Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tubbo didn’t know why he was there. He was 99% sure that Tommy would never willingly return there. The thing is that he was pretty sure that wherever Tommy was, he wasn’t there willingly. So, he was going to check there, on that 1% chance.

It had been what, a month? Since Tommy disappeared? He had searched everywhere; he had talked to people who he never expected to talk to again. He had been everywhere. This was the last place that he could look. He didn’t know where else he hadn’t checked.

His stomach shivered as he stepped through the portal, blinking at the bright light. He looked up, far up, at the tall, one block tower hastily built, now weathered and decayed. Why the fuck would Tommy ever come back here? Where else could he be?

He walked over to what had been the tents, now they were just giant holes blown in the ground. He squinted against the bright light towards the beach. It didn’t look like anyone had been there in a long time. He walked over to what was left of Logstedshire, keeping an eye out for any sign that anyone had been there, but it was just like walking through a ghost town, not even the birds chirped. He walked through what had been the front door and looked around at the destruction. It was a giant hole, and he still didn’t see anything. “damn it Tommy, where the fuck are you?” he muttered under his breath.

He was about to walk away when something caught his eye. A piece of misplaced dirt revealed obsidian peeking out from under Logstedshire. He walked over to it and shakily displaced the rest of the dirt, to slowly reveal a 5x5 box of obsidian buried under Logstedshire. His stomach turned over; he had a very bad feeling. He climbed on top and took out his pickaxe. He broke the first block and peered inside but couldn’t see anything. It was too dark, even with the sun streaming past him, to illuminate the inside. He lit a torch and dropped it inside, and his vision went red.

The walls of purple obsidian were painted with blood, some of it was old rusty red, almost black, and some of it was new enough that it was still dripping down the walls and pooling on the floor. Tubbo let out a horrified moan, his breath getting caught in the back of his throat. What had happened here?!

Something moved in the dark, but the movement was so slight he almost thought he imagined it. He strained to see further into the box, for another hint of movement. It happened again. There was something in the box.

Tubbo quickly removed more blocks and stared in horror at the scene revealed to the light of day.

“T-t-t tommy?” he stuttered, bile rising in the back of his throat. His mind refused to believe it was Tommy. He couldn’t have found his best friend in this; he couldn’t have left his friend to this for an entire month.

The moving object lifted its head and stared at Tubbo with glazed eyes, no longer recognizable as blue. It opened its mouth, but no sound emerged, it tried again but all that came out was a shrill whine. Tubbo realized that it was trying to scream.

He jumped into the box, kneeling next to what was left of his friend. He tried to ignore the way his shoes sloshed and how he could feel the liquid coating the box soaking through his jeans. He reached out for Tommy, trying to help him, but jerked away after barely touching Tommy, staring at the blood now covering his hand. He unconsciously wiped his hand on his shirt, but it just left a bloody handprint stained on his front.

“Oh prime. Oh shit. Oh fuck. What happened? Who cares we have to get you out of here.” Tubbo said frantically. He tried to pick up Tommy but everywhere he touched, Tommy let out a whine of pain. He flinched every time Tommy made a noise, he couldn’t believe that someone could do this to another person… who would do this?!

He couldn’t just take Tommy away, he needed to do something here, no matter how much his instincts were screaming for them to both leave as fast as possible. “Oh fuck I have to take care of some of these.” He brought out his ender chest. “Let me get my… I have some health potions.” He stuttered, pulling out the potions he had kept in case Tommy had been, well, hurt when he found him. He had thought maybe Tommy had fallen down a ravine or was lost in a cave… but he’d never imagined… this. Tommy was worse than hurt, he didn’t know what Tommy was, but hurt didn’t even cover it.

He pulled the stopper out with his teeth and didn’t even bother to be precise; he just dumped the entire bottle over wherever he could. Tommy let out a pained hiss, its eyes slamming shut. Some of the worse wounds went from bleeding a lot; to bleeding sluggishly, and some healed into thin scars crisscrossing its body, at least it was something.

Oh wait he was missing something… He tried to look at Tommy’s back, and he realized what was so wrong with his picture of Tommy. His vision greyed out as he almost passed out from the shear horror.

“Oh Prime, Tommy, where are you wings?”

All that was left of Tommy’s wings were a mess of sliced skin, and bones sticking out where his wings had been.

Tubbo let out a strangled sob. “Oh Tommy…”

Tubbo just kept pouring on more potions, but they didn’t seem to be doing much good. He took another and put it to Tommy’s lips. “Tommy please. Please drink it, you need it. Drink.” Tubbo urged.

Tommy’s lips parted minutely, even that small movement making his dry lips crack and leak blood. Tommy’s eyes shot open, a loud whine emitting from his throat. Tubbo tipped the potion down Tommy’s throat. Tommy’s moans of pain slowly became more audible as his throat slowly healed.

Tubbo jumped as he felt something touch his arm. He looked down at Tommy weakly clutching at his arm. Tommy’s eyes opened and stared at him with a filmy, unseeing, gaze.

Tubbo brushed Tommy’s hair, stiff with the blood that coated everything in the box, including him now, out of Tommy’s face. “Shhh. Shhh, it’s ok Tommy, I’ll get you out of here. You’ll be fine. I promise. It’ll be alright. You’re safe now.” He whispered.

Tommy made a noise; it was so quiet that Tubbo could barely hear it. Tommy swallowed, and attempted the noise again, weakly grabbing at Tubbo’s arm, his mouth moving like he was trying to speak. Tubbo leaned closer, trying to hear what Tommy was trying to say.

“tubbo.” Tommy said, almost imperceptibly. “run.”

Tubbo shook his head stubbornly, “I’m not leaving you. If I’m running, you’re coming with me.” He said, his voice getting caught in his throat. He looked around him, searching for a solution. Who knew if the person who had done this would come back, or when. He had to get Tommy to safety, preferably somewhere close.

A crow called out somewhere above him, he glanced up in surprise to see the bird sitting on top of the tower, watching them with an intense gaze. It flew down, landing on the obsidian, leaning its head down to peck at the blood covered obsidian, its beak dripping red.

Tubbo stared at it in shock, “GET OUT OF HERE!” he screamed in anger, throwing one of the empty potion bottles at it. It leaped in the air, easily avoiding the bottle that shattered on the obsidian where it had been sitting a moment before. It flapped lazily away, circling over Logstedshire.

He didn’t know what to do… Maybe… maybe Phil could help, maybe he was the only option. “I’ll… I’ll get you to Phil. He- he can help.” Tubbo said. He carefully lifted Tommy, so that Tommy’s arm was over his shoulder, taking all of Tommy’s weight, which wasn’t very much. It was scary how light Tommy was.

He quickly built out of the box and brought Tommy into the outside world. It seemed to be taking all of Tommy’s energy just to make it through the world as they limped through exile and Tubbo started carrying him to Phil’s house.

They stopped frequently to give Tommy a rest, and for Tubbo to keep trying to take care of his injuries. He was at least able to wash some of the blood off on one of their infrequent stops at a water pool. He didn’t know if that made it worse, with old wounds tearing open from the force of the water, and the old blood getting washed away to make the wounds so much more prominent in the light of day.

The more they traveled, the worse Tommy got. His breathing became almost imperceptible, his injuries reopened, and they were leaving behind a trail of blood. Tubbo didn’t even know how one person could take all this damage and still be alive.

“Please Tommy, we have to get to Phil. Please, we can make it.” Tubbo urged, trying to get Tommy to just go a little bit further, to just survive a little longer. Tommy didn’t answer, he was no longer moving at all, his head just hanging down like his neck was the only thing holding it to his body.

They entered the snow and stumbled forward a few more steps before Tommy promptly collapsed to the side, not able to make it any further.

“Tommy! Tommy are you alright?!” Tubbo asked anxiously, setting Tommy on the ground carefully, leaning his back to a tree.

Tommy let out a stuttering groan that Tubbo interpreted as an attempt at a laugh.

“Please Tommy, you just have to make it a little further…” Tubbo looked up, he could see where the cabins would be sitting over a hill. “Please. We’re so close.”

Tommy gave Tubbo an almost unnoticeable shake of his head.

Tubbo looked desperately between Tommy and the cabins he knew were close. He made a decision. “We’re close to Phil, I-I’ll go get him.” Tubbo said, stumbling in the direction of the cabins. He turned around, “Just stay there, don’t move.” He sprinted off as fast as he could, not waiting for the reply Tommy couldn’t give.

He reached the top of the hill and stopped for a second, staring at the glowing cabins set below the mountains. He had never felt so relieved to see them then he did now.

He stumbled down the hill as fast as he could, bursting through the gate and ran straight to Phil’s cabin, banging on the door as hard as he could. “PHIL!” he screamed, willing the door to open and for Phil to be there.

The door burst open, almost making him fall inside. Phil was standing there sword out, looking around wildly and caught him before he could fall. Phil clutched Tubbo’s arm in an iron grip, gapping at him in surprise. “Tubbo, mate wha…? Why are you covered in blood?!”

Tubbo burst into heaving sobs interspersed with words. “Tommy… help… couldn’t make it… blood… so much blood… there was blood everywhere… blood and obsidian. Help.” His talking degenerated into a mess of panic and crying. He had to get Phil. He had to help Tommy. He had to get Phil. He had to… He stumbled back from Phil, looking back the way he’d come from. He needed to get help.

“What…? Tommy?” Phil asked, his eyes widening.

Tubbo held out a shaking, bloody, hand. “Please help.” He whispered.

Phil nodded, grabbing a totem and healing potions from his chests.

“The potions didn’t work Phil. Nothing worked. I was trying so hard to help him. There was so much blood. And his wings…” Tubbo started crying again, they were broken, heartrending sobs.

“It’s ok mate, we’ll help him, but you have to take me to him.” Phil said, putting his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder.

Tubbo didn’t need to be told twice, he grabbed Phil’s arm and they ran to where Tubbo had left Tommy. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too late.

They reached the place, but something was wrong. Tommy wasn’t there. All that was there was a melted patch of snow to even show that someone had ever been there.

“TOMMY? TOMMY!” Tubbo screamed, looking around the clearing frantically. “He… he was just here! Phil! Where is he?” Tubbo cried. “I left him right here.” Tubbo said sobbing, pointing at the patch of melted snow next to a tree. There were no footprints except his and Tommy’s from when they had gotten there. Had whatever that had had Tommy find him again? His breathing became faster and more frantic as his calls were not answered.

Phil looked closer at the snow where Tommy had been, “Tubbo. Tubbo look.” Phil said, voice breaking.

“What!?” Tubbo asked desperately. Did Phil know? Where was Tommy?

Phil pointed to the ground.

Tubbo looked closer. “So? It’s just a flower, what does that mean?!” He stared at the lonely white flower in incomprehension. What did the flower have to do with Tommy? “It’s just a flower! We have to find Tommy!”

Phil shook his head, tears running down his face. “Tubbo, he’s in a better place.”

“What? What do you mean? Phil?” Tubbo demanded. Phil couldn’t be saying what Tubbo thought he was saying. It was impossible. It couldn’t be true. Phil meant something else. There was another reason. There had to be…

“It’s a-a lily of the valley and it is the symbol of the Goddess of Death. This is Her signal to us to… not worry. That he won’t be in pain.” Phil said, his heart breaking. Why was it now? Why did he have to lose another son?

Maybe he could even see Tommy again. One day. When the night was perfect, and Death came to visit him, maybe she would bring his son with her.
Tubbo couldn’t handle it anymore, and broke into heaving sobs, falling to his knees, staring at the flower. He had failed. He had let his best friend be brutally tortured for a month and hadn’t been able to keep him alive long enough for help.

“What happened, Tubbo?” Phil asked quietly. He didn’t want to know, but he had to.

Tubbo bowed his head, his voice going strangely calm. “Tommy had been missing for a month, so I went looking for him. Ya know, it had been to long for Tommy to be on one of his escapades. And I finally went to check the last place I knew that Tommy would visit. The one place he would never willingly go. I went to exile. At first, I thought nothing was there.” Tubbo paused, staring at the flower. “But then, in the ruins of Logstedshire, I saw it. A single piece of obsidian where no obsidian should have been.” He looked up at Phil. “It was a box. A box of obsidian. I opened it.” He closed his eyes, tears still falling freely. “There was so much blood Phil. It was dripping from the walls, and his wings Phil.” He sobbed. “His wings were gone. His beautiful, beautiful wings, were… were cut off from the bone.”

Phil collapsed to the ground, staring at Tubbo in horror.

“There was so much blood, Phil. I couldn’t heal it. I gave him so many healing potions. But it didn’t work.” He glanced at Phil. “And you know what? Phil? Even after all that, you know what Tommy said to me as he was laying there slowly bleeding to death and suffering in more ways than any person should?” Tubbo asked, staring into the distance at nothing except his memories. “He told me to run, Phil. He wanted me to leave him. And I did, I left him here, and now he’s gone. I told him I the only way I was going to run was if I took him with me. And I didn’t, I left him.” He put his head in his hands, tangling his hands in his hair. “This is all my fault. I should have found him sooner; I shouldn’t have left him. I promised he’d be safe.” He started rocking himself back and forth to try and comfort himself.

Phil grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “This isn’t your fault Tubbo.” He whispered, “Don’t blame yourself, Tommy wouldn’t have.”

Tubbo beat against Phil’s chest, “I should have been here. Don’t tell me what Tommy would have thought! Let me go!” Tubbo jerked away, and returned to staring at the flower, tears continuing to fall down his face.

“Tubbo we should go.” Phil said, after a while of shivering in the snow. Nothing was getting better, he couldn’t help Tommy from here, and he couldn’t find who did this like his entire soul wanted to, sitting there. “We… we can’t do anything more here. Death will take care of him.”

“NO! I won’t leave, you’ll have to kill me to get me to leave.” Tubbo said, his voice hoarse from crying.

Phil sat there, staring at Tubbo. He closed his eyes, trying to contain the emotions that rose through him. His throat closed around the tears threatening to spill up. Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to lose another son? And why did it have to be like this? He wanted to hunt down the person who had done this, but he couldn’t, Tubbo needed him more. “Alright Tubbo, but you can’t be here alone. I’ll stay.” They sat there and continued their vigil.

Phil silently called down a crow, silently waiting in the trees. “Go get Ranboo and Techno.” Phil whispered to it. It nodded and flew off to get the requested two.

More crows appeared, landing on the nearby trees. Unlike their usual cheerful, fighting selves; they were unusually quiet, staring at the scene and helping hold the vigil. Some flew off, and returned in pairs, carrying flowers to set on the snow in front of the lily. Soon there was a pile of brightly colored flowers placed around what was now all that was left of Tommy. It was the least they could do.

The two mourned in silence, Tubbo only getting up once to plant a sign, stating, “Here lies Tommy Innit, best friend and son.”

The sign just made Phil want to leave more, to find out what bastards did this to his son. He had a good idea, but he needed concrete proof. But he couldn’t leave Tubbo, if something happened to both of them, he couldn’t live with himself. So, he closed his eyes in despair, and leaned his head back against a tree, hoping that Techno and Ranboo would arrive soon.

Soon enough the two that had been sent for appeared. The crow appeared first, flying ahead of crashing bushes that announced the arrival of Ranboo. He burst into the clearing, and immediately saw Tubbo kneeling on the ground in front of the sign.

“Tubbo!? What happened…? What’s going on…? Is everything alright…?” Ranboo asked frantically.

Tubbo stared at Ranboo, for a second it didn’t look like Tubbo saw or heard him. But Tubbo leaped to his feet a second later and threw himself at Ranboo, collapsing into the shocked enderman’s arms, sobbing out the story incoherently.

Techno followed behind at a more sedate pace, but his axe was out, and he was watching the shadows like he expected enemies behind every tree. When he entered the clearing, he took in everything with a sharp gaze, from the sign and flowers to the sobbing goat hybrid being held awkwardly in his husband’s arms. None of that showed on the outside though, to any other person they might think that Techno was relaxed or uncaring, but Phil knew him to well, he could see the voices behind Techno’s gaze, telling him everything and nothing at all. He knew that every muscle in Techno’s body was ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.

He stood up, wincing as his muscles protested from sitting for too long on the frozen ground, and carefully approached Techno, making sure he made no sudden movements. “Techno.” He called softly.

Techno immediately focused on him, moving slightly to get the best angle in case of attack. “Hollo Phil. Can you tell me what is going on?” Techno asked in his monotone voice, nodding his head to scene in front of him.

Phil looked behind him, the anger coming back in a rush. “Tommy is dead Techno. Someone tortured and killed my son.” He looked Techno straight in the eyes, “They cut off his wings.”

Techno froze, staring into Phil’s eyes, gone black with rage. It had been a long time since he had seen that look in Phil’s eyes, but whenever Phil got that look… people died. He could tell that Phil was about to show the server how he had gotten the name “The Angel of Death”. Techno already knew, but it was about time the rest found out.

Techno nodded; he wouldn’t interfere, if anything he would do the opposite. “Do you need me?” Techno offered hopefully, he could do with a good fight, the SMP had been to quiet lately.

-Blooooood!- the voices screamed. He grimaced; the voices had been screaming for a while.

Phil shook his head, “I’m going to investigate myself. I need you to protect them.” he said, jerking his head at the two now kneeling in the snow. Ranboo was still holding Tubbo who was sobbing his heart out. Ranboo wasn’t doing much better, tears streaking down his ivory cheek, his chin resting on Tubbo’s head.

Techno nodded, shouldering his axe and leaning against a nearby tree. He could wait, patience was a skill he had acquired over the years, it had let him outwait his prey on more than one occasion, and this time it would let him wait for the perfect time to strike. Phil nodded back, turning to stride away.

“Give ‘em hell, Phil.” Techno called to Phil’s retreating back. “And remember my offer.”

Phil turned his head, looking at Techno over his shoulder, his broken wings held like he was about to fly, and his eyes as black as the void. Just for a second Techno had a vision of Phil holding a bloody sword over a massive battlefield, those ebony wings dripping with blood. “Thank you, Techno. I will tell you when I am in need of the Blood God’s help.” Phil said, walking away and fading into the trees.

Techno gave a small smile and returned to waiting and watching.

-Blood for the Blood God-E-Tommy!-Help the child!-Oldza!-Birdza-E-Tommmyyy!!!-Help Oldza!-Kill Tubbo?-KEKW-Tommy’s dead CRAB RAVE-Blood!-One of us-Homeless Teletubby?-

Techno let out a sigh, it was going to be a long night. He looked at the hurried gravesite and frowned. He hadn’t liked Tommy for a while, but he hadn’t wanted it to end like this. He hoped Phil found what he was looking for, and he would be there to help when Phil called for him. He was always down for a good round of revenge.

-

Phil strode away from his newest failure. He needed to find out what happened, the pit in his stomach was boiling in anger and grief and for the first time in a while, he was going to let that anger come to the surface.

It took a while to reach exile, and the walk made his anger turn into a steady simmer instead of a roaring boil, but the sight of the deep pits, signifying the tnt that blown up everything Tommy had built, just made it flare up more. He couldn’t fix that anymore. At this moment he needed answers, and he knew where he needed to go, striding past the bits of tarp flapping dejectedly in the wind to the remains of Logstedshire.

He froze at the sight of the obsidian box sunk into the ground. This couldn’t be it… Please don’t let this be it. He walked over, dropping into the sunken hole, walking over to the obsidian. He put his hand on it, feeling the coldness of the obsidian, not even warmed by the setting sun, and reached for the lip to pull himself to the top. He balanced on the edge and peaked into the box. He gapped in horror at what he saw inside.

He reached down to touch the floor, not even quite believing what he was seeing until he felt the cold liquid staining the floor. He drew his hand back and stared at his fingers, covered in thick blood quickly drying on his hand.

He let out a pained chirp and dropped into the box in a state of shock. His shoes turning red on the bottom as the blood soaked in, and his wings scraping the side of the box, giving them a red sheen.

“Tommy, oh Tommy.” Phil whispered in despair, his heart breaking as he clenched his fist and felt all that was left of his son dripping through his fingers.

He looked around desperately, looking for anything. He froze at what was crudely scratched into the wall. His hands clenched in anger as he stared at the cruel smile, scratched into the layers of dried blood, like a scar in a painting. Left there to scare a child that should never have been there in the first place.

His mind went blank with rage, striding over to the wall, and wiping the smile away with a shriek of rage. He shuddered in pure anger, but his eyes noticed something else, something glued to the wall by the dried blood. He reached out with a shaking hand and plucked a single, broken, feather off the wall, cradling it in his hands.

Even with the thick layer of blood he could tell the wing it had fallen from. Drops of water splashed on it, cleaning off the blood. It took him a second to realize it was his own tears, falling hotly down his cheeks. He carefully cleaned it off, until it was the cheery red that Tommy’s wings had been. His shaking hand carefully tucked it behind his ear, the fibers brushing against his forehead.

“They will pay for what they did to you, Tommy.” Phil whispered. He stood up straight, his wings dripping with blood from where they had brushed against the walls. He threw back his head and keened, letting his grief tear through his throat in one anguished cry. He closed his eyes against the tears, a lump growing in his throat.

A sorrowful cry rang out above him, and he started in surprise. His keen eyes focusing on the crow, perched on top of the tower that was so prominent in Logstedshire. It gave another forlorn cry and dove into the sky, soaring away from Logstedshire into the setting sun. He blinked against the light, squinting to see it better; but the dark form seemed to disappear from existence. He stared after it, but it never returned. He shook his head and left Logstedshire, the stench of blood following him like a plague.

-

He woke up slowly, trying to figure out where he was, everything felt… different. He just didn’t know why.

It took him a minute, but it suddenly hit him. He didn’t hurt. He couldn’t taste the blood that had constantly coated the back of his throat, he couldn’t feel the knife wounds carefully placed so that he wouldn’t die… right away, he couldn’t feel the broken bones so that he couldn’t escape… And he could feel his wings. That was how he knew this was another fever dream, he hadn’t had wings in weeks. They were the first things that had been taken. He didn’t need them if he was just going to be living, if that’s what you called it, in an obsidian box.

He was laying on something that was soft, and he opened his eyes, not moving an inch. He had learned better than to draw attention to himself. He looked out onto a vast, white, featureless, landscape. It felt like he was lying on clouds, and it looked like it too. Where was he? Was this another trick? This wasn’t his limbo; a place he was by now intimately familiar with. This was new.

“Tommy. It’s ok, you can wake up. You can’t be hurt here.” A kind voice said above him. Someone appeared, standing, in front of him, that someone knelt down, meeting his eyes. He didn’t look away; he was frozen in fear of what this new person would do. So much pain, so much betrayal. What was this new person going to do?

“Oh. My poor child. I’m so, so sorry Tommy.” She reached out, and he flinched internally. Never show weakness.

Her hand froze, reaching toward him. “Tommy, I won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you when you are in my realm.” She told him softly.

He closed his eyes and waited for the lie to reveal itself.

She carefully reached out again… to brush his hair out of his face, and a wave of calm washed through him from her gentle touch. She kept brushing at his hair and he relaxed under her hand.

She let out a birdlike chirp, and he replied happily, his wings fluttering above him. He kept chirping at her, telling her everything he could. It took a long time, but he finally had told her everything, told her his entire story. He would tell her anything, as long as she kept petting his head.

She was silent when he finished, except to send relaxing chirps. “I should have gotten to you sooner Tommy, but something was blocking me. I couldn’t find you; you were hidden from my eyes. But even now… it’s not your time.” She went quiet, just running her fingers through his hair.

“Tommy.” She said, staring into the distance.
He looked up at her, chirping to ask what she would like, he would get it for her, she just had to keep brushing his hair.

“Tommy you can’t stay here. I brought you here temporarily because I couldn’t leave you in that place any longer. You had finally come close enough to my realm that I could bring you here without anyone stopping me. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears dripped down her cheeks.

He couldn’t fully understand with the air of calm that surrounded him, but he didn’t want her to be sad. He chirped at her reassuringly, trying to get her to stop crying. He shakily moved his wings to rest one on her lap, trying to keep her happy.

She carefully ran a hand over his wings, brushing at the feathers.

He watched his wing in awe, he didn’t remember why, but it felt like he wasn’t supposed to be looking at it. They shivered under her hand, and he almost felt a thrill of… fear(?) when she touched them. But the sense of fear was, mostly, overwhelmed by the feeling of calm.

He blinked, thinking about it. He furrowed his brow, fighting against the feeling of peace, trying to return to himself. He wasn’t supposed to feel calm, there were reasons, he should be scared. Why couldn’t he be scared…? A fresh wave of calm flooded through him, washing away any worries he’d had, and he turned his attention back to the lady gently stroking his wings.

She looked him in the eyes, staring at him for the longest time before she started talking again. “I, I can’t send you back there. I’m going to send you far away, where you can start a new life. Where you can heal. I will give you the time to heal and to learn that nothing that happened was your fault. I will lock your memories; you must not touch them. You will get some back… when you are ready.” She explained to him.

He agreed with her, he knew that things outside the calm scared him. He chirped at her sadly. Why did he have to leave?

