Chapter Text
Wemmbu's eyes fluttered open around 10 minutes later, with unfortunately no less pain than he passed out with. His ribcage felt like it was mutating and stretching inside his body, trying to escape or unleash some other ungodly entity into this already wretched world. As his senses returned to him, a strong, steady sensation of somebody wrapping an arm around his back alerted Wemmbu that he was back to being held, probably hostage. He assumed it was DeputyAce, from the what-he-thought he saw to be nicely built void-black arms.
It took his delayed, shattering barely-conscious mind to comprehend further that there was no longer the repetitive thunderstorm-like drumming of horse hooves, but instead he felt scarily familiar ice-cold wind in his face and whiteish-purple hair.
Where have I felt this before..
His consciousness murmurs, and then immediately regrets thinking. He can't remember when thinking made his head feel like he was getting the bad end of Gambit. If Wemmbu had the strength to shudder, he would have.
In fact..
He can't remember anything, now that he thinks about it.
The only memory he can conjure right now, (Albeit it's very fuzzy, and he's not sure if it's just his mind firing as a last resort before death;) is the painful sound of glass shattering and then falling off a horse, where he coughed and bled and bled while coughing then coughed some more, and then…
The empty, still almost comfort of pure nothingness, like the peace of mind one might expect to feel right before dying in the void. For those two short seconds where time seemed to pause, and his physical body fell behind in the fabric of whatever built this world and detached from his mind, there was no pain. He had wondered if he died. Death is a strange concept.
But then, time caught up and his empty, tear-filled pained eyes opened and he was flying and everything hurt.
Whoever was holding him, adjusted his hold from one arm to both, and Wemmbu was relieved of the feeling of being pinched. He instinctively attempted to wrap his shackled wings around himself, of course to no avail due to his depressed muscles, (or lack thereof.)
…
Nothing bound his wings together. There was no rusty metal clamp that shackled them together.. Well, there was, but it didn't bind both of them. His fall, or whoever was holding him, had broken one wing free from the clasp.
Wemmbu stares blankly below, not putting any effort into figuring out who was holding him, what had happened, or focusing on the large grey circular shape looming in front of him. He had come from here, hadn't he? Maybe his failing brain was messing with him. Wemmbu blinks, once. Twice. A fuzzy, patchy memory with black fading in a round the edges returns to him, of a glinting spyglass and a familiar kind face.
His stomach lurches and Wemmbu tries with all his might to not puke when whoever was flying him, suddenly banks right and down.
“Hmmmh.. Oh, right.”
Wemmbu's form gets shifted to be carried by one arm, where his pilot (DeputyAce?) brings the other arm to their face and murmurs something Wemmbu can't hear.
SpokeisHere whispers to ParrotX2: yuo said the Mesa bade right? I got him but DON'T TELL FLAME please
ParrotX2 whispers to SpokeisHere: One, work on your spelling skills please. Two, the meeting area is riddled with lawmen all over the place so yeah come to mesa.
ParrotX2 whispers to SpokeisHere: I wont tell him dw, well actually I might if he asks.
***
As Spoke descends to camp, he changes his hold on Wemmbu from back to his chest, to holding him like one would hold an infant; one arm underneath his shoulderblades and one arm behind both of his knees. Wemmbu's head falls to the side and his eyelids flutter as he actually fights for his life. Parrot releases a sound that can only be described as a terrifyingly helpless and cornered death-squawk from a large bird being stepped on. Both Flame and Theo were asleep in the tents. Spoke's pure white eyes fall into actual guilt and sorrow as he looks down solemnly at Wemmbu.
He thought he was too late. Spoke fishes a bed from his inventory, placing it and setting the hapless purple being down as slowly as possible. Spoke doesn't utter a word as he shifts the arm behind his shoulderblades to still be behind him, but now his hand was caressing the back of Wemmbu's head. Spoke's left arm wraps behind the almost-dead man's waist.
He does something he and everybody else who ever has known him would never think he would do. Spoke leans down, getting on both knees beside Wemmbu, and closes his eyes to kiss his forehead.
Parrot sits back on his calves, watching Spoke display these small actions of immense amounts of care and tenderness with solemn.
