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Parrot’s wings are sensitive. When he was young, he tended to raise his voice more, get in more fights, throw more punches when he was molting. His mother would slap his hand away if she saw him itching at his feathers but never seemed to get him to stop. Having feathers out of place made him irritable, which was not much of an issue when he stayed home, but when he traveled the changing temperatures of the biomes forced his feathers to molt.
Now, he is used to the constant discomfort of his feathers being ruffled and small puffs of new ones sticking out. It makes having his feathers straightened and preened a rare comfort.
1.
As Parrot has gotten closer to Luigi the past few days, Wifies is teaching Luigi how to preen Parrot’s feathers. Parrot is seated between them, Wifies is working on his left wing and Luigi his right. Dean is lounging across the fire, telling a story about wanting a horse.
“A horse bro?” asks Parrot lightheartedly.
“Yes a horse! A brown one too,” says Dean, laughing at himself a little. Wifies bends forward and mumbles to Parrot, loud enough for Dean to hear.
“This guy is a bot,” Dean feigns offence and throws his bread at Wifies, the four of them laughing together.
It’s a quiet break before dawn, having worked constantly for the past few days. Parrot feels, for the first time in a while, at ease as Luigi and Wifies work through his feathers. He blinks tiredly as Luigi and Dean share their dreams of getting out.
His wing twitches as Wifies tugs on a particularly sensitive feather, but Wifies holds his wing in place and gently pushes his thumb against the muscle. Parrot sighs.
“Thank you,” he whispers, turning to look at Wifies. Wifies offers him a smile and a nod before going back to his ministrations. Parrot blinks his heavy eyelids and leans gently against Luigi as they both finish straightening his feathers. Luigi runs his hand over his feathers as he doses.
Parrot dreams of a house in a peaceful civilization, four horses, laughter, and as many puzzles as him and Wifies could hope for.
2.
Spending days training with the Warrior faction left an ache in every muscle and his wings more disheveled than usual. After sunset, Parrot sought out Wifies.
Their friendship was still tense, a heaviness had settled between them. Parrot hesitated when he reached Wifies’ door. What was he thinking? His stomach lurches suddenly, what was he thinking? Just because Wifies helped with his training before does not mean that their friendship is smoothed out. In fact, he doesn’t need Wifies’ help, he should just-
Wifies opens the door and stares for a long moment, long enough for Parrot to gape at him dumbly before Wifies ushers him inside.
“Sit,” Wifies states simply, placing a pillow on the ground in front of a seat.
“Uhh,” Parrot starts, but Wifies interrupts him by gesturing again to the pillow. Parrot doesn’t have time to overthink or put his shoe in his mouth so he sits. Wifies sits behind him and takes one of his wings, starting to preen.
Parrot’s wings are pulled tight to his body, tense in the silence. Wifies grabs a wing to encourage Parrot to spread them apart. Parrot ducks away.
“You don’t have to-” Parrot starts.
“Shut up,” Wifies replies, gently pushing Parrot back into place. Parrot reluctantly lets Wifies stretch out his wing, the silence returning. Wifies pulls a feather that had been bothering Parrot all day and Parrot takes a breath, relaxing his shoulders a bit.
They continue that way in silence, Wifies working his way through the other wing. He runs his hand along the edge of Parrot’s feathers, looking for any he missed. The silent rhythm is familiar to both of them, it lulls Parrot into a trance for a while.
Wifies pinches across the top ridge of his wing, digging his thumbs in when he finds a knot. Parrot groans and stretches his wing in response. It dawns on him that Wifies had drawn this out longer than he needed to. He can feel Wifies’ hands shaking. Wifies seems to realize the moment Parrot notices.
“Parrot,“ says Wifies before Parrot could say something. He moves his hands to Parrot’s shoulders and leans forward to hide his eyes in Parrot’s hair. “You scare the hell out of me,” he says, voice breaking.