She ran her fingers through his hair, “You can’t stay here, it’s not your time. You are so precious to the world Tommy; you can’t leave it yet.”

He jerked in fear as a bell rang through the air. She looked around frantically, “Tommy, you must go. Your time is running out. I will send you somewhere where it cannot find you.” Her eyes widened, “I must give you a new name.”

She ran her hands over his wings. “I dub thee Icarus. Such is the name thy shall answer to, and people shall name thou.” She stood up quickly, her gown swishing.

He lifted his head, staring at her with wide eyes.
“Look into my eyes, Icarus.” Her voice commanded, echoing through the ether.

The calm was pushed back, and he felt all his memories being taken and locked in a box deep inside his mind, a box that he would open when he was ready, if ever. This was not a time to remember, this was a time to start anew.

“Who are you?” he whispered, hearing his voice for the first time in so long. He stared into her eyes and fell into a void of darkness and swirling stars.

“My name is Kristin, my son, my light, my fallen angel. We will meet again.”

Chapter Text

He could tell that he had finally woken up. It had been a long time, and the lethargy of the long rest weighed him down like the weight of the world pressing on him. His wings rustled slightly from where they were draped over him, and he sighed with happiness to feel their comforting weight on his back.

He could feel the softness of the ground beneath him, grass blades tickling his cheek, and from the pleasant warmth suffusing his muscles, the sun was shining above him.  He could hear birds singing around him, chirping their music to anyone who would listen, and the slight droning of bees dancing through the air in search of pollen. It sounded nice, but he wanted to go back to the safe place. Who even knew if he could trust his senses; what if opening his eyes showed that he was somewhere bad? Somewhere he didn’t want to be.

He curled his hand to his chest, grasping at his neck; but the thing his hand was searching for was gone and his hand fell limply onto the grass. His wing moving to envelope him like a blanket, the feathers lightly brushing against his face. He did not want to wake up yet, there was an ache in his chest for the dream he’d had moments before. He had been safe in that dream; the real world was so full of hurt and suffering, he didn’t want to wake up. A small, anxious, chirp escaped from the back of his throat. Why did he have to wake up?

He tried to return to the dream, curling into a tight ball and squeezing his eyes shut like a repentant child, trying to go back into the comforting void of his dream. Well, he called it a dream, it had felt so real. But sleep escaped him, refusing to return him to the place he wanted to go. He let out a disappointed chirp, and instead tried to recall his memories of before. And found… nothing.

He couldn’t remember anything. Even the dream, the one thing he wanted to remember… was slipping through his fingers like water. All he could remember was the woman telling, saying, his name… giving him time to heal… telling him it was time to live. He didn’t even remember if he’d died…

The rest of the dream seemed to reluctantly hide away into the shadows of his mind, silently leaving him in the world he’d never wanted to return to.

The rest of his memories seemed to have fled long before he had even woken up, leaving nothing behind except dust. He scrambled after the rapidly decaying dream/memory, diving into the deepest parts of his mind, searching frantically for anything that could be his memories. Nothing was there. Instead, he ran through deserted halls that should have been filled with pictures and depictions of his life, but were empty, leaving only gaping holes and empty pedestals where his memories should have been.  

He heard an echoing laugh from further in the maze, and noticed a red and golden, hazy, figure disappear around a corner. He ran after it, chasing it through a maze of halls, some of which he didn’t even recognize, and stumbled to a halt at a sudden dead end. He was deep in his mind, staring at a chest protected by a strong lock. He lurched forward, reaching for the chest… reaching for his memories… but hit a wall of panic that rose around the chest. His instincts screamed at him and he wanted to either run away or collapse right there on the floor and cry, or both. But he did neither, instead he stumbled back, collapsing against the wall, as far back as he could get. He took deep heaving breaths, staring at the chest; too scared to get closer; too stubborn to leave.

He heard an echoing laugh. “Don’t open the chest yet, big man. Savor the time you don’t have to remember, it’s hell in here.”

He grimaced, shivering from the panic crawling up his spine. He was being given time. He didn’t want to have to wait, he wanted his memories back, but the panic that engulfed him at the mere thought of opening the chest stopped him in his tracks.  All he knew of himself was his name. He took a deep breath. Fine. He’d work with this for now, maybe this new start would be good! Who needs to know about themselves…

-

He blinked his eyes open and stared at the tall grass gently swaying next to him. He tilted his head to look at the bright blue sky visible above the swaying grass, the sun was shining just over the treetops, and he held up his hand to shade his eyes from the bright light. A few puffy clouds made their lazy way across the ocean of blue like little boats adrift on the open ocean, he could almost feel the fluffy clouds slipping between his fingers as he soared alongside the clouds far above the ground. They seemed to urge him to race across the sky with them, but for now, it felt nice to just lay there, watching the clouds travel by themselves as the grass wafted in and out of his peripheral vision.

He didn’t know where he was, or why, or how he had gotten there. He tried to look inside his consciousness for answers again, mentally tapping his foot to display his impatience for knowing absolutely nothing. At his mental insistence his mind finally decided to grudgingly concede a memory. He could see vague flashes of running through woods looking for… something. He closed his eyes and tried to remember more, a deer. He had been running after a deer. He had been hunting for food. He was a hunter, and a farmer. He could still feel the dirt running through his hands as he dug up carrots as the sun warmed his back and the thrill of the chase as he ran after the swift deer that populated the forest. That was his life, he was a hunter and farmer.

“If you’re a farmer, why are your memories so hard to bear?” a nasty voice whispered to him. He ignored it, it wasn’t time to remember.

He sat up, stretching muscles that had gone stiff from laying there for who knows how long. He could feel his wings stretching to their full extent behind him, shivering as they were stretched to their limit. He relaxed and looked around him, smiling. He was in a beautiful meadow, flowers spread everywhere in this almost perfectly circular clearing surrounded by oak and spruce trees. The grass swayed around him in the nonexistent breeze as bees buzzed around lazily, collecting pollen.

A bee idly buzzed away from a nearby flower, swaying through the air before landing on his knee. It explored his clothing, making little buzzing noises as its antennae waved through the air. He ran a light finger over the bee’s fuzzy body, which made it let out a surprised buzz. He laughed. “My friend loves bees.” He whispered, his words barely a breath of sound, the bee might not have even heard him, but the bee was not what he was thinking about right then.

He was frozen, the smile falling from his face, his wings ruffling in agitation as panic settled in his stomach, threatening to rise any second. What friend? Why bees? How had he even remembered? The questions swirled around his mind, but they were quickly shut down, and the box remained firmly locked. By the time he came back to himself, the bee had buzzed off, disappointed in the lack of pollen offered by his clothing. He sighed a little, this was not going to be easy.

He felt something brush his arm and looked over to see a wing decorated in black feathers lightly brushing against him. He gasped and spread his own wings… to see the black wing move when he told it. His eyes widened at the sight of the giant black feathered wings, speckled in white like stars across the pitch black sky, stretching out behind him. It looked… wrong to him somehow. Like they weren’t his wings, like they should have been different somehow.

He pulled one closer and ran a shaking hand over the feathers that didn’t look like they should be his. They seemed wrong. Except for the fact that he could feel every move his hand made on what had to be his wings. He surrounded himself with them, marveling in their warmth and softness as he mourned the loss of something he couldn’t even remember.

But soon enough he had to stop. He wiped his eyes and looked around the clearing. The sun was going to set eventually, and he couldn’t stay there forever. He needed shelter.

He got to his feet, feeling the moss squish under him as he took a few steps away from the place he had lain. He looked over his shoulder at the indent he had left in the grass, before glancing down at his ensemble. It was a light shirt, a pair of trousers, and no shoes. He didn’t mind though, the moss felt nice to walk on. He checked his inventory, but it was empty, and he was going to have to find everything he needed.

He grimaced, hopefully he could find a house before he had to knock down a tree with no tools.

He looked over his shoulder at his wings, giving them an experimental flap. He could feel the power coursing through them as the grass flattened in the resulting gust of wind.

He held his wings out and considered the bright blue sky above him. Maybe he could fly to scout for someplace he could steal some supplies from…? Was he going to steal? The answer to that was an immediate and resounding yes. He wasn’t ready to interact with other people, the mere thought of that made his stomach lurch. He glanced around the field nervously, his hands shaking slightly. He had no idea where he was, there could be a village just through the trees for all he knew, and if he flew it would bring more attention than he wanted.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, grimacing at the thought of being found as he reluctantly folded his wings against his back. He wasn’t going to fly. For now. At least not until he scouted the area. He set off walking, leaving the clearing to look for supplies, and maybe shelter. He picked a flower in passing, carefully brushing the purple petals through his hand, smiling at the light dusting of pollen brushed onto his fingers, before tucking the flower safely behind his ear.

The trees seemed to swallow him up until he couldn’t see the meadow anymore, and the sky was only visible as splashes of blue against the greenery that covered him. It was so peaceful to walk through the trees, running his hands over the rough bark, seeing startled deer disappear into the thicker brush, and listening to the birds chirp their hellos in the trees. He chirped back, laughing at their surprised squawks for him actually understanding and responding back to them. A few even flew down and, perched on his shoulders and hair, exploring the new giant bird that looked like a human, but sounded like a fellow bird. They ran their beaks through his hair, and he laughed when their feathers tickled him as they pecked at his clothes in search of his hidden feathers before he shooed them off.

He stumbled on a small game trail, and ended up following it. Praying to Prime that he wouldn’t run into anyone. He didn’t, instead the game trail eventually spilled into another gassy meadow; this time with a small cabin set to the back. He froze at the tree line, not daring to step into the open where anyone could see him. He just stood there, watching the cabin for any sign of life… but none emerged. It just sat there, looking dark and slightly menacing in the middle of an otherwise normal field. He almost expected some hulking figure to duck through the doorway, but there was no sight or sound of life except the animals of the forest. He looked up at the sun and saw that it was starting to set. This cabin was going to be his best bet, unless there was another random ass cabin in another empty field he would run across randomly in the forest. He snorted. Yeah, not likely. This was going to be his one choice.

He snuck around the perimeter of the meadow, staying out of sight in the trees. He was going to take no chances. It didn’t take long, though it felt like an eternity as the sun got lower and lower in the sky, but he was soon crouching behind the cabin.

He had found a place to hide next to a stack of firewood, that if nothing else he was totally going to steal. If it wasn’t nailed down, he was going to call it “free”. He grimaced as spiders took a liking to his legs, but he quickly brushed them off and they scurried back into the firewood.

He ignored the curious arachnids and closed his eyes, listening for any movement, or speech, or anything that would tell him that the person who built the cabin also lived in it. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but no sound ever emitted from the cabin, no one came, no one went, it was surprisingly peaceful. The only thing he could hear was the squeaking of mice.

He couldn’t see the sun from where he was sitting but he knew that it was still setting, it was probably almost night, he was going to need shelter, and fast. He didn’t want to deal with whatever monsters showed up that night. There was still no sound coming from the cabin, and no one had returned while he was waiting. It was getting late; he had spent too much time waiting and fucking around. It was too late to go look for another place to stay. He was just going to have to cross his fingers, and hope.

He slowly stood up, sneaking around the outside, ducking behind a conveniently placed barrel, that sloshed with water when he leaned against it to peak at the front door. The cabin itself didn’t actually look that big; it was just a short rectangle, with a peaked roof, and a large, covered, porch with rickety steps leading up to the front door.

Now that he was around the front, he really could see that the sun was almost set. He probably didn’t have more than an hour until it was dark enough for the mobs to come out of whatever hidy holes they lurked in during the day.

He took a deep shuddering breath, glancing around one more time, before carefully standing up and walking up to the house. Warily keeping his senses open for any possible threat. The steps creaked slightly underfoot, and he winced at the sudden noise, lightly jumping over the other two steps to the landing. It only took two steps to cross the porch, but he hesitated once again at the closed door, listening one more time for any noise. But there was still nothing. It was getting late, there wasn’t any more time to waste. It was time to go in.

He pushed lightly at the door, and it swung in easily, except for the shrill shriek from unoiled hinges. He winced at the loud noise and took a step back, poised to run away as fast as he could… before he realized that nothing happened. There was still no movement, there was nothing to hear coming from the cabin, except the mice; and he wasn’t particularly worried about them.

He squinted inside, the fading light left by the setting sun his only light in the enclosed wooden box. There was a bed directly in front of him, well if you could call it a bed, the frame was sitting on the ground and the mattress didn’t look like more than a mouse infested sack filled with barely any stuffing.

There was a table set next to the door, it looked big enough to be useful and seemed to be scarred from constant use. The wall parallel to the door housed a fireplace, built into the wall, a black stain stretching out in a semi-circle from it. A set of chests were built on top of each other, against the wall, at the base of the bed. More chests and some barrels were stacked in the corners next to the fireplace. He glanced up at the ceiling and noticed a set of rather rickety rafters. Maybe he could make them into something to perch on… He shook his head, he had more pressing matters.

He carefully put his foot inside the door, sneezing at the thick layer of dust that he stirred up. There seemed to be dust on everything, and now he could see inside he could watch the dust motes floating through the air, highlighted by the setting sun. He left the door open and kept exploring the small space. There wasn’t much to explore, but it was enough. He opened the chests and was overjoyed to find basic tools, and a few old, but usable materials. He almost cried when he found the bow and a few arrows shoved into the bottom of a chest. He carefully replaced them to be reexamined in better lighting.

The barrels were filled with beautiful, stale, old, carrots, wheat, potatoes, and other food items that he could use to survive until the time came when he could farm himself. It was everything he could ever ask for, and it was his. This was his territory now.

He glanced out the door and grimaced at the sun almost completely gone behind the horizon. He ignored the open door, opting to leave it open, and went to examine the bed. He gave it an experimental kick and grimaced at the cloud of dust and tiny squeaks that rose from it. Opting to sleep on the floor next to it.  

He stretched out as much as he could, his wings spreading out to take up most of the floor. He sneezed at the dust that covered the floor, but it was almost night. Best not to try against the monsters. He didn’t need a blanket, the summer breeze blowing through the house was warm, and his wings were ten times warmer than any blanket that could ever be knitted. His weary eyes shut as he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

-

He sat bolt upright, his mouth open in a silent scream of pure terror. He frantically threw himself to his feet and ran out into the field, tripping over his own feet in his rush to get out. He needed to get into the open, the small cabin just felt like it was boxing him in now, it felt like he was trapped, and he needed to escape. He couldn’t be trapped, it made him feel physically sick. He clamped his hands over his mouth as his stomach tried to reject its contents. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees in the dirt. He was ok, he wasn’t trapped, he was free, the sky was above him, he could go where he wanted. He tried to tell himself that, but it didn’t help.

He crawled forward, his shoulders shaking as he retched onto the ground, his stomach was empty, but it didn’t stop it from trying to throw up something, anything. There had been something in his nightmares. He couldn’t remember what it was, but one thing he did know; now was not the time to be inside. Now was not the time to be trapped, no matter how free it felt.

He took a deep, shaky breath; wiping his mouth, trembling from the force of his coughing. His breath was finally flowing down when a new wave of emotions crashed into him.

He threw his head back and keened. He was safe. -But he didn’t feel safe.- It couldn’t find him. -But why were his memories following him? - He had a new chance. -But he didn’t want to remember, not anymore...-

He slumped over, staring dully at the grass in front of him, his wings hanging limply on his back. His hand listlessly tracing ragged patterns over his arms. He shakily got to his feet and stumbled over to the barrel near the cabin, filled with water. He shoved his face in as far as it would go, coming out with a gasp. He shook the water out of his face and stared into the barrel, gasping for breath. He lifted handfuls of water to his mouth, with hands that shook, rinsing the nasty taste out of his mouth. He spat the water on the ground next to him and reached for another handful. He swallowed and the cool water felt soothing going down his sore throat.

He looked down into the water while he was bringing another handful up to his mouth… and froze. The water dripped from his hand onto what could only be his reflection, each time another drop of water fell it rippled over the reflection of his shocked face… a reflection he didn’t even recognize anymore. The water drained from his fingers as he quickly forgot about it; enthralled by the newest piece in the puzzle. He reached a shaking hand out to tap the water and jerked his hand back when the ripples disturbed the reflection. He drew his hand through his now shockingly white, and slightly damp, hair; a pair of ice blue eyes blinking at him, slightly red from crying, but now glazed over in shock.

He squinted at his reflection, noticing something off about his hair, besides the fact it was as white as snow. He dug through his hair, carefully pulling a pale red feather the seemed to be growing with his hair. He frowned but shook his head tucking the feather behind his ear. At least it gave his hair style some color.

He gripped the barrel by the rim to stop his hands from shaking, this was something new, he was going to take it in stride, he was a big man he could handle a little white hair. He stuck his tongue out at the reflection, which returned the favor. He grinned at the reflection that grinned back at him. He hit the reflection; disturbing the water so he could no longer see what was left of himself staring back.

He backed away from the barrel, collapsing on the steps with his back to the supports for the porch roof. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the porch, his thoughts racing as he became more and more trapped in his own head. He faintly heard a bird chirp somewhere near him, but he ignored as the noises became gradually more insistent. He reluctantly opened his eyes to see a feathery head peeking over the roof staring back at him, it cocked its head to the side and let out a questioning croak. He grinned at it, and made clucking noises at the bird, which it took as an open invitation.

It cawed at him and glided down to land on his knee. The crow hopped from talon to talon making excited noises at him. He smiled, running a finger over the crow’s feathers. It hurred happily, rubbing its head on his hand. It hopped closer to him, and his hand fell away as it proceeded to peck at his clothes, making hungry noises as it searched him for something to eat.

He chuckled. “I don’t have any food with me right now, want to go look with me?” he asked, but froze at the sound of his own voice.

The crow looked just as shocked, staring at him with its beady gaze. It croaked at him, hopping off his leg to stood inside his doorway; cocking its head, like it was saying, ‘What are you waiting for? I’m hungry.’

He let out a shaky laugh, pulling himself to his feet. “Yes sir.” He saluted with sarcasm. He looked at his hand with shock at how quickly he had stood at attention, as the crow stood there laughing at him. He crossed his arms, pursing his lips at the bird. “Now listen here. Crows don’t get food when the crow laughs at the food giver.”

He could tell that it was amused by that statement, it’s eyes twinkling with mischief that just made him watch it warily. It croaked at him as if to say, “You sure about that?”

He glared at it. “Yes, I’m sure.”

It hopped inside, turning its back to him and quickly disappearing into the dimly lit cabin. “If you say so.”

He could hear it rattling around inside. He quickly walked to the doorway, hesitating for a minute before he walked inside. A thrill of fear shot through him at the idea of going back into the cramped room, but he took a deep breath and stepped inside, keeping one hand on the doorframe. He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. The door was open, he was not trapped, this was his territory, he was safe in his territory. He opened his eyes and squinted inside the dimly lit room to see the crow trying to open the barrels, with very little success. He stepped further inside, keeping the doorway wide open as he shooed it away. “Oi. Leave it alone. If you want something, I’ll get it for you.” he said in exasperation.

It croaked at him, pecking at the barrel, completely unperturbed by his attempts to shoo it away. He shook his head, and opened the barrel to glance inside, there wasn’t much, but there were some old vegetables. He reached in and brought out an old carrot; soft and hairy that looked like it had been sitting in the barrel for a long time. He took a big bite out of it, glancing at the crow. “You want some?” He asked with a full mouth, offering it the partially eaten carrot.

It glared at him, turning its back, and flying out the open door, making sounds of complete disgust.

He chuckled, chomping on the rest of the carrot. He glanced around the room and let out a sigh. The place needed cleaning, and if he wanted to stop sneezing, he was going to have to get the dust out. Maybe it would make it a lot less stifling to be inside as well… or maybe he could open it up a little in the future; maybe add a few windows, add a door to the rafters… make it feel less like a box and more like a home.

He found a mostly broken shovel in one of the chests and dragged the mattress outside, throwing it over the railing and beating it to get the dust out. He had to stop frequently to have sneezing fits from the clouds of dust, and occasional mouse, that emerged every time he hit the bed. But eventually he’d had enough, and he left it hanging over the railing before going back inside.

He started digging through chests, and taking a better inventory of everything than he had the night before. He was overjoyed to pull out the bow stave from the night before in well-used but beautiful condition, he dug a little more and found a string, carefully wrapped, and hidden in the corner of the chest. He grinned, this meant he could hunt, he could get food, it was perfect. He also found a mostly chipped, iron, woodcutting axe. He brought it out shakily and strapped it to his waist with a hastily made belt of some rope he had found.

A dig through the rest of the storage showed him a collection of old or broken equipment and resources. But to him it was worth more than the world. With the newly risen sun he could also check all the dark corners. He found a lot of cobwebs, but the important things were two dented buckets under the table, and a flint and small steel knife next to the fireplace. The knife immediately got wrapped in leather and tucked in easy reach. It made him feel a lot safer to know he had some type of weapon.

He sat back on his heels and grimaced at the ashy mess that was the fireplace, just like the rest of the cabin it was horribly dirty, and if he attempted to light a fire in it, it would probably burn the cabin down. He got to his feet and glanced around the room but nothing that would help caught his eye.

He sneezed again as more dust entered his nose. He flapped his wings a few times and started sneezing uncontrollably at the dust that rose from every surface. Damn it, he really hated dust. Eventually it settled, and he grimaced in disgust, grabbing the bucket.

He went outside, fluffing up his feathers and shaking his wings vigorously to get as much of the itchy dust out as he could.

The crow was standing on the railing started cawing at him like it was laughing. He glared at it, “If you want to be helpful you can tell me where the nearest river is.” He growled at it.

It cocked its head at him, letting out a few more cawing laughs. ‘And if I don’t…?’

He threw his hands up, the bucket banging against his arm. “Fine! Be that way! Fuck it! I can find it myself!” he stomped off, flipping the unhelpful crow off as he left, as it cawed its laughter behind him.

He hesitated at the tree line; he didn’t know if he was going to be able to find the cabin again if he went off in some random direction, all trees look the same after awhile. He skirted the forest until he found the game trail, he had followed the day before and once again followed it through the forest.

He kept his eyes open, constantly scanning the forest for any signs of trouble, or worse, civilization. He also kept his ears open for any sound of a river, or any type of running water really.

The game trail soon led him to a small river rushing past, he knew there had to be one somewhere, it was pretty much a rule that game trails led past water. He quickly dipped the buckets in the water, heaving them up with a grunt and shoving them in his inventory for the trek back to the cabin, at least he didn’t have to carry them.

The crow waved a wing at him as he set the buckets down on the floor of the cabin with a groan of relief, rubbing his sore hands. Now it was time for the next hardest part.

He spent the rest of the day scrubbing, lugging water from the river, and getting the cabin as clean as he could. He got as much of the dust out as he could, scrubbed the chimney to get rid of the dangerous ash buildup, and swept the fireplace itself, scrubbing at the smoke stains. It was nice to finally be able to light a fire and he rewarded himself by setting a pot full of water on the stove with a plethora of vegetables to stew for the day.

The crow flew in to check on the cooking process as he was chopping vegetables. He gave it a side eye and pursed his lips at the pile of lousy vegetables that he had acquired. “I wonder if there is anything else I could add to this.” He said out loud, making sure the crow heard him. “Maybe some roast bird would be good.” He turned and looked at the crow with a sly smile, drawing his finger over the knife blade. The crow squawked in indignation, quickly flying back outside spewing cuss words.

“That’s a bit vulgar for a pigeon like you!” he yelled after it. He grinned after the bird, chuckling to himself as he dumped the vegetables into the pot.

At some point he dragged the newly aired out mattress back inside and dumped it back on the bed-frame. Collapsing face-first into it from exhaustion and falling into a deep sleep.

-

He sat up with a start in an unfamiliar bed, covered in sweat, the scent of something burning invading his nostrils. He could almost swear the place was on fire, everything was on fire, it was all burning down, smoke was rising from the burning pit so deep nothing was left but bedrock.

But it wasn’t, there was no pit, he was in the cabin, nothing was burning… but he could still smell the fire. He looked around frantically, the small knife he had found with the flint had been in his hand before he had even fully woken up, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that. It was still dark, the only light was coming from the fire still burning merrily in the hearth.

He realized where the smell was coming from and leaped out of bed with a cry, rushing over to the pot of soup. He pulled it off the spit, yelping at how hot it was before quickly setting it on the ground a safe distance from the fire. He glared at the pot, still merrily bubbling away as the vegetables burned to the bottom. He rubbed his sore hands, carefully reaching into a chest and pulling out some assorted bandages he had seen in there earlier and wrapped his hands carefully.

He let out a huge sigh, collapsing on his bed and throwing his arm over his eyes. Today was going to be a long day, he could already tell. He groaned, rolling off the bed and sat up, quickly shutting the door before anything he didn’t want to deal with entered, and went over to the pot that was now his greatest enemy. He glared at it, carefully stirring it with a stick he had found in a chest and was now using as a stirring instrument. Bits of black chunks floated to the surface. He wrinkled his nose at the burned bits, but he ate it all and drank the broth afterwards. It was the first real food he’d had in days, and it filled him like the carrot hadn’t.

