Chapter Text
"Many people believe that the Hanahaki Disease only plagues those who's dearest love ends unrequited. While this is correct, it may also plague victims of those who feel an abscence of affection or love from those they hold dearest."
The sun's gentle fingers retreated back into eye of heaven as it sank low beneath the vast ocean of the horizon, dragging it's nails through the land one final time before the moon's thinly veiled light coated the earth of Unstable in a dim silver, cooling the blistering suns' wrath with it's darkness. And, with the setting of the sun, concluded the training of today's morrow, allowing the rest of a certain Cockatiel from the gruesome training of the garish morning.
The rickety door of the stuffy hideout was ruthlessly kicked open—bouncing on it's hinges and slamming into the wooden wall, followed by an exasperated sigh deflating in the lungs of the hard-worked trainee. The hard thumping of boots against the wooden floors filled the humid room, the door shutting with a click behind them.
Theo breathed in before slumping face down onto the couch, his muscles going limp from exhaustion of the day's training. Billy followed shortly after, throwing a shulker full of replace weapons on the tattered carpet with a slam before outstretching his massive grey wings, loose feathers slipping through his flutters and falling lightly onto the ground already littered with fuzzy feathers from past days.
Theo sighed dramatically into one of the pillows, his voice muffled. "I'm so exhausted, Billy…"
He pulled his knees inward against his chest, his arms wrapped around the pillow tightly, shoving his face deeper into the soft cotton.
"Well, then you better get as much rest as you can," Billy replied. "we still have things to cover tomorrow."
Theo breathed in and sighed heavily, his wings falling lank against his back before he groaned miserably, his back stretching extensively against the couch. Billy's yellow eyes fell onto the rough and ragged shape of Theo's wings, loose keratin casings chipping away against his warm grey feathers that sprouted unevenly on his back.
Billy sat on the soft, tattered carpet in front of the array of couches and chairs, his hand roughly tapping on the empty space in front of him.
"Come here for a second, Theo." Billy called, Theo's head turning softly.
Immediately, daring not to disobey his mentor's command, he stood, sitting directly in front of the shoebill, eyes locked on his face, taking in every detail of the way his long black hair fell in front of his nose, his white base perfectly clear as heavy, thick black accents painted his eye sockets, just as he always did them.
"Turn around." He commanded.
And Theo did just that, adjusting so that his back was turned against the bird.
"Open up your wings." He said coldly, his hands already reaching out towards Theo's folded wings, as if he expected them to immediately open to his command.
Theo's ears perked, shoulders tensing against his mentor's words as he shot a shocked glance behind him. "What?" He mumbled, the feathers around his ears ruffled slightly before the sharp sound of his mentors voice cut violently through his dumbfound shock.
"You heard me." Billy spat, "Open up your wings."
Theo's throat tightened, and his shoulders tensed before he pulled his knees up to his chest, quickly unfolding his worn wings as per his mentor's cold request.
"Yes sir," He stammered.
Theo's breath hitched as the frigid, violent fingers that only a few moments ago had been used to brutually strangle several throats, were now gently sifting through the loose keratin casings on the feathers against his back.
The wind rolled softly through the high cliffs, stirring the long silver grasses that blanketed the mountainside. It carried with it the scent of rain that had not yet fallen and the distant cries of birds gliding between the clouds.
As soon as the deep claws that sprouted from Billy's fingers touched the tender skin beneath theo's feathers and grazed the muscle, Theo's wings stiffened, a loud swallow sinking down in his throat.
"Oh, stop that." Billy clicked his tongue, his sharp fingers working constantly through Theo's feathers.
Theo's stomach churned, and his body remained frozen solid at the frigid touch of his mentor. "Stop what?"
Billy scowled. "Have I done anything to you that made you this afraid? You're acting as though I've stabbed you."
Theo forcefully tried to relax the muscles against his back, quiet but deep breaths deflating in his lungs. "I—No, Billy, it's not you."
"Then don't act like I did something."
Theo tried to relax, but it was difficult. Preening was a deeply personal action among avians. Not inherently romantic, not always familial, but intimate nonetheless. It required trust—it required allowing another person access to places you couldn't reach yourself. Most avians reserved it for close flockmates.
Billy, unfortunately, was neither a flockmate nor particularly close. At least according to him. The ravenette carefully lifted a cluster of feathers, inspecting them with narrowed yellow eyes.
"Huh…" He uttered.
Theo barely flinched before turning his head around to glance at the shoebill. "What?"
"These are worse than I thought."
Theo scoffed a laugh, and Billy remained as stoic as usual. One by one, he began straightening bent feathers, smoothing damaged barbs back into place with slow, intricate movements.
