Chapter Text
Ben dragged himself outside.
The damn squirrel was swinging on the bird feeder again, gorging itself on seeds. Ben aimed the shotgun and fired. Another miss. He sighed and put away the weapon as the fluffy nuisance scampered away.
He was so tired. He just wanted to be left alone for the next thousand years. And now that he had his inheritance, maybe he could arrange that.
Small birds started to fly back, chittering as they pecked at the ground. Birds were okay. They were peaceful. Not like squirrels.
Something landed on his head.
“Ow,” he said, shooing at the weight. There was a loud squawk as his hand hit something. The rapid flutter of wings circled his head, close enough to smack him in the face a couple of times.
Fuck. Ben held his head in his arms. The flapping ceased as his attacker landed on the front of his shirt.
Ben frowned down. It wasn’t a little garden bird. It was a ragged, brightly feathered thing that trembled and stared at him with little black eyes.
Ben held a hand out to the bird. It readily stepped onto a finger. “Cheep!” it yelled. He stared steadily at it as he walked back into the house.
He closed the door and walked into the kitchen. This bird was bigger than the ones he was used to feeding. It had a little hook bill and white rings around its eyes, like a little parrot.
He retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and filled it partway with water. The bird had fluffed out its feathers and was staring at him intently while cocking its head. As soon as he started running the water, the bird made a soft gurgling sound and perched itself on the bowl where it began drinking.
Ben used his phone to take a photo of the bird. Pyrrhura, his phone suggested. He clicked on the word. Green-cheeked Parakeet. Species of South American conure parrot.
The bird had finished drinking and stared at him from the bowl. Its feathers were rough looking, with stiff white pieces poking through. Its beak looked scaly and was peeling. Presumably this bird had started life as a pet, but didn’t seem to have anyone now.
He held his hand out to it. “Hey there, little guy.”
The bird maintained eye contact as it slowly gave him a firm bite on his finger. Ben pulled back with an incredulous laugh.
“Aah aah aah.” It sounded like a monkey. Ben laughed again, and the bird simultaneously made the monkey sound. It was mimicking him.
Ben quieted, watching the bird. It was still watching him back, eyes bulging and head cocked with its feathers fluffed out. It made a clicking sound and tucked one of its feet up.
It was probably hungry, he thought. He went to the pantry and got a slice of bread and some of the bird seed he kept for the feeder. When he placed them on the counter, the bird just continued to stare at him. “Woof,” it said.
“Woof?”
“Woof woof.” It said it rapidly, like one word. Ben took a step back, and the bird immediately took a step towards the bread and stopped. Ben took another step back, and the bird moved closer to the bread. Ben took a step closer and the bird shuffled backward immediately.
Okay, he thought. It’s scared.
He moved several steps away and sat in a chair. The bird’s feathers smoothed and it ran surprisingly fast to the bread. It took one bite, then another, and ran with it back to the water bowl. It was dipping the bread.
After a few bites, the bird ran back to the pile of seed and made a loud vibrating sound. It picked up a sunflower seed, then spit it out and picked up a safflower seed. It made the vibrating sound again. Almost like a cat purr, Ben thought.
Knock knock.
Ben heard a loud squawk and frantic flapping. The bird flew in a large circle around the room, apparently unable to decide where to land before settling on a cabinet top. It slid a little ways after it landed, gave a large wing flip, and seemed to settle.
Ben opened the front door a crack. Hux stood on the porch with a box of papers. When Ben didn’t open the door further, his assistant raised a pale eyebrow at him. “I have the files you asked for,” he said.
Ben continued to stand there silently. He was seriously considering taking an impromptu sabbatical. Finally he sighed. “Fine. Put them down there on the porch.”
Hux nodded and placed the box on the ground. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes.” Ben glanced over to the kitchen. The bird was still on the cabinet top, watching him. “Go buy a bird cage, food bowls, and toys appropriate for a small parrot.”
Hux scowled. “Those aren’t work related tasks. You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Fine.” Ben shrugged. “Then go back to the office and ask Snoke what work he has for you.”
Hux scoffed. “What kind of parrot is it?”
“Why?” Ben asked suspiciously.
“So I get the right size cage.”
Ben stared at the other man silently. Hux merely looked back. “Green cheek conure.”
Hux turned and walked back to his car.
Ben shut the door, locked it, and sighed.