“S-spoke-”
“Shhh..” the quiet shushing off of Wemmbu’s sickly skin cuts Parrot off, and the small smack of Spoke pulling back from his careful kiss just barely caresses Parrot's sensitive ears. He wouldn't like to admit it, but it's a beautiful sound. The sound of raw care, or concern.
Spoke moves his head to rest against the side of Wemmbu's, and after a minute..
“He's still got a pulse, and I think it's stronger than it was a little while ago,” he murmurs, half to Parrot and half to try and call Wemmbu's consciousness back. Nobody had ever heard that side of him. Nobody's ever been able to make Spoke’s voice go all soft and careful. Nobody's ever been able to make him close his eyes and cry, but the small, glowing smokey white tear trailed down the side of Wemmbu’s head anyways, like a little taunting drop of stardust to glint and glimmer and grant a second chance at life.
“Spoke… We need to feed him. The longer we sit here, the more likely he's going to give up and stop fighting, bro.” The faint sound of rustling clothes as Spoke sat up straight trailed across the little area they reside in. Spoke moved to tuck hair behind Wemmbu's ears and watch Parrot as he pulled some golden carrots from his inventory. Getting the first good look at Spoke after setting Wemmbu down, Parrot wasn't sure if Spoke was the same guy anymore. A thin trail of shimmering grey stemmed down a void-black cheek from sad, trembling white eyes.
“That'll.. That will be too rough for him. Here, l-let me..” Spoke used only one hand (the other was holding Wemmbu's face) to set down and rummage through an ender chest until he found an enchanted golden apple. Spoke used the blade of his sword to chop it into small enough pieces for an almost dead person to chew and swallow. Parrot hums a small “ohh.” And immediately helps support Wemmbu's upper back to sit up properly. Spoke presses down on the deep purple vein that trails into Wemmbu's right hand, and rubs his thumb over it to try and sense him awake. Just slightly enough to take something. A small twitch in the ear is enough to have Spoke gently part Wemmbu's lips and give him a single piece of golden apple. His eyes blink a couple times as he realizes he's supposed to swallow.
“Awwh, yeah, yeah.”
Parrot rests his chin on top of Wemmbu's head and sets his hands on his shoulders, and trails his thumbs back and forth on his arm.
A small, struggled grumble escapes Wemmbu's throat as he tries to say something.
Spoke shakes his head somberly, silently telling him to preserve his strength, even if it's from the golden apple he was being fed.
Wemmbu chews and swallows each bite weakly, with more and more force the longer this goes on for. Parrot yawns with a content chirp, and rests his head on Wemmbu's right shoulder.
“Parrot, do you wanna go to bed? I can take care of Wemmbu for tonight.” Spoke offers, blinking at the avian with an expression more like his usual self.
“If you're sure, bro.” But he's already stalking off to the tent that Theo is probably sleeping in.
Wemmbu locks his eyes on this incarnation of void in front of him. He looks vaguely familiar, and he thinks he knows this guy. He just can't remember his name. He looks down at his scarred hands, and thinks about why is his vision so clear. His body doesn't hurt half as bad as it did an hour ago. The food this voidling was feeding him was so much better than what the prison was feeding him. He remembered it now. He remembered as he keeled over in his solitary cell as he tried not to puke because of whatever they were expecting him to eat. But not this. This tasted like warm, sweet comfort and raw power from the stars above.
Spoke tipped Wemmbu's chin up to help with eating, since Parrot's support had left. He was surprised when the purple being wrapped four trembling fingers around his wrist. He blinked, and Wemmbu blinked back. “You.. Uh. You good now?” Spoke asked warily, not ready to step away even if he said yes.
Wemmbu tried to say something, then swallowed harshly and shook his head.
Spoke blinked, then ohh..
He set a steady palm on the guy's chest, giving him a sympathetic look before standing up and walking into a little hut where he rummaged through a shulker box. He walked out with two bottles of water in his hands. Wemmbu tracked Spoke with something unintelligible. He pulled his legs closer to his core and attempted to use a scarred arm to hold his form up. Though shaky, he was able to do it.
Spoke clicked his tongue softly. “There he is,” he murmurs affectionately.