Not gentle, though. Billy did not seem capable of gentleness.
The silence stretched for several minutes between the two avians, Theo found himself watching dark clouds drift over distant mountains through the damaged cracks of their rickety base. Billy continued working behind him. The rhythmic motions eventually became slightly relaxing, Theo's lids fell heavy against his eyes.
"Do not mistake this." Billy voiced lowly.
Theo opened one eye. "Mistake what?"
"This." Billy gestured vaguely with his stormy grey wing. "The preening."
"What d'you mean?"
Billy immediately narrowed his eyes—well, as narrower as they could get against his stark glare. "You are not my friend."
Theo let out a huff, a smile tugging slightly at his lips. "Why?"
"You are not." Billy stated again, as if he was speaking it into solidity.
Theo clicked his tongue. "You always say that."
"You behave as though we are companions."
"We are companions, though, right?"
"No we aren't, Theo."
Theo paused vageuly, as if contemplating if what he was going to say was worth saying.
"I-I mean," he began, "I guess I consider you my friend, like, I trust you and stuff…"
He hesitated for a moment before adjusting his position, much less tense than he was before.
"I guess I have no reason not to consider you my friend."
For a moment, Theo felt the sharp fingers dancing between his feathers slow down, before continuing on. However, there was a feeling of hesitance and anger brewing between each finger that cracked the keratin casing of fresh feathers on his back.
Billy was as silent as was possible, in a way that showed he was contemplating something, and Theo had no idea what.
Finally, as his clawed fingers released his wings, Theo stretched them widely, soft, warm grey feathers spotted with white as if snow had fallen and coated his feathers in snowflakes.
Theo had already begun to arise from where he had sat, his head turning to look at Billy from below.
He heard Billy rustle slightly behind him as he stood to his full height, and Theo felt his tall shadow loom over him with great intensity before a quiet mumble escaped the shoebill.
"Take this as one of your lessons, Theo." Billy uttered beneath his breath.
Theo smiled slightly, confusion plastered all over his face. "What are you t—"
BAM
Theo's vision fell blurry, and before he could even process what had happened, blood leaked from his nose and drippled onto the wooded floor, soaking into the thirsty spruce that made up their hideout.
Leisurely, he raised his hand wiped the scarlet liquid from his nose, which had now completely bleached the side of his hand in red. He swallowed hard, his breathing shaky as his dizzy eyes traveled up the dark, crowded walls and fell on Billy, who stood tall and cold above him.
Billy's hard boot slammed into his open wing. Theo chirped loudly and his free wing flailed as the heel of Billy's boot crushed into the bone of his pinned wing, holding him down with immense strength against the ground.
The flowing crimson that erupted from Theo's nose reflected in Billy's disdainful yellow eyes, as if his pupils were feasting on the blood he had managed to leak from Theo's insides.
"Theo," Billy began, his voice cold and constant among Theo's quiet whimpers and chirps for freedom. "What was the first thing I taught you?"
Billy applied even more pressure to the blonde's wing, the crunching of the hallow bone beneath his boot dreadfully filled Theo's ears, and his chirps grew louder and much more frantic. Finally, amongst his dizziness, his eyes focused enough to look Billy in his cruel eyes.
"T-that having something or someone I care about—" He swallowed, choking back tears as a sharp pain shot up his wing and stabbed into his back. "—Makes me weak." He finished, the blood from his nose spreading in the cracks of his lips and making it's merry way into his mouth, the metallic tang lingering on his tongue.
Billy nodded, painfully pressing more weight onto the shattered bone of Theo's wing. "Uh huh, and that includes me, too. You don't see me acting like we're friends, do you?"
Theo shook his head rapidly, the answer spewing out barely cohesive from his mouth. "No, no no no, I don't, Billy."
His eyes stayed glued to Billy's, who's silence had given the sounds of Theo's chokes and pleads for release the spotlight, flooding the room with his quiet shrills and flailing of his wings and the weak kicks of his legs as the gruesome crunching of the bone beneath the dreaded boot cracked his psyche.
The threatening glare that sent daggers into Theo's chest remained unblinking. It was quite strange to say the least. Billy's yellow eyes reminded Theo of a lot of things. It made him think of the blinding rays of the golden eye of heaven, bathing the land he had walked on in sunshine. It reminded him of the gentle buzz of bumblebees working tirelessly against vibrant honeycomb full of warm honey, or the blooming buds of daffodils in the summer sun. It was quite strange to see a color that brought him such optimism and energy plastered in the eyes of such an outlandish and violent being. He supposed he wasn't one to talk. Yet he was a bird of such vibrance and sense of community—it was odd to envision himself as in the same boat.