Parrot wants to steel himself, push back. He never admits it but arguments with Wifies are exhilarating. Someone who matches Parrot’s skill and intellect for building the logic of an argument. Wifies can find the flaws in Parrot’s words and ideas like no one else, and early on in their friendship it helped clear Parrot’s mind. Now though, their words are interlaced with too much emotion. Luigi’s death and Dean’s betrayal remain heavy between them and so does the destroyed compass. Despite the cracks in their friendship, Parrot can’t find it in him to push Wifies away. He covers one of Wifies’ hands with his own.
“Wifies I-“ you’re my best friend, I’m sorry, I can’t lose you too, I’m so mad at you. I’d lose myself in this without you, how could you have done that to me?, you’re all I have.
“I know,” Wifies replies, gently squeezing Parrot’s shoulder. “Just please, be safe. I can’t protect you from this,” Parrot finally turns to look at Wifies and raises a hand to wipe one of his tears.
“We will get through this,” Parrot says softly. He is not sure he believes it himself, and he knows Wifies doesn’t but Wifies nods anyways, so Parrot pulls him into a hug. They embrace each other for a long moment. Parrot might be infuriated at him, but Wifies is his best friend, that’s all that seems to matter right now.
3.
Parrot is sitting in his room at BAT, staring blankly out the window, book in hand. He knows writing helps with grief, but the page remains blank and the quill lays forgotten. He snaps out of it at the sound of his door opening. He jumps a little, ready to run or attack, but settles back when he sees Jumper.
“I wanted to give this to you myself” she says, handing him the most recent spy report.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, zoning back out the window. He expects her to leave but she stands there for a moment, looking at him. It makes Parrot feel exposed, and he nervously scratches at his wings, the stress has been making him lose feathers faster. Jumper’s eyes follow the movement; she looks at him for a moment like he is a puzzle she has to solve. Parrot feels a spike of annoyance at the look and has half the mind to tell her to leave.
“When was the last time you preened your feathers?” she asks before Parrot can tell her off. Parrot looks to her for a moment and then back out the window, trying to ignore the intensity of the question. He can only preen the edges alone, evidenced by the patches of missing feathers from him tugging constantly. Months is the real answer to Jumper’s question. Since- well since-.
“Few weeks,” he answers. Jumper lets the room sit in silence for a few moments. Parrot thinks she must have decided on a solution to her puzzle, because she stops staring at him.
“I’ll help you,” she says casually, like she can’t tell this is something personal, reserved for his closest friends. He looks up at her and then back down at his empty page. His wings have been killing him for days, and he knows it will only get worse. He tries to ignore the lump that forms in his throat at the offer.
“Okay,” he agrees quietly. She crosses the room and takes a seat.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Derap burnt a barrel full of gaps?” Jumper asks, offering a break from the tense air.
“No.” answers Parrot, sitting in front of her, pretending to start reading the report. She starts to pull his feathers, straighting them and begins a story about her and Derap trading for the barrel.
Her movements are rough from inexperience. She tugs too hard and it hurts. It’s irrational, but it makes Parrot’s eyes sting at all he’s lost. Jumper grants him the dignity of pretending not to notice.
Jumper scratches along the hard ridge of his wing, dislodging puffs of small feathers that were stuck there. It feels nice but makes a tear escape Parrot’s eye. He wipes it quickly. He tries to focus on the feeling of relief as his feathers settle into place, breathing deep to counter the knot in his stomach.
“Feel better?” Jumper asks as she finishes, leaving a small pile of feathers to the side. She presses the palm of her hand against the back his wing. Parrot looks to her and nods slightly. This weight in his chest and on his shoulders is stifling, but the genuine smile Jumper gives him eases it all just a bit.
4.
Having not slept for days on end, and limited food, sleep finally takes Parrot on top of the obsidian spire. He jolts when he wakes, he has trouble focusing with the lack of food, the world is slow on returning to focus, but he guesses that was probably the idea. He sits up before he feels it. He extends his wing and sees that his flight wings have been clipped.
He is not proud of the sound that leaves his throat. He lets out a whine of agony as his hand goes to touch the blunt end of the cut rachis. Wifies had- no, no The Director had- Parrot’s stomach twists horribly and he lurches, throwing up bile and bread.
