today was today.

Chapter Text

Wilbur blinked confusedly at the wide array of objects before him. A chunk of wood, a leg of deer, some leaves, and a mud brick, to name a few. 

"What... is this?" he asked.

Phil, who'd been the one to gather and present everything to Wilbur in the first place, grinned in that freakish bird-cryptid way. "Names-needed! Talking-improve."

"You want to know what I call this stuff so that you can better understand me?"

Phil chirped a yes, and Techno nodded vehemently. Tommy chewed on one of his toe claws.

"Alright, uh... This one here's a stick," Wilbur said, pointing at said stick. 

"This is a leaf, that's dried mud, um, that's a leg of deer..." 

Phil interrupted him curiously. "All-word before this one knew. Deer? What-is?"

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. "I think you guys called it horn-runner? That's deer. This is deer."

Techno nodded again, the avian leaning into Phil whilst scratching the underside of his chin like Wilbur had just said something very complex and well-educated.

"Horn-runner... deer," Phil murmured, one talon scratching away at a small wooden tablet. Taking notes, maybe.

"Name other-prey?" Techno asked, and Wilbur obliged.

The entire ordeal went pretty swimmingly, at least to everyone who wasn't Wilbur.

("Birds are shriekflies, I think," 

"--Burhb??"

"No. BER-DE, like that, see-"

"Barge?"

"Tommy for the love of Prime don't make this another 'Wimblur' moment."

"Bung.")

By the end, the brunette was extremely tired of teaching storybook creatures how to pronounce various wildlife names that he would have taken any excuse to get out of it, and so Phil & Techno's daily preening session seemed like a wonderful opportunity.

Phil frowned when Wilbur first suggested it,

("Can-talk still while preen, yes? Why-unable?")

but Wilbur managed around that.

The two gave Tommy little fond nips and brushed their wingfeathers over Wilbur's uninjured arm, and then absconded to wherever their preen-nest was (not that Wilbur really wanted to know its location. Waxy, bloody birdfeathers didn't tend to be nice on clothes, and he had precious little.)

Tommy hopped up into his lap and settled there like a sleepy toddler, relaxedly cheeping when Wilbur began petting his fluffy back.

"Do-Wilbur, cheemp, sire-have? Wilbur-like-have-sire-friend-bond?"

Wilbur took a moment to decipher the hatchling's words, rougher than Phil and Techno's as they were, but he got the gist soon enough.

"I did have friends, yeah. Uhm- Sally, right, lovely woman, very fond- Quackity, a jokester, devoted, caring, passionate man, my roommate, Schlatt- ....Uh."

Wilbur trailed off.

Something felt wrong.

Tommy looked up at him with wide, black, quizzical eyes. "Had-bond? Now, cheep, where?"

Wilbur sagged against the nest behind him, gaze unfocused. 

"...Why'd I leave them?" he murmured. "Where... are they?"

"Wimbly?" Tommy chirped, not yet concerned but wanting more pets.

Wilbur felt his hands begin to tremble, body tightening up as fear laced through it because holy fucking Prime I forgot, didn't I, or if I did remember I didn't remember why I wasn't there with them, what the fuck, Oh God- and he curled in on himself, forcing Tommy off of his lap with a desperate whimper.

"Wilbur?" Tommy asked again, this time sounding much more concerned. "Wilby?"

The man's eyes were glassy with unshed tears, still breathing steady but barely in the moment, thoughts racing a mile a minute as the not-quite-panicky hysteria of someone who's forgotten something deadly important seated itself inside every nerve ending Wilbur owned.

Tommy sounded millions of miles away, voice shrill as he cried out for something- Wilbur couldn't tell what, but he sounded so scared, so scared- 

The cuff on his leg felt like a brand, turning and twisting around him, heavy on his flesh as Wilbur thrashed about, steel wool tendrils crawling from it, up his spine and in his head-

Static static static soft claws raked themselves across his brain and Wilbur s c r e a m e d--

Schlatt was above him, glass in hand, face twisted and melted into everything and nothing at all, and as Wilbur watched Schlatt's bottle turned into a big sharp claw and he crept closer, laughing at the brunette, sickly sweet scent of sugar and alcohol drenching his senses with dusty crystalline fog--

His friends (who?) surrounded him laughing, someone's phone taking pictures for a purpose he didn't know but Wilbur was tired from last night and he shot Quackity a sad smile and Schlatt gripped his side just a bit tighter in that way that meant well but he was s c a r e d-

Wilbur was in his bed and on the phone with Quackity as the raven haired man cried, Schlatt's name on his lips like a curse that felt too good to let go of and the walls began to evaporate, feathers pouring in--

and Wilbur was hunted, Oh God he was, that primal fear pushing him to ruin, run, run away into the safe golden woods, gold like a honey trap, eyes watching his every move, and Wilbur was bleeding, dying, flesh shedding from bone as feathers took their place dark red red red red RED

And then there was Tommy.