“Woof,” said the bird.
Ben and the bird were glaring at each other.
It wouldn’t come down from the cabinet top. Whenever Ben tried to pick it up, it started clicking and lunging to bite his fingers. These bites were different than the deliberate application of pressure from before. They felt more like wasp stings and left little diamond shaped imprints. By the time he gave up, the bird had drawn blood.
He was pissed. “Fine!” he yelled. “Stay there, then!”
“AAH!” The bird screamed back. Its feathers were spiked out like porcupine quills.
Ben paced the kitchen floor, then stopped to look at the bird. “You are such a dick.” It was hunched down, beak slightly open in preparation. It growled.
He moved to the living room where he could still see it. While he waited for Hux, he’d do some reading.
An hour later, Ben was putting the cage together. The bird had started strutting around with its tail flared out. He wasn’t too surprised to learn that birds were literal dinosaurs, directly descended from velociraptors and Tyrannosaurus rex.
He heard a flapping. The bird landed on his counter and ate the seeds from the morning before running back to the bowl of water. Ben returned to his task and was putting the bowls in when he felt something on his pant leg.
The bird was climbing him, using its nails to cling to the fabric of his clothing. The feathers on its head were flat and spiked out at the neck, and its tail was spread in a full fan. It looked oddly graceful as it slinked up his shirt, but it was clearly planning to bite him. He held his hand in front of his face and the bird suddenly raced up.
“Ow- what the fuck! Stop!”
The bird dodged his attempts to remove it from his shirt. It sped up his arm and stabbed at his neck.
“Jesus- fuck!” Ben grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head. He panted as he dropped the wriggling bundle on his couch. He touched his stinging neck and saw blood on his fingers. Holy shit, he thought. Maybe it actually did want to kill him. He was starting to understand why it had been abandoned.
He watched with mild dread as the spiky bird emerged from the shirt. How could something so small be so evil? It saw him and started clicking again. Suddenly it ran backward with its tail curving completely up and around in a semi-circle. It stared at him as it pooped on his couch.
Ben rubbed his face. “Goddamnit.”
The bird had gone into the cage with a bribe of seeds. It wasn’t playing with any of the toys, and in fact watched them warily from a corner. Ben left it there and covered the cage with a towel overnight.
When he uncovered the bird in the morning, it started chirping. It was a loud, demanding sound. Ben ignored it and removed the water bowl to refill at the sink.
He turned to take it back and saw the bird holding the bottom of the vertical door in its beak. It slammed it up and down a couple of times.
“Back up,” Ben said. “I need to give you water.”
It stared at him with those demonic eyes and slammed the door again. Ben sighed and grabbed the food bowl from the other end. The bird’s feathers smoothed out and it clambered to the side of the door, poking its beak under and pushing its head through the opening.
“Shit,” Ben muttered. “No! Go back in.” He’d have to zip tie it shut or something.
The bird was squeezing its wings through and stood up in the opening, screaming triumphantly. It turned to climb the side of the cage and the door fell back down on the end of its tail. “CHIRP! CHIRP!” It climbed to the roof of the cage and extended its tail out in an exaggerated squat, stretching its wings up and dropping an absolutely massive shit on the carpet.
“Oh dear god.” Ben wanted to cry.
“Potty.” The bird spoke in a weird rasp. “PEEK-ah-boo. CHIRP! CHIRP!”
Ben learned that when the bird looked at him and chirped while stretching its wings, it was going to poop. About half the time it would also say, “potty.” He started carrying it to the sink or the trash can when it did this. But the bird expected payment for its feat. If the offering wasn’t to its liking, it would be spat out on the floor. If he was too slow finding what it wanted, it would bite him.
Ben tried to work that afternoon. He was in the living room where he’d be able to see the bird. He’d used bread ties to hold the doors shut, but the bird chewed through them and escaped again.
At the moment, it was wailing on top of its cage. The mournful sound was regularly punctuated by various noises and words, such as “AY?!”, “AH AH!”, and “PEEK-ah-boo.” Occasionally it stopped to sit alone facing a corner where it muttered, “good bird,” to itself.
Ben decided to call it Chewie, since it chewed on everything, including him. When he sat on the couch that second night, the bird climbed up to sit on the cushion beside him. He felt a spark of affection for it. He’d often been told that he was himself difficult to get along with. They had that in common.