The wetness of the crimson liquid spewing from his nose sucked him back into his body after being lost in Billy's eyes in his moment of silence—or was it a moment of contemplation? Theo could never tell.
Billy's eyes faultered for a moment before he spoke.
"Never forget that." He threatened.
Finally, he released his foot from the crushed section of Theo's wing, matted feathers adhering to the blood beneath his boot. A reliefed sigh engulfed Theo's lungs as he scurried to his knees, pulling his wings close to his back, as the injured one fell limply around his torso. Billy skidded the underside of his spiked boot across the carpet, the fresh gore and feathers sticking poorly to the tattered red rug.
Coldly, Billy walked away, his footsteps receding into the deeper parts of their hideout. Theo remained motionless, kneeled against the torn couch, afraid to move without permission from the violent shoebill. Theo swallowed his disgust, wiping his gorey nose against his arm, as the sharp, throbbing pain in his wing spread across his veins.
He sniveled, wiping his cheeks with his clean hand and blinking away the rest of his tears. What would be the best thing to do in this situation? The vile wound stared straight back at him with bits of bone sticking out from the bloodied flesh. It felt as if with each moment it was stared at, it grew a big grin and sent more rockets of pain shooting through his body.
Theo's ears rung violently to where he could hardly hear his own breathing, blood rushing to his ears as he desperately tried to control his breathing. Slowly, he arised from where he had knelt and slumped against the couch as he tried to get up, his knees buckling and his injured wing weighing him down. He hauled himself up against the rim of the couch, his balance wobbling at the expense of his injured wing.
His fingers lingered against the walls as he limped his way to their array of chests, his bloodied, shaky hand missing the lock multiple times before he swung it open, rummaging through the discarded junk for bandages. He knew he'd need more care than just bandages or gauze, but under the circumstances, it was unlikely he'd be able to get the assistance he needed. So, this would have to do until then.
he lowered on his knees beside the opened chest and begun wrapping the bone of his injured wing in gauze. The poorly wrapped gauze bent a few of his feathers in awkward angles, and left some exposed gaps vulnerable to the world. Yet, the bandages did their job sufficiently, soaking up the spewing gore into itself like a sponge.
Finally, he hauled himself up, careful not to bump into the furniture with his now poorly-bandaged wing. Wiping his nose one final time to clear the blood, he hobbled his way back to the torn couch and felt himself slump weakly against the warm cushions that had been baking in sunlight until the moon had risen.
A heavy sigh deflated in his chest. As he did so, Theo felt a slight scratch work it's way up from his lungs and into his throat, which perked his curiosity slightly before he shrugged it off and chalked it up to being from the throbbing pain still aching in his bandaged wing.
The thought of tomorrow plagued his mind. How was he supposed to train if his wing was broken? Would Billy give him time to recover first? He doubted it—hell, he was the one who did this to him in the first place.
Either way, he had no say in what would happen tomorrow. All he could do was mope and hope Billy decided to show him some grace—no…mercy for tomorrow.
Theo let his head rest gently onto the cotton fabric on one of the pillows sprawled on the couch, laying limp on his healthy wing as the injured one draped loosely over himself like a quilt.
He felt his lids hang heavy over his eyes, and his vision darkened until he was taken under.
𖤓
Theo was barely tugged from his unconciousness as a tiny, irritating scratch in his throat made itself apparent.
He was unbothered by it, simply swallowing it down as he tried to fall back to his saviour of slumber. However, the more he ignored it, it felt as if it were spreading through his esophogus, and the more irritation it caused, the more Theo was brought back into conciousness. As his mind fully awoke, he noticed a sharp stab in his chest as he breathed in.
He sat up on the couch, propping his wings up behind him as he coughed a bit, in hopes the irritation would cease and he'd be able to fall back to slumber before the sun arose once again, and he'd be subjected to his gruesome training.
His lungs wracked as he coughed, the sharp pains in his chest intensifying as he felt thin stabs work their way up his throat.
He groaned miserably, the realistic case that echoed through his mind was that he was going to throw up—which, was a reasonable answer. He had gotten his wing crushed ruthlessly just yesterday, which had obviously sent painful shocks through his body. Maybe this was his body's way of healing from it.
The soles of his feet pressed gently onto the freezing spruce floors, as he hauled himself up. Dizziness struck his head immediately, black spots coating his vision even more so in the dark hideout. He swayed gently as he waited patiently for the lightheadedness that always arrived when he stood up to quickly to wear off. It did, yet not as quickly as it used to. The black spots in his vision still slightly remained, creating a vignette around his retnas as he limped his way around, trying to find a bucket for the inevitable event to regurgitate it's way from his stomach.
Almost too quick to process, a sharp stab shot it's way up Theo's lungs as he heavily breathed in, itching violently in his throat as he coughed.
