Archive of Our Own

Everyone knows Crowfather. He is not hard to spot, with his jet-black wings giving him away when he spreads them to a 15-foot span. They never see his face with how quick he is, but his trademark sheer veil is recognizable even from a mile away. He has silky shoulder-length blond hair, covered with a specific green and white striped hat, with only a few locks slipping until his jaw and some in front of his veil. 

But what he is most famous for is the suffering he brought upon others. His aura is calm and soothing but can also be cold and deadly. His deceiving and manipulating persona gets the loot out of all his victims before they realize it is too late. He’d flap his wings and take off, his dark chuckle echoing as he disappears into the clouds. His words are like poisoned honey, promising safety and comfort from any danger, only to discover he is the cause. And before anyone can confront him, the whipping of air, shifting of wings, and his laughter are all that can be heard until he is out of sight once again. 

Nobody can outsmart him. 

Nobody can catch him.

And nobody can escape him.

The only warning sign of his presence is a murder of crows. 

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

Philza laughs as the couple screams curses at him, their voices getting lost in the wind as he flies away from them. His crows caw in the distance, alerting him that it is only a matter of time before they start attacking the two.

What fools. Seeing the desperation and hope on their faces was amusing when he said he’d find food for them. In the end, he just got more income. Well, it looks like they’d never pay off their debts now. 

Imagine what he can do with all these golds, diamonds, and emeralds! Sure, he plans to save some as souvenirs, but he has to put some into marketing. How else will he make even more money? He can’t just expect to scam people his whole life, even if a majority of his earnings are only from that.

While planning to himself, Phil let his wings guide him through the sky, a few of his crows flying beside him. The cool breeze seeps through his veil as it swayed a bit, exposing his face enough for the sensation to touch his skin. With his eyes closed, he spreads his wings further and soars. His feathers would never fail him.

He hears a croak to his left. He opens his eyes to look at Brian, his loyal soldier. As much as all his crows are precious and faithful, Brian stands out the most to him, with his beady eyes filled with more purple than black. He’s also the biggest crow, and the rest of them seem to think of him as a leader of some sort, after Crowfather himself, of course.

“What is it, Brian?” Phil speaks, his voice soft but loud enough to be heard in the wind. 

Brian squawks, flapping his wings a few times and tilting his head to the side. ‘ New village! New village! Spooky! Spooky!’

Phil hums. “A new village, you say? What do you mean by ‘spooky’? Is it abandoned?”

Brian caws, giving a jerky nod. ‘ Yes, Yes. Spooky, Spooky!’

Soon, all the rest of his crows screech in symphony to pester him to bid to their wishes.

‘New village! New village!’

‘Spooky! Spooky!’

‘Go! Go see!’

‘Go look!’

‘Spooky! New village spooky!’

Crowfather huffs, rolling his eyes. Honestly, the only thing they’d get out of this is giving him a headache. But still, an abandoned village did sound… interesting . It’s not like he has any other plans to scam any other people, unless they just happen to be in the way. Who knows, maybe he’d find something useful.

“Fine, fine, you little rats.” The crows begin to protest.

‘No rats! We crows!’

Philza smirks. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, if you want me to see this so-called abandoned village, you might as well hurry up and lead me there. I’d rather get there before nightfall.”

Okay, okay! We lead!

And with that, the crows take the lead, with their Crowfather following at their tails.

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

The crows weren’t kidding when they meant abandoned. As soon as Crowfather lands, he is consumed by fog, giving the village a bonus to its already eerie appearance. Every building is one or two stories, each worn out or destroyed. The soil is arid despite the mist that’s supposed to humidify it. Every plant he spots is withered, dehydration and depression clearly written on their stemmed bodies. As he walks further, the fog mixes with dust caused by the scattered rubble. Crowfather can’t hold the cough that erupts when he inhales the dust-mist mix.

What were the crows thinking? Sure, this is indeed a ghost town, but he can get nothing beneficial from exploring this dump, which has more trash than treasure. That much is obvious.

Then again, his crows can be quiet imbeciles most of the time, always finding ways to tick him off. This is probably one of their schemes to make him unproductive. Crowfather turns to give his crows an exasperated glare, all of them perched on different rusted or crumbling structures. They all let out mocking caws, tilting their heads up and flapping their wings. They’re making fun of him. 

The nerve.

Brian lands on his shoulder, deciding to peck at his hair.

‘Stupid! Stupid!’

“Shut. Or I’m going to turn you into my next meal.”

Brian only pecks at him more, croaking more taunts.

‘Bad birdman! Bad birdman!’

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy? You’re the one who led me here.” 

Crowfather glances at the other crows, who all look at him in sync.  

He stares them down.

They stare back, unblinking.

Then, the crows synchronously chant.