His hands shake as he tugs on the feathers, one end was left sharp and cuts his hand. His breaths come out as short gasps as he looks down at the blood on his hand. He can’t help but reach for his wings again, blood smearing against the bright color.
The Director took everything, Parrot doesn’t want to believe he did this too. He pulls his wings tight around his body and notices- horribly. His wings had been preened too.
The idea of the man wearing Wifies’ face preening his feathers in the night is surreal, almost comforting that he’s in there somewhere, but the rough feeling of the cut reminds him his friend is long dead.
Parrot puts his head between his legs and weeps.
-
Parrot decides to, for the moment, play into The Director’s fantasy. They stand back to admire their farm and can’t help but quip at how small and simple it is. For a brief moment it feels like Wifies at Parrot’s side.
“What a chud farm,” jokes Wifies.
“Do either of us even like carrots?” laughs Parrot. They laugh together for a moment, Wifies leans over in laughter, touching the top of Parrot’s wing. What used to give him a sense of camaraderie snaps Parrot suddenly back to the moment. He opens his wing fast, pushing Wifies to the ground with the force, and turns on him, angry.
“Don’t touch me,” Parrot spits. “You- you-,” Parrot closes his eyes, he can’t speak it into existence. When he opens his eyes, he sees that the face of his friend had hardened back into The Director, making Parrot’s hesitation disappear. “Why would you clip my wings?!” yells Parrot, “After everything we’ve been through when you know-“ his voice cracks as he trails off. The Director stares up at him almost blankly, like he had been expecting this. Maybe he was.
“I had to Parrot, to keep you safe,” The Director replies blankly. The base of Parrot’s flight feathers ache, he knows there is no nerves in his feathers, but the phantom pain is real as he replies.
“No, you didn’t,”
5.
On their journey out to the Great Sea, Theo keeps reminding Parrot that he needs to eat if they are going on days long journeys. Parrot knows Theo has noticed how much muscle and weight Parrot has lost, but they both elect not to talk about it. It is far from the only thing they don’t talk about.
Parrot constantly scratches at his wings, leaving them patchy even before they left, they are in a desert now, giving Parrot a horrible molt. Theo’s wings molt too, but it’s not as visible, stress he supposes.
It is late afternoon, and Parrot is hoping to use the few remaining hours of sunlight to cover more distance. Him and Theo spend long days in silence, and today is no exception. Too many questions Parrot won’t answer, too many topics to avoid. They take a short break in the shadow of a dune. Parrot downs one of their water bottles.
“I hate this dry heat,” comments Theo, downing his own water bottle.
“Yeah bro, and the sand sticks to everything,” huffs Parrot. Theo nods and looks at Parrot for a moment, stepping closer.
“Here man you got a feather-“ Theo reaches for feather sticking out on Parrot’s wings.
Parrot shoves him hard, Theo going down and looking up at Parrot bewildered. Parrot can hear his heartbeat, his breath coming in short bursts. He quickly draws his sword. Theo responds swiftly, jumping to his feet and raising his shield.
“Parrot?!,” calls Theo, but its distant as Parrots surroundings blur.
Parrot attacks, like he should have in the prison. Why didn’t he wake up when Wifies preened his wings? He strikes again, hitting a shield. Was there something in the bread? Why does his chest feel so tight? He draws his bow and knocks a weakness arrow, but it goes long.
“Parrot, stop!” yells a voice, drowned out by the rushing in his ears.
He had laid there with no control, as Wifies clipped his wings. If he had woken up maybe he would have been able to fight it- been able to- Parrot takes a blow, getting a shield bashed to his chest, and he tumbles back into the sand.
Parrot wasn’t fast enough. Someone stands over him and panic claws into his throat and across his limbs. Not again, please. He can’t breathe, a weight heavy on his chest. He folds his wings under him the best he can in a last ditch attempt to protect himself and squeezes his eyes shut.