“Theres no need to be scared of me. I promise I won't blow you up anymore.” Wemmbu peered at the voidling, but his gaze wasn't all the way there, like he was trying to forcefully recall a memory or remember who Spoke even was.
The Manifestation padded silently towards Wemmbu, and gave him a bottle of water, setting the second where the both of them could reach. He spent a rough minute trying to unplug the cork, before he flinched at the pop sound it made. Spoke sat back and watched as Wemmbu tipped the bottle up adjacent to his mouth and drank like he hadn't seen a liquid in weeks.
“Oh.. Oh my dear lord.” He finally croaks, his voice accessible again. It still hurt like hell to speak, but at least he could make sound.
“He speaks!” Spoke exclaimed, the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes evident as he threw his arms in the air.
“Spoke.?”
“Thats me! You looked at me like you had no clue who I was.”
Wemmbu took another swig of water. “Were you the one that rescued me? Are you going to return me to law?”
Spoke cringed, and the purple being tipped the bottle straight up to finish the whole thing. The voidling crouched down to give Wemmbu the second bottle. He took it gratefully. “Ewww, no. We're taking you to the corner farlands as soon as these chunguses-chungi? Whatever, wake up.”
Wemmbu exhaled and lied back down, staring at the sky with an expression somewhere between exhaustion, relief and hope.
“I don't want to be there anymore,” he murmurs. Spoke cocks his head. “The farlands?”
“No, the Law.” Spoke hums a sound of recognition.
The two sat in silence; Wemmbu staring at the sky and Spoke staring at Wemmbu.
“Uh oh,” he suddenly sits up, and a small squeak escapes his throat from the quick movement he wasn't used to. “Wemmbu?”
Wemmbu responds with a violent, loud wretch as he flips to the side and throws up over the bed rim. Spoke winces at the sound.
“Uuuugghhnn.. Owwwch.” the shaking purple individual growls.
“I bet, dear god. Umm.” the voidling stood warily and shifted. Wemmbu's chest and back heaved as he panted. There's a faint zzzzzip from behind the two boys and a rightfully panicked, wide eyed Parrot stands before them.
“Spoke!” His voice is soft, but holds a stern tone mixed with a whisper of worry. He really was like a mom. Spoke's tensed form swivels around, eyes flicking between Parrot's various head accessories; everywhere but his eyes.
“What did you do, bro?” the avian's wings fluff themselves as he jogs towards Wemmbu's bedside. “It wasn't my fault, I swear.” The voidling raises his hands in mock submission.
Parrot bends down on one knee and rests a steady hand on Wemmbu's forehead. “You good? Are you still sick? Do you feel any better?” Wemmbu keeps his laying position slightly upright with an elbow supporting his shaking form. His breathing is quick and his dark, glittery eyes flutter as he tries to both, not throw up again and get his breath back. A small tear trickles down his left cheek. Wemmbu is unable to respond.
Parrot clicks his tongue and gently wraps his arms around the weak little purple being.
“Awwwhh, don't worry. I promise, this will only last until tomorrow night.” Wemmbu exhaled. “Hmm, You feel really warm.” He notes, softly swiping his hand to wipe away the teardrop. Spoke hands Parrot the second bottle of water that Wemmbu used to be holding, the one which had fallen to the cracked, orange-reddish terracotta. Parrot opened it and made a gesture towards Wemmbu, silently asking if he wanted some to wash the taste of puke from his mouth. He nodded his head to the best of his abilities, and the avian fluffed his wings before tipping the bottle up to his mouth. Wemmbu swished the water around before leaning over to spit it out.
“Weeee should probably move this whole.. Area to somewhere else.” Spoke suggests, wincing at the nasty sight of Wemmbu's upturned stomach spilled all over the ground. “I'm sorry,” the sickly individual mumbles, looking up at Spoke with a look of pity and pain.
“oouuuh, no. Wemmbu apologizing? Something's definitely not right. I'll dig out the cave.”
Spoke whisks away, pulling out a netherite pickaxe and targeting a hill that starts around 10 feet away from the small huts that housed the other two sleeping teammates. Parrot turned back to Wemmbu. “Are you warm?” He asks, voice comforting and quiet like sunsets and good cookie recipes. “Yeah.” He responds after a couple of delayed seconds.