Tommy was there.

The static was still in his brain but its claws didn't hurt much now.

Tommy, look at Tommy, look at your Tommy, the static said, and Wilbur whined and Wilbur hurt but Tommy was nice and the world was too simple to think right now so he turned and

Tommy was dead Tommy is alive.

Phil and Techno were hunched over Tommy with their claws bloody whispering about tainted hatchlings and ugly mistakes as they laugh laugh laughed Phil and Techno were holding him tight, Tommy snuggled in his lap as they cooed worriedly and Wilbur shrieked into Tommy's feathers 

He was dying and dead falling but Techno never caught him stupid mistake jumping right off the window sill Techno was holding him as Wilbur struggled and sobbed, arguing with the static in Wilbur's brain and hissing words the brunette didn't know the meaning of

Techno got louder and the static hurt hurt hurt and Tommy was crying and Phil was stock still with a look of something on his face Wilbur didn't care to comprehend at that moment all a crescendo getting only louder loud loud loud

And then it stopped.

No noise. No pain. Soft feathers. Soft quiet.

Everything felt raw. The silence made his ears ring.

Wilbur's voice hitched on itself, unending scream cutting off with a hoarse, broken sob.

He felt utterly wrecked and had no idea what had just happened.

"....T'mmy?" Wilbur croaked.

"Here!" came the piping churr, and Wilbur felt the fluffy wiggling pile that was Tommy crawl up into his lap. He hugged the little chick tight, hands woven along his feathers. The brunette allowed himself a few moments to breathe, safe with Tommy beside him.

".... What even happened?" he finally managed, quiet and shaken-sounding.

"Apologies," a voice rumbled behind him, and Wilbur realized he was curled into a fetal position with one of the adult cryptids behind him, bear-hugging him gently but firmly. "Forest-meddling. Had-purpose. Was done hurt-type."

Wilbur scoffed. "No shit, Techno, your fuckin' Forest-thing- It, damn, it- What- I- what purpose could that even have?!"

Silence again, Techno whispering under his breath in that freaky cryptic language to someone who didn't seem to exist. (Wilbur idly noted that this meant they did speak a language other than English. Or maybe they always spoke like this and their Prime damned Forest was just choosing not to translate right now. Prick.)

The pink cryptid sighed exhaustedly. "For Theseus, it says. Have no reason not to believe."

Wilbur wanted to snark back at that, to dig and insult, but something made him pause. 

"Tommy?" he asked instead. "Do you know anything about this?"

The hatchling drooped sadly under Wilbur's gaze. "No, chirp. Wilby-bad-feeling- asked fix. Forest fix." The hatchling then turned and scowled at the air. "Forest BAD FIX!" he yelled grumpily, tail swishing behind him. "NEVER AGAIN."

The brunette's eyes softened slightly. It was a cryptid deity, and a member of its had been in distress. Who knows what it thought humans could take.

And he could never blame Tommy.

"It's okay, Toms," Wilbur whispered. (Deja vu.)

"Just- tell the Forest not to do that again."

Tommy grinned, bouncing back nearly instantly. Techno snorted at his enthusiasm and made to get up, but accidentally swatted Wilbur and sent them all tumbling to the ground. Tommy's panicked help sent Phil crashing into the room, and the screeches of domestic bird laughter following the entire thing made Wilbur's thoughts of question about what had even triggered that whole episode fade away into nothing at all.

////

Basically: The Forest panicked and sent Wilbur into a crazy nightmare because it didn't want him remembering he had people who would wait for him beyond these guys.

Poor SBI though. they don't know the Forest is being a secretive asshole. Tbf the Forest doesn't know either it just wants to keep Wilbur here by any means necessary (even if the means suck ass.)

basically the billionth chapter that wilbur has been bullied by life TM lol

Chapter Text

Hey everybody. 

It's been over half a year since I updated, despite promises to keep writing- and I'm sorry about that.