As it got darker, the bird moved closer to him until it sat upon his knee. Ben got up to put Chewie back in its cage. It raced up his shirt, plucked the collar with its beak, and dove in. It made that vibrating purr sound.
Well, if it wanted to spend time with him without biting, he would let it. He walked to the kitchen and got a glass of water. Chewie gurgled and peeked out the top of his shirt. He decided to come out and sit on his shoulder. Ben went to grab a Tylenol and was shocked when Chewie swung down, clinging by his feet, to bite him directly on the nipple.
“Fuck!” He put the bottle down and Chewie resumed his place on his shoulder. Ben looked warily over at him. The bird stared steadily back. He sighed.
One morning when Hux came by to pick up some files, he asked about Chewie.
“Have you looked for the bird’s owner?”
“I’m his owner.” Ben and Chewie’s relationship had improved dramatically over those first two weeks. Granted, the primary difference was that Ben invested more energy into not pissing the bird off, which meant that the bird was less likely to piss him off. Win-win.
“But-“ Ben shut the door in his face. If Chewie had another owner, they had clearly neglected him. The bird looked so much better now. He had started approaching Ben for head scratches, allowing him to help get rid of the dry, white pin feathers that were apparently quite itchy. Plus, Ben had started work on a large flight cage for the bird.
He still cried a lot, though. Ben was often able to distract him by putting a perch stand on the coffee table and teaching him tricks. Chewie could wave, shake hands, turn around, and stack rings. He learned remarkably fast.
When Hux returned again, Chewie was on Ben’s shoulder as he answered the door. He had been with him for three weeks and Ben thought he was settling in. When he opened the door, though, Chewie took flight. Ben’s mouth fell open as he watched the bird flutter up and around the side of the house.
“Oh, goddamnit.”
Hux gave him an annoyed look. “Did you think it wouldn’t fly out an open door?”
“Shut up and help me find him.”
They walked around the yard, checking the roof and trees for the little green bird.
“He’s probably gone,” Hux said.
“Either help me find him or go see what Snoke needs done.”
Hux sighed. “Fine.”
Ben brought out Chewie’s treats, and walked around calling him. After half an hour he started to worry that the bird had flown further away, in which case it would be much harder to find him.
“I wonder if this is what happened the first time,” Hux said, leaning on a tree.
“What?”
“You know, with the first owner. Maybe someone else will find it now. Maybe it will sleep outside in a tree for a few days and show up somewhere looking all sad and neglected.”
Ben felt a surge of anger. “Just go if you’re not going to help.”
Hux held his hands out. “I’ll help you find it. I just think you should make an effort to find out if he has other owners looking for him.”
“Fine. I’ve taken note of your concerns.” Ben felt sick. He just wanted to find the little bird before it got eaten by a hawk or something.
He heard a faint clicking sound and held out a hand as he listened. “Do you hear that?”
“No.” Hux watched him.
“That clicking sound.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Shhh- shut up.” Hux rolled his eyes, but was still and silent.
“There.” Ben followed the quiet sound, stopping when he couldn’t hear it anymore.
“Chewie?” he called, scanning the trees.
“PEEK-aboo.”
Ben looked up, certain the bird was very close. He caught a small movement from a branch high above him.
“There!” Chewie was sitting high in a tree at the end of a branch.
“Come ‘ere!”
Ben laughed. “Yes, come here!” He held out the treats so the bird could see.
“CHIRP CHIRP!” Chewie shuffled on the branch, then started chewing on a twig, seemingly content to look at him from the new perch.
“Climb up,” he said to Hux.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so.”
Ben sighed and looked at his options. He could climb partway up, but not nearly high enough to retrieve the bird.
“Will it fly down?” Hux asked.
“He only really flies when he’s startled or desperate,” Ben said. “Maybe if I throw something…”
“Absolutely do not do that.” Hux glared at him. “At least we can see it for now.”
Ben groaned and started to climb the tree. He got about halfway to where Chewie was before he had to stop. He leaned out, arm extended. “Hey, Chewie.” He tried to speak in a soothing tone. “Come here, buddy.”
“Come ‘ere.”
“Yeah- you come here. Come here, Chewie.”
“CHEEP CHEEP.” Chewie shuffled a little towards him on the branch.
“Good bird! Come here!”
Chewie then started moving back in the other direction. “No! No, Chewie! Come here! This way!”