‘Bad birdman be good birdman!’

‘Boo! Spooky! Spooky!’

‘Birdman be nicer! Birdman family!’

‘Birdman lonely!’

‘Boo! Boo!’

‘Spooky! Spooky!’

‘Lonely Birdman! No more lonely!’

Crowfather blinks, confusion lacing his face. “What are you lot on about?”

Instead of getting a response, the crows caw again (‘ Stupid! Stupid!’ ) before they all take off, leaving him with Brian perched on him.

Crowfather shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with idiots like you.”

Brian pecks at him in retaliation, squawking.

Crowfather ignores him in favor of walking into a dusty, littered warehouse with no floor. The cement from the outside just continued to the inside. It’s like someone simply put walls and a roof around a specific area of ground. 

On the other side stands a long, dark wooden desk, chipped and aged. Crowfather doesn’t have to shake the table to know its legs are weak. On top of it is a faded photo. It looks relatively recent, but the smudges and drips of water make it look centuries older. Not to mention that there is also…blood?

Huh.

Before Crowfather can put more focus on studying the picture, there is a loud bang and thud from behind him.

Swift as ever, he whips his body around in a smooth motion. Brian screeches and flies off his shoulder, landing on a chair.

Crowfather's eyes glance around the warehouse, searching for anything suspicious. He sees a bookshelf, one that he didn’t notice before, on the floor, as if someone pushed it down. Crowfather assumes it must have fallen because of the uneven weight.

Before he can turn away, a pressure slams into him from behind, causing him to almost tumble. 

Okay, whatever that was was strong, but not strong enough.

Crowfather twists himself to glare at what attacked him but is met with just air. 

Furrowing his brows, he turns to look at Brian, who stares back at him and caws. Tch, useless. 

That was definitely a body that bumped into him; it couldn’t have been anything else.

Fine. If that person wants to play, then Crowfather can play, too.

He lets out a low inhale before lacing his words with honey. “Excuse me? I sincerely apologize if I disturbed you. It seems my curiosity has gotten the best of me again, and I didn’t know anyone was around.”

He waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he decides to continue. “Hello? Is anyone there? Come on now, don’t be scared.”

Still no answer. Huh, tricky soul.

“Oh, please say something. I know you are there.”

Silence.

Crowfather lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okay then, be that way. Oh well, I guess I’ll just continue minding my own business then.”

With that, he reaches out to touch the picture again, curious as to what is the story behind it. Before his fingers can brush over it, hands grab fistfuls of his feathers and pull.

Hissing in pain, Crowfather stumbles backward before spreading his wings out in an instant, causing the hands to let go. He can feel a few feathers missing. And didn’t that get him fuming?

“That little-” 

Crowfather spins around, not stopping as he stretches his hand out to grab at the person. Fabric curled under his talon-like digits. He yanks the person upwards and into the faded light, clicking dangerously as he glared at the…

Sweater?

Wait, wait. What the heck?

In his hands is a sweater. A gray sweater that shouldn't be as heavy as it is. 

And one that definitely shouldn’t be squirming.

Crowfather trails over the invisible force in his grasp, freezing when he sees an inky blue substance seeping from a particular place and dripping onto the collar of the sweater.

Oh.

Crowfather loosens his hold on the sweater, but it is still firm enough for nothing to escape.

Oh.

Chuckling, he sets what he’s holding down on the floor but keeps a hand on the collar to prevent it from running.

“Well, hello there. You almost had me fooled.” He says in a low voice.

His eyes glide back to the blue dripping onto the sweater.  

“Y’know, if you wanted to really trick me, you’d have to do a better job at hiding your blue blood, phantom.”

The sweater freezes, earning a sharp grin from Crowfather before it hisses and attempts to flee from his grip.

It only leads to Crowfather’s hold tightening. “Ah, ah, ah. You see, I’ve never met a real phantom before. So why don’t you enlighten me a bit? Think of it as a minor confrontation.”

“Screw you! Let go of me!” A wispy and raspy voice came, but it sounded so young .

Frowning, Crowfather doesn't ease up his grasp. Right before his eyes, a small figure begins to fade into the light. Gray outline becomes bolder and bolder until a translucent blue body with brown curls appears in the sweater. Dark eyes look up to glare at him, membrane wings flapping in aggression. The hover in the air is replaced by legs engulfed by ripped and dirty black pants, feet only covered by holed socks.  

The boy’s hostile gaze does not falter, teeth grinding together as a see-through tail whips to and fro.

Crowfather can’t hold in the small gasp that escapes him.

A child. A phantling . 

The boy scrunches up his nose when Crowfather gapes at him, the aggression still present. “What.”

Crowfather blinks a few times, gaining his composure back. His feathered wings ruffle behind him, and Brian looks between the two of them. This was not the outcome he was expecting.