He sighed happily, throwing the bucket across the room. It clattered against the wall dejectedly, landing on its side. Little trickles of water streamed across the floor. He stared at the bucket and started giggling, those giggles turning into full on laughs, his shoulders shaking as he couldn’t hold in his hysterical laughter.

He chuckled, staggering to his feet, and digging through the chests, pulling out the bow and few arrows he’d found. He frowned at how few arrows he had and made a note to get more feathers while he was exploring today. He knew that was the next step, there was nothing keeping him inside, he wanted to see what was around him and know what threats he would have to watch for. He hadn’t noticed much journeying through the forest the day before, but he hadn’t gone far.

He peeked out the door and saw the sun gradually peeking over the trees. He pulled his head back inside, quickly, and strung the bow, throwing it, and his arrows, safely in his inventory. The knife he strapped to his forearm to reach it easier, and the axe was once again attached to the makeshift belt around his waist.

He glanced around the cabin one more time, to make sure there was nothing else he would need.

“Fuck it, let’s go.” He muttered to himself, stepping outside to the rising sun. He spread his wings, feeling the heat sink into his bones. He stepped into the field, the wind blowing through his feathers, almost like an invitation. The sun was right there, he could almost reach out to touch it.

He felt sharp pricks on his shoulder and looked over to see the crow sitting there, its head cocked to the side like it was asking, ‘What the fuck are you doing now? Idiot nestling.’

He grinned. “I’m going on a great adventure.” he exclaimed, spreading his arms flamboyantly at the forest around him. The crow wasn’t impressed, giving him a stink eye before taking off towards the forest. He watched it fly away hungrily. He itched to stretch his wings as far as he could, flying through the air on the hidden highways of the sky.

The crow winged its way back towards him, cawing out as if to say, ‘You coming?’

His wings rustled behind him, and he closed his eyes. It felt like he was standing on a precipice, the wind rushing past him, and the air in front of him vacant of anything that could stop him. Good thing he wasn’t afraid of heights. He jumped.

He opened his eyes, and shrieked in glee as he stared down at the ground below him. He could feel the surge of his wings and the weightlessness of being off the ground. He knew that his wings would always catch him, always save him, he could always trust them. He let out a screech at the top of his lungs, flying towards the sun until the air got the distinct nip and he got the catch in his breath that told him he couldn’t fly much higher. He reached his hand for the sun… and fell, wrapping his wings around him like a blanket as he plummeted towards the ground like a falling star.

He watched the ground approach like a soft green blanket, that wouldn’t be so soft to land on. He laughed, and snapped his wings open, skimming the treetops so close he could reach down and grab a leaf.

He soared back up into the sky, making powerful wing beats until he was high enough to see everything around him. When he looked below him the forest was nothing more than a dark green blanket, with occasional patches of lighter green. He glided through the sky, shifting through changing air currents as his entire being sang with happiness. He flew as high as he could, doing arial acrobatic moves hundreds of feet above the ground, with no safety net. It didn’t matter though, his wings always caught him. He was where he was supposed to be. He just wished he never had to land.

But eventually he was going to have to, and he had come up here for something, something important. He let out a huff, flexing his wings so that he slowed down and drifted over the landscape. He shaded his eyes, looking down onto the ground for any sign of… anything.

He could see his territory; his meadow a circular patch of lighter green than the rest of the forest, and the cabin a black blob set towards the back. He slowly circled around, flowing between airstreams to keep himself up near the clouds. He banked further over the forest, sinking towards the ground to see better.

He kept circling, making bigger and bigger circles to cover the most area. He noticed something different to one side, and quickly banked towards the area of gold. He was quite aways from his territory now, but he needed to know if this was going to be a threat.

He got closer and could see now that the gold was a large wheat field, and he could see buildings spread out over the area. He stared at it, dropping quickly into the forest, landing on a tree, and quickly climbing to the ground.

He needed to leave, he knew he had to turn around, he had to run, he shouldn’t go closer. Well, he does a lot of things he’s not supposed to. He reluctantly walked forward, the only sound coming from his wings occasionally brushing against a tree.

He froze at the edge of the cleared area and stared at what was in front of him, ready to run at the first sign of a threat, a silent pool of terror settling in his stomach.

He watched the small house in front of him; windows open to the air, and a clothesline stretching from a tree to the window, laden with clothes. There was a farm spread out to one side, each row neatly managed, and growing carrots in one patch, and the wheat he had seen from so far away in the other. And to top it off a road leading off into the forest on the other side of the farm.

He ducked further back into the trees as a man appeared from down the road. The man was tall, his muscles showing under his tunic as he lugged a heavy looking pack over his shoulder, his greying hair brushed away from his face, and he seemed to be walking with a slight limp.

He trembled as he stared at the human. This was bad, he should’ve left, he should never have come. But he stayed, maybe he was frozen in fear, maybe he wanted to see what would happen, either way, he didn’t leave. He watched as the man walked down the road, whistling to himself.

He froze, becoming even stiller if that was possible, as a voice called out from inside the house. He was to far away to hear what the person said, but the man’s face broke into a wide grin as he called back.

A woman wearing an apron over her dress, and smiling with pure joy stepped out of the house. Her hair had grey streaks in it, but shadows showed that it had once been much darker, and despite the grey hair she seemed to still have an air of youthfulness around surrounding her that made her seem much younger.

The two people talked, laughing and hugging; the man even spinning her around before she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. They didn’t stay out there for long and soon disappeared inside the house, closing the door behind them.

He watched in envy as they went inside, there was something in him that wanted to have a family, and another part that didn’t want to trust anyone enough to call them family. He stood there watching for longer, but they did not reappear, and he eventually had to leave to return to his cabin before dusk.

After that day he returned every day, watching the farmers at their daily tasks. He never stayed long, but it made him feel part of something for a little bit. He even eventually learned their names, the man’s was Calum, and the woman, Calum’s wife; it had not taken long to realize they were married, was named Wren. Calum, went to what he assumed was the market in a village occasionally, and he would see Wren hanging laundry, or feeding the chickens, or working in a small herb garden she took care of. They seemed so happy.

He ended up making himself a little hidden nook on one of the tall trees surrounding the clearing to watch without being seen.

Occasionally he would sneak from the forest and steal a small piece of clothing or some carrots from the field. He now had a small carrot patch growing at the cabin that would eventually give him a steady source of food. He also had attempted hunting, bringing down a young buck; but it had been hard to clean and hard to cook, he much preferred vegetables, especially if he was the one cooking.

One day he was sitting in his favorite tree watching the cabin, wishing he dared to show himself, wishing he could have a family like they did. It was starting to get lonely going back to a silent cabin every night. He had worked to make his home better; he had carefully cut out small windows to brighten it up and let in more light. He hadn’t dared try to fix the rafters yet, the one time he had tried they had creaked ominously, and he had a feeling if he had tried to get on top of them they would break altogether.

He had also accumulated a good number of items, even staying up late one night to farm skeletons for bonemeal. It had helped a lot with starting his farm, even though he had almost gotten shot a few times it had been fine, he was much better dodger than some stupid sacks of bones was at shooting.

Suddenly he smelled something. His head shot up, sniffing at the smell coming from the cabin. His head swiveled to the window and could see the loaves of fresh bread sitting there, the smell of it wafting through the air. Before he could stop himself, he jumped out of the tree, gliding to the ground… outside the tree line, called by the smell of fresh bread. He carefully walked forward; his senses overwhelmed at the scent. He had been surviving off his own cooking for a while, and this smelled hundreds of times better than the burned and dusty mess he had attempted to bake with the old wheat he had found.

The front door opened, and he froze.

She, the woman, Wren, looked at him in shock. And he looked at her in the same state.

He spread his wings to escape.

“Wait!” she cried, throwing her hand out.

Chapter Text

He froze where he stood, his wings still extended to fly. What did she want? Was she going to blackmail him? Was she going to tell other humans? Did it matter? She didn’t know where he lived, what could she hold against him? Except for his mere existence. Well shit. He should leave. Why wasn’t he?

She hesitated a second, seeming to contemplate her next words carefully, her extended arm falling to her side. “Do you… do you want to come in?” she asked hesitantly.

His eyes widened, now he was hesitating. Of all the things he had expected her to say, that wasn’t it. “Why?” he asked quietly, still ready to fly away at the slightest sign of danger. Why would she want him to come inside? Was it a trap?

“Because I think it would be more comfortable than that tree,” she said, nodding to what he assumed was his tree behind him and dusting her hands off on her floury apron.

That comment almost made him run again. She knew too much, he would need to leave everything; his cabin, his territory, everything. He’d finally found a haven, why did he have to ruin it…?

“How?” he asked quietly. He’d thought it had been hidden so well… Mistakes cost, how much had he just lost?

She chuckled a little, “I have quite good eyesight youngling, and when I noticed a new shadow regularly appearing where there had been no shadow before I wondered. Then I started seeing you sneaking through the trees and the farms, and I tried to leave small things for our new shadow to find.” She shrugged, smiling, “I am quite a patient woman, it was how I won such a shy man like Calum.”

He fingered at the hem of the too big shirt he had stolen from them, the reason he had chosen it being that it had been the smallest one there and he had wanted a new one after the old one had gotten the sleeve shot by a skeleton who had been a far better shot than he’d expected. There was also that steep hill that he does not talk about… but had left him with more than a few torn seams.

He thought back to the other small things he had found scattered around the yard; an old hoe leaning against a rock, some bits and pieces of rope, a pile of feathers from a chicken, all things he had needed, all in good condition, all things that he had assumed had been left, forgotten, and they would never notice missing.

“Why?” he asked again. Why had she done anything? Why had she cared? He wasn’t sure if he trusted it.

She seemed to contemplate her answer, standing silent for a moment. She opened her mouth, “At first, I didn’t know what was happening, but then, one day, I saw you. You had emerged from the woods for just a moment helping shoo a chicken back to its coop.” She laughed a little, “At first, I wasn’t sure if you were real, you looked like a ghost and in the end, you faded back into the trees like you had never been there.” She frowned a little bit, her eyes sorrowful, “But I started noticing you more, and you looked so sad, like a waif floating through the world on a whim. I wanted to do what I could.”

He was silent for a moment, he remembered that day, the stupid chicken had wandered into the woods and was just yelling for a fox to come and kill it, literally, he didn’t know a mortal creature could be that loud. He hadn’t wanted it to die, or the farmers to lose a chicken, so he had shooed the stupid bird back to the rest of its flock. He found the hoe resting against the fencepost a few days later.

“That was… kind.” he said quietly, hesitating over the unfamiliar word.

She drew herself up to her full height, “That is something I try to be every day, there is no point in anything else.” She told him with full seriousness.

It took him aback by how much she seemed to mean it. It wasn’t something he was used to. “I suppose so.” He muttered under his breath, letting his hair fall over his face like a curtain. He didn’t know what to do now, she had talked to him, she had told him that she had been giving him things, she could have turned him in to the other humans, but she hadn’t. The only thing she hadn’t done was tell him what she wanted.

“So…” she said, straightening her apron. “Would you like to come in?” she offered, moving to the side so that he had a full view of the doorway behind her.

He froze, staring at the open doorway like a trapped animal. His emotions were fighting inside him, part of him wanted to go inside, wanted to trust; the other half wanted to beat the trusting half with a stick then fly as far from the farm as possible and not look back.

He took a shaky step forward but stopped, staring at her. He wanted to, but he wasn’t sure if he trusted anyone enough to enter a human’s house. He really wanted to though, he wanted to see if he could become a part of what he had seen, a family. But a part of him, the same part with the stick, was screaming at him to run from the people who would only end up hurting him in the end. Dear prime… his mind was really fucked up, wasn’t it? He grimaced, and it never seemed to shut up either.

-

Wren’s heart broke at the terrified look that the boy, not old enough to be that scared, gave her. There was a part of her, the part that had been a mother, that wanted to wrap him in a hug and never let another soul hurt him. She smiled to herself  ruefully; she really should stop adopting lostlings. But she couldn’t leave them lost.

When she had first seen him, she had thought he was a ghost, the pale white hair, almost shining in the sun and shadow, its wings a depiction of the starry void. A waif haunting the woods, a spirit left by the old ways.

Some people still told tales of the angel with black wings who had destroyed the old ways, and she had wondered. But as she saw him more, she saw him for what he was. Not a lost tale; but a young boy, maybe not fully in this world, but alive, and someone who had been through more than anyone should have. She could see it in the skittishness, the hesitancy, and the panic that seemed to be always waiting under the surface of his eyes. No one should ever be that scared, especially a child.

She watched him hesitate, staring at the open door like a monster was going to lunge out and bite him. It would probably be best to leave him to make his own decision, the door would always be open, but she was going to have to wait for him to walk through it himself.

She smiled at him, “The door is open, it is going to remain open, but I must clean up the kitchen from baking bread. You may come in if you please.” He didn’t acknowledge her and just continued to stare at the door. She waited for a second longer before turning her back and walking inside, grabbing dirty plates that had been sitting on the dining room table on the way to the sink. She carefully washed the dishes but didn’t pay much attention to them. She scrubbed at the same bowl until it shined, and kept scrubbing, as she listened for what she was waiting, hoping to hear.

Then she heard it, the loose floorboard right inside the door creaking as someone stepped on it. The footsteps hesitated slightly, but started again, walking slowly inside. She cheered to herself at the small victory, but she didn’t let that show and continued to pretend to wash the dishes. She finished the bowl and carefully set it to the side before turning around to see the child that had invaded her house.

She smiled at the nervous child standing a few steps inside the doorway, “You can sit down if you’d like.” She said, nodding to one of the chairs placed around the circular table in the center of the kitchen.

He nodded jerkily and warily walked up to the table, sitting in the chair awkwardly. The best description she could think of was that he was… perched in his seat, his wings spread behind him so that they didn’t run into the high back of the chair. He looked very uncomfortable and seemed to be jumping at every little noise. He almost fell out of his chair when the rooster crowed its challenge to the sun still high in the morning sky.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before reaching into the cupboard and pulling out two plates. Then she grabbed two small loaves of bread, still steaming from the oven, and placed one on each before walking over to the table. She placed one plate in front of the child and took her own seat across from him with the second.

He stiffened, looking between her and the bread, a wary expression on his face. He didn’t make any move to touch it let alone eat it. If anything, he seemed nervous.

She frowned a little. “You can eat it.” She said, nodding to the bread. He still didn’t touch it, staring at it with the same expression he had given the open door. He glanced at her for a second and she saw his eyes filled with mistrust. She waited for another second, trying to figure out what she had done wrong. He glanced at the bread and back up at her. She frowned even more, and her blood went cold as a thought hit her, did he think it was poisoned? Was that why he wasn’t touching it? She hesitated for another second, deciding what route to take if that was the case and decided the straightforward one was the best. “It is not poisoned.” She said bluntly, reaching for her own loaf and taking a big bite to demonstrate.

He jumped a little at the comment, glancing at her guiltily. He didn’t seem very reassured, but he reached a shaky hand out for the loaf. He took a small bite and placed it back on the plate, staring at it like he expected it to grow a head.

Everything he did told her that he was expecting to be poisoned, he acted like this wasn’t his first time having to worry about it either. Everything, from the way he stood, to his flightiness, reminded her of a soldier returned from war, and it made her sick that someone so young could have those feelings.

Nothing happened when he ate the bread, nothing would have, she had not made it to poison anyone, she had made it because she loved making bread. He seemed to realize that after a few minutes and devoured the rest of the loaf in a few bites. How long had he been in that forest? ‘He is too skinny…’ she thought, getting up to get another small loaf.

She sat the new loaf on his plate and returned to eating her own. He seemed to take more time with the second loaf, savoring it.

“Is the bread good?” she asked quietly, trying not to spook him.

He froze, carefully lowering the bread back down to his plate. “Yes.” He said, immediately lapsing back into silence.

She smiled, feeling pride at the compliment, “Thank you, I am glad you liked it.”

He looked surprised, “Why?”

She frowned, “Why am I glad you liked it?” she asked, confused. He nodded and she shook her head smiling ruefully. “It brings me joy when others enjoy my work. It is a true pleasure when others find joy in what you spend your time preparing.” She explained easily. “Calum loves my cooking, but he is very biased.” She said chuckling, “And we don’t get many visitors, so I am glad that I can have an unbiased opinion for once.”

“Oh.” He said, looking at his plate. He seemed to be considering what she said but didn’t say anything more.

They sat in silence for even longer, she even considered that he had forgotten she was there. The only signs to the contrary were when she moved, he would also move, always keeping her in sight. She did not know what to say next, but hesitantly offered an exchange. “My name is Wren.” She waited for him to reply, but he just stared at her, the wary look back in his eyes. She hesitated again, “What- what is your name? If- if you want to tell me.” She asked with bated breath.

He started in his chair, standing up quickly, the chair falling over with a crash. He winced like he expected some type of negative reaction, whether from her or the noise she didn’t know. He glanced around the room frantically, his eyes observing every shadow and possible hiding place, his wings flaring behind him like he was going to take off right then.

She stood up as well, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me…” she said hurriedly, holding out her hands like he was a wild animal she was trying to calm. He was scared, she could tell he wanted to fly away, she didn’t know why asking for his name had given such a reaction, but she wasn’t going to question it anymore. She knew he was going to leave any second, she just hoped that he might come back, and if anything, she hoped that he would be alright.

He didn’t sit back down, but he didn’t flee out the open door either. He looked between her and the door like he was trying to figure out what to do.

She sighed, her hands falling to her sides, “You can go if you like, there is nothing keeping you here, including me. But would you like to come back?” she smiled sadly. “It gets lonely out here with just me and Calum, the village is too far away for most to visit. If you come, I will gladly make you something to eat. I love it when new people try my food, Calum doesn’t count, he couldn’t say a contrary word to save his life.” She smiled fondly.  “It would be nice to have someone new come.” She said, smoothing her apron nervously. “And…” she hesitated, “and if you are ever in need of help, I will gladly do what I can.”

He looked at her, staring like he was trying to root out all the lies she had just uttered. Except she had said none, she hoped he saw that. She had meant every word.

He nodded jerkily, “Thank you.” He said, turning and running out the door. He leaped into the sky, his powerful wings easily taking him higher and higher into the sky on the invisible streams of the air.

She watched him fly away, hoping that it would not be the last time she ever saw him. Something told her it wouldn’t be.

-

He flew away as fast as the winds would take him, his thoughts in a mess. His mind racing so fast he couldn’t even tell where he was, the only thing that brought him back to his territory was that the call of home was bigger than even his panic. He winged his way back to the cabin as fast as he could, landing right outside and collapsing to his knees at the bottom of the steps. He dug his hands into the earth as he tried to ground himself, tried to center himself, tried to pull his racing mind into some semblance of thought. Tried to stop fucking panicking.

He took deep shuddering breaths, his entire body convulsing, his hands shredding the grass to distract him from destroying himself. The crow landed in front of him, strutting along the bottom step, staring at him with its head turned almost upside-down. It made him smile a little at the bird’s attempts to figure him out. It let out a questioning croak, its head swiveling back to a normal position.

He took a deep breath, his hands still destroying the small patch of grass underneath him, and his heart was still racing, but he brought himself together enough to form a coherent sentence. “I- I made a mistake… I think it’s a mistake.” He said, his mind still confused about everything that had just happened.

“What the fuck did you do?” The crow seemed to caw at him in exasperation.

“I- I talked to someone.” He said, shuddering. He was expecting the panic to overwhelm him, but it was curiously quiet.

The crow rolled on its side in mock horror, its head tilted to one side and one wing stretching into the sky dramatically.  

He glared at the crow. “Well, fuck you.” He said, turning to collapse against the support post, his head thunking against the hard wood. He ignored the dull pain and stared up at the sky. One of his hands plucked at the grass, a lot calmer now.

“I want to trust her, but I don’t think I should. I shouldn’t trust people. It is bad to trust people.” He said determinedly. A though hit him and he let out a tired sigh, “I’ll probably have to move.” He muttered under his breath. He didn’t sound happy about it, and he wasn’t, the idea of leaving just made him feel tired. He had a home; he didn’t want to leave.

The crow hopped on his knee, staring at him with its piercing gaze. “Why not trust?” it seemed to be asking.

He waved it off his knee with frustration. It didn’t get it, not even his own mind got it as it was still urging him to go back to the farm and talk to Wren. “CAUSE PEOPLE HURT YOU! PEOPLE WHO YOU TUST HURT YOU! I- I don’t want to be hurt.” He yelled, his voice cracking at his final words. People who he trusted hurt him, why didn’t anyone understand that? He brought his knees up to his face, pressing them into his eyes to block out the non-memories that were just at the edge of his vision. He rocked back and forth, trying to calm himself. They were worse than memories, they were his nightmares, just waiting right at the edge of his consciousness.

His breath came in gasps, his heart racing and the panic rising from his chest to his throat, the panic emerging into whistles and chirps of distress. He rocked back and forth, drawing his wings around him to protect him from the rest of the world, making small keening noises, the only ones that could emerge past the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to be hurt… she would hurt him… everyone hurt him… that’s why he couldn’t remember… I mean it was obvious, wasn’t it? He couldn’t think straight anymore, it was just panic, everything else was overwhelmed by the emotions that flooded his entire mind. His hands gripped at his hair, pulling it painfully, his chirps getting higher and higher and more panicked as his thoughts spiraled further into the pure fear that was emanating from a locked box in his mind.

He wasn’t paying attention to anything around him anymore, everything had narrowed to the ringing in his ears and the blackness of his feathers wrapped around him, his only comfort in a world of panic and fear.

He felt small pricks on his hands, hands that were still pulling at his hair like he could pull the memories out by the root, and a calm flooded through him, pushing back the fear and panic. He shuddered as the emotions left him, leaving him feeling empty, and strangely peaceful. He carefully relaxed his grip on his hair, his fingers untangling themselves from his scalp. He carefully lowered his hand down in front of his face. He was staring into the black eyes of the crow; its talons the light pricks that had brought him back to himself. He tucked it under his chin, gently running his fingers over the crow’s feathers as the calm slowly settled into him and he knew that he was truly calm again.

“What should I do?” he whispered, he didn’t know what to do anymore, he just felt lost. He was at a crossroad and neither way looked sane.

“Trust.” The crow seemed to whisper to him. He frowned, bringing the crow out from under his chin, staring at it. Its voice sounded different, it sounded higher pitched, it sounded strangely familiar… He looked in its eyes and just for a second, he thought he saw stars…

He blinked. No, it must have been his imagination, the crow was just a crow, a crow that was now looking at him like he had gone crazy…

He must have been thinking for too long because it leaned in when he wasn’t paying attention and pecked his nose. He yelped, throwing the crow forcefully into the air. “Fuck!” he yelled, rubbing his nose, as the crow descended on him, cawing, and trying to peck at him.

“OI, STOP! Or no dinner!” he yelled, trying to both swat the crow away and protect his head. Neither worked, but the crow settled down, landing on the railing above him. He craned his neck to glare at the bird.

“Now that you’ve stopped being a wuss. What are you going to do?” the crow seemed to ask him.

He glared at it even more, “I’m going to think about it.” He paused for a second, letting out a relieved sigh, “At least I wasn’t stupid enough to tell her my name.” he muttered under his breath.

The crow glared at him, “Next time bring back bread.”

“How would you even know that?!” he yelled, “You weren’t even there!”

“I can smell it on your breath.”

He opened his mouth but didn’t have a reply to that. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut and stormed off into the woods.

At first, he didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t really care, he just needed somewhere to think. He could see the woman, Wren, in his mind. She had smiled at him; she had been kind. What if it was just a ruse? She had left clothes for him, he smoothed the wrinkles from the jacket he was wearing self-consciously, the jacket he had stolen from the farm. It was a bit big, but it had been perfect once he had cut the holes for his wings. Why had she done that? What were her motives?

‘What if she just wanted to be kind, you idiot?” a voice asked in his mind. He froze in his tracks, grimacing, he highly doubted that voice. Who would want to help him? Kindness was a ruse that meant people wanted something. ‘Maybe she doesn’t.’ that voice whispered to him again. He scowled and pushed the too trusting voice to the back of his mind, the voice protesting the entire way, but he ignored it, continuing to stomp through the forest, not even bothering to be quiet.

He stumbled out of the trees and tripped over his own feet in surprise at the sudden disappearance of the foliage that had surrounded him.  He looked around in surprise, he was back in the field he had woken up in. The bees were still buzzing around lazily, and the air was infused with the same perfume of flowers and growing things. It was exactly like when he had woken up, as if someone had taken that moment in time and frozen it on that small meadow.

He walked into the meadow, the top of the grass lightly brushing over his hands. He picked through the meadow until he found the spot where he had woken up, lightly sitting down in the depression that somehow was still there, spreading his wings out behind him. There was something about the meadow that just made him feel safe, like nothing could hurt him there. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fragrant air, and listening to the birds singing in the trees and the bees buzzing around him. He felt something tickle his nose and his eyes fluttered open in surprise to see a yellow and black blob sitting on the end of his nose.