"Shit…" He tried to whisper in between coughs. Billy surely had to have woken up by now due to his vile coughs, and goodness knows what he'd do to him after yesterday.
Theo tried to stop the vile eruption in his lungs, yet the coughing spurs still burst from his chest as violent as ever.
When suddenly, he felt something dislodge from the back of throat.
This was it. It was happening. The best he could do now was damage control.
He knelt down onto the spruce floors his hands latched onto the dry wood.
With one final, wracking cough, something came softly tumbling out from his mouth.
It wasn't vomit, nor blood, nor anything that would normally come out of someone's body.
It was a flower.
A gentle, soft, pure white, angel's trumpet flower.
Something between confusion and shock washed itself over Theo's face, yet he only had a few moments to catch a glimpse of it falling from his mouth before another spur of coughs erupted from his lungs once again, this time, sending torn petals and even more of those flowers emerging from his mouth and falling lank and stark against the dark ground, like freshly fallen snow amongst a ravens back.
The gruesome itching in his throat didn't fully cease, but it had at the very least greatly decreased once those flowers had been expelled from his lungs.
Theo's eyes adjusted to the darkness, his hands slowly maneuvering their way to touch the petals that had just been spewed out from his body. The tips of his rough, calloused fingers gently grazed across the soft, snow white petals.
They were real. He had quite literally just puked up flowers. nothing else. fresh flowers with no stomach contents.
"What the fuck…" He whispered beneath his breath, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat as he held one of the vomited white flowers in his fingertips.
He looked at it closely, examining the texture of each rind and curve of the petals. It was quite strange when he thought about it—not only was this practically impossible, but the oddness of such a beautiful, gentle thing having the grace to come out of him. A killer. An assassin. A murderer. There was nothing of compatibility between him and what he had just coughed up.
Suddenly, a loud creak against the wood floors torn him violently from his thoughts, and his head jerked around in the darkness, eyes squinting among the black as he pulled his injured wing close behind his torso.
Billy stood ominously in the dark, fully dressed—Theo wasn't surprised. If he didn't know any better, it appeared to him as though Billy never slept. He'd disappeared during the night, unable to be found until the next rising of the garish morning.
"What's with all the noise, Theo?" Billy asked. It was as if a switch flipped. He wasn't nearly as threatening as he was yesterday, and he didn't sound even a fraction of a bit angry. He just sounded like he always did—disdainful and annoyed.
Theo looked up at him from where he had been kneeling worriedly, clearing his itching throat before he spoke. "Sorry, Billy… I'm just coughing a bit." He answered, attempting be as casual and calm as possible.
Theo flinched slightly as he saw Billy's silhouette inch it's way closer, and crouch down beside him in the midst of the darkness—his yellow eyes as vibrant as they could be in the black. Theo gazed lazily at the sharp claws that had once preened his feathers yesterday pinch one of the flowers between his fingertips, before his eyes unwantingly drifted to the spiked boot that had shattered the bone in his wing, his dried blood still clinging onto the toe, a singular grey feather sticking stubbornly to the underside. One he immediately recognized to be his own.
Theo felt a lump grow in his throat before he swallowed it harshly, the sound strangely loud in the dark quietness of their hideout.
Billy let the flower he was holding fall softly back onto the starkness of the spruce wood that made up the room before he stood up once again.
"We're gonna have to lay low for a bit until your wing gets better." He said, as if it were only just a minor inconvenience into his routine, and not the fact they'd have to skip days—or even weeks of training for Theo's wing to recover.
Theo untensed a bit as he saw Billy retreat back into the darkness of their hideout. "I—wait, you're not mad?" He called, and saw Billy's figure faulter slightly before he responded.
"Go back to sleep, Theo. Enjoy it while you can." Billy replied starkly, yet there was a strange tone in his voice that Theo had never come out of him before.
He dared not to disobey his mentor's commands. He left the regurgitated flowers on the ground and stood, wobbling slightly against his weight as he tried his best to balance his way back to the couch. His hand latched onto the fabric of the couch, the dried blood still there even after his night of tossing and turning. He assumed there must have been some on his face, too. It had to have been at least five A.M by now.
Finally, he sat back onto the now cold couch, before taking a deep breath in. Strangely enough, with every breath he took, he felt the rustling of something inside of his lungs as the air he breathed swayed whatever was there gently—as if it were the leaves of a tree stirring in the gentle wind.
He closed his eyes slowly as he lowered back onto the couch, the intense itching in his throat finally pacified enough to let him sleep.
It was difficult to wrap his around this, yet he figured it would simply be a one time thing.
And oh, how gravely incorrect that assumption would be.