“May I?” Parrot asks, glancing down at the button of Wemmbu’s cheaply made prison suit. That thing probably trapped heat worse than FlameFrags. “Uh, sure. But..” he winces, gritting his teeth and giving up on finishing his sentence.
“Whatever it is, you're alright. I won't judge. No promises on Spoke, though.” Wemmbu sighed, closing his eyes in resignation or dignity loss, neither of them knew. He tipped his chin up, flinching instinctively and eyeing Parrot's wrists warily as the avian reached to unbutton Wemmbu's jail suit, which was now stained and sticky with blood and sweat. He cooperated to the best of his abilities, but it was still awkward trying to tuck his arms back through the short sleeves while Parrot was holding him steady and gripping the right side of the shirt.
Eventually they both got it off, and the cool air hitting Wemmbu's back and stomach was a relief beyond anything he knew how to express.
The small, shimmering star-like crest on the center of his chest glinted with a kind of pulsating light that matched his heartbeat, slowing and slowing the more he neared sleep. Parrot seemed infatuated by the unique markings of a smokey trail leading from his ribcage to the little hint of life on the center of his torso. He seemed to completely look past the scars, the scars that have slowly gained in numbers to eventually look like there were more of them than stars in the sky. “Why are you staring at me like that, you perv?” Wemmbu furrows his eyebrows and squints at Parrot. “No, no. Not that, my bad bro,” he smirked with embarrassment as he turned his head away and hid his face with the pair of blue, green and red wings that sprouted out of his head. He really wasn't staring because he was weird, the markings were unlike anything he's ever seen before; it was curiosity, like how Parrot stared at the farlands for multiple minutes when he saw them for the first time.
“I finished, there's already a bed in there, and what are you two gay little chungies doing bro.” Parrot swiveled his body around and stared at a peering Spoke holding a netherite pickaxe with a deer in headlights, wide-eyed guilty look. He clicked his tongue. “Okay buddy. Mhm.”
Spoke walked over, attention shifted to the dark reddish-purple and orange piece of cloth on the ground. His footsteps were silent, as if he was worried about something hearing and jumping out at him. Spoke crouched down, picked it up, and held it, extending both his arms out. “You really got beat up, huh? I was wondering what felt so wet when I carried you here.” Wemmbu pulled his knees to his chest, and turned his head away. His black eyes held a look of discomfort, like he was embarrassed about it.
And honestly, he was. Wemmbu always held his title of being undefeatable, never weak, never soaked in his own blood. But in the past week, he'd been all three. It scared him. Who was “Wemmbu” anymore? There were no more titles to be proud of or hold with dignity. He’s lost them all. He’s lost his power, both of his maces, Eggchan, what was there to even be alive for anymore?
A pair of grounding arms wrap around his starved and skinny torso, interrupting his darkening thoughts. “He didn't mean to offend you,” murmurs Parrot, who always seems to calm Wemmbu and make him irrationally pissed off at the same time. But right now, he couldn't put in the effort to be angry. “I'm not offended. It's.. Nothing. Don't worry about it.”
Spoke knew he was telling the truth, it wasn't offense; But he knew it wasn't a good feeling either. The voidling tapped his foot against the ground a couple times in contemplation before pulling out a Flint and steel. Wemmbu turned and watched with wonder in his eyes as Spoke lit a blaze and turned towards him. “I know how much you probably resent this thing.” He says.
Wemmbu stands up– "can i- uuhh..” –way too quickly. He falters to the side, and Spoke leaps to catch his shoulder before he falls.
“Jesus Christ, dude. Stop trying to kill yourself.” Wemmbu's eyes flutter as he throws a leg back in an attempt to balance. He shakes his head viciously as his swimming vision clears back to be somewhat normal. The purple individual flail's to grab Spoke's shoulders and shove him away.
“Dont touch me.” Spoke and Parrot exchange a glance, the both of them grinning, and thinking how Wemmbu seemed to be returning to his normal spiciness rather quickly. Spoke bows his head. “Yes Sir Wemmbu. My apologies.” He dissolves into a fit of giggles and Wemmbu flashes the voidling a nasty side-eye. Spoke tosses the bright orange cloth, glistening from the flickering flames. Wemmbu catches it, and turns it over with curiosity in his eyes. “As much as I hate this thing, I' ve kinda’ grown a sentiment to it.” Spoke sits on edge of the bed that Wemmbu almost threw up on, choosing to sit as close as possible to Parrot. The three blink at each other.