His eyes crossed in an attempt to see the small bee sitting there, blinking away the tears that suddenly were trying to form in the corners of his eyes. “Please don’t sting me.” He whispered, his voice breaking.

He watched the bee’s antennae twitching and its wings buzzed as it slowly flew off his nose, zipping away to the next flower. He let out a sigh of relief, staring after the bee.

‘Not everything will hurt you.’ That voice whispered to him smugly.

“What if I’m wrong?” he whispered to himself.

‘You won’t be.’ It whispered back.

He sighed, flopping down on his stomach, resting his head on his intertwined hands, his wings spreading over the ground on either side of him. Maybe he would go back… maybe. Maybe he could get more bread. I mean it’s hard to live off moldy carrots. He definitely wouldn’t be going back because he wanted to see Wren again. Nope, he wasn’t going for that.

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands. He was an idiot. But he was an idiot who wasn’t ready to admit anything, especially to himself.

-

Days passed before he finally had the courage to go back. He still wasn’t sure, but he was willing to give it a chance.

He flew over the forest, not really paying attention to his surroundings. He was paying more attention to his still conflicted feelings. The forest never changed anyways, and nothing could attack him in the sky.

A cacophony of noise startled him out of his thoughts, and he glanced below him to see a flock of birds that had startled themselves out of the trees. They were making a lot of noise as they flew away, yelling out their warnings to the rest of the forest. He frowned, what had scared them? Maybe a zombie that was somehow still on the surface even with the sun high in the sky? It was unlikely, but possible.

He squinted at the treetops, searching for a hint on movement through the trees. The sun seemed to glint off something, and he squinted to see if it happened again, and winced when something bright flashed through the trees straight into his eyes. He grimaced and tried to look closer to see what it was, blinking spots from his vision, and the light flashed again. Now he was wary, this wasn’t natural. He tilted his wings to fly away, something in his gut told him he didn’t want to be there anymore.

He was still trying to blink the spots out of his eyes when he saw something fly out of the trees from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a bird. His instincts screamed at him as he frantically tried to dodge the projectile, but it was too late.

He gasped as a web of pain shot that exploded through his shoulder. He could see the arrow that was now sticking out of his shoulder, blood flowing down his arm. He shrieked in pain, grasping at the arrow, he pressed on the wound with a hand that quickly became slick with blood. His wings gave out for a second, every wingbeat making the pain even worse. He started to fall, his entire upper body screaming in pain, the wind rushing past his ears. He tried to regain stable flight but was still rapidly losing altitude.

The trees, and subsequently the ground were getting closer and closer. If he crashed now the branches would stop his fall, but he would be in the woods with whatever had shot him, and he would not be in good enough shape to take care of it. He shakily tried to stretch out his wings and gave them a gigantic flap that pushed him into the air… and almost made him pass out from the pain that shot through his entire upper body. It was all he could do to keep his wings open to glide over the forest, and even then, he was very close to collapsing in the air.

He didn’t know where he was flying, it was all he could do to keep himself airborne. He just flew away; his mind so incoherent he couldn’t have decided where he was going anyways. He just needed to get somewhere safe, and at that moment, safe was anywhere that wasn’t the forest. He needed to hide, they couldn’t catch him again, he needed to stay free.

He blinked through the pain and saw a break in the trees, gold shivering past the tall oaks. It was the farm.

-

He was waiting for her to finish before he left, it was too much, he wasn’t ready to tell anyone his name. He wasn’t ready to trust someone that much.

“…And…” she hesitated, “and if you are ever in need of help, I will gladly do what I can.”

-

She had said she would help, she had promised, she had helped him before, she hadn’t betrayed him; not yet. It was his best choice… it was his only choice. He didn’t have any time to be conflicted; he had to trust.

He let himself fall, only extending his wings enough to slow his descent. His wings felt more and more like they were going to collapse on him, the pain making them shake with every minute movement. He was falling too fast and moved his wings to slow his fall without thinking and screamed as one wing crumpled from the wave of pain. He fell even further before he could extend his wing to catch himself, barely in time for him to miss the treetops, and despite the effort he still hit a tree branch with his leg before he escaped the tree line.

At that moment all that was keeping him in the air was pure spite and the dislike of crashing to the ground from thirty feet. The rest of his flight, what little of it that was left, was more of a fall. A fall that ended in an ungraceful landing in front of the farmhouse.  

His entire body hurt, and he had landed on one of his wings which was now pulsing with a dull pain. The pain from his hurt shoulder was quickly increasing, the arrow seeming to dig itself even further into his shoulder. He started to get lightheaded, as blood continued to flow from his wound.

He groaned as he heard people yelling, everything fucking hurt and the yelling was not helping. He tried feebly to move from his prone position, but his entire vision spun and went black as pain coursed through him.  His one good wing flapped weakly behind him as he tried to get his body to cooperate and move. His breath was coming out in thin whistles as he once again tried to push himself into a sitting position, but he used his shot arm and screamed as pain lanced through him. He collapsed back down to the ground, grasping feebly at what was left of the broken arrow shaft.

He could hear voices, somewhere, but he couldn’t tell where they were coming from past the roaring in his ears. He felt a hand brush over his wing, and he shrieked in fear, jerking so hard that his vision went black once again. This time it didn’t come back, and he fell into unconsciousness with the sound of muffled voices above him.

-

He let out a shriek of pain. It felt like his shoulder was going to split in half. He thrashed where he was laying and heard high pitched voices yelling above him. Someone was holding him down. No, they couldn’t capture him. He needed to escape. He couldn’t let them take him again. He couldn’t let them hurt him again. He had just gotten free; he wasn’t going back. He heard a sharp crack and he fell back into unconsciousness. His consciousness frantically clawing at the sides of his mind; screaming at him to stay awake, to escape, but he kept falling into the darkness until there was no light left.

-

…

“…3… Shoot!”

He tried to turn around, pulling his arm back, feeling the taunt string between his fingers. He was going to win this for his family! He was going to defeat the bastard, and then the bastard would leave them alone. Forever.

There was a sharp pain in his shoulder. He shrieked, the bow falling out of his suddenly numb fingers as he fell to the ground in a heap. It hurt so badly; his heart seemed like it was going to burst. He pawed at the arrow that was suddenly protruding from his chest… no wait his shoulder… he could feel his every heartbeat, every breath he took. Was it slowing down? But Wilby had said it would be fine, everyone had said he could do it. They had promised. They had needed him; he couldn’t let them down.

He could hear people yelling, they were yelling for him? But that didn’t sound like his name. That wasn’t his name. Who else could they be calling for?

“T…OM…Y! T…M!” It was Wilby! Who was Wilby calling for? That wasn’t his name. Was it really for him? But Wilby sounded so far away… more like an echo… but he had to be there, he had just been there. Wilby wouldn’t have left him…

He felt someone grab his shoulder. Wait no don’t do that… that hurt. He tried to push them away. They were hurting him.

“Please don’t, we need to help you. Calum? Calum it’s so nasty, go get the bandages. Stay with us nestling…”

He shook his head. This wasn’t right, something about this wasn’t right. He felt pressure put on his shoulder. He screamed at the unbearable pain that pulsed through his shoulder. “Please Wilby… It hurts, please don’t hurt me… I love you… You promised, you said he wouldn’t hurt me.” He whimpered.

He slipped from consciousness, falling deep into the inky blackness.  

-

He faded in and out of consciousness for hours? Days? Weeks? He couldn’t tell, all he knew was that his shoulder got marginally better over time. Occasionally he would wake up enough to drink what was put to his lips or hear voices somewhere in the distance; noises seeming to come through a long tunnel to reach his ears. He couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying, and he never stayed awake long enough to find out.

-

He woke up at least once during his unconsciousness enough to hear what was around him, despite the pain he was in. His shoulder felt like a burning iron had been shoved in it, and his entire body was sore to the bone. I guess that’s how you feel when you get shot and then make a strategic, emergency landing on the unforgiving ground. He didn’t move, he just laid in what he assumed was a bed in his half-awake stupor.

“WHERE IS THE BIRD?!” a rough voice yelled somewhere near him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden noise, and he let out an involuntary chirp of distress as his entire arm protested the sudden movement. He strained his ears and was able to barely capture the sound of a softer voice talking, though he couldn’t make out what the voice was saying.

The loud voice cut the softer one off, yelling about a bird they had shot and how they wanted it, demanding to know if whoever they were yelling at knew where it was. He faded in and out of consciousness as the person yelled even more, slowly getting louder and more angry.

The loud screaming was starting to become irritating, the voice grating on his eardrums like a sword scraping over an obsidian floor; sharp spikes of pain forcing themselves through his brain behind his eyelids. He just wanted to throw his arm over his eyes and block out the noise.

It finally dawned on him, the very angry person screaming about the ‘stupid bird’, was talking about him. His muscles tensed and his panic spiked; he wasn’t going to let them take him. He moved suddenly as he franticly tried to wake himself up. The sharp movements almost making him pass out from the pain once again; he sank back into the bed trying to muffle his chirps of distress. He took a deep breath and set his jaw to ready himself to stand up once again, pawing at the knife that had miraculously stayed in its sheath. Even with the pain trying to stop him, he wasn’t going to let anyone take him, fuck that idea.

He froze as a new voice cut sharply across the person who was still yelling. “We will have none of that! We do not know where your bird is. And if you do not think we know what you are then you are very wrong. For shame the things you do to innocents. In any case, we have not seen your ‘stupid bird’ and we will kindly ask you to leave.” The new voice said firmly.

His head sank into the bed, it sounded like Wren. Could it be? Was he in their house? Had she really protected him, just like she had said she would? Did she know that he was the one they wanted? Why were they protecting him from people who were threatening them? Why would they care enough to protect him?

"This will not be the last you hear of us. If you lied, you will regret it.” The person growled, their voice still half-yelling.

He bristled at the harsh tone and obvious threat. Who were these people? She was protecting him… she wasn’t letting the bad people in… maybe he was safe. Maybe for once he had made the right choice. Maybe this time, trust would not lead to betrayal.

The assurance made him feel better for some reason and the darkness of unconsciousness once again invaded his mind and he slowly sank back into the nothingness. He kept trying to listen, but his mind seemed to be floating slowly down on a bed of soft feathers. It seemed that the other person left, and he could hear the two other voices talking quietly.

He heard a door quietly open, and the last thing he knew was someone carefully touching his shoulder and speaking in a calming tone as he sank back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

He woke up slowly, his entire body was sore, the worst pain coming from his shoulder, but he wasn’t in immediate excruciating pain. So, that was a win in his books. His hurt wing was raised and resting on something, and he seemed to have been carefully covered in a blanket. He didn’t move but took careful inventory of himself and his surroundings.

He still had the comforting feeling of the knife strapped to his arm and he also seemed to be free from any type of restraints, which had been his biggest worry for waking up. And he still had his wings, though the dull pain emitting from his raised wing was making his stomach sick.

He could faintly remember loud voices and people looking for him. Someone had saved him, he just didn’t remember who, or where, or why. He thought he had landed, or more accurately, crashed, next to the farm. But why would they help him against people who were dangerous? He wasn’t ready to take chances on people who were going to betray him.

He didn’t hear anything, so he dared to open his eyes. He found himself in a mostly bare room; he was laying in a bed that took up half the room and was ten times softer than the shitty mattress he had at the cabin.

His eyes wandered around the room and settled on a small table set next to the bed covered in a neat pile of bandages and jars. Slight movement caught his eye, and he craned his next to see a small window behind him, the shutters open just enough to let in a cool summer breeze, and a small latch keeping them from opening fully as they creaked against the wind. That was it, that was going to be his escape, if it wasn’t trapped.

He had to leave. They had helped him once; he wasn’t going to risk them giving him up the next time. He carefully moved his wings, grimacing at the pain that shot through his shoulder; at least his wing just seemed to be sore, he didn’t think it was broken, but he would have to check that later.

He listened for any movement or noise from around him; just like he had at the cabin. He could hear voices talking through the door, floorboards creaking as they walked through the house. It was now or never. He swung his leg over the side of the bed, cradling his arm so his shoulder wouldn’t be jostled. Even being careful, he gasped at the pain that lanced through his shoulder. The talking in the next room paused and the house suddenly became quiet. Yeah, now was definitely time to leave.

He stood up quickly, the pain making his vision swim for a second, but the adrenaline pushed him forward. He turned his way towards the window, it wasn’t more than a few steps away, but at the moment it seemed like miles. He stumbled forward, his wing hitting the edge of the table and a small jar rolled off with a crash.

His mind exploded in panic, and he let out a surprised squawk. There was no getting around that, they had definitely heard him now. He quickly stumbled towards the window, reaching his good hand out to frantically fumble at the latch holding it closed as he listened to faint footsteps come closer. No no no no no no, he couldn’t be caught. He had to escape. He couldn’t go back there.

The window wasn’t opening; he was going to get caught, they were going to hurt him, they were going to give him to the other humans, they were going to take his wings… He glanced over his shoulder frantically as the footsteps hesitated right outside his door. He pulled out the flimsy knife and crouched beneath the window; ready to make a last-ditch attempt to overpower whoever dared open that door. He stared at the door; his heart racing as he braced himself for whatever would come through it.

The door creaked open and he tightened his white knuckles grip on his knife.

“Hello?” a voice called softly. A woman with greying-brown hair peeked around the door, it was Wren. She spotted him crouching beneath the window, and the knife held in his slightly shaking hand at the same moment. She smiled patiently, “I won’t hurt you; I swear.” she said, not moving any further into the room.

“What do you swear on?” he asked harshly.

“I swear on my life.” She said, putting her hand up like an oath.

“Is that a worthy oath?”

Wren laughed, “Well I certainly think so.” She looked closer at him, her eyes flicking to his shoulder, worry passing over her face. “Can I change your bandages? You can keep the knife, but you fell from the sky with a nasty arrow in your shoulder, you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

He hesitated, suspicion nagging at his thoughts. “Why did you help me? Those people were looking for me. Why didn’t you just turn me over to them? You don’t know me, and they were threatening you.”

She looked at him in shock. Her face hardened a little and she drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much but she somehow seemed tall despite her diminutive stature, and he shrunk into himself a little. “I will NOT turn you over to those Hunters. I never liked them, and I would NEVER give someone who did nothing wrong to people who will just hurt them. We are not on the side of the Hunters, and we are not scared of them. They are cowards at heart despite their bold words, we do not respect them, and we will not help them in their disgusting crusade.” She straightened her apron, “Now will you please let me tend to your wounds.” she said firmly, gesturing at the bed.

He obeyed in stunned silence, standing up… and almost passing out as the room spun. He stumbled, leaning against the wall to keep himself from falling to the floor. She moved suddenly as if to try and help him, but he stumbled back from her, shaking his head frantically and throwing out his hand to keep her away. She hesitated, and hovered there watching him worriedly. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the wall; quietly making his way over to the bed and perching on the edge, cradling the knife in his hands. He winced slightly as he jostled his shoulder, but now that he was sitting, the room’s tendency to spin calmed down.

Wren picked up the fallen container and placed it back on the table as she busied herself with the medicine. He watched her warily as she picked up a small pair of scissors and turned towards him. He shifted uncomfortably, staring at the scissors like she was going to lunge at him and slice his throat.

“I’m going to cut away the bandages now, so I can wrap new ones.” She explained cautiously.

He looked between her, the bandages, and the scissors; and nodded.

She took the step necessary to stand next to him and he quickly moved his wings as far away from her as possible. She paused for a second but nodded. “You sprained your one wing as well.” She mentioned casually as she snipped the red stained bandages away.

Nothing he hadn’t known before. Snip, snip, snip. He closed his eyes to not see the sharp object that was so close to him, before snapping his eyes open quickly when she tugged on the bandage. It was glued to his shoulder by his own blood and he gritted his teeth to stop from screaming as she peeled it away from the nasty wound that only had a few stitches holding it closed.

She dropped the bloody bandages on the table and grabbed the small pot he had knocked over. “We had to push the arrow through, and you have three stitches on either side. You were bleeding quite a lot; that arrow was not something that should ever be used on a living being.” She sighed, “It might have been a little better, but you started thrashing when we pushed the arrow through.” She opened the container and the smell of pungent herbs and something strangely sweet wafted out of it. “It’s a good thing this did not break, it will help your wound to heal.”

He looked at it suspiciously, “What is it?” he demanded.

“This? This is golden melon and red wart, dried and ground into medicine. A few drops of water and it makes a paste that will speed up healing on most wounds.” She explained, adding a few drops of water and stirring it together.

He peered at it curiously, “Really? What about potions?”

She smiled sadly. “Potions are expensive, this is much easier.”

“Oh.” He said, watching her spread it on his wound, shifting slightly so she could also put the cold poultice on his back; where he assumed there was a similar wound, before rewrapping it. She tied the bandage tightly and stepped back to check her work. “That will do, the poultice will help you heal faster.” She glanced at him curiously, “Are you hungry? You have been asleep for a while.”

He hesitated, he felt hungry, but he had felt hungrier, it was manageable for now. He had a bigger question on his mind. “Who shot me?” he asked quietly.

Wren glanced at him as she cleaned up the bandages from where she had left them. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head. It reminded him of something he couldn’t remember. But the same thing that reminded him also told him that if it had found him, he would have been dead from the first shot.

“They are avian hunters. Lowly scum who search the wilds for aeries and avians and sell them on the black market.” Wren shook her head sadly. “They are the remains of a time of fear and horror that should be long gone, but still remains lurking behind the guise of ‘protection’. Because hybrids are ‘dangerous’.” She snorted. “No one who ever lived in this household would ever believe that nonsense.”

It wasn’t his enemy; it was a new one he had no idea how to fight against. He rubbed his arm, “Will they come back?” he asked quietly. What would he do if they came back?

She shrugged, “Whether they do or do not it is no matter. They are cowards and will not frighten us into doing anything we do not wish to, or taking back the promise I made you.”

“oh.” He said, glancing at the window. “How long will you keep me here?” he didn’t want to be trapped, he wanted to go home, he wanted to leave.

“Keep you here? You are not trapped. You were very hurt, youngling. You can leave if you want.” Wren hesitated, “Just stay long enough to heal, then you can leave and never have to see us again.”

He took a deep breath, trust. He dropped his head so that his hair fell across his face like a curtain. He was exhausted, everything hurt, maybe he could just rest for a time, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to stay. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Wren smiled at him, “You don’t have to thank me, I promised to help you and I would have helped you no matter if I had met you days ago or you had just fallen from the sky yesterday. I did it because I wanted to.”

He nodded, still hiding in his hair.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked again.

He nodded meekly; he was hungry… “No chicken.” He whispered.

She smiled opening the door, “Alright then I will get you something, try to rest.” She left the room, leaving the door partially open behind her.

He shrugged his shirt off his shoulder and poked at the edges of the bandage, at least now his shoulder was numb from the poultice. He wished the rest of him felt as numb. He pulled his wing closer and felt a sharp twinge, it almost made him throw up, and he let out a chirp of distress. His hand shook as he ran it over his feathers, feeling for where it was hurt. He felt another twinge and grimaced. He had sprained it, that meant no flying for a while. Well shit.

He let out a sigh, did he really trust these people enough to stay? He carefully laid down on his stomach, letting his hurt shoulder lay flat and using his other hand to rest his head. It was a small bed and he folded one wing against his back, while the other hung fully off the bed. He closed his eyes for a second, taking in his new situation. He didn’t want to sleep, but he was tired of fighting off the pain that his body was screaming at him, and he fell into an unintentional, deep sleep.

-

He woke up from a confusing dream. Tears were streaking down his face, and his throat felt tight like he was attempting not to cry. He let out a gasp and shifted slightly. The pain was returning to his shoulder a little, but at least it wasn’t overwhelming. He folded his wings against his back, carefully turning to look around him. The only thing that had changed was a bowl sitting on the table next to him, a small wooden spoon sitting in it.

His mouth watered, it smelled ten times better than the shitty burned mess he had made, what now seemed like weeks before. He froze for a second, he didn’t know how long he had been asleep. He glanced up at the window and light was streaming through, so he either hadn’t slept long, or had slept longer than he’d thought.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at his sore muscles. He tucked his hurt arm against his body and reached for the bowl with his other hand. He glanced in the bowl and saw that it was a thick soup; little vegetables, and bits of what he assumed to be meat floating around a thick broth. He balanced it in his lap and carefully took a spoonful and shakily took a sip. He swallowed and set the spoon down, closing his eyes and waiting for something to happen.

He wasn’t sure what we expected… well, yes he did. Drugs… poison… potatoes; all of the above. He kept waiting, his stomach protesting the delay in devouring the soup that had tasted absolutely wonderful. He scowled and kept waiting. The minutes ticked by, and nothing happened. His stomach growled demandingly and he eyed the bowl. It was probably fine, right? He grabbed the bowl and started eating greedily, it was his first real meal in who knows how long, and while he didn’t remember much, he was pretty sure it was the best soup he’d ever had.

He let out a chirp of contentment as he scraped the last of the soup from the bottom of the bowl before he reluctantly set it back down on the table. Now what was he going to do? He looked around the room, but it was bare of anything besides the bed and table. He frowned, what the fuck was he going to do? He’d barely been awake for a few minutes and he was bored.

There were soft sounds coming from outside the room, his ears perked up and his head swiveled to the door. The door was closed, but the music still leaked through. It made his heart twist to hear the strumming notes.

He carefully pushed himself from the edge of the bed, wincing. He gripped the headboard as his vision spun. His stomach churned, but he closed his eyes, forcing his stomach to be fine. He was going to keep the soup down if it was the last thing he ever did. He peaked one eye open and the room seemed to have settled. He opened the other one and the room spun once and settled. He took a deep breath, he was going to leave this room, the music was something new and he was bored, time to explore. No way in hell was he staying there a moment longer.

The next step was to get to the door. He stood there for a moment, and stepped away from the bed, still partially leaning on the frame. His hand dropped from the post, and he took a shaky step towards the door. He just stood there for a moment, swaying in place. Just maybe two more steps and he would be at the door. He spread his wings a to balance and took the final few steps; collapsing against the door, his hands scraping at the handle to keep himself from sliding to the floor.

He gripped the wall and pulled the door open with a creak. He stepped forward gripping the doorway to keep himself from falling forward. He looked into the next room; it looked just like it had when he had been there the last time. He froze at the man sitting in a chair across the room from him, gentling strumming a guitar.

The man looked up and his eyes widened at the sight of him. He stared at the man like a deer in headlights. It was the other farmer that he had seen but not met. His name was… Caleb? Calum? He wasn’t sure, they had never met.

The man seemed to hesitate for a second but smiled at him. “You shouldn’t be up, you’re hurt.” The man said, his deep voice surprisingly soft.

He just shook his head. Leaning against the wall.

The man furrowed his brow for a second, before nodding in understanding. “Wren can’t keep me in bed for long either. My name’s Calum.”

Ah, so that was it, he didn’t say anything and just kept leaning against the doorframe. He wasn’t sure what to do next.

Calum hesitated and nodded to another chair close to him. “Would ya like to sit down? I like playin’ for an audience.”

He nodded, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall. The room only seemed to move a little bit as he carefully made his way to the chair under the watchful eye of the farmer. He was using his wings to keep balance and it seemed to help. He eventually made it to the chair, and sat down awkwardly, trying to keep his wings from getting squished by the chair’s back. He settled, semi comfortably and looked at Calum expectantly, nodding to the guitar that had been set to the wayside.

Calum smiled and picked it back up, carefully strumming at the strings. He settled a little more comfortably in the chair, cradling his hurt shoulder to not jostle it. He closed his eyes and just let the gentle strumming lull him. The guitar made him feel safe… almost. The man hit a wrong note and he opened his eyes, blinking at the man, confused.

Calum smiled at him sheepishly. “I haven’t played for a while.” He looked at him curiously. “Do you know how to play?”

He blinked, thinking about it. He stared at the guitar. Did he know how to? Something inside him said yes, but he didn’t know where he had learned. He nodded slightly.

“Would ya like to?”

He hesitated again and nodded.

Calum handed him the guitar, which he carefully laid on his lap so he could pluck at the strings. It was hard to get much from the guitar one handed. He knew what he wanted, he knew the notes he wanted to play, but he couldn’t get them like this. A bit of water splashed on his hand, and he blinked quickly to get rid of the tears that were suddenly falling from his eyes. He quickly shook his head, handing the guitar back to the man.

“You’re doing good.” Calum said encouragingly.

He stayed silent, hiding his face behind his hair, it was starting to get longer and becoming a more useful curtain.

Calum furrowed his brow, “Maybe when your arm is better you can try again.”

He hesitated and nodded again.

Calum smiled, “Well then, you just sit on in that chair and I’ll keep playing for ya.”

He settled back into the chair and listened to the man strum songs. Occasionally he would chirp with the song, adding his own voice to the guitar. The first time he did, the surprised farmer almost dropped the guitar and strummed the wrong note. He grinned at Calum, finding it funny that he had surprised the man, but after that time Calum had just changed the notes to follow his chirping when he joined in.