A few moments pass and no one touches him. Breathing still rugged he blinks his eyes open, squinting from the brightness of the sun. The figure who was standing over him is seated now, just waiting and looking at him.
“Parrot?” asks the voice. “Breathe man, breathe,” he can feel himself shaking, but the voice was familiar, almost comforting. Parrot turns away from the person, curling up on his side as he tries to focus on his breathing. The knot in his stomach twists and he throws up onto the hot sand. It forces him to breathe as he spits a few more times.
Still shaking, but starting to come back to himself, Parrot sits up and sees the person- Theo. The relief eases some of the pressure on his chest.
“Parrot?” Theo questions gently. Parrot finally looks at Theo, embarrassed as he starts to realize what happened.
“Theo, I’m so sorry,” Parrot says,
“No, I shouldn’t have-“ Theo breathes for a moment “you have nothing to be sorry for,” and when Parrot doesn’t respond says “I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder okay?” Parrot nods his head after a few beats and Theo reaches out.
The hand on his shoulder feels warm and surprisingly comforting. Warming something frozen in Parrot’s bones. Parrot covers Theo’s hand with his own and a few tears slip out. They stay that way for a while, watching the shadows move in silence until Parrot stops shaking.
“Let’s set up camp,” Theo says after a while despite it still being too early. Theo stands and offers Parrot a hand up. Parrot takes it and they get to work in silence. Parrot knows Theo is trying to give him space but the silence is tense anyways.
Parrot focuses on setting up his tent and rolling out his sleeping pack. Once he has a sense of privacy he sits on his pack for a moment and stretches out his wing. He plucks a few feathers sticking out and then flips his wing to look at his flight feathers, still rough, not growing back right. He touches them and his hand shakes but he doesn’t panic, just stares. Eventually Theo calls him out to the campfire for dinner, snapping him out of it.
He knows Theo must have questions he- god he attacked his only friend thinking he was the Director. What the hell is wrong with him? He steels himself for the conversation, knowing he will probably be traveling alone starting tomorrow. He tries not to think about how he hasn’t been alone since before BAT. At least when Theo leaves he won’t have to answer more questions.
They eat dinner largely in silence, the sun just barely starting to set by the time they are done. Parrot finally decides to speak up.
“Listen Theo, I’m sorry for attacking you today,” he feels a familiar lump in his throat as he continues. “Genuinely, you shouldn’t have to travel with someone who does that to you. Why don’t you head back tomorrow? I’ll find somewhere else to go after this so you don’t have to see me anymore.”
Theo’s face pinches like Parrot’s words cause him pain, and he thinks for a long moment before he speaks.
“No man, listen, you think I can’t tell when someone is running from something?” Theo asks, knowing Parrot won’t answer. “You gotta learn to talk about that shit man, maybe not today, maybe not for a while but just- at some point, promise me you’ll face it.”
“Bro, are you sure you don’t want to go? You have no reason to trust me.” Parrot argues, skirting the subject. Theo lets it go but shakes his head.
“I’m not going anywhere Parrot,” Theo says, like it’s as much a fact as the blue of the sky, or the cold of snow. It makes some of the pain in Parrot’s chest unfurl.
+ 1
Parrot has been having memory issues since Spepticle died. Pieces of time before he met Theo are missing in large chunks. He tries not to think about it, especially now living in Northern Council. He keeps it to himself for now, trying not to worry Theo. He also doesn’t want to speak it into existence. What is he without his mind? Without the most useful part of him?
His friendship with Theo had grown significantly over the past few months. When Theo called Parrot his best friend, worry had twisted in Parrot’s stomach, but thinking back now Parrot can’t quite place why. Sometimes Parrot would help preen Theo’s feathers, but Theo was careful to never touch his. Same thing, he remembers a fight in the desert about it, he remembers being sick, but the why of it is missing.
Parrot knows there was something significant to having someone preen his feathers, and he knows that Theo is his best friend, it only makes sense to ask Theo. The patches on his wings have started to grow in, but he started molting when the snow suddenly hit northern council, and it is irritating him. So one evening after they got back from campaigning Parrot asks.
