Chapter Text
Somewhere—unreachable to him—is an enraged crow. His talons sharper than ever, his wings stretched wider than usual, and his heart held more hatred than normal.
At his side is an equally infuriated piglin hybrid, unable to contain himself with all the instincts coursing through him and the voices in his head overpowering his own.
And here is the youngest member of their flock is.
Here he is, pinned under the weight of not just clamoring fists but the predator itself. Each brutal punch was deteriorating his already fragile ribs, grinding his wings further down into the concrete, and forcing broken, wheezing chirps through his lips. Thus, waves of tears fell from his blurry eyes and mixed with his blood.
He was in so much pain. The feeling completely overtaking him, wanting to be heard and acknowledged. So, it screamed and roared at him.
"Do something!" His wings beg as they tremble underneath the overbearing weight.
"Fight back!" His fractured ribs plead, as they creak even more under each blow.
"Stop just crying!" His lungs scream as they continue to sizzle with every burning breath of air he takes.
His body felt like fireworks, crackling and bursting seamlessly to soar into the sky and create such immaculate sights. Yet there was only the booming sound and the explosion within. No breathtaking sight or mesmerizing colors. The only colors he could see were the dark shade of the night sky, blue hues from the city, and poignant amounts of crimson red.
Oh, that must be his blood.
He should fight back; it was unlike him not to. In every fight he yelled insults, made dangerous threats, and threw grenades like they were mere toys. But now? He couldn't command his body to do anything. He tried and kept trying to beg his limbs to do something, anything, to stop the pain. Yet they betrayed him.
A memory flickered in his head, almost like a light bulb. It buzzed and created both light and warmth in unison.
A hand cupped his face; the touch felt nothing less than genuine and sweet.
Flock. Safe.Trust.
"You're not alone anymore." He spoke soft and quietly. These words were for his ears only, and this thought made him melt.
"Wherever you go, we'll follow, and whenever you fall, we'll be there to lift you up."
He wasn't alone. Even now, as the world was sinking around him and his distance to death was becoming nonexistent. He didn't need to fight his own battles anymore; his flock would gladly do it for him. Just—
Just a bit longer. He only has to hold out for a bit longer.
"They'll be here soon." He whispered through bloodied lips, a weak, defiant smile formed on his face.
"My family is going to fuck you up." He spat, false confidence lacing his every word.
He watched as the predator above him froze and simply stared down at him. A mix of confusion and fear present in the predator's eyes, that it made him almost look like prey. Yet the sudden hesitation and second of mercy had twisted into something even darker.
Cold fingers coiled around his neck, the hunter's grip tightening like his life depended on it. The air he was already struggling to breathe was getting squeezed out of him.
Nope.
He can't wait anymore.
He can't
He can't—
A booming crack slices through the air. He's heard this sound before, even been the cause of it sometimes. A gunshot. It was all he needed to hear to get tied back to the moment. His hope that once wavered was now stood still.
His flock has arrived!
He tries to laugh, shake the whole thing off, as if he hadn't been so close to death mere seconds ago. Yet what escapes his throat is ugly noises full of a need for attention.
The sight of the man he had known and feared for so long, collapsing to the floor. Was a wondrous sight to behold and was also so fucking funny.
Slowly, he propped himself upward, barely managing to sit up on his own due to the shakiness of his elbows. His vision still not fully there, but he didn't care; he needed to see them—his flock.
Despite his excellent eyes and gift of night vision, no familiar faces were present. No faces.
Just one face.
A person, one he had never seen before, lay sluggishly against the farthest wall. A discarded gun lay beside the body, accompanied by a quickly expanding pool of blood.
His flock didn't make it in time.
"S-sir," he croaks, hating how his voice trembled in the frigid air.
No. This person was way too young to be a 'sir.'
"Hey!" He calls out once again, this time his voice managing to be louder, yet this costs him some pain in his lungs.
Nothing but silence fills the alleyway.
"Shit- I'm coming!" He drags himself forward, the harsh floor grazing against his elbows. He bit down on his lip trying to restrain the pained noises he was making. All his movement made his body burn with fresh pain. Yet it doesn't stop him.
"It's—it's okay!" He spoke through gritted teeth."Just hold on—" his own pained noise cut his own words off. "Hold on for me, please..."
He continues the painstaking motion of placing his elbows flat on the ground and then shoving his limp body a few inches forward.
"I'll get there!" He promises, his voice full of false cheer. He wasn't the best at helping others, yet he had to try.
He's not dead.
He's not dead.
Just... just— he just doesn't want to speak!
Yes, that's it! He's just such an asshole that he refuses to answer!
Another drag forcing him forward and another. It hurt to repeat such a pain-inducing task, yet this was necessary.
"Everything's going to be okay." Guilt began to gather in his mind. Who was he to make such false promises...?