“You gonna keep it?” Parrot asks, with skepticism in his voice. “No,” Wemmbu quips simply, and tosses it in the flames. There's a loud crackle as sparks fly out from the darkening shape. Wemmbu watches it burn, a small smirk cracking on his face. His eyes display no remorse, almost as if he was imagining LettuceK was burning instead.
The smell of smoke must have woken up FlameFrags, because the faint sound of a zipper being pulled up made the three boys turn their heads, and a blindfolded fiery individual ‘looked’ back at them.
“Wemmbu?” Spoke grinned a wide smile and nodded his head enthusiastically and Parrot looked content, like he was happy to watch their reunion; but Wemmbu stood frozen in place with wide eyes and increasingly panicked breathing, as if he was expecting Flame to jump and kill him right there.
It hurt him. Bad. The guilt and sadness and worry and anguish all came crawling back up his throat as he replayed the vivid memory of pushing the purple endling and the look of pure betrayal on his face as he fell and reached for Flame's hand.
Wemmbu stepped away from the crater where the incident had happened, keeping his striking black and white eyes locked on Flame. He looked like some kind of cornered animal with his teeth bared and pupils made into daggered slits. Parrot looked from FlameFrags to Wemmbu, and his eyes widened in worry and realization. He jumped up and bounded over to wrap his arms and wings around the trembling, scared Wemmbu.
Flame's expression through the blindfold looked hurt, and Wemmbu thought he saw regret, but there was no way. Not after what he did.
The netherian stayed in place, attempting to make his stance as least-threatening as possible. However, with his violent nature, it was difficult to look harmless. “Bro..” He confides, taking a small sidling step closer to the two. Wemmbu calms, his heart rate slowing to match Parrot's. He sighs into the avian's shoulder, seemingly sensing Flame's harmless intentions. “Hes not here to hurt me, right?” He murmurs to Parrot, resting his head on the other’s shoulder and closing his eyes.
“No, he's the one that begged to get you out of Lettuce's grasp.” Wemmbu’s eyes flicked to the still-burning shape of what his jail uniform used to be.
“Maybe it would be better if I faced you in the morning.” Flame says, half to himself and half to everyone as he yawned and stalked back to the tent. Parrot tapped Wemmbu’s back twice to capture his attention. “You should follow suit, bro. We have a long way to fly tomorrow.” Wemmbu whined at Parrot’s suggestion to fall asleep. He truly was exhausted, but he felt like being difficult. So what.
The avian seemed to completely disregard Wemmbu's wordless complaint at the idea of rest as he unhooked his wings around the endling and wrapped his left hand around Wemmbu’s right. He dragged his feet and reluctantly followed as Parrot lead him down the small corridor Spoke had mined out of the mountain. Wemmbu flopped into the bed with his arms stretched wide, letting out a long groan. He overthrew it, though. His knees were only a couple inches from the stone, and the tips of his platformers sat supporting his entire lower body against the ground. “Cmon bro. It can't be that difficult.” Parrot rested a hand on his hip as he watched Wemmbu throw a tantrum about sleeping like the average 5 year old would. He grumbled something the avian couldn't quite make out, but it sounded like “I'm in so much pain I can't sleep I'm gonna throw up again.” Parrot sighed and hung his head. He stepped closer to the endling, his boots making a jingling tap against the stone from the yin-yang charm and golden chain on them. He picked Wemmbu up by the torso, still thoroughly surprised by his lightweight form. He weighed maybe only 105 pounds. No wonder though, he was already thin before being captured; starving himself for a week only made it worse. The avian positioned him on the bed like a normal person would sleep, and set him down. Wemmbu gave him the nastiest glare someone could give for being locked in solitary for a little bit less than a week. “Youre not a little kid, bro. Chill out.” Parrot murmurs, and sits in the corner on the opposite side of the hobbit hole.
“I'm only here to make sure you don't die, alright?”
“Mhm..” Wemmbu drones, staring at the ceiling and pretending it's the sky full of stars.