Clearing his throat, Crowfather speaks, keeping his voice soft. “Hey, mate, I…didn’t realize you’d be a child.”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms and turning his head away. “M’not a child. I’m ten.”

As if that made it any better. Ten, and the boy was tiny . The child just barely reached his waist. Or his own stature was much too tall. After all, it’s not every day someone is 7 feet. Crowfather couldn’t control the gentle croon that came out, surprising himself. What on earth is he doing? Why is he feeling sad for the child?

He pushes the thoughts down, thinking it was only pity…

But it didn’t feel like pity…it felt stronger and more human…something like…compassion?

That can’t be right. When was the last time he ever felt compassion? Not after they hurt her . Not after they destroyed the love of his life. The only person who could bring a genuine smile to his face. The only person who brought him pure joy.

Not after Trixtin.

But when he looks down at this boy, worn out and skeptical of everything, he can’t help the overwhelming emotions that begin to grow in his chest. Stupid instincts.

The child looks up at him, anger replaced with confusion. Then the gaze lands on his black wings, and Crowfather thinks that maybe, just maybe, he saw the boy’s expression shift into curiosity, awe, and longing. His hands twitch as if holding himself from trying to reach out.

Crowfather gave him a gentle smile before crouching to the kid’s level. “Okay, phantling, do you think you can answer some questions I have?” The sooner he knows things, the better he can deal with it and escape this situation.

The boy spares a quick look at him before looking at the wings again, brows furrowing as he mutters, “S’not like a have a choice.”

Crowfather chuckles. “Well, you do have a choice. I just think it’d be better if you answered me.”

The boy just hums, still entranced by Crowfather’s wings.

“Alright, what is your name?” Crowfahter asks, tilting his head.

Now the phantling looks at him for more than a nanosecond, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Crowfather lifts his hands up in mock surrender. “Just curious, mate.”

The boy still looks wary, trying to search Crowfather’s eyes for any deceit (and for the first time in a while, Crowfather had none), unable to find ill intent. But the boy still tries to study him, as if there must be some trickery Crowfather is planning that he can’t detect.

Crowfather sighs, shuffling a hair closer to the child. It goes unnoticed by the latter, who is still glaring at him. “Listen, phantling. I promise I bring no harm. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy stares at him, eyes flickering over every part of him until he closes his eyes and turns his head, opening them to look at Crowfather’s wings again. “Wil.”

Crowfather feels a sense of pride, but he can’t tell if it is for himself to get the boy to open up a fraction or for Wil, who was able to muster enough courage to answer him.

Wil. Wil. Wil.

Crowfather repeats it in his head a few times. It had a nice ring to it. Grinning, he says, “Wil. That name suits you. Nice to officially meet you, mate! I’m Philza, but known to most as Crowfather.”

Wil nods, not taking his eyes off the wings this time.

Clearing his throat, Crowfather asks, “Do you…do you know where your parents are?”

Now, the boy removes his gaze from the wings, although he looks frustrated to do so. It’s amusing.

“Why do you wanna know?”

Crowfather tilts his head, “So that I can take you to them or help you find them.”

He was expecting the boy to get defensive over the question, or at least look nonchalant about it, because it was none of his business, and the boy probably knew where they were.

But instead, the boy’s eyes flicker with resignation and sadness. He turns his head down and starts fiddling with the hem of his sweater. It is also then that Crowfather realizes that the boy still has blue blood trailing from his neck. Before he can ask about it, the boy mumbles something unintelligible.

“Say that again, mate?”

Wil glances at him before dropping his gaze to the floor again.

“Mama…mama and daddy left. Told me to stay here ‘til they get back. Told me to never leave.  But Mama ‘n Daddy never came. So I never left. And then, a few days later, I fell asleep for a while. Didn’t want to sleep in case I missed Mama ‘n Daddy. But then when I woke up, I was all blue and clear…still waiting for Mama ‘n Daddy, so I never left.”

If Crowfather’s heart cracked a bit in the beginning, it is shattered now. He holds back so that he doesn’t flinch with a hiss.

Because this boy, this very boy, was turned into a phantling. Yes, phantoms may be born, and some turned, but never this young. Not when they had their lives to spend in innocence until they grew up. Not when they were supposed to make messes and play outside with friends. Not when they need to be clingy and needy of their parents while still trying to become more independent.

No child, phantling or not, should have to wait for who knows how long, in an isolated warehouse, in a ghost town, with nobody around, for people who are never coming back.

It takes Crowfather all his willpower not to hunt down the boy’s parents at that very moment. Heck, he doesn’t even know if they are dead or alive. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that they gave up on their child, who needed them more than anything else.