After what felt like an eternity, with a final harsh grunt and a pull closer, he made it.
"Its—It's okay! I'm here! I'm going to help you!" The words flying out quick and unsteady. He had to pray his lungs could hold out for just a few minutes longer.
He examined the teen, trying his best to replicate the way the family nurse had always examined him. Yet with most of his skin covered and the darkness blanketing the two. It was hard to check for any other injuries. His eyes, though, could easily spot the bullet wound in the teen's side.
He winced just looking at it, not wanting to remember his own bullet wound.
His heart sank; he didn't know shit about fixing a bullet wound, nor did he even have any equipment. The fear of also doing something wrong and worsening the wound, forcing him to give up on it.
"You're fucking freezing right?" It was a struggle to get his coat off, yet after a minute of awkwardly fighting his own clothing, he managed. "Here, this should help." He muttered, as he draped the coat over the freezing, helpless teen. A chirp sounded... from— from his own lips.?
What the fuck instincts?! This human didn't want to hear that shit. Nor would he find an ounce of comfort from it.
"S-sorry mate, I—I don't...don't know what came over me." The words muttered quietly, full of embarrassment.
He waited for a response.Yet got none.
"Just. Just please answer me. Say something! Please don't be dead."
His hands laid on top of the boy's shoulders and shook him gently.
"Come on. You—you can't be gone. Not after saving me."
His begging falling onto nothing but deaf ears. Yet still he pleads and begs, by some miracle, maybe he would get a response.
Tears fell like rivers from both eyes; he didn't think he had any more tears left in him. He wrapped his arms tightly around the other, only for the body heat he might give off, of course. Not, no, not because he—
He covered the boy with his right wing and collapsed onto the teen.
"You're not dead." He whispers into the air, hoping that his words were the truth.
"You're okay now. You killed the threat, and now you're safe." He continued on.
The weight in his arms still would give no response.
A long moment of silence filled the air, as the only one capable of making sound stopped doing so.
The truth crashing down on him rapidly, its waves reckless and violent, ensuring it causes the most damage.
"You're dead!"
He screams through frustrated sobs. The one who had ended his suffering and saved his life was gone...
Loud sobs broke through his screams; he laid his head against the teen's chest and screamed.
He screamed so loud that he didn't hear the car braking nearby, the sets of footsteps approaching, or the downpour of rain begin to fall.
The only sound that managed to break through his grief was—
"Tommy...?"
The cost of failure was a hefty price to pay and a heavier burden to carry. It was why his father used unyielding and brutal words when warning them of failure. Yet those descriptions failed to capture what failure truly meant and why it was so heavy. His father didn't warn of its pain or cruel nature.
This was what failure looked like.
Techno's gaze fell upon his youngest brother, who looked less like his chaotic brother and resembled a victim of a dragged-out war. Tommy's face contained bruises and was streaked with blood and tears. The boy's wings, which had always been well preened and full of color, were matted with dirt and looked lifeless. His brother had looked like a mess of crimson, tears, and pain mixed with grief, suffering, and agony.
Techno would describe his brother as a fire, with roaring flames that could only grow larger. His brother always had an unwavering spark of cheer and hope. Yet Techno couldn't find that spark in his brother anymore, nor the flames. All that was left of Tommy was broken embers scattered across the floor.
This is what failure smelt like.
A strong scent of metallic blood hung in the air, overpowering his thoughts. It felt like he was suffocating because of the stench. There was so much of it, yet he could decipher Tommy's blood from the two strangers easily. He knew his brother's scent, practically had it etched in his mind.
Normally he enjoyed the rotten smell of the dying and their blood oozing. He enjoyed seeing his enemies fallen onto the ground, their bodies ripped of their past life. He made sure to take a whiff of the air, enjoying and appreciating the smell. Yet now with his own brother surrounded by the smell, he felt his stomach churn and his mouth threaten to vomit.
This is what failure sounded like.
His brother's screams pierced through the chaos; it would be hard to not hear them. The screams were raw and full of begging. It was evident that Tommy wanted to save the stranger more than he wanted himself to be saved. Though Tommy disregarded his own pain, Techno could make out the boy's want to be healed and taken care of. He hated the sound of Tommy's pain.
The storm mirrored Technos's fury and hatred perfectly. Thunder cracked violently and peeked through the dark clouds above. The lightning, with its loud booming and roaring, demanded everyone to hear its rage.
This is what failure felt like.
It felt like broken ribs and battered wings. It felt like humiliation, and as if his feathers were being ripped out one by one. As he stared at his brother's fragile body, he felt his brother's pain.He felt the stinging sensation of a bruised face and exhausted lungs. He felt the annoyance of having unpreened wings and being covered in bruises.
It was as if he too had been shot in the wings and beaten to a pulp.
"Never again" he promised.
Never again would he fail.