“Theo?”
“Hmm?” Theo calls back, wiping his hands from crafting golden apples.
“Can you preen my wings?” asks Parrot. The way Theo reacts, Parrot had certainly forgotten something. He freezes and looks to Parrot concerned. Theo who Parrot is used to being confident and boisterous seems suddenly unsure. He takes the surprise in stride through.
“Are you sure?” asks Theo. Parrot stares off for a second, trying to think of a reason to be hesitant, a reason for Theo’s reaction, but can’t find one. He trusts Theo, even when he doesn’t trust himself.
“Yes,” responds Parrot. Theo nods and grabs his pack, he sits on the floor and Parrot sits in front of him.
“Let me know if anything changes, wanna stop or take a break,”
Parrot feels a spike of annoyance at Theo’s gentle tone, he doesn’t want sympathy, but it dissipates when Theo reaches to touch his wing. Theo starts with the fully grown ones that are falling out, gently dislodging them and putting them aside. He is good at this, efficient in a way that no one else- who else? Parrot purges the thought.
Theo presses his thumbs into the knot between Parrot’s spine and his wings, releasing weeks old tension there. Something only someone else with wings would know. Parrot groans and closes his eyes. He moves Parrot’s wing to fully extend it and pauses.
“Your primaries are clipped.” Theo says, voice rough. Theo touches them gently with the tips of his fingers.
Parrot nods but doesn’t know how it happened. He turns to look at the feathers and grabs them too. He pinches the blunt end between his fingers and zones at them for a few moments.
“I don’t remember,” Parrot whispers, a secret between him, Theo and the walls. When he meets Theo’s eyes he can see they are red and glassy. It’s too much emotion to share right now so he looks away. “Keep going,” he says.
Theo seems to hesitate but eventually goes back to working on Parrot’s wing. He is thorough, working on each wing base to top, rubbing his thumb along the base of the feathers to remove fallen off puffs from the molt. Parrot starts to relax, feeling in a trance almost. Theo pulls a small bottle of oil from his pack, showing it to Parrot.
“I use this on my feathers, especially when I think I can feel them, even if its in my head it helps,” Parrot offers a small smile and nods. His clipped feathers ache like an old scar, even when he knows he can’t feel them.
Theo gently spreads the oil along the clipped edge of Parrot’s feathers, rubbing it into the bright fibers and repeating on the other side. Parrot’s wings feel comfortable and he even puffs them a little as they detangle. When Theo finishes, he runs his hands along the feathers again to make sure he didn’t miss any.
Then, when Theo runs his finger along the ridge of his wing, it comes back suddenly. It twists in his chest and makes him gasp a shallow breath. The worst part, he thinks, of this issue with his memory is when he does remember, and it slips back away. He tries to say something so Theo can remember too.
“He used to preen my wings,” Parrot blurts, but it makes his stomach twist.
“Who Parrot?” asks Theo. Parrot doesn’t respond, finding his breath again, but Theo has known Parrot long enough and puts it together “Was it Wifies?”
“He cut them. I-“ Parrot shakes but doesn’t pull his wings away. “I couldn’t stop him, I was asleep,” He can’t see Theo but can feel when he releases Parrot’s wings, letting them fall into place.
“Parrot I’m so sorry,” chokes Theo, he rests his hands against the back of Parrot’s wings, his fingers intertwining with the feathers there. He is silent for a long moment, letting the heaviness of that information sit in the air. “Thank you for telling me,”
Parrot can’t remember when he last let himself cry, but it feels like an eternity. All it takes is for him to turn and see Theo looking like someone just gut punched him. A few tears escape as they embrace one another.
Parrot feels steady here with Theo, it’s foreign, it makes him sob into the embrace. Theo holds him anyways, rubbing his back and leaking a few tears of his own. They stay there for a long time.
“It’ll be okay buddy, it'll be okay,” Theo mumbles into Parrot’s hair. Parrot hugs Theo a little tighter and knows, in a way he doesn’t know much anymore, that he is right.