Crowfather let out a croon, causing the boy to jerk. Wil snaps his head up at him, shock and confusion on his face. Crowfather sighs, giving the boy a strained smile, but it comes out as a grimace.

“Sorry mate, it’s just…that’s not very good news, to put it in the lightest way,”

Wil doesn't comment, content with a staring contest with the ground.

Crowfather sighs again. He tucks a finger under the boy's chin, tipping his head up. When their eyes meet, Crowfather asks, in a gentle voice, "Alright, so what do you plan on doing now then, little phantling?"

Wil bites his inner cheek, contemplating. He catches sight of Crowfather’s wings once more and keeps his gaze on them.

Crowfather notices his staring and chuckles. “You really like my wings, huh?”

Wil flinches and looks away in an instant, pale pink dusting his cheeks. It’s like he didn't realize the man had seen him constantly glancing at his feathers.

Crowfather pushes on, “Is there a reason you like them? Well, other than them being wings ?”

Wil hesitates. He looks at the appendages again, then at Crowfather’s face. He fiddles with his shirt again and mutters, “I used to have wings like that…”

Crowfather freezes. Oh god, didn’t that just make it a whole lot worse?

This was a baby bird . A little nestling that was much too young to leave home.

“And…and how long has it been since you’ve turned?”

Wil shrugs but bites his lips and sniffles like he is inches away from crying. His voice wavers as he says, “I don’t remember…everything’s fuzzy, but Mama and Daddy went away a bit before my birthday.”

Crowfather swears that if he ever finds Wil’s parents, whether alive or six feet under, he’s bringing a torch. But his harsh confrontation thoughts can wait because now tears are welling up in the phantling’s eyes as he turns his head away from Crowfather. His mouth trembles, and his tail droops. 

Crowfather throws all his caution to the wind when the boy’s tears finally spill. He doesn’t think as he yanks the phantling into his arms, his kimono sleeves draping over his small, trembling body like a silky blanket. He spreads his wings and wraps them around both of them on instinct.

He can’t explain why he did it. Only that he did. This boy makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in a long time. Something other than mockery and emptiness. Because this boy, this innocent nestling, is a lost soul that had no love or protection from the very people who were supposed to give it to him. He is all alone in a cruel world, given up by the people who should’ve cared for him unconditionally.

And gosh, does that mess with his instincts? The bird part of his brain chants, ‘ protect-protect-nestling-protect.’ It has been a while since he’s felt the urge to protect and love . And now this boy weasels his way into Crowfather’s life and messes with his bird brain. Oh dear, he’s already gotten attached, hasn’t he?

Wil sobs as he grabs fistfuls and buries his face in Crowfather’s robes, clinging to him as tight as he could muster. Tears soak into the clothes, but Crowfather doesn’t comment. Instead, he just runs his hand through the phantling’s hair, hoping to provide more comfort. The boy hiccups, shaking his head. 

Confused, Crowfather asks, keeping his voice soft, “What’s wrong, little crow?”

Wil lifts his head a bit, albeit hesitant, and Crowfather can see his face scrunched up and red as tears continue to slip past puffy eyes. “...m’not…not supposed to cry…have to be–big boy…” The phantling’s voice cracks as he speaks, words slurred and interrupted by hiccups in between.

Crowfather croons, moving a hand to wipe at the tears trailing the boy’s cheeks. “Oh, phantling, that’s not true. You have every right to cry, and given the situation you’re in, I'd be concerned if you didn't. You deserve to let it out. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

The boy sniffles and looks away, seemingly doubting Crowfather’s statement. So, Crowfather leans closer to his ear as he whispers like it’s a secret, “Y’know, even big boys and grown-ups cry too.”

Wil swallows, gazing at Crowfather, still looking skeptical. “R-really?”

But for some reason, it feels like he isn’t only confirming if it is okay to cry. That one tiny need for affirmation is also asking for something much deeper. Is it alright to trust you? Can I believe you won’t leave me, too?

Crowfather offers him a soft smile and nods. “Of course.”

Brian crows from the chair, only now deciding to re-introduce his presence as he flies on Crowfather’s shoulder. He rubs his head against Wil’s hair in approval as he chimes, ‘ Crowman new son-boy!’

The phantling stares at him. The tears have slowed, but the tracks are still visible. Crowfather lifts his sleeve to dab them away, causing the boy to squeeze his eyes shut. Once he clears the tear tracks, he sees the phantling’s mouth twitch upward. Gradually, the shy and hesitant smile broke into a big grin brighter than any glow.

Crowfather lets out a small laugh as he hugs the boy even closer to him, mindful of the blood on his neck. He should soon tend to it, but he is unable to let go just yet. And by the tiny yet chilly hands that grab onto him just as tight, it seems neither is Wil.

*FIN*