Down on the ground, Hux was laughing. He had his phone out, aimed at him.
“Put the fucking phone away.” Ben scowled at his assistant.
“SQUAWK!” Chewie fluttered down one branch.
“Good bird! Come here!”
Chewie shuffled back and forth slightly, looking uncertain. Finally he started gnawing on another twig.
It was getting darker. Ben suddenly decided to try to climb higher. He grabbed a branch and pulled himself along it by his arms until it broke. A loud CRACK sounded and Ben was falling with a large branch in his hands.
“SQUAWK! AH AH!”
Ben landed on his feet with a painful jolt. His knees gave out slightly. He groaned and straightened back up, hoping Chewie was still nearby.
The bird had flown down a few more levels. Ben grinned. He lifted the branch up. “Come here.” He held up the treats in his other hand and Chewie stepped onto the branch. Ben lowered him down and grabbed him in a loose grip, holding him against his chest and walking quickly to the house. “Open the door,” he told Hux.
As soon as they were inside, he gave the bird a few seeds. Hux hovered near the door.
“I get it,” Ben said. “I’ll look for his owners.”
Hux nodded and left.
Ben didn’t want to look for Chewie’s owners. The bird tolerated him now. They could learn to live together.
But he had to admit to himself that Chewie was unhappy. He spent a lot of time making that horrible sobbing screech. He probably missed someone. Ben would look, but he secretly hoped he wouldn’t find them.
He waited a few days, then started his search on google. Almost immediately he found her.
Chewie’s real name was Beebee. He belonged to a young woman with golden brown hair and a brilliant smile. She’d posted every day for four weeks.
She described her anguish at losing her beloved friend. They’d been together for over three years, since the bird was a baby. She’d only left him in order to attend a funeral; the bird sitter had accidentally released him.
Ben dropped his head in his hands. He was a monster. It was clear from the photos and videos she’d posted that Chewie was very happy with his real owner. Ben steeled himself and texted the number from the post.
Her name was Rey. He knew from her posts that she was the owner, but he’d made her describe him anyway. She’d sent photos of her with Beebee/ Chewie, and asked if she could come over right away.
Ben was trying to be at peace with the way of things. His life was returning to its natural state, in which he was alone. In which no one needed or loved him or pretended to slightly like him in exchange for seeds.
The girl arrived, and… she was so beautiful. So alive, and free, and joyful. She squealed when she saw Chewie/ Beebee in the flight cage. The bird had started screaming and dancing. “‘Ay?! Come ‘ere! ‘Ay?! CHIRP CHIRP! Yur baby, come ‘ere!”
He’d given her all the things he’d collected for the bird’s care. Had suggested she call him if she needed a bird sitter in the future, and she agreed, or at least said the words.
Then he was alone. Again.
Ben found himself sitting in the dark. He had nothing. As much as it hurt to lose Chewie, something about the girl hurt worse. He realized he had to move on. He did want things. He wanted… a relationship. Some kind of family.
Ben called his parents. He was slightly drunk, and didn’t know what to say. But they’d been thrilled to hear from him. They wanted to see him. They made plans for dinner later in the week.
When he woke up the next morning, Ben was momentarily surprised by the silence before he remembered.
He forced himself to get up. He’d had a taste of the life he wanted, and now he planned to make the changes required to have it for real.
He would quit Snoke’s firm and go back to his mother’s company, if she let him.
He would risk the pain of rejection and try dating.
He would do the proper research and buy his own pet. He would be intentional about giving it the best care he could.
Several days later, Ben was cleaning up the house. He was still feeling melancholy yet motivated when Rey texted him.
Beebee misses you.
He felt a jolt of shock. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again.
He replied:
How is he?
She sent a video. Chewie was making that sad wailing sound that he’d made with him. But this time, he was saying his name. It warmed him. He didn’t wish unhappiness on the bird, but it only felt right to be missed after everything. He had been very affected, too, after all.
I miss him too.
Would you like to see him?
Ben’s heart raced. He tried to quell any expectations that question raised in him.
You don’t have to. He’s just really sad.
He rushed to reply.
I would love that.
He rescheduled the plans with his parents.
When Ben returned home that evening, he was in love.
Rey was so beautiful, and funny, and charming… she was everything he wanted. And apparently her pet was happier when they were all together.
He would use that to his advantage…