I've been really into several different fandoms & CC Wilbur's actions turned me towards focusing on those instead. (Anonymous works, as they are not what I want attached to this pseud/username.)

I DO NOT KNOW IF I WILL FINISH THIS.

Make no mistake, I WANT to. I just don't know if I will. 

Because of that, here's the general plot summary so if you wish to continue this on your own time, you may. :)

- Another "fluffy" chapter was going to happen wherein Will developed further taste for Outsider meat. The family is enthusiastic about this.

- Schlatt and Quackity were going to figure out that Will was last seen heading towards a forest near the outside of town. Quackity would want to abandon the case for no good, but Schlatt would wanna go.

- There was going to be a chapter that was near entirely world building from Techno's POV, explaining about the Forest and various facets of its powers I hadn't explored yet. Mumza was going to come in a bit in this chapter, I forget exactly how but I believe as the Forest's main Voice from Chat

- Next would have been a crimeboys fluff chapter with Phil whilst Techno went hunting. Hide and go seek, cuddling, chitchat, the works. They would get to know one another better and solidify their bond further

- Techno was going to come back and demand that Will learn how to hunt, and Tommy would have wanted to go along. Tech would resist, but Phil would promise he was going to come with to ensure their safety and Techno would abate. Will is very amused by this entire exchange, and doesn't realize he is actually supposed to kill things now. The cryptids do not understand why this idea upsets him and kind of just pick him up and set out flying

- Schlatt and Quackity get into a fight about what to do- Schlatt eventually takes off for the woods on his own, angry and determined to find Will, or whatever's left of him, himself. Quackity is fucked up about this and about an hour later heads out after him, cursing everything that's been happening all the way to the city edge.

- POV Techno chapter where he and the boys have split off and are tracking a deer. Will is mostly being carried everywhere somewhat uncomfortably & attempting to get Tech to put him down and come back for him later. Tommy is very happy to just be out of the nest. Will snacks on his dried favourite meat the whole time :)

- POV Phil chapter of him splitting off from the rest after detecting Outsiders. He tells Techno very subtly in order to not frighten Will and Tommy, so they just see him head off and Tech tells them he saw some other prey. Phil overhears the , middle of an argument between Quackity and Schlatt, who found one another near the outer edge of the forest bounds. He stalks them until Quackity turns around and makes eye contact with him.

- POV Quackity chapter encapsulating finding Schlatt, the argument, and seeing Phil. He and Schlatt try to fight but Phil closes in, fucks them up, and makes them pass out- (blood loss on Schlatts side, cryptid eye powers on Quackity). Scary Phil because he is still a horrific bird cryptid when he's not being a fluffy dad.

- Tech and the others were gonna successfully hunt & return to the nest happy. Will and Tommy would head to their room to clean off and relax while Techno dealt with preserving the animal meat they'd hunted.  As he's finishing up, Phil would come get him with a tense aura about him and tell him to come to the room w the cuffs (the one where they first kept Will.)

- POV Schlatt and Q chap of how Phil and Tech deal with their hostages- what they think, feel, etc.

         I stopped having comprehensive chapter outlines after that, but the general idea was that Will would discover a fucked up Schlart and Quackster & the Forest's memory powers would kind of break their hold on him. (the ankle brand would break too in some dramatic moment idk where I was going with that).  He'd become aware of everything he had done, eat, etc.

    He would be forced to choose between forgetting those who care about him to live a happy painless life among his new family, or remember them, remember everything he'd done,  and revoke the Forest's protection over him, perhaps not living another day. 

   He's about to pick remembering, and then Tommy comes in. Schlatt would have seen Wills hesitance and done another hugely fucked up Schlatt moment and said something that hit a nerve with Will. And he would pick SBI.

    Big memory drama sequence, etc. etc. He does not recognize them anymore.

 "Oh, are these what you were hunting earlier? Why haven't you killed them yet, Phil?"

Quackity POV of Wils decision, his emotions, and regrets, meeting Schlstts eyes before it all goes black-- whumpy sad end for the two. They were never built to last. 

 Back with SBI, we have a wonderful family dinner.

Epilogue chapters with a lot of fluff and a lot of random cosmic horror. Nothing out of the ordinary, lol.

If anybody wants to pick this work up and finish it themselves, they can!

Thank you all for reading, and if, eventually, some years in the future, I find myself wanting to update again, I will do so with gusto and zeal. :)