Eventually his voice faded, but it was the nicest time he’d had in a while. Despite the fact he still hurt, and his arm was slowly getting sorer, and he was starting to get very tired. It felt nice, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

At some point he heard a door open behind him. He sat up a bit straighter and craned his neck to see behind him a flash of fear going through his system at the unknown intruder.

“What is going on in here?” a female voice said scoldingly. He relaxed a little, it was Wren, now he was tense due to her scolding tone. “Oh! What are you doing out of bed?!” Wren asked, coming into view from his chair. “You’re still hurt!” He hung his head guiltily, shifting in his seat.

Calum chuckled. “He’s as bad as I am when I’m hurt, don’t be mad at him, dear. He’s not done anythin’ overly stressful, and I’m sure its boring cooped up in a bed all day.” He glanced at Calum out of the corner of his eye with surprise.

Wren scowled a little, “How long has he been out of bed? We don’t want to tire him out too much.”

He hid his face in his hair, watching her from behind the curtain. He wasn’t going to say that he was already exhausted, but he would gladly go back to bed.  

Calum looked a little guilty, “It might have been an hour or… hour and half…”

He blinked, had it only been that long? It had felt like longer.

Wren frowned, turning her attention back to him. She hesitated for a second, “Would you like to rest some more? I would like to change your bandages again.”

He nodded, readying himself to get to his feet. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, bracing against the pain. He swayed a little, exhaustion hitting him over the head like a hammer. He stumbled forward a few steps, and almost fell. Someone grabbed him lightly by his unhurt arm, and he almost fell again as he tried to escape from the touch, panic clouding his vision.

“It’s ok son, I’m just tryin to keep ya upright.” It was Calum, who had stood up and grabbed him by the arm. He shivered a little at the thought of someone so close to him, but he was too tired to do anything but let the farmer help.

“See, I told you he was exhausted.”

“Wren… maybe not the time to bring that up.” Calum said softly as the man supported his shaky steps forward.

He glanced over and she seemed startled, before nodding and going to open the bedroom door for them. He took shaky steps forward, still being held up by Calum’s hand on his arm. He was able to stumble to the bed with the help, and he slumped back onto the bed.

Wren was quiet as she carefully snipped away the bandages. He was too tired to care about the small scissors next to him, but he still pulled his wings as far from her as possible. She silently rewrapped his wounds and added more of the healing not potion. It itched once again, but he ignored it. He slumped over on his side a little, careful not to disturb his shoulder. He moved one wing to cover him like a blanket, the other tucked against his back, it wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he didn’t care much right then.

Wren started to leave but hesitated in the doorway. “I saw you ate. I’ll bring more food for when you wake up.”

He nodded tiredly, barely registering the conversation, slipping into another exhausted sleep.

-

He woke from a fitful sleep, soaked in sweat, his head pounding almost as fast as his heart.

All he remembered was bleary visions of red painted walls and pain that infused every bone in his body. The pain was still there when he woke up and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from whimpering. The metallic taste of his own blood melted onto his tongue, but he didn’t make a noise; he didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t want it to know he was awake. He didn’t want the pain to get worse, he didn’t want to be punished for existing; maybe if he kept still enough it would never notice he even breathed.

He breathed as shallowly as he could, suppressing his urge to chirp his distress, and tried not to move even as his muscles cramped. But something was wrong, something was different; the pain wasn’t as sharp as it should have been, most of it focused on one shoulder, and the floor wasn’t very hard, it almost felt like a bed. But that wasn’t right; it would have never given him something like a bed. There was only one way to know what had happened, maybe he was free… maybe someone had saved him? A small stirring of hope flickered in his heart.

He got up the courage to open his eyes… but all he saw pitch blackness. He didn’t move a muscle and let his eyes adjust to the darkness, but nothing came into focus. His hope died in the blackness surrounding him.

He wanted to keen so badly but the noise was kept in his throat by fear. He made an involuntary shudder, and the darkness seemed to move minutely. He let out his held breath and refocused his eyes until the blackened feathers that obscured his vision came into focus.

He took a deep shuddering breath, his wings, he still had his wings. He started remembering his recent past more. He was free, there was no red painted room, he was safe. He took a deep breath, he was safe… but all he could see was red.

He shakily moved his wing, despite his entire being screaming at him to stay still. He nestled it against his back, staring at the wall that was noticeably missing its red stain. There was still no light in the room, it was obviously still nighttime. He didn’t want to go back to sleep, he couldn’t go back to sleep. He turned over, staring at the door. He didn’t move for the rest of the night, watching the darkness slowly fade away as the sun rose into the sky. All he could imagine was the walls dripping with red paint, slowly aging from a bright cherry to a rusty maroon that descended into an almost black.

It took forever for the sun to rise, and when it did, he heard voices from beyond the door. He ignored them, no one ever entered the room, except for it, and if he screamed, it would hear, it would take it out on him. He would not make a noise.

He heard the voices make their way towards the door but stayed silent. He was supposed to be a good bird; a good bird made no noise. The door creaked open. He closed his eyes, maybe it wouldn’t hurt him too much this time, he had been good, he hadn’t made any noise, he had been good, please don’t hurt him.

The floorboards creaked, and he reluctantly opened his eyes, and stared into the surprised, soft brown eyes of someone else. Wren smiled at him as she readied the medicine. “I brought you more soup, but you can eat when you want.” She said, smiling easily as she unwrapped fresh bandages. The red was slowly receding from the walls, fading into the cracks in the wood, he didn’t know how she didn’t see it, but he stayed quiet and still, he didn’t know if this was a trick. Wren frowned, a worried look in her eyes. “Are- are you alright?” she asked quietly when he didn’t move, not a single finger twitching since she had walked in. He didn’t want to move; he didn’t want to deal with the punishment of moving. That was all the monster was waiting for, then Wren would leave, and he would be alone with a living nightmare.

Wren hesitated, “I- I need to change your bandages…” she hesitantly took a step forward, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The red was almost gone, most of it had faded from his vision, the only bits left were the ones teasing the edges of his vision. He stared at her with eyes that barely even acknowledged her existence, instead they were focused on a time and place his mind couldn’t even fully grasp. She hesitated again, “I can come back in a little bit.” She said softly, pulling her hand back to leave. He rapidly grabbed her wrist, the only movement he had made in hours, tears fell down his face as he tried to break out of the painted room. Her face softened and she reached out her free hand to brush his hair from his face. “It’s ok, you’re safe.” She whispered.

It was what he needed to hear. He took a shuddering breath, a thing keen coming from his relaxed throat, as what sanity he had slowly returned to his eyes and the red faded from existence. He looked at Wren and looked at the hand that was still gripping her wrist and quickly released it like it burned, looking at her with horror.

She hesitated, her hand falling to her side. “Can I take care of your shoulder?” she asked softly.

He nodded jerkily and tried feebly to push himself into a sitting position, his limbs awkward and uncooperative. Wren didn’t say anything, just held his arm to help him sit upright. He slumped forward, blearily watching Wren grab scissors from the table. He didn’t make any move to protect himself, just moved his wings back, the only thing he felt the need to protect. She didn’t do anything; just clipped and pulled the bandages away from the mostly closed wound. He blinked numbly at the spiderweb of raw, pink scarring that had been a gaping hole in his shoulder. Wren carefully clipped the stitches, pulling the threads from his skin.

He touched the wound carefully, the skin still tender and rough. “What did this?” he whispered. He wanted to know what had hurt him.

She paused, “I can show you. Do you mind if I rebandage it first? I don’t want it to get infected and it will help if it starts bleeding again.”

He nodded and she quickly spread paste over the wound before wrapping it again. He stared at the wound until it was obscured from his vision. “I’ll go get it.” She said reluctantly, walking out and leaving the door partially open. He just sat there, staring straight ahead of him, his hand resting lightly over his hurt shoulder as the room seemed to be getting more and more enclosed.

It didn’t take long before he heard returning footsteps. She walked back through the door, a small piece of cloth held in her hand. “This is it.” She said, carefully holding out her hand to him, a cloth covering the lumpy object resting on her palm.

He reached out with a shaking hand, carefully plucking the object from her hand and cradling it in his own. He pulled the cloth away and stared at the nasty, sharp, piece of metal sitting in his hand. It was a horrible thing that he shuddered from the idea that it had hit him. The four tipped head was hooked at the tips so he couldn’t have pulled out without massive harm, each of the ridges had serrated edges, and it was sharp and heavy enough to pierce just about anything. His hand clenched over the arrowhead, spasming as the sharp edges grated over his skin. “Can I keep this?” he asked quietly.

Wren shrugged. “If you’d like.” They both stood there in silence, “Is there anything else?” she asked.

He hesitated, hand still gripping the arrowhead, there was something. “Can I- can I see the sky?” he asked hopefully. He wanted to be outside, he wanted to feel the sun and watch the clouds, he wanted to be free of the enclosing space.

Wren hesitated, “If you feel up to it.” She said reluctantly, “But do you mind if I set up a place for you to sit first?” she asked. He nodded, he would do anything, though the waiting made him want to scream. She nodded, “I’ll be right back.” She left, this time the door stayed open.

He sat there and looked down at his still clenched hand. His fingers opened like a flower blooming in the early morning sun and he watched in fascination as blood blossomed in his palm, running like rivers over his skin. The cuts weren’t deep, he could barely feel them if he was honest, but the arrowhead was sharp enough to slice through skin even with what little pressure he had given it. What fascinated him the most about his freshly destroyed palm, was his blood was the same color as the red painted room.

He wrapped the now red stained arrowhead back in its cloth and tucked the mess in his pocket before grabbing the bandages left on the table and quickly wrapping his hand. It didn’t take more than a few seconds and he pulled the knot tight with his teeth, effectively covering his newest injuries.

He could still hear Wren’s footsteps in the next room. She had asked him to wait, but he wanted out. He felt restless, he didn’t want to be surrounded by four walls. He wanted to see the sky again, even though the thought of using the wing that still twinged whenever he moved it the wrong way made his stomach sick. It was more than pain… No, nope, he wasn’t going to poke at that thought. He didn’t know what made him sicker; the pain from his wings, or the fear he would be too scared to fly again.

He sighed; he was never one for following instructions anyways. He pushed himself to his feet, only wincing slightly as his injuries protested. He took a deep breath, teetering on legs that almost wanted to give out under him. At least the room was only spinning a little, and it was spinning pretty slowly! That was a win in his book.

He tucked his wings against his back and took a shaky step forward. He stopped, the room tilting a little, but he tightened his resolve; he was going to make it to that door, then the next one, then he was going to be outside. He stiffened his legs and took the two more steps to the door, giving himself the victory celebration of leaning against the doorframe. It steadied him as he gauged the seemingly endless distance between him and the front door.

“Oh!” Wren exclaimed, “I thought I had told you to wait for me.” She teased gently. He didn’t say anything, just gave her a nervous smile. She laughed, “I should know by now that children never listen.”

“Not a child.” He said automatically, coughing a little at his dry throat.

“You are to me youngling.” She said with a chuckle. She had a blanket draped over her arms and she came over and put his arm around her shoulders. He hesitated for a second before draping his wing over her like a blanket. She tensed up for a second before relaxing when he didn’t react. “It’s ok, just take it one step at a time.” She said gently, leading him out the door.

They made it to the porch and his life suddenly expanded into full view. The blue sky was high above him like a blanket, little tufts of white blowing over it like feathers. The field of gold seemed endless as it stretched in front of him, only stopping when it reached the solid wall of green that enclosed everything. He came to an abrupt stop, taking a deep breath of the cool morning air. A light breeze ruffled through his wings and soft swooshing noises became audible as the wheat swayed under the wind’s power. It felt so good to be outside, to not be trapped. He was free, he wasn’t in a red painted room.

Wren gently led him to a large oak tree, old and gnarled, but with shade and a good view of the chicken coop, garden, and forest beyond it. If he craned his head, he could make out the tree he had sat in, watching from above. She laid out the blanket and helped him sit down.

He leaned back against the trees roughened bark and Wren left him as she continued her work, conspicuously outside and keeping him in view. She worked her garden, pulling weeds and plucking leaves off various plants. He watched her, fascinated, taking notes on what plants she pulled and which she left, taking notes for his own garden. His smile faded at a pang of homesickness. He missed his small cabin and his little garden that by now was probably overgrown. He would have to replant the vegetables he had painstakingly grown. He sighed, lazily plucking at the grass, he would get back there as soon as he could.

Wren went back inside and emerged with a bowl to collect eggs from the idiot chickens. He watched in amusement as the stupid birds squawked and ran away whenever Wren came near. Wren gently scolded them as she took the eggs and tossed out handfuls of feed which made the chicken’s jumbled mess of words turn from, “Human! Help! Run!” to “Food!” He smiled, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree. The chickens eventually stopped squawking about humans and returned to complaining about other things, so he assumed Wren left.  

He opened his eyes, staring through the waving tree branches. The sky was just as blue as always and there was a nip in the air as a cloud covered the sun shining brightly above him. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes again, drifting off into an unintentional, deep, sleep.

-

“Sunshine!” a singsong voice called out to him. He grinned but didn’t emerge from where he was hiding, all warm and comfy under the blankets he had stolen.

He heard footsteps coming closer and he bit a pillow to muffle the giggles that tried to escape. He didn’t say anything, he just laid there, not moving a muscle. He wasn’t there, the other person was just going to have to fuck off, these were his blankets, he was sleeping.

“Hmmm, I wonder where my sunshine is?” a teasing voice said above him. “The sun hasn’t risen yet and my day is dark. My sunshine needs to wake up soon.

He rolled his eyes as hard as he could. Cheesy bitch, all those songs were infecting his brain.

He felt a hand shaking his shoulder lightly, he frowned, that didn’t seem quite right…

“Son? You’ve been out here for a while; luncheon is ready if you’re hungry.” A voice said. He chirped sleepily in confusion, that was the wrong voice…

He opened his eyes, and it was Calum who had been shaking his shoulder and was looking at him with worry in his eyes. It had just been a dream, the warmth from the blankets nothing more than the sun shining on him after it had come out from behind the cloud. He let out a sigh, he wanted to go back to that dream, it’d been the first good sleep he’d had since waking up in that field.

“Do you want help getting inside?” Calum asked softly.

There was a lump in his throat, he wanted to be under those blankets waiting to be “woken up” by that kind voice in his dreams. But that wasn’t going to happen. He nodded to Calum wearily, he was hungry anyways.

That night when he fell asleep, he clung to the dream of his own family in a time when the most pain he had ever known was a scraped knee and he had never imagined rooms dripping red.

-

The next few days were repetitive as he healed. He would sleep for long periods of time, waking to eat the food provided for him. His time awake was spent listening to music, provided by Calum, or sitting outside basking in the sun. Though being outside gave him mixed feelings, half of him wanting to launch into the sky, the other half not wanting to fall again. But Wren insisted that he got sun after the first time. It did feel nice to get out of the cabin, watching as Wren weeded the garden or Calum walked through his fields.

He still didn’t talk much; he didn’t have much to say. What was the point? He had no stories to tell, no life that he knew, so he stayed silent, listening to others tell stories of their lives.

He knew that Calum was incredibly shy, but they had spent a lot time together before Wren finally confronted him about why he hadn’t asked for her hand.

“He blushed from ear to ear.” She chuckled. “Not since have I seen anyone get as red as he.”

Calum blushed then, ducking his head to tune the guitar once again, muttering something under his breath.

He learned about their farm and about the surrounding land. They were the furthest from the village and liked it that way. Calum would go into the village occasionally to sell and buy. Calum left multiple times during his recovery, and when he came back, he brought the towns gossip with him.

“Why don’t you live closer to the village?” he asked one day as he listened to more village gossip.

Calum smiled. “We don’t need to, aye. We like it out here, it’s quiet an’ peaceful an’ no gossipers pokin’ their noses in our businesses.”

He nodded; it made sense to him.

He was once again sitting in his usual chair, Calum sitting across from him. He sighed, rubbing his arm. It was doing better, and Wren had stopped putting the paste on it, she had said it would do no good now that it had scarred over. The rest of him seemed to have healed from crashing into the ground, except for the occasional sharp pain from moving wrong.

Calum glanced at him and leaned over to grab the guitar from its permanent place behind his chair. “Your shoulder should be healed now, would ya like to play?” He asked, holding the guitar out.

He stared at the guitar for a second and reached out with a shaking hand. His hand curled around the neck and he leaned forward slightly to hold it better. He positioned his hand and carefully strummed a C. He closed his eyes as he felt the strings reverberate under his fingers. He let his fingers find the right notes and started playing. He didn’t know the song, but somehow, he knew the notes. Tears started gathering in his eyes, but he blinked them away, changing chords quickly to something more upbeat, but something he knew just as well.

Calum grinned, tapping his feet to the music. “Where’d ya learn to play like that?” he asked.

He looked at the guitar, still strumming low notes, merging songs that he knew in his heart until there was no recognizing them even for himself. “I don’t know.” He said quietly, and he didn’t, he knew nothing.

“Well, you can play whenever ya want, son.” Calum said, kindly.

“I think I would like that, thank you.”

“It be no trouble at all.”

Chapter Text

He sat at the table watching Wren curiously as she set up the counter for making bread. It wasn’t the first time he had watched her bake bread, but it made him feel happy each time. The scent of yeast filled the air, the furnaces brought a pleasant warmth to the room, and no matter how good the yeast smelled, the cooking bread smelled even better, and the finished product tasted better than anything he had ever baked. He hummed happily under his breath; everything about Wren’s baking made him feel safe and gave him a bittersweet feeling of déjà vu.

Wren would tell stories as she baked, or hum along as he strummed the guitar. But today was different, once she set everything out, she beckoned him over.

He obeyed, peering curiously at the ingredients neatly laid out on the counter.

“Would you like to help me bake today?” She asked, grabbing a bowl and flour.

His eyes widened at the offer and his face broke into a grin as he nodded enthusiastically.

Wren grinned back, handing him the bowl. “Alright then! Fill the bowl a third of the way with flour.”

He nodded, carefully tipping the flour over. He focused on not spilling, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.  The weight in the bag shifted and his eyes widened, frantically trying to right the tipped bag… but it was too late, one side of the bag collapsed, and a wall of flour erupted from the bowl. He jerked back, coughing and trying to blink the flour in his eyes.

Wren started laughing as he quickly set the bag down, wiping his eyes with whimpers of indignation. Wren just laughed more and when he could finally see through the itchy flour in his eyes, he saw his shirt was dusted lightly in the white powder; he looked like a fucking ghost. He tried to shake the flour off, his wings lightly flapping for a breeze that only succeeded in spreading the flour around the kitchen more.

“Sorry.” He muttered, wiping flour covered hair out of his face sheepishly.

Wren chuckled again, “You don’t need to be sorry.” She handed him a wet rag and scooped the excess flour back into the bag. “Mistakes will be made, and flour can be a funny mistake.” She peered into the mostly full bowl and the flour pile that was trickling onto the floor. “I think we have enough now.” She said with a laugh.

He grinned, wiping the flour off his face and trying to get some of it off his clothes, he shook himself off like a dog, flour rising off him like a cloud. “What’s next?”

Wren grabbed a cup, filling it with water. She brought out a small bag from a chest, carefully wrapped. “Set the water on top of the furnace, we just want it a little warm.”

He nodded, “Why?” he asked curiously.

She held up the little bag. “This is the yeast, it’s interesting, it looks dead, but it comes alive in the warmth brought from the water. If it gets to hot it will die, if it’s too cold the dough will not rise, but if the temperature is just right… the dough will rise, and we will have more bread than when we started.”

He stared at the water and grabbed it; he could feel the warmth through the cup. He set it on the counter and Wren carefully put a spoonful of yeast in it. “Put a spoon of sugar in there as well, dear.” She said, putting the yeast away. He quickly grabbed the sugar, dumping a few spoons in the water. She nodded, smiling. “Perfect.”

“Now we put that in the flour and stir!”

He dumped it in the flour, grabbing a spoon and started stirring.

“Stir until the flour disappears and it’s a ball of dough. Make sure you don’t wear out your arm.”

He nodded, focusing on his stirring. He was going to get every spec of flour if it killed him. It didn’t take long for his arm to get tired and start twinging, he shifted to his other hand and continued to attack the dough. He kept going for a while, occasionally switching hands. It took forever for it to turn into dough, and his arms were aching by the time it did.  

He held it out for inspection and Wren glanced in the bowl, “That looks good! Now we knead it.” She dusted the table with flour, and took the bowl from his hand, plopping the dough in the center. She started pushing at the dough, folding the dough back onto itself. He watched curiously, making mental notes for when he went home. He didn’t have yeast, but maybe his bread could become mostly edible.

She stopped, “Would you like to try?” she asked, waving at the dough.

He nodded, stepping up to the counter. He pressed on the dough, just like she had, pulling it back on itself, and doing it over again. The dough was soft, and slightly warm. The flour was making it smoother as he kneaded, even though he had to keep cleaning his hands from dough that stuck with too little flour. Occasionally Wren would make a comment or add more flour. But it was soothing to knead the dough.

She put her hand on his arm and his hands stilled. She eyed it and nodded. “I think it’s probably ready.” She dusted the bowl from earlier with flour and dropped the dough ball in it. She put a cloth over the top and placed it on top of the furnace. She clapped her hands together, a small puff of flour rising from them. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, “Now, we let that rise for a few hours.” She smiled, “I’m going to go work on the garden.” She paused, “What would you like to do?”

He hesitated, “Help you?”

She smiled, “If you like.” She went outside, and he trailed behind. He blinked at the bright sunlight and opened his wings. He flapped them a few times, testing out the wing that had gotten sprained. They felt perfect, no pain or soreness in them. They felt really good actually. He took a deep breath, he really wanted to fly. Like really bad, but what if he fell again? What if another Hunter saw him and shot him out of the sky again? Did he want to risk it? Butterflies danced in his stomach; he wasn’t sure if he was ready to fly quite yet. He looked at Wren, kneeling next to her garden, who was staring at him with awe. She smiled.

He folded his wings, turning away from the sky. He glanced longingly back over his shoulder at the brilliant blue sky. No matter the butterflies in his stomach, the thought of flying almost overpowered whatever fear he had.

Wren had started on one side of the garden, and he kneeled at the other end. He stared at the green plants, carefully tended, and protected. He hesitated and carefully pulled the plant’s leaves back, looking for any sign of weeds. This hadn’t been the first time he had helped Wren with the gardening, it had given him something to do and hadn’t been too hard on his arm. He started pulling out the little weeds he saw poking through the dirt. No matter how many times he weeded, there were always more, and they always came back. It amazed him at the hardiness of the weeds, and he would sometimes feel bad about destroying their lives they tried so hard to hold on to. But the other plants deserved to live, and if he let the weeds grow the other plants would die. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. It helped to tell himself that, sometimes.

He worked himself down the garden, checking under every leaf. Brushing off the occasional spider and trimming the occasional bad leaf. He noticed one plant specifically was looking… wrong. He leaned closer, frowning at it. Its leaves looked ragged with the holes, and it drooped sadly, pulling at the stick left for it to grow on. He gestured to Wren, making small chirps to get her attention. Her head shot up and he gestured to the plant. She frowned, coming up beside him. He leaned out of her way, letting her get a better view.

She sighed, “We’re going to have to remove this plant.” She frowned. “And it’s one of the tomatoes as well, I was hoping we wouldn’t lose one this season.”

“Why?” he asked frowning. 

She shrugged, bending down to gently pull at the base of the plant. “It is infested, and if we do not remove it the infestation will move to a new plant and the entire garden will die slowly. It is easier to weed out the bad plant and save the others that have done nothing wrong except they grew next to the plant.”

He knelt there silently as she pulled up the rest of the plant. She took it away and he returned to weeding. It wasn’t hard work; the constant bending over putting a crick in his back, his knees started hurting from kneeling there for so long, and some of the weeds wielded thorns that he had to maneuver his fingers around, with varying levels of success. He back on his heels, wincing as his back protested, at least it was a pleasant soreness that told him it would go away soon, unlike the painful pulsing that he had felt over the weeks. He contemplated where the plant had been moments before. The garden looked wrong with a gaping hole where the tomato had once grown. The stick it had been tied to standing lonely among the healthy green plants.

He sighed and returned to weeding with vengeance. He occupied himself with it as much as possible. Ignoring the rest of the world, he didn’t give a shit about it right now. He just wanted to get rid of the weeds.

Wren must have decided to leave him in peace because he did the rest of the work himself. Finally, he reached the end of the garden, and all the weeds had been pulled, rocks tossed to the side, plants retied to their supports, and a few birds that had tried to steal food shooed off. He sat back on his heels, admiring the garden.

He felt a soft tap on his shoulder, and he jumped half out of his skin, falling to the side as his head snapped around as a jolt of fear shot through him.  The knife he still carried with him everywhere was in his hand and pointed at the threat before he fully comprehended what was happening. It was a deep, ingrained response that left him as tense as a wire, every muscle poised to strike.

Wren took a step back, her hands held up in surrender. “The bread should have risen.” Her eyes glanced at the garden. “The garden looks the nicest it has in years. Thank you.”