‘Making sure you don't die’ his ass, Parrot fell asleep with his wings wrapped around himself within 5 minutes.
Wemmbu luckily had no other ‘issues’ throughout the night, and slept like a baby. Spoke came down to check on two sleeping boys, and went to his own tent when he saw they were okay.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Wemmbu woke up. He sat up with a groan, and raised a hand to his collar when a small shiver ran through him, and his hand brushed skin as he remembered he burned the prison shirt. He curled what he had around himself, but the thin membrane of his wings and the tiny blanket that Spoke provided just wasn't enough. Wemmbu sat over the edge of the bed, blinking at nothing as he contemplated. He didn't think Parrot would have anything, and Lord knows it's a death sentence to ask anyone else. It wouldn't hurt to try though, right?
The endling stepped into his platform boots, stepping over to a sleeping Parrot, guarded by a shield of green, cyan and red feathers.
Though clipped, they were still beautiful.
Wemmbu crouched down, tapping the third joint on Parrot's left wing in an attempt to wake him up. A small jolt from the avian makes Wemmbu flinch. “Wifies..?” Parrot whispers in his sleep. Wemmbu's hand tensed, still poised and hovering just above the down of Parrot's wing.
Wifies? Did he..
Parrot must have been dreaming about his friend, since (well, Wemmbu assumed) that Wifies was the only one that touched and preened Parrot's wings. Wemmbu would have thought since his friend went all alter-ego and psychotic, that Parrot would have PTSD and have a panic attack any time his wings were touched. But maybe sleep was different. Wemmbu slowly rested his palm against the fluff, trailing his fingers down the coverts and then to the abrupt edge of where Parrot's primary feathers were cut. A small, sleepy contented chirp trilled from the avian.
Wemmbu wanted to stop. This was weird. He didn't know Parrot that well, even though they were on decent terms. Definitely not enough to be petting his wings. But it was comforting; comforting in a way that Wemmbu hadn't experienced before.
He definitely didn't know how to preen, or what feathers were more sensitive than others. He didn't have feathers on his wings.
Wemmbu shifted and sat back against the wall, trailing the tips of his fingers down Parrot's wings repeatedly. Every now and then he would uncross two feathers out of place or rub off some leftover keratin that got in his way, but he didn't actually think he was preening.
A small yawn came from behind the wall of color. “I didn't know you could preen, bro.” Parrot says suddenly. Wemmbu’s hand stopped rigid, a small tremble running down his spine and into his finger tips.
“I should've asked, that's a line I said I wouldn't cross, I'm sorry. I understand if you're upset wi–”
“SShhh.” Wemmbu gets cut off in his apology.
“If I didn't want you touching me, I would have moved away the moment I woke up. Why are you up, anyways?” Wemmbu waits a second before responding.
“I was cold. I think that's why I woke up, anyway.” Parrot hums a sound of understanding before the rustling of wings wrapping around Wemmbu catches him off guard. A small huff escapes him as he curls his limbs around himself. The comforting, warm soft darkness of mixed velvet and sea glass envelops Wemmbu just like his mother used to.
Wings emit and trap heat way more than Wemmbu thought they did. He sighs, and his muscles relax as the feeling of warmth and care seeps into his bones. He thinks for a second, then leans against Parrot's side. The avian accepts his offer, opening his arm and allowing Wemmbu to settle into the small nook of space.
“Can I sleep here?” He asks, taking one long, slow blink at the stony ground.
“Mhm. It would be cruel to kick you out like this.”
Wemmbu is gone before Parrot can even finish his sentence. The avian gains a small, giddy feeling in his chest, like he always does when he does something good for somebody. It was easy to tell this was what the endling was craving. Parrot doesn't know much, or any at all, about Wemmbu’s childhood, but the tone in his voice as he asked if he could stay all curled up in Parrot's wings made him realise there is so much more sadness and longing for what he used to be that he stashes behind himself than anybody may realise . He wonders if Wemmbu's mother used to hold him the same way. He wonders of Wemmbu even has a mom. He wonders if there was anybody to console and hold him and let him cry and tell him it's okay to hate the world just like Wifies did.
He wonders if Wemmbu has a Wifies.