He took deep shuddering breaths, slowly calming his heart that had started beating at a million miles per hour.

“I scared you, I’m sorry.” She said, her eyes soft.

He forced the tension to drain from his muscles and shook his head, not looking her in the eyes. “Not your fault I’m fucked up.” He muttered bitterly under his breath. His hand with the knife dropped, and he stared at the grass at Wren’s feet.

“Now you will stop that right now young man.” Wren commanded, putting her hands on her hips.

His head shot up in shock, meeting her eyes.

“You are not going to be self-deprecating in this household.  I don’t know who you were, I don’t know where you came from, and maybe I don’t have the best information to make opinions on your situation. But whatever it was, it was not your fault.”

He laughed harshly, raking his fingers through his hair, “How would you know? I don’t even know.”

“I have watched you these few weeks. I have watched you nap in the sun as birds sit on your shoulders because you were secretly feeding them. I have watched you be sad over plants in the garden. You don’t squish spiders; you move them somewhere else. You are better than most humans I know.” She hesitated for a second. “I have seen the scars you carry, both inside and out. You are too young to carry them.” He opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, but she hurriedly continued her sentence. “…but you do. And I have seen them. You do not deserve any of them. So, when you jump at something, or you start crying over a plant; it is not your fault.”

He was silent for a second. “Surviving is hard.”

“It is, but even survivors have to make the best of life, or it will kill us. Not just take our life but take our soul.”

“What if it already killed me?”

“If it did, I don’t think you would have cared about that tomato being dug up. And I don’t think you would be kneeling in my garden if it had.”

He looked away; his face expressionless. “Maybe.”

She relaxed, “Now, would you like to help me finish the bread? I have a surprise. I usually leave it for special occasions, and I think that you being almost fully healed is a fantastic reason to celebrate.”

He shrugged, pushing himself to his feet and following her back inside, contemplating what she said. He was a survivor, but he was a survivor for a reason, he wasn’t willing to put others through what he had survived if it came for him.

She grabbed the bowl off the furnace, pulling the cloth off to reveal the dough as a big ball that was almost taller than the bowl. She smiled and set the bowl to the side, ducking inside a chest and pulling out another bag. He looked at it curiously, but she just smiled, dumping the dough on the table. She opened the bag and showed him the contents.

His eyes widened. “Is that…?”

She nodded happily, “Chocolate!”

His grinned; letting out an excited chirp and reaching to swipe the bag. She laughed, pulling it away from his grasping hands, “We’re going to knead it into the bread and when we bake the bread they will melt and leave little pockets of melted chocolate.”

He grinned even wider as she dumped bits of chocolate on the dough, placing the bag to the side and started kneading small handfuls into the dough. He quickly reached in and stole a small chunk while she was focused on the dough. The chocolate melted on his tongue, its sweet flavor bursting in his mouth. He grinned; it was the best thing he had eaten in a while. He snuck his hand in for another piece but was batted away by a laughing Wren.

“Thief! Don’t steal it all! This is not easy to get!”

He grinned and continued to attempt to steal more chocolate as she finished with the dough, her answer to that being she chased him outside to keep him away from the baking. He hovered around the doorway, looking for an opening to get closer so he could steal more. It didn’t take long, and she soon put the chocolate away. He pouted a little, giving her his best puppy eyes, which she ignored as she split the dough into lumps and placed them in the oven.

She turned to look at him and grinned, “Don’t look at me like that, the bread will be done in a few hours. Take the time to rest, it’s been a busy day and you’re still regaining your strength.”

He shrugged, this time actually going outside and looking around, shading his eyes against the bright sun. It was hot that day, and he spread his wings to feel what little breeze was blowing. He sighed but glanced over at the forest. Fuck rest, he wanted to test something.

He walked away from the farm. He hesitated at the tree line, but he wasn’t being held there, he didn’t have to ask permission. He ducked into the trees and walked through the branches, looking for a specific tree. It didn’t take long to find; it was pretty obvious actually since he had left marks to make it easier to find.

He grabbed at the lower branches and pulled himself up. It made his shoulder twinge, and it was really hurting about halfway up, but he ignored it. He stopped a moment on a strong branch, looking at the trees around him as he carefully leaned against the trunk, rubbing his aching shoulder. He glanced up and he was so close to the top… He started climbing again, and finally collapsed in the small haven he had built on top of the tree. His shoulder was incredibly sore, and he thought he might have taken it a bit far. But he didn’t care, it would heal. He let his legs dangle over the edge and stared out over the farm. It felt nice to be on his own again.

He just sat there, time ticked by, but he didn’t leave. He sat there and talked himself into what he was going to do next. Wren did come out of the house once. She called for him, but he didn’t reply. She went back inside, and he didn’t see her again.

He finally let out a defeated sigh, and carefully pushed himself to his feet. He was going to do this, and he could do it. He spread his wings and stepped off the platform.

His stomach dropped for a second, as he seemed to fall. But he wasn’t falling, he was flying. He flapped his wings and carefully weaved through the air. He didn’t go very high, still choosing to stay near the ground. But the butterflies in his stomach quickly left as the thrill of flying caught up with him. He let out a shrieking call into the sky. Circling over the farm. Wren ran out of the house, searching the air until she saw him. He banked and soared down, landing lightly on his feet in front of her. He saluted her, grinning as his cheeks flushed from the wind and the thrill hummed through his bone.

“Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea? The bread should be done soon.” She smiled at him, and he grinned back. Nothing could take away the happiness he got from flying, except getting shot out of the sky… but still.

He bowed, motioning for her to go ahead of him into the house. She grinned, going back inside. He followed her, sitting in his usual chair as she heated up water for tea. He grabbed the guitar and started strumming a silly little tune, “Cause why’d you have to kill my cat…” he sang.

She burst out laughing as he continued the song, and she started singing along. The sound of laughter and singing infusing the air of a lonely farmhouse.

He finished the song and put the guitar to the side, carefully taking the offered mug in his hands. He smiled a little as he took a sip and the taste of herbs spread over his tongue. “Thank you.” He whispered, smiling happily.

She smiled, “You’re welcome.” She said, sipping her own cup. “Where did you learn that song?” she asked curiously.

He paused, the mug halfway to his lips. He cradled it in his lap, giving the answer to her question great consideration. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much. I’m being given time.”

She frowned in confusion. “Time? For what?”

He took another sip of tea. “To heal.”

She hesitated, looking like she was going to say more, but nodded. “I should check on the bread.” She said awkwardly.

“You do that.” He said, nodding.

He watched as she got up and checked the furnace. “They’re done!” she announced happily. He let out a quick cheer as she pulled the loaves out, setting them on the table.

He got up, peaking at the loaves, the little brown dots telling him where the chocolate was. He reached for one, but she swatted his hand away, “Let them cool! Patience is a virtue!”

“And war crimes are illegal, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do them.”

She looked at him funny, before throwing her hands in the air. “Fine! Burn your mouth, just don’t come crying to me when you do!”

He grinned, grabbing a still very hot loaf, tossing it between his hands as it burned them. He carefully broke it in half when it was cool enough to handle. Only taking half of the small loaf. Steam rose from the bread, and the smell was divine. He closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of fresh baked bread, with undertones of the sweet chocolate. He took a bite, and coughed as the hot bread burned his mouth. But he chewed and swallowed. Gasping breathes that he was sure should have breathed smoke with how hot his mouth was.

Wren glanced up from her mending, “I told you so.”

He wrinkled his nose; he wasn’t going to take that. He blew on the bread carefully and took another bite, at least this one wasn’t so hot. The chocolate and the bread both melted on his tongue, and he closed his eyes in happiness at the taste. “This is the best bread I have ever tasted.” He said around a mouthful of bread.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” She chastised without missing a beat, not even looking up from her mending. But she glanced up at him, a smile on her face. “But thank you, it means a lot.”

He glanced at the bread, and shrugged, confused at the happiness associated with him speaking the absolute truth. He sat back in his chair, munching on the bread.

There was one thing he did know about himself he had never been able to bring himself to tell, he had held the knowledge close to his chest despite him knowing so much about them. Would it really be so bad to tell her? Tell them? It was just one word. He took a deep breath, “My-“ he started, but he heard the porch boards creak, and he stopped himself as he looked behind him to see Calum standing there, returned from a day at the village.

“Hello!” Calum called softly, “I have the latest gossip.” Calum said, chuckling.

He smiled weakly, slumping back in his chair.

Calum sniffed at the air, “Do I smell bread?” His eyes lit up at the sight of the loaves laying on the counter. “Ah!”

Wren smiled, “I taught…” she hesitated for a second, “…our guest to bake bread today.”

He stayed quiet but nodded, ducking his head so his hair covered his face.

“It smells wonderful.” Calum said, coming over and giving Wren a small kiss. He ducked his head even further, becoming increasingly more interested in the floorboards. He had been there for weeks… it was probably time to go home. It was probably time for him to do lots of things. He was probably better off on his own anyways, but he would savor his last night.

They spent the rest of the night telling stories and laughing once again. Wren was even able to get him to sing the song again from earlier and they laughed and sang as the sun sank lower and the moon rose.

Eventually he decided he was tired enough and asked to be excused. Wren nodded and he set the guitar aside, before going into his room. Except he didn’t go to bed, instead he sat by the window, leaving it open so that he could watch the stars in the night sky. They twinkled in and out of existence as he watched, and it almost reminded him of something, but he couldn’t remember what. He fell into the glittering stars, and he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, it was daylight, and he had a crick in his neck from sleeping in the chair.

It was the first full night’s sleep he had had in a while. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and glanced groggily at the early morning light from the sun having not yet risen above the horizon. He sat back, his head thunking into the wall, he had dreamed again. He had been in a place, with someone. His mother? She had sat there with him, and they had talked for so long. Then he’d had to wake up, even though neither of them wanted the night to end.

He carefully got up, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. His shoulder twinged again, but it wasn’t too bad. He had used it too much though. He sighed, padding in the door and carefully opening it. Maybe it was early enough, and they wouldn’t be awake. He could leave without them even noticing.

He carefully snuck out, closing the door to his room behind him. He didn’t take anything that he didn’t have with him already. And made his way to the door. He winced when the floorboards creaked under him. Maybe they didn’t hear…? The sound of an opening door ruined that idea.

“What? Are you alright?” Wren asked, sleep still in her voice.

He closed his eyes, “I should leave. You don’t know me; I bring destruction and pain. I should leave before I hurt someone.”

“No.”

He looked at her, the feeling of being trapped enclosing him like a cage. “Are you going to keep me here?” He asked bitterly.

“No. You can leave whenever you please. But I am not going to let the reason you leave be because you think that you will hurt someone.” She let out a heavy sigh. “You can leave, but we ask that maybe? You come back occasionally, even if you see it as repaying the debt for us helping you. We don’t see it like that, you owe us nothing. You are welcome in this household for as long as you’d like, or to come here as much as you want.”

“Wren is correct, you’re welcome here as long as you’d like. Evn if it’s jus’ to play my guitar.” Calum’s voice said behind her.

He hesitated and nodded. “I- I might come back. To repay the debt.” He started walking out the door. “I- my name…” he hesitated, “My name is Icarus.” He fled out the door, not even waiting for a reply.

He leaped into the sky, his wings propelling him from the safety he had learned to trust. To bad he was to much of a coward to stay.

-

Wren stared after the avian who disappeared over into the horizon. “Fly safe, Icarus.” She whispered knowing he wouldn’t hear her, but hoping someone would and they honor her request.

-

It felt amazing to fly again, he could feel the wind slip through his feathers as he soared far above the ground. He ignored the shivery feeling he got as he flew over the forest, and just flew higher. He let out a whoop as he burst through the clouds. He was so far above the ground he could see his territory far in the distance. He grinned widely and froze in midair, letting his body come to a full stop, his wings still extended as he fell. It was only a few seconds of free fall before he adjusted and caught himself, straightening himself until he drifted over the green carpet below him.

It felt so good to be free, finally. He kept a sharp eye on the trees below him. He had learned his lesson, he wasn’t going to get that close to the trees again, and he definitely wasn’t going to get tricked like the last time. He let his mind drift to his cabin. So much there could have gone wrong; animals probably broke in, the mice were probably back, his garden hadn’t been watered. Had he even closed the door?

He could see the cabin looking as desolate and lonely as when he’d found it and a feeling of relief flooded his system. He descended, skimming over the trees until they abruptly ended at the meadow. He landed in front of the cabin, stumbling a little as he tried to catch his balance.

He glanced around, on high alert for any sign of disturbances since he had last been there, but everything seemed normal. He frowned, something seemed off. He took a deep breath and let out a questioning chirp. There was something missing…

He heard an angry shriek and raised his arms to protect himself as a black projectile fell from the sky. The crow landed on his arms, pecking his hair and beating at him with its wings. ‘Where the fuck were you… two weeks… fucking child… are you hurt… I might have to kill you…’ the bird cawed angrily, tangling its talons in his hair and leaning over to let out an angry shriek… right in his ear.

He grabbed uselessly at the bird, “Stop! Stop! Stop! I will explain if you just stop!” he yelled, still covering his head, his eyes squeezed shut and his ear ringing. “Fucking stop!”

The attacks paused and Icarus felt sharp pricks on his wrist. He lowered his arm to look into the eyes of a very angry crow. He let out a sigh. “It’s a long story.”

It glared at him as if to say, ‘I’ve got time.’

“Can I at least go inside?”

‘No. Now.’

He let out another sigh. “Fine.” He grumbled, collapsing cross legged on the grass. “You know why I left that day…”

Chapter Text

He spent his first few days alone at his cabin, settling back into a routine and reacquainting himself with his territory. Then he started working like a being possessed, only resting when his body forced him to. Even though he was alone, he could still hear Wren scolding him to not wear out his arm, and even though he wasn’t going back… He wasn’t going to let himself be scolded.

One thing that was nice, his cooking had improved, and everyone was happy with that. It wasn’t as good as the meals that he’d eaten at the farm, but he didn’t think he would ever be good enough to make that. He didn’t have the patience that Wren had with cooking. But they weren’t burned! Mostly…

He was flying again, and it felt amazing, though occasionally he would think he saw something flash below him and he would decide that he’d had enough flying for the day… or he would fly higher, rising above the clouds and above the height that anything could hurt him. 

At other times he hunted, sometimes the hunting was staying up late to massacre the monsters that dared enter his territory and spend the day sleeping. At other times he truly explored the forest, bringing down rabbits and the occasional deer and searching for other things to use for food.

The one thing he did not do was return to the farm. He never even flew in that direction, opting to fly and explore in the complete opposite. All he ever found was forest, though eventually the oak changed to towering spruce, a perfect biome to pick berries in the sparse underbrush for a special treat. No other humanity appeared, and he never found sign of anyone else.

-

Most of his days were frankly… boring. Nothing happened, it was always the same old thing and the only reason he wasn’t bored out of his mind was because he did his absolute best to keep himself as busy as possible.

But then everything changed… And it started when he went hunting, but it turns out something else had decided to hunt that day as well.

-

He followed the well walked path to the clearing he had awoken in, searching for the deer that populated the area. His eyes searched the clearing and shifted slightly in place, suddenly on edge. Something was wrong. It was like the entire clearing was in a constant state of movement. The flowers, the grass, it shivered despite the lack of wind. He blinked, squinting, it was so slight he could almost convince himself he was imaging it.

He pulled an arrow from a quiver and nocked it, cautiously stepping into the clearing, watching for a threat.

He held his breath, and he heard a twig snap. The entire field seemed to shudder, and his bow was already drawn and aimed at the origin of the sound before the deer could take another step. He let the arrow fly, but missed, the arrow embedding itself in a tree instead. He cursed as the deer startled and ran into the meadow in panic. He nocked another arrow and covered his head with his wings as color exploded in the air.

The air hummed as greenish yellow patterns were drawn in the air in hypnotizing swirling patterns of moths. His wings lowered, as he stared in awe at the mass of moving color flying over his head. A small swarm cut off and landed in his hair and on his wings. He froze in place, holding his breath and not daring to move in case he scared them. They took off a second later and the whole swarm followed them, quickly disappearing like they had never been there in the first place.

He stood there for a long time, the clearing now as quiet and peaceful as it ever was. The moths didn’t return, and he continued his hunt with a sense of awe. He tracked the deer that had frightened the moths, his mind still marveling at the sight that he had just witnessed.

He followed the broken brush and eventually found it in a small clearing, barely more than a place where the sun poked through the trees more than usual. He crouched behind a bush and watched the deer graze on the low grass. The light streamed through the leaves, making the deer’s healthy coat shine like satin. He quietly brought his bow out and nocked an arrow. 

He set his arm and drew back the string. He breathed in, feeling the arrow pinched between his fingers. He breathed out and released the arrow… right when a shriek rang through the forest. The arrow shot wide as the deer ran into the woods, bounding through the underbrush in panic.

He stood up, looking around wildly, as the cry went out again. It sounded like a bird, a large bird, and he couldn’t make out any specifics… just “help”.

He ran towards the cry, jumping over bushes and ducking past low tree limbs. He could feel branches slapping against his wings, but he just tucked them as tight to his body as possible and kept running. He slowed down when he could hear the pained warbles of what could only be an avian and the angry voices of humans. His breath came in as ragged gasps from the exertion, but he kept going.

He grabbed another arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bow, peeking through the trees. Now he was trying to be quiet, slipping through the trees silently as his eyes searched the forest for the origin of the rising voices.

“YOU STUPID BIRD!” Became a ringing cry through the forest, followed by a pained shriek from what had to be an avian.

He could see them now. There was an avian kneeling on the ground, its arms and legs bound, and its multicolored wings extended behind it, remnants of broken rope hanging off its wings where they had been bound together. Its body was covered in bruises and cuts, parts of its clothing torn to reveal the red and swollen welts that the humans had given it. The four humans circled it like wolves with their prey as they attempted to control the avian that hissed at them and beat them away with its wings.

He froze as he looked at the avian. It was a scene that was painfully familiar… except there had only been one person standing over him. And he hadn’t tried to fight back.

The wave of fear and panic flooded through him as he stood there, every instinct telling him to run.

“I’ve had enough of this miserable excuse of an oversized chicken.” One of the humans growled, pulling out a large, curved knife.

The avian shrieked in terror at the sight of the knife, pulling its wings tight to its body.

“Boss! You really want to do that?!” one of the other humans yelled. “The bounty’ll be less…”

The ‘Boss’ laughed, “Oh yeah I want to do this, the bounty can go piss itself.” He grinned evilly at the avian, “It’s too late for you little birdie. We were going to wait till we were at base, it would have been a lot kinder, but you chose the hard way. Say goodbye to your little wings. They’re going to look great above my mantle.”

The avian threw back its head and keened.

His arrow took the human with the knife straight through the throat.

The knife fell from the Hunter’s hand as he clutched at the arrow, making choked, gurgling noises, before tipping forward on his face, dead.

The other humans yelped in surprise, grabbing their weapons, and looking around frantically for the threat.

He nocked another arrow and shot another Hunter straight through the eye.

Now the other two had figured out what was going on, and ducked for cover behind trees, out of sight of his arrows.

He grimaced at the inconvenience and pulled out his axe. He stepped out of his cover of trees and ducked under a crossbow bolt aimed for his throat, but instead lodged itself into the tree behind him. He spread his wings and hissed at the humans.

There was a gasp from Idiot #1, “Look! It’s another one of them bird people! And look at those wings! Someone will pay big money for them!” The idiot called to his friend excitedly, completely ignoring the fact that Icarus could understand what the fuck they were saying.

“We’re going to be rewarded tonight!” Idiot #2 cheered.

“Remember the drill, don’t hurt the wings.”

Did they think he couldn’t hear them? Or did they think he was too stupid to understand English? How stupid were these people? He shook his head slightly; he already knew the answer to that. Very.

He could hear the ring of a sword being drawn from a scabbard. It was a sound he would never forget, even with his fucked-up memory. A switch in him flicked and his grip on the axe shifted minutely, as did his stance, giving him the best chance to meet both threats. He was painfully aware of each movement around him and his own self, his breath sounding as loud in his ears as the cracking of a branch.

They approached him from both sides, trying to pin him. One held the sword he’d heard being drawn, the other had an axe that looked barely better than a wood cutter’s axe. Not that his weapon was any better, but he could tell the idiots hadn’t had a second of actual training. They were holding their weapons all wrong and were balanced too far forward in their eagerness to get him.

He hissed at them and feinted at the one with the axe; letting out an angry, echoing screech that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They faltered and he took the distraction, leaping at Idiot #1 who was trying to stab him with a sword.

The man yelped in surprise, probably not expecting the ‘stupid bird’ to attack first and took a wild swing at what Icarus supposed could have been his head. He couldn’t really tell it was so poorly aimed, the poor swing made it childishly easy to duck under the man’s guard and slice his throat. His axe got stuck for a moment and he twisted it, giving the axe a vicious pull to detach it from the Hunter’s throat.

Blood spurted out of the wound, raining red on his wings and body, the blood made him feel sick, but he couldn’t think about that right now. There was still a threat.

He spun around as the other Hunter let out an enraged war cry and ran for him. How much of an idiot was this man?

He ducked past the wild swing and ducked again past the proceeding punch. Who did hand-to-hand combat in the middle of an axe fight?

The man made another wild swing and he ducked under it before chopping his axe into the back of the man’s leg, severing the main artery. 

Blood spurted, and the Hunter collapsed to the ground screaming in pain. He didn’t wait for silence and mercifully struck the man’s head off.

The man’s screams abruptly cut off, pun intended, as his head rolled away and came to rest a few feet from the body.

He stood there breathing hard as he looked at the blood and gore dripping from his axe and the death he had caused. Some of the blood had gotten on him as well; soaking into his clothing, and drying on his feathers, making his wings itch. What was worse was how painfully familiar this scene was to him. Whatever he had been before… a farmer hadn’t been it.

The locked chest in his mind opened just a crack and his breath caught in his throat as visions flooded his mind. The sun high above him dimmed and the mossy ground beneath him turned into a slurry of dirt and blood and other things that people would rather not think of. Explosions and the high-pitched whistling of things he didn’t want to remember flooded the air as friends and enemies called out his… name? It didn’t sound like his name, but he still knew it was still him.

He closed his eyes as the world around him descended into blood and war; and he was at the center of it all.

He shivered in the warm summer air as the bitter cold of loss and fear ran through his veins and creeped into his soul. This was not the numbing cold of indifference; this was like a frozen river that trapped him beneath the surface and would not melt no matter how much he wished for the world to give him warmth.

He heard a questioning cheep come from somewhere in the overwhelming fear. But he couldn’t tell where. There was so much chaos surrounding him. Who would have time to question what was happening?

He heard another birdlike chirp coming from somewhere.

He opened his eyes, not to a well-worn battlefield, but to a green wooded area temporarily made into one. He rubbed his strangely numb hand and glanced over to meet the scared eyes of the avian, still bound and kneeling on the ground, its face a bruised and bloody mess.

He took a deep breath and sent a reassuring chirp to the avian. Carefully shoving his axe into his inventory and making soothing noises at the winged being.

It calmed down as he continued to chirp reassuringly. It chirped its frustration, struggling against the ropes tying it. He took that as an invitation and carefully approached, trying to keep himself as nonthreatening as possible. It cocked its head questioningly to the side, warily watching him approach.

He carefully slid around the avian, tugging at the ropes binding it.

It spread its wings as far away from him as possible, and he nodded in understanding as he tried to untie the ropes.

They were cruelly tight, cutting into the avian’s skin until they were rubbed raw. He grumbled at the ropes before chirping at the avian that he would have to cut them off.

The avian shivered in fear, its wings flexing like it was going to fly away any second. He carefully pulled his knife out and sliced through the bonds tying its legs. He then carefully sawed at the ropes on its arms, cutting away a strand at a time until the ropes fell away to the forest floor.

The avian flapped its powerful wings, bowling him back as it flew into the air.

He looked up and watched in horror as the avian cried out in pain and fell to the ground in a mess of feathers. He approached carefully, making questioning cheeps. Was it alright?

It looked up at him, its pupils dilated to the point there wasn’t more than a sliver of white in its eyes. Just for a second those black eyes seemed to flash purple, but it was so quick Icarus could swear he imagined it.

He held up his hands to show he meant no harm and took a deep breath. “Hey, hey it’s alright. Nothing is going to hurt you now. I killed them.” His stomach flipped over at the thought of the last part, but it seemed to reassure the avian. “I’m… Icarus.” He didn’t know why he hesitated over his name, but it didn’t sound quite right anymore. He shook his head; he had bigger problems right now. “I can help you, my base isn’t too far away, but you have to let me help you.”

The avian took a shuddering breath. “Alright.”

He nodded and reached out a hand to help the avian to its feet. It hesitated but took it and Icarus carefully pulled it to its feet and slinging its arm over his shoulder. It winced, holding its ribcage. It must have had broken ribs from the Hunters, but Icarus didn’t have the medicine to deal with that right then. He eyed the avian, looking for any sign of extreme pain but except for ragged breathing and small blood trails from various cuts it seemed aware. “Can you walk?” he asked quietly.

The avian nodded shortly and despite his trepidation they started the trek back to his base.

He hesitated, but it was only fair, he had told it his, “Can I ask your name?” he asked, glancing over at the mop of dirty brown hair that hung over the avian’s face.

It was silent for a second. “Grian. My name is Grian.” The avian rasped out.

He nodded, “Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you.” Grian said, his wings moving to surround Icarus comfortingly.

“I… I couldn’t leave you.” He whispered. He couldn’t let what had happened to him happen to someone else.

-

Eventually they made it back to the cabin, only stopping to rest occasionally and stop at the stream to wash Grian’s wounds. Icarus breathed an inward sigh of relief when he realized that the wounds weren’t as bad as they looked before the blood had been wiped off. He did his best to get the blood off himself as well, with various levels of success. His wings still itched.

They limped inside his home, and he lowered the avian onto his bed before taking a cross-legged position on the floor in front of it. “Do you… do you need anything?” he asked awkwardly, glancing around at the small room littered with random bits and pieces he uses daily. He let his fingers comb gently through his feathers, trying to comb out the blood that made the filaments stiff.

The avian’s wings rustled as it settled more comfortably on the bed. “Do you have water?” it rasped, “And maybe some bandages?”

He leaped to his feet. “Uh huh. Give me a sec.” he grabbed his bucket and ran outside to fill it from the rain barrel. He stopped for a few minutes to wipe his own wings down again, taking a bit more time than he had at the stream and his wings dripped pick water that he quickly shook off before dragging the bucket back inside. He set that on the floor next to the avian then went to the chests to dig through them for bandages.

-

Grian watched as the man, no more like boy, the boy who had rescued him rummage through the chest. The boy didn’t look older than sixteen but had a ghostly appearance that made him look ethereal, every time he met the boy’s ice blue eyes it sent a shiver of shock down his spine. That ghostly picture was broken the minute you saw his wings; the giant, black wings, dotted with white like the stars that spun through the endless void seemed to anchor the child to the mortal realm, as if the loss of them would just let him fade into nothing.

As for his own feelings about the boy, half of his instincts were screaming at him ‘hawk!’ and the other half wanted to wrap the nestling in his wings and protect him from the world. There was something that told him that this child had fought. It wasn’t just how easily he had killed those Hunters; it was how he walked, how he left the door open, how he seemed to know what to do with Grian’s wounds.   

“Are you alright?” the child asked nervously, dragging his head from where it had been buried in the chest. Grian snapped himself out of his wandering thoughts and smiled weakly at the child who looked scared that Grian was just going to die right there and then. He sat up a little, wincing at the pain in his side and muffling a groan of pain, no need to worry the kid any more than necessary, he looked like he had gone through enough. The sharp pain was still there even after he settled, watchers damn it, those Hunters must have cracked a rib. Mumbo was going to kill him.

He gave the nestling a weak smile, “I’m alright, but are you?”

“Whatcha mean?” the nestling asked warily. He stuck his head back into the chest and emerged a second later with a cry of triumph, pulling out a wad of slightly less than clean bandages. “I can take care of the cuts if you let me.” The child offered.

He raised an eyebrow but nodded. The child hesitated but carefully approached and started cleaning the wounds, making a big deal to stay away from Grian’s wings. Which Grian was grateful for. He didn’t know if he trusted anyone, except his flock, around his wings yet, especially a random child who had found him in the woods.

“What I mean is, are you alright?” Grian asked, wincing slightly from the roughness of the bandage against his wounds.“You were the one fighting those Hunters, though you did an amazing job. How in the world do you know how to fight like that? I don’t mean to sound offensive, but you don’t look old enough to know how to fight that well.” Grian said, keeping a careful eye on the child’s reaction.

“I’m fine. It was what needed to be done.” The child said tonelessly, grumbling slightly under his breath at a complicated knot he used to tie the bandage.

That didn’t sit well in Grian’s stomach, but he nodded his approval at the job the child had done on his injuries. “Look kid…”

“I’m not a child. I told you my name is Icarus.” The child muttered, glaring at him from under a curtain of ghostly white hair.

Grian paused, backtracking quickly, “Of course not. Sorry. Um, I was just going to say that it’s ok to not be ok. I mean you killed them. I don’t know how, but you did, that’s not always something that sits well on peoples conscious.” Something was wrong with this child, it wasn’t obvious, Grian couldn’t tell what it was, but it was there, the discordant tone beneath the muted chaos that sang from the child’s soul. Whatever was wrong, he was going to be the one to figure it out.

Icarus blinked up at him, “They were bad men. They were going to cut off your wings.” Icarus’s eyes glazed over, staring at a distant point over Grian’s shoulder. Grian shuddered; it was not something he liked to think about either. He readjusted himself so his wings could surround him like a blanket.

Icarus stared at him blankly, those icy blue eyes seeming to stare into his soul, “Do you know what it is like to lose you wings?” he whispered. The discordant twang sang louder. 

Grian froze, staring at the child, who no longer looked like a child.

“Do you know what it is like to not feel the steady weight on your back? Or your feathers brush against your arm as you move? Do you know what it is like to lay in an obsidian box coated in your own blood and know that you will never escape the agony that is given to you every day? Do you know what it is like to stand on a battlefield and watch your brother die, only to see him back the next day as a pale imitation of himself?” the not-child asked, staring at Grian with a gaze of someone so lost he couldn’t find himself again.

Grian was frozen in shock. What had happened to this child? Nothing whispered to him the answer but for once Grian wished they would. Icarus took a deep shuddering breath and promptly tipped over on his side. Grian leaped to stop him from hitting his head, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his side.

Icarus’s eyes opened, staring at him like this child hadn’t just told him the worst stories he had heard. “Are you… are you alright?” Grian stuttered past the pain as he knelt next to the child. Icarus pushed himself up, batting away Grian’s attempts to help him. “I’m fine, you shouldn’t move that much, those ribs need to heal, and they won’t if you keep doing that. Get back on the bed, I’ll get us some food.” He commanded, shakily getting to his feet and stumbling over to the chests.

Grian reluctantly did what he was ordered, though not so reluctantly since his side felt like it was on fire. He bit his lip to keep from yelling and settled into a comfortable position. He watched Icarus dig through the chests, “So. What happened to your brother?” he asked casually.

Icarus stood up quickly, hitting the back of his head on the top chest hard enough for Grian to wince in sympathy. “Fuck.” He muttered, walking back over to Grian with a couple loaves of bread cradled in his arms. He handed one to Grian before tearing into his own. “I don’t have a brother.” He paused, “At least I don’t think I do.”

“Oh.” Grian said awkwardly, “So. What are you doing out here?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Icarus went silent, a thoughtful look on his face as he thought about his answer. “I don’t know. Surviving I guess.” He took another bite of his bread. “I don’t remember much.” They were both silent, Icarus seeming content with eating and Grian no longer knowing what to say. “I have a garden.” Icarus said suddenly.

Grian blinked at the abrupt statement, “I- I guess that would be a good thing, so you can eat and stuff.”

“Yeah.” Icarus said like he didn’t know what to say next. “Wren taught me how to bake bread, and now I can make it myself. But it’s not as good as hers.”

“Is… is Wren your mother?”

“No. My mother’s name is Kristin.” It was one of his few precious memories, and it had taken a lot of searching to find it, hidden deep in a dusty corner of his mind. It had been so small, but he had clung to it like a lifeline.

“Ah.” Grian said, absorbing the information.

Icarus looked at him nervously, “Do you need medicine?”

Grian shook his head, “I don’t think so, but I might need to stay for a while. I can’t fly with a broken rib, that’s for sure. I’ll try to get out of your hair as fast as possible.”

Icarus shook his head, “Take your time, I don’t mind.” He kind of did though, he didn’t like his territory being invaded, but he wasn’t going to send the avian away. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked awkwardly.

Grian leaned against the wall and gave Icarus a tired smile. “Can I sleep?” the avian asked, already half asleep as the exhaustion finally hit.

He nodded, “Just say something and I’ll hear you.” Grian nodded back, carefully propping himself in a comfortable position against the wall, being careful of his ribs. Icarus waited for a moment before walking outside, the door still open behind him.

He took a torch with him to frighten off whatever mobs would spawn that night and laid down under the stars, thinking about his newest situation. His hand casually played with his feathers, tugging gently at some loose ones and massaging sore muscles, it was something soothing to do while he thought, something he should really do more often. It was just that sometimes it was hard to look at them when they sometimes didn’t feel like his. He ignored those thoughts and kept preening, letting his mind wander to his newest problem. He didn’t have anything to help Grian with his injuries, he didn’t know what to do. He has been lucky with his fall; he didn’t know how to help the avian with hurt ribs.

And now there was probably going to be a strain on food. He had been saving up, but he didn’t know how long the avian would stay. He let out a sigh as the sun faded below the horizon, laying back on the grass to watch the stars blink into existence and the sky turn dark.

There was one other place to go if he wanted help. They had offered, maybe he should take it. He had been trying so hard to not think about it, he was probably going to have to think about it now. He sighed, wiggling on the ground like the grass was a nest. It was soft and he didn’t try to, but he fell asleep. 

-

He stared at the night sky, trying to ignore his discomfort. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d laid down, but there was a rock digging into his spine. He scowled, shifting uncomfortably. He had been traveling for weeks now; he hated sleeping on hidden rocks. Every. Fucking. Night.

There was no sign of Tommy. Every possible lead, every possible place, nothing. It was like that child had disappeared from all existence, and that was not an option. It had taken him time to escape the SMP, a shit ton of rowing actually, but he had done it. It felt strange to be away, but it was the only possible place Tommy could have gone.

Tommy wasn’t dead. He didn’t believe it, it was impossible. There was no way in hell that Tommy was dead. He was going to find him if it took till the world imploded. No matter what anyone else said. No matter how much Tubbo wallowed in grief, no matter what that old bird-fool nattered on about. Tommy wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. And when he found that child, he was going to bring him back to the SMP kicking and screaming if necessary. He couldn’t leave them! Why would he even consider it?

He closed his eyes, rolling onto his side. He shivered in the chilly night air but forced himself to fall into an exhausting sleep.

-

He woke up with a grumble, not wanting to open his eyes. He wanted to go back to his dream. Prime dammit, he got too few good night’s sleep, he didn’t want to wake up. He felt something pull at his hair, but he just brushed the annoyance away, curling into himself more. Whatever it was turned more insistent, pulling his hair again, hard. He grumbled, brushing away the disturbance with his wing and keeping it up to protect his head.

“Fucking crow.” He muttered under his breath, still refusing to open his eyes.

A sharp, demanding caw sounded next to his ear, slightly muffled by his wing. He ignored it even though he had been awake too long to go back to sleep, he was ignoring the crow on principle. It did not respect that principle and the next moment he felt a sharp peck on his head. He yelped, sitting up like a shot and rubbing his head. He turned to shoot a glare laden with loathing at the indifferent bird. He rubbed his head with a long-suffering sigh.

“Icarus?” he heard someone call, and he looked towards his cabin in surprise to see the red winged avian leaning in his doorway cradling his arm. “You didn’t have to sleep outside, I’m sorry I took your bed it just sort of happened…” Grian said with genuine sympathy.

He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, his wings dragging on the ground behind him like they hadn’t quite woken up either. He smiled wearily, “Nah it’s alright, it’s nice to get outside sometimes, best sleep I’ve had in weeks.” He tried to give Grian a reassuring smile, but the frown he got in return said he hadn’t quite done it.

He sighed, walking into his house, brushing past the newest intruder into his territory. The crow landed on the railing, watching him closely as he walked inside, it followed him to land on the table and strut back and forth. Grian watched him curiously, still wincing when he moved. Icarus scowled at the crow, ignoring it as he dug through his food barrels and pulled out a few loaves of bread and lit the fire to cook small slabs of bacon. He hesitated, looking to Grian and wordlessly holding a few loaves of bread to the avian.

“Thank you.” Grian said quietly, taking small bites before he sat back down on the bed, still watching him cook.

He turned his attention back to what he was doing, it was easier to ignore the intruder now that he wasn’t in front of the exit. He sighed, sticking his head into his barrel again and rummaging around until he pulled out a few potatoes and carrots, pulling his knife from his wrist sheath and chopping them quickly before grabbing his bucket and getting water from the rain barrel. He lugged it back inside and quickly set it down so he could save the bacon, yelping as the heat hit his hands even through the cloth he used to protect himself. He threw the slab with bacon on the table, shooing off the stupid bird as it tried to take the meat from the hot stone. The vegetables he dumped in the water with some herbs he had picked from the forest that he recognized from Wren’s garden, placing it in the cooking slabs place and leaving it to cook.

He let out a long sigh, rubbing his hands and blowing on the bacon to let it cool before wrapping it around his bread. He looked at his guest for a moment, “Would you like some?” he asked quietly.

Grian wrinkled his nose and shook his head, “I’m surprised you can stand that stuff.” He said gesturing to the meat.

He shrugged, “It’s good, chicken makes me sick though.” He said taking a big bite out of his bacon wrapped bread. The crow hopped towards him and shot its head out to grab the other piece still resting on the rock. He slammed his hand down in front of the bird, sweeping the crows off the table and causing it to tumble into one corner with a surprised squawk. He glared at it, “That’s what you get for waking me up.” He grumbled around a mouthful of bread. The crow rolled to its feet, fluffing its feathers of dust and straightening loose feathers. It hissed at him before flying away, cawing every obscenity it knew as it left. He smiled grimly, it wouldn’t go far, and he would probably pay for it later but for now he was going to enjoy his meal that tasted as sweet as revenge.

Grian had watched the scene play out in amusement, “Is this normal?” he asked curiously, “How long have you been here? I haven’t seen you around before and I thought I knew all the avians in the area.”

He hesitated, chewing thoughtfully as he considered the answers. “Is this normal? It is when the prick wakes me up, though it usually manages to steal the bacon. I’ve been here for about…” he hesitated again, doing mental calculations, “two, three months. I just sort of settled here and no one seemed to own the cabin, so I just took it.” He finished awkwardly.

Grian shrugged, “It’s your territory now, I’m not going to take it, no one else is directly in your area, that being said, I would like to return to my flock.”

He stared at the avian, his eyes going wide, “There are more?” he whispered. He couldn’t believe it, a flock, other avians, he thought he had been the only one in the area. He hadn’t really been looking… but it still came to a shock.

Grian frowned a little, “Yeah, there are more. And I would like to get home.” He laughed a little, “Scar can’t cook, except cookies, and Mumbo can’t either, which makes me the one who can actually make something edible. They’re probably surviving off Scar’s cookies, if they haven’t burned down part of the house trying to cook already.” Grian said, a bittersweet smile on his lips. He shook his head, “They’re idiots but they’re my idiots and I need to get back and warn them about the Hunters and save them from themselves. They’re probably worried sick that I didn’t show up last night.”

He nodded, little spikes of jealousy and longing that he quickly suppressed. His thought ran to Wren and Calum, but he quickly shook his head, not the time to think about his flock, no not his flock… Fuck.

“I can help you get there; you’re hurt, you can’t fly. I can protect you as we move through the forest. You can’t be too careful these days.” He said rubbing his shoulder, its spiderweb scarring reminder enough.

Grian nodded gratefully, “Thank you Icarus, I’d like to get moving but my ribs are killing me, maybe I’ll just rest a few more minutes.” He said, leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths. He winced, “I know Scar has healing, maybe we should just leave, I don’t like how these ribs are feeling.”

Icarus looked at him worriedly, shoving the rest of his breakfast in his mouth quickly and grabbing his axe. Grian had still not stood up, “Are you sure you can do this?” he asked, hovering over the other avian.

Grian nodded, carefully levering himself to his feet and taking shaky steps forward. “Let’s go!” he said in a falsely cheery voice. “A few bruised ribs can’t stop me!”

He raised an eyebrow, not believing it for a second, but he still helped him, throwing the man’s arm around his shoulder to support him.

“Let me tell you the story of when Scar decided to scare us after getting himself a creeper head…”

They continued walking through the forest, Icarus following Grian’s instructions in between stories that became more absurd the further they walked. He didn’t believe half of them; I mean how in the world could anyone build an actual walking house! The mere idea was unbelievable. But the further they walked the paler Grian became until they had to make frequent rests to let the avian catch his breath, but the stops weren’t long at Grian’s insistence that they keep going.

They had been walking for a while and Grian was fading in and out of consciousness. He was having to support more and more of the avian who leaned against him like a boneless cat. If he hadn’t been carrying an injured avian, he would have said it was a pleasant walk. The shade from the trees kept them cool from the heat of the sun and the crow had decided to follow them, flitting through the trees and keeping a careful eye on everything. It gave Icarus a sense of relief, he trusted the crow to alert him of danger.

They came upon a small stream at the base of a ginormous oak tree, its branches stretching above them higher than anything else in the forest. The stream wasn’t much of a stream, more like a trickle of water that made the ground around it muddier than the rest of the forest floor.

They had been traveling for a while and Grian wasn’t looking very good, his skin was as white as a ghost, and he had slipped into unconsciousness a few minutes before.

He glanced around for anything that could be trouble, but nothing seemed off, except the crow was gone. He frowned a little, searching for the small black feathery form, but nothing appeared. It must have seen something more interesting and went to investigate. He shrugged, they needed to rest it had been more than long enough since the last one.

He lowered the avian to sit against the tree’s roots that had erupted from the ground from their shear age and size, and soaked part of his jacket to wipe the sweat from the avian’s brow. He felt Grian’s forehead and paled himself with how much the avian was burning up.

The avian’s eyes opened for a moment, his eyes glazed, “Someone… tree.” He said, coughing a little. It seemed to take all the avian’s energy to say those few words and he slipped back into unconsciousness, curling into a ball against the tree.

Icarus froze, ears perked to hear anything. He carefully stood back up and drew his axe, standing protectively over the Grian with a determined look, spreading his wings slightly to hide the avian as much as possible.

He heard a rustle in the tree’s branches above him and his eyes laser focused on the sound, his axe raised to defend himself and Grian.

“Woah!” a voice yelped, before a mess of black and white fell out of the tree. He stared at the figure in surprise as it assembled itself into two dark purple almost black, leathery wings and a pale man in a suit complete with a red tie. A giant mustache covered his upper lip and lines of light grey swirled over every inch of exposed skin with no rhyme or reason. Icarus had never seen a phantom hybrid, but this must be it. The man gave a small wave, “Hello, pleasure to meet you.” The man said casually, like falling out of trees was a daily occurrence.

He was so surprised he almost didn’t hear the muttered words and shuffling of someone sneaking up behind him. He swung around, his axe now not an inch away from the nose of a very surprised looking… elf? He blinked in surprise at the person he could only describe as an elf… or a mariachi singer, he wasn’t sure which yet.

The person, who was wearing a very uncomfortable looking getup of green and gold, froze in place, his eyes focused on the axe in front of his face, the brightly glowing gold orb that had been forming between his fingers slowly fizzling out.

Icarus took that moment to get a good look at his attacker. He had pointed ears poking up from beneath long, brown hair kept away from his face with little braids. He had a pair of green eyes that gave Icarus a shock at first glance, but when he looked closer it reassured him to see they were a forest green rather than toxic green and had none of the coldhearted cruelness he expected to see.

He heard the crack of a twig and the elf’s disconcerting eyes flickered behind him. That phantom must be sneaking up behind him. “Don’t.” he said, his voice as sharp as a whip. “Don’t take another step, or it might not end well for your friend here.” His heart was racing, but he was going to defend Grian. He’d already done it once; it was too late to back out now.

Grian shifted against the roots of the tree, mummering something like he was trying to return to consciousness.

“Look, mate, we don’t want any trouble. Actually, it would be amazing if we had no trouble at all. We’d be absolutely chuffed to bits. We just want to know what you’re doing with that avian you were carrying.” The phantom behind him said cautiously, his thick accent worried.

“You don’t want trouble eh mate? Well then you shouldn’t have sent this one to sneak up behind me.” He said angrily, gesturing to the elf with the axe.

“Mumbo, it didn’t work, what do I do now?” The elf squeaked fearfully, his sharp eyes flicking between Icarus and ‘Mumbo’.

His axe wavered, “Mumbo?” he asked, his brows furrowing. He glanced between the two, the puzzle pieces clicking together. “If that’s Mumbo, then you would be Scar.” He told the elf bluntly.

The elf’s eyes widened, “I would say nice to meet you, but since we’re meeting at the end of a very pointy object then maybe we can formally meet later.” Scar suggested nervously.

The phantom, Mumbo, cleared his throat, “Delighted to meet you, but can you tell us how you know our names? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure before.”

Icarus sighed, “I think this is a misunderstanding and if you promise to not attack me, I’ll lower my axe. How does that sound?”

“Fair trade!” Scar said quickly, holding his hand out to shake which Icarus ignored.

He looked over his shoulder at Mumbo, who nodded warily. He glanced back over at Scar, “No funny business with that magic.” He said sternly.

The elf nodded enthusiastically, raising his right hand in a three fingered salute, “I swear on my oath as a boy scout, well, not really, not anymore, I wanted to...”

He ignored the rambling and let his axe fall to his side with a sigh. “I know you’re both probably wondering about Grian and since he needs help, I will make this short. There were Hunters. I killed them. Grian got hurt including what I think are some broken ribs. I let him sleep in my territory overnight, but he insisted that we find you two. He said that Scar would be able to help him.” He glanced at the elf, “And I certainly hope that’s true.”

“Of course, it’s true!” the elf squawked indignantly, “I made extra potions last night just for if Grian was hurt when he came home. But I need to reach him if you please.”

He hesitated, but moved for the elf who rushed over to Grian whose head seemed to turn towards the elf even though he was unconscious. Scar started taking potion bottles from a belt around his waist and muttering to himself, golden light gathering around his hands and the bottles. He hovered there for a minute, worry making him nervous to leave Grian’s side.

The phantom came to stand next to him and put his hand on Icarus’s shoulder. He stiffened a little but relaxed as best as he could. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Scar knows what he’s doing and even if he does die, Scar would just go visit death’s realm to bring him back. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Mumbo said, shaking his head with a smile. “What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He sighed and let Mumbo lead him away to give Scar room to work. “My name is Icarus.” It felt weird to tell people his name, but after telling Wren and Calum it had suddenly become a lot easier for the name to leave his lips.

Mumbo nodded, smiling cheerily, straightening his grass-stained suit, completely ignorant of the stick that was sticking haphazardly out of his hair. “Nice to meet you. As you heard Scar say, I’m Mumbo, Mumbo Jumbo to be exact. And if you don’t mind, could you tell me what happened to our wayward pesky bird? We were quite worried when he didn’t return home last night.

He shrugged, “He had gotten caught by four Hunters, he had been fighting, and they almost cut off his…” he shuddered, and Mumbo waited patiently for him to go on. He took a deep shuddering breath, “Cut off his wings.” He gulped to keep down the bile that rose in his throat.

Mumbo frowned, anger flashing through his eyes briefly but he didn’t interrupt, his mouth only becoming a thin line.

He kept talking, “I had heard him calling for help and came in time to stop it, and I, uh, got rid of the rest of them, and took Grian back to my cabin.” He shrugged, as he finished. “That’s about it, innit.”

Mumbo nodded gravely, “Thank you for helping him and bringing him back to us. If you need anything in the future just call on us, we are eternally grateful.” He said sincerely.

He hesitated and nodded, he didn’t know why he trusted Mumbo, but there was something so genuine about the man that he couldn’t help it. “Do you mind if I stay for a while, to make sure nothing happens. Grian isn’t the first to be attacked in these woods.”

At the sound of his name, the avian stirred, muttering things under his breath as Scar scolded him for attempting to walk so far with two broken ribs and a bruised stomach.

Mumbo shook his head, “If you want, we can usually take care of ourselves.”

He raised an eyebrow, from Grian’s stories he highly doubted that, speaking of Grian’s stories… “Is it true you built a moving house?” he asked curiously.

-

He hesitated outside the door, his hand raised to knock, but he hesitated. Fuck it, he wanted to try. He took a deep shuddering breath and rapped on the door.

He stood there nervously, shifting from foot to foot, listening to footsteps walk up to the door. It creaked open and he looked into the surprised eyes of Wren. She stood there, staring at him for a second.

He looked at his feet, hunching his shoulders, “I know it’s been a while, I just wanted to say hi… I can go if you’re busy…” he said quietly. He was suddenly regretting every decision that had led him up to this moment.

Wren’s face broke into a wide grin, “No, please come in, we’ve been hoping you were alright. I just put the kettle on, would you care for tea?”

He gave her a shaky smile back, “That sounds nice.”

Chapter Text

He was back at the farm, and it was like he had never left. He had already spent the morning helping Wren weed the garden. It had felt nice to dig through the rich earth, carefully pulling the weeds up by the roots and placing them on a pile next to him as Wren told him more stories of her life. The sun felt pleasantly warm on his back and wings and for once he could say he was happy. And one thing he knew for a fact, he hadn’t been happy for a long time, including before he had woken up in a meadow of flowers.

Now he was perched on the chair, carefully strumming Calum’s guitar, the strings barely producing sound. He closed his eyes and just let his fingers carefully glide over the stem of the guitar, notes softly flowing through the air. The music, the guitar, it made him feel… sad, but also like he was happy. It was confusing, but he kept strumming, because it made him feel connected… to who or what he didn’t know, he didn’t want to know.

He opened his eyes, looking down at the guitar… and blinked in surprise as his eyes adjusted from expecting to see a long brown trench coat and instead seeing the loose, slightly too big, clothes he always wore. He smoothed his shirt, confused. Had he ever worn clothes like that? He didn’t remember.

He shook his head, and returned to staring into the distance, carefully strumming the guitar, his mind lost in thoughts. He heard footsteps, but knew it was just one of the farmers and didn’t break his concentration.

“Icarus… Icarus?” someone said hesitantly.

Icarus blinked out of his wandering thoughts, raising a questioning eyebrow at Calum, who had spoken. Calum was carrying a large package, sloppily wrapped in cloth and tied with a piece of string. He frowned, what was this?

Calum gave him a small, nervous, smile, “Happy Midwinter! I know we don’t get snow or cold here as much, but we still like to celebrate.” Calum paused for a second as if expecting Icarus to respond, but he just frowned a little, where was this going… “…Ok, Midwinter is in a few days, but we prefer to celebrate early together and visit the village for their midwinter celebration.” He shrugged, shuffling his feet, “And, I- we, have something for you.” Calum said, carefully holding the package out to Icarus like he wasn’t sure that Icarus would take it.

He stared at the gift… it was a gift. Someone had given him a gift. He set the guitar to the side and carefully took the package from Calum, “Happy Midwinter.” He murmured quietly, his hands shaking slightly as he cradled the package to his chest to keep from dropping it as he stared in disbelief and awe. He didn’t remember anyone ever giving him something before, this wasn’t food, this wasn’t temporary, this was going to be his. He stared up at Calum nervously, did they mean it? Could he really have it?

Wren came up behind Calum, putting her arm around the farmer’s waist and smiling at him proudly. “It’s from both of us. You can open it.” She encouraged. Calum nodded agreement, smiling happily.

He stared at the present, and picked at the string, restraining himself from ripping everything apart like his fingers were itching too.

He carefully unwrapped the cloth and wrapped his hand around the smooth grain of the wooden stem. The wrapping fell away to reveal… a guitar, a new one, the strings not even attached yet. He stared at it in shock, running his hand over the body that curved just like the one he had been playing not moments before. He looked up at them, his fingers wrapping protectively around the stem. “Mine?” he asked in wonder. Why would they do this? Why did he deserve this? It was his now. He didn’t want anyone to take it from him.

Wren laughed, “Of course it’s yours, silly!” she said teasingly.

Calum nodded, “We noticed you liked the guitar, and we wanted to give you one of your own. Made it m’self just like I did that one ye were playin.”

He stared at it in shock, “Thank you.” He whispered; it was more than he had ever expected. He felt overwhelmed, cooing in happiness over his new gift.

 Oh shit. Wait. “Was I… was I supposed to give you something?” he asked, frowning at the guitar a little. “I- I don’t have anything…” A thrill of fear went through him, was he expected to return the favor? What in this world could he give them that measured anywhere near this gift?

Calum shook his head, smiling. “No Icarus, you didn’t have to get us anything. Why dontcha get it strung and play us a tune?” Calum suggested.

He paused for a second, the cogs in his head churning, he was going to have to find something, but he nodded to Calum hesitantly. He could find something later, he needed to find the perfect thing; he couldn’t just do any little thing.

“Ach! I almost forgot.” Calum reached into his pocket and pulled out a square of cloth, handing it over to him.

He unwrapped it and it was the strings lying carefully swirled in a loop in the soft white cloth. He nodded and carefully wrapped the strings around the bridge, feeling the strings stretch out until they were taunt and wrapping them around the pegs. He started tightening them further and plucked the string, wincing at the off-key note. He grimaced, and loosening the pegs, he plucked the string again, but it still didn’t sound quite right. He perched there for a while, carefully tightening, and loosening various strings until the notes they emitted didn’t hurt his ears. Wren and Calum both did other things. He ran his hands over the strings and heard the pure notes reverberating through the air.

It took a while, but it was finally tuned. He hesitated and started strumming, his hand moving up and down the neck. Every time he hit a wrong note, he stopped and started it again. He knew the song, somehow, he wasn’t going to settle for a misplayed note. It was a bright, bubbly, cheery song that was hard to replicate on the guitar, but he did his best. It fluttered through the air like moth wings, and it filled him with joy, the bright cheerful notes remaining strong throughout the song until they petered out into nothingness.

Calum and Wren had long ago gone about their business, occasionally making remarks on how much clearer the tones were becoming. Now Calum was sitting in one chair carefully writing in a book, each letter he wrote making a quiet scratching noise against the paper. Wren was quietly sewing a torn shirt sleeve, occasionally making quiet conversation with Calum, or telling him how to spell a word when he asked. Now that he had finally found the notes, Calum was nodding his head to the music and Wren was humming the tune under her breath as he played.

He smiled at the tranquil feeling that the domestic scene brought on. The last few months were the best he had had, despite glaring problems, but they were the happiest he had felt in a while, and he knew that for a fact. He savored the feeling of happiness, it was almost tangible, the flavor sitting on his tongue like chocolate. He would enjoy it while it lasted, it probably wouldn’t last long. ‘Why wouldn’t it last? Why would your life get worse? It seems to be going fine to me.’ His mind whispered to him. He let out a quiet sigh, barely a breath, bending his head down like he was checking the strings again, his hair a curtain hiding his face from view. He just knew that happiness didn’t last forever, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

Eons later, eons that equated to a mere hour or two of real time, he looked up and stared out the window at the sun setting slowly over the horizon, the tint of orange glowing through the wispy clouds, gracing the skies with a fiery light. His hands stilled on the strings, the final note fading into the ether. He glanced at the couple, “Thank you.” He whispered, hoping that everything he wanted to say could be heard in those two words.

Wren looked up from her sewing, “You are most welcome, music has returned to this house since you came, and we are grateful.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s been a long time, Calum never really played before you fell into our yard. It- it reminded him to much of someone we knew, a long time ago.”

He nodded, “I… it is getting late. I must go.” He said, “Home.”

Wren smiled at him, nodding happily, she hesitated for a moment, and he cocked his head to the side, waiting for her to speak. “Icarus…” His feathers ruffled at the sound of his name, and he frowned a little. “It- it is Midwinter, and the village… the village is holding a celebration.” She hesitated again and he waited patiently for her to continue, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“What Wren is tryin to say is tha’ if ya want ya can come with us to the festival. They’ll have music and dancin and it be a time to come together.” Calum explained, scowling at the piece of paper in front of him. “Wren, how do ya write that word.” He asked, pointing to a black scrawl.

His eyes widened, he didn’t think this was a trap, but this was not something he expected. He sat there, slightly stunned at the invitation. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to be in civilization.

Calum looked up from Wren’s hurried explanation. “Ya think about it. Alright?” Calum said, smiling at him. “Ya don’t have to if ya don’t want too.” 

He nodded thoughtfully; he was going to consider it more than he might have a few weeks before. “I’ll think about it.”

Calum nodded, seemingly satisfied and returned to his writing. Wren looked up from the paper and smiled at him, “The festival is in three days, take your time. Oh! And before you go…” she got up and made her way over to the furnace, bringing out small rolls of bread. She handed them to him and smiled, “They have cooked rabbit in them. For breakfast tomorrow, just make sure they don’t disappear early.” She said with a wink.

Icarus let out a startled laugh, blinking in surprise at her mirthful expression. “Thank you.” He said again, grinning at her. He carefully tucked the rolls and his guitar into his inventory. Wren smiled and gave him a quick hug, and a peck on the cheek. He blushed a little but ran outside, jumping straight off the steps, his wings easily pushing him into the air as he contemplated the newest addition to his life, and the newest decision he would have to make.

He no longer had the shiver of fear as he flew over the forest, there were no brilliant flashes of light, and no other projectile had shot through the boughs at him since. Grian had even explained what the flashing light had been, it was both a lure and a signal. It made the unwary and curious come closer and alerted other Hunters in the area. Well, he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t going to fall for it again.

Soon he was landing back at his cabin, his knees bending slightly from his impact with the ground. He slowly shook his wings out and folded them against his back. He took a sharp look around, but nothing had changed since he had left at dawn. It was precisely how he had left it hours before. He let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead before striding through his front door, leaving it open behind him like he always did. There was a caw from above him and he looked upward, smiling at the crow who crooned at him in welcome from the rafters.

He threw himself onto his bed, now much nicer thanks to Grian who mysteriously showed up with a brand new one, because, and he quotes; “I wouldn’t let my worst enemy sleep on that piece of junk, and since I owe you a life debt, I’m certainly not letting you sleep on it!” He had reluctantly agreed and now he was happy he had; it was way more comfortable then the old, flat, mouse infested thing. He still didn’t know where Grian had gotten the mattress, the avian had mentioned something about a friend who had sold them and now had overstock after going out of business. He shook his head a little at the mystery of the avian and carefully pulled his guitar from his inventory. He positioned his fingers and attempted to recreate the tune he had been playing earlier, carefully humming the notes under his breath.

Eventually the crow joined him, hopping down onto the bed next to him, bopping its head to the music.

He looked at it, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know what I’m playing, oh wise old crow?” he asked, a smile hiding under his dramatic frown.

The crow let out a cawing laugh, “I know someone older.” It seemed to whisper to him conspiratorially.

He nodded gravely, “You might at that, but I do not know them, so that officially makes you the oldest crow.”

The crow cawed in indignation, pecking teasingly at his fingers. He shooed it off and it flew back up to the rafters to take a nap.

He chuckled and continued to strum notes, staring out the door.

-

He knew he was getting close and landed, folding his wings tight against his back and throwing his newly acquired cloak over everything. He hadn’t wanted to take the road, so he had gone the way the crow flies. He was wracked with nerves, his muscles humming even though he knew it would take more walking to reach the village. He pulled the cloak tight around him and started picking his way through the forest, it wasn’t easy, scrambling over rocks and pushing his way through bushes, his cloak constantly getting tangled.

He grumbled and kept going, trying to enjoy the beautiful day despite his fight with nature. He could tell he was close to the village because of the signs of downed trees and litter from other forest walkers. His anxiety rose the more signs he saw, knowing at some point soon he would look up and see the smoke of the village. He didn’t really know what he was going to do when he got to the village, he just wanted to see it. The trees were really thinning out, so he stopped for a moment to make sure his cloak covered him, pulling the hood even more over his face.

His hands froze as he heard the scuffling of shoes to one side. He glanced sharply towards the tree it had originated from and the forest seemed to pause, no sound emerging for the split second he locked onto the person hiding. “Hello?” he called out roughly, trying to sound tough and not like his hands were shaking where they were hidden under his cloak.

There was more scuffling, and Icarus frowned, it didn’t sound like an adult, it was too small. He cautiously approached the tree. “Hello?” he called again. If it was a child, why were they all alone out here?

There was more scuffling, the sounds of something backing away, “Who are you?” a thin voice called out suspiciously, the voice obviously belonging to a child. “Whatcha doing here?”

Icarus let out a small sigh of relief, and chuckled at the toughness the child was trying to portray. “I could ask you the same thing.” He said, crouching down to make himself look as unthreatening as possible.

“No, ya can’t. You’re in my territory, I ask the questions. Whatcha doing here? I don’t know you” The child said, and Icarus caught his first glimpse of a tangled mess of brown hair that peaked around a tree before quickly ducking away.

“I’m just a traveler looking for the village. Now, are you going to answer mine maybe? What are you doing out here?” Icarus insisted, as he tried to get another glimpse of the child.

“I’m keeping an eye out for sus-pic-ious people, what do you think? What do you want with the village?” the child demanded.

Icarus sighed, sitting back on his heels, “Suspicious people huh?” he asked, rubbing his forehead. “Do I look suspicious? I just want to see the village; I might not even enter it.” Why did there have to be people in villages? It would be amazing if he was just alone, safe. No one to hurt him.

There was silence for a moment, “I don’t know if ya look suspicious or not. Whatcha hidin under that hood?”

Icarus hesitated, weighing his options. But to be honest, it wasn’t like the kid could really do anything. He drew back the hood, his white hair falling into his face, that he quickly pushed away. He hadn’t cut it for months, and some of fell to his shoulders. “Not much. Now I have a question, why are you hiding behind a tree?”

“My momma told me not to trust strangers.” Was the stubborn reply.

He smiled a little at how tough the kid was, but nodded gravely like it was the most serious topic in the world, and to the kid it might be. “Wise mother, but we won’t be strangers if I introduce myself. My name is Icarus.” His name now slid off his tongue easily, no one would recognize him, it was the easiest thing in the world to say.

A head finally popped out from behind the tree, the mass of curling brown hair falling into the boy’s suspicious, grey, eyes. “Kinda a shit name ain’t it, granther?”

Icarus scowled, crossing his arms and glaring at the child. “Well, I like it. And didn’t your mother ever teach you manners? Do I look old to you?” He was going to ignore that it was a joke he most likely would have said himself. That wasn’t the point.

“You’ve got white hair.” The annoying child said, pointing to his face.

Icarus scowled, brushing the offending hair out of his face, it wasn’t old white… it was more like… scared white. Ok enough of thinking about that. “Got a problem with that?” he demanded, glaring.

The kid smirked like he had somehow won the argument, “Nope.”

Icarus shook his head, why does he feel he just lost? “Now I’ve introduced myself, what is your name?” he asked.

The kid sized him up, eyeing him critically like he was trying to figure out if Icarus was worthy of his name. “Kit.” He said shortly, meeting Icarus’s eyes challengingly, like Icarus wouldn’t believe him.

He held his hands up in surrender, “Nice to meet you, Kit.” He said, smiling encouragingly. He glanced around a little, “Do you happen to know where we are?”

Kit looked nervous, eyes searching the forest for the slightest hint. It suddenly dawned on Icarus why the kid was hiding behind random trees in the forest and he had to stop himself from laughing. The child stepped out from behind the tree and glanced around, “Uh, yeah, we’re um…”

Icarus nodded, knowing he could get the upper hand here, “Now, as I’m sure you know the way around. Maybe you could show me where the village is?” he asked the lost child. “I have a general idea, but it’s really just a direction, having a guide would be a lot better.” He said, eyes twinkling with his repressed laughter.

The child gathered himself well, nodding quickly at the offer, “Sure! I’ll take you to the village. But you walk in front of me, so I know you aren’t up to any funny business.” Kit said boldly, straightening his shirt.

Icarus laughed and saluted the child, “Let’s go then, wasting daylight.” He set off walking into the forest, the child keeping up easily. Kit might not know where he is, but he knows how to navigate the forest like nobody’s business. Icarus wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t the only time the child had gotten lost. He had to stop himself from laughing as they walked; Kit was pretty much vibrating with curiosity, watching him with wide eyes whenever the kid thought he wasn’t looking.

It didn’t take too long for the dam to break and the questions to start coming. “Where are you from, mister? Why are you wearing a cloak? How do you know where you’re going? Why’s your hair white? Have you ever fought a monster?” Kit demanded and Icarus wasn’t even sure he had stopped to breath during those sentences.

He grinned at the avalanche of questions, “I don’t know where I’m from kid, maybe you can tell me.” He said with a wink, “A good friend told me the directions to the village which is how I know where it is. I have fought a monster, and my hair is white because I asked to many questions once.” He smirked as his vague answers just made the child’s face more determined.

“How do you not know where you’re from?” the child demanded, seemingly incensed by his amnesia. “I know exactly where I’m from, I’m from Rose Cottage in Emerald Falls village. The roof leaks each spring, but we always fix it, I got to help last year.” He said proudly, then something seemed to dawn on him, and he gave Icarus a mischievous side eye. “You ain’t one of those homeless people, are you?”

Icarus scowled, “I am not homeless! I have a home; I just don’t know where the fuck I came from.” He said defensively.

 Kit just seemed more stubborn, “Sounds homeless to me. Where is this house anyways? I don’t see it, and I haven’t seen you before.” The kid insisted, glancing around the forest like the house was going to appear out of nowhere.

Icarus stopped to point vaguely in the direction he had been walking, “I live… that way, past the furthest farm!” he exclaimed. Why he was trying to convince this child that he had a house to the extent he was pointing him in the right direction made him stop and think for a second. “Wait. I don’t have to prove to you that I have a house, I just need to get you home before your mother starts getting worried for her lost son.” He didn’t wait for a response and kept walking.

Kit on the other hand just ran to catch up with his long-legged gate, “HAH! You don’t have a house! ‘Oh, I’m all mysterious and wearing a cloak in the middle of summer, but I definitely have a home.’ Oh yeah? Where do you live? ‘Oh, oh, you wouldn’t know my house it goes to a different village.’” Kit burst out laughing at his own joke.

Icarus stopped in his path, almost making Kit crash into him, he poked a finger at the child, “Look kid, I HAVE A HOUSE!” he turned around abruptly to keep going, “And I don’t sound like that.” He muttered.

The child hummed happily, unperturbed by the person who just yelled in their face, “You totally do sound like that, mysterious man.”

“My name is Icarus.” He said through gritted teeth.

“That may or may not be true…” another lightbulb seemed to go off in the child’s head, “Now that I think about it, why are you wearing a heavy cloak in the middle of summer? It has to be so hot under there. What’s under your cloak…?”

Icarus felt a tug on the back of his cloak, and he yanked it back, using the quick motion to hide his wing movement as he pressed them tighter against his back. “Rude child, I’m under my cloak obviously.”

“Well yeah, but I think you’re wearing it on a summer day because you’re hiding something.” Kit said with determination. “So, what’s under your cloak, granther?”

He didn’t answer, just kept walking, he was not about to tell this child more than he already had. But he couldn’t leave the child all alone… no matter how much he was tempted to do so. He glanced over his shoulder, “You coming?” he asked, his voice deadpan as he raised an eyebrow at the child.

The stubborn child shook his head, “Nope, not until you tell me. As a protector of Emerald Falls village, it is my sworn duty to figure out travelers’ secrets, so they do not harm our people. Now what is it? A hulking sword? Maybe a bow? OH! Maybe a magical staff!” he demanded, his eyes glistening with excitement. “Are you a great hero, or a monster hunter?! Is that why you wear the cloak? Because of the scars?!”

Icarus shook his head, “I’m sure you’re close enough to the village to find your own way. Goodbye child.” He turned his back and smirked at the running footsteps behind him.

“Now wait one minute! You’re going to leave a defenseless child all alone in the woods?” Kit ran in front of him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I-I didn’t tell you, but I’m lost- and scared, I just want to go home.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffled dejectedly. Every ounce of this poor child said that he was scared and sad from the trembling in his hands to the small hiccups to match the tears.   

Icarus stopped and crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently as Kit just kept looking at him with puppy dog eyes glistening with unshed mostly unshed tears. “You done yet?” he asked in a bored tone.

The child scowled, the tears rapidly drying up. “Just show me what’s under your cloak!” he insisted, glaring at Icarus intently before another light seemed to go off. Icarus was starting to dread those sudden ideas. “Did you lose an arm or something in a huge battle? Wait…” Kit squinted closer, and Icarus had to repress the urge to wince like he had just gotten caught, “Why is your cloak so lumpy?”

Icarus burst out laughing, pointedly ignoring the second question and showing off his two very real arms, “I’m not missing anybody parts, not even my fingers.” He said wiggling the ten digits in front of the kid who looked slightly disappointed. “Now I’m just trying to get to your village…” he said, walking past Kit.

Kit just ran to catch up, “Then I’m going to annoy you until you tell me what’s under your cloak. And believe me I can do it, my friends always used to call me annoying.” Kit said casually.

Icarus raised an eyebrow, “They don’t sound like the nicest friends.”

-

“You’re such an annoying child, I don’t know why I ever trusted you to do anything. I just asked you to do one very simple thing. What the fuck is wrong with you?” The door slammed and he was left alone, he didn’t even try to hold it in anymore, shoving his face into the dusty pillow that he hugged like his life depended on it, small noises of pure distress leaving his throat. But there wasn’t anyone to wrap their wings around him anymore and block out the pain, he was just left with it to smolder and rot its way into his soul and the only other person who might comfort him had just walked out the door. He had joined to be with his family, his friends, but he was becoming more alone with every moment the redstone ticked.

-

Kit waved off the comment, “Nah, they’re great. I’m only annoying at first.”

Icarus snorted, ignoring his sudden unease and the tightness in his throat, he couldn’t deal with that right then, “Glad to hear it, but we’re still at the ‘first’ part.” He said distractedly, he glanced around at the still wooded area with no signs of houses in sight, “Didn’t you say you knew how to get home?”

“Nope. Never said that in my life, I’m extremely lost and you’re the only person who can save me from being eaten by wolves or shot by the undead.”

Icarus sighed, his wings moving slightly under the uncomfortable cloak before he could stop them. Maybe the kid wouldn’t notice…

“Your cloak just moved!” Kit said excitedly, pointing triumphantly at their back. “Now you have to show me, or I will die from curiosity.”

Welp that hope died, and he didn’t need a curious kid finding out about his wings. He would probably tell the entire village, “Now listen here…” he started, scowling.

“Show me, show me, show me, show me.” Kit chanted, reaching out to tug on the cloak again.

Icarus yanked his cloak from the boy’s hand with a scowl. There was no way he was getting anywhere until this kid’s curiosity was assuaged, “Fuck… fine! But if you tell another soul I will have to kill you.” He said, his voice deadly serious. Kit paused for a second in his chants, staring Icarus in the eyes like he was challenging Icarus’s threat. Icarus didn’t back down; he did mean it. Well almost… I mean he wouldn’t hurt a child… but dammit, it would be a massive issue if the boy went and told everyone. Maybe he would just… scare him? Yeah, uh huh, that would work. The sarcasm was almost palpable on that thought and he grimaced.

“Deal.” Kit said, grinning like he had just stolen cookies without getting caught. “Show me.”

Icarus groaned, running his hands through his hair. He was going to regret this. He undid the clasp and whisked it away from his wings with a flourish, snapping his wings open and stretching them until they had reached their full height. If he was going to show them, it was going to be a spectacle.

It felt amazing to let them be free of the cloak, he always felt off balance when he had to keep his wings tight against his back. Kit’s eyes widened in shock, and he cheered to himself for putting on the right show.

“You have wings.” Kit said, staring. He was silent for a few beats and Icarus let his wings relax and nestle back against his shoulders. Kit’s face broke into a wide grin, “You have wings! That makes you ten times cooler that you were when you were some mysterious, hooded, figure.” The child exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement. “I can’t wait to tell…”

Fear and panic flashed through Icarus’s mind, “No, no, no, no, no you can’t tell anyone. This has to be out secret.” He said, grabbing the excited boy by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes.

The boy pouted, “But you’re so cool, and you could help hang all the decorations for the festival. We always have to climb up ladders, but you can just fly.” Kit sounded genuinely disappointed, and Icarus had to focus on not giving in. He had important fucking reasons why he wasn’t telling people.

“Yes, but not everyone likes avians.” He should know. He released Kit and rubbed at where he knew the arrow scar was on his shoulder. He wasn’t going to let others hurt him, he could feel the dread sink into his stomach to even have shown Kit. This was a bad idea; he should probably go home. He glanced around the forest nervously, searching for Hunter’s that would jump out from behind trees.

The boy frowned, “You’re not the only avian around here though.” Kit said pointedly. Icarus’s jaw dropped, not because he didn’t know that already, but because he was surprised that Kit knew that. The child kept going, unaware of Icarus’s shock, “We’re not supposed to tell in case bad people hear, but there is an aerie around here and they come into town to help with things and sell and buy. One had big, red and multicolored wings. The other has black leathery wings that look like a dragon!” Kit said excitedly, leaning forward to tell him in a hushed whisper. “Are you from that Aerie? Cause then I would believe you have a house.”

He opened and closed his mouth, frowning. “No- no I’m not from that Aerie.” He said, his mind racing. Grian and Mumbo had been there? Maybe this village wasn’t too bad, especially since they seemed to come here frequently.

The kid shrugged, “Then I guess you’re homeless. Now.” Kit continued before Icarus could open his mouth to deliver a scathing reply, “Let’s get home, I know where we are now, and we should be there soon.” The kid started walking and he followed close behind, staying silent, which the kid seemed to take as an invitation to talk. He was actually impressed; he didn’t think that the kid took one breath for the next ten minutes they walked. “…and then there was the time I… Oh.” Kit stopped in his tracks, and he almost ran into the child. He glanced around, wondering why Kit had stopped. “We’re almost home!” Kit cheered, scampering excitedly off in a different direction. Icarus frowned and followed reluctantly.

It didn’t take long for him to see the columns of smoke rising from the houses. His steps faltered. Did he really want to see that many humans? He was reeling from seeing the few he had. What would happen if they figured out what he was? He could see the houses now, set back from the woods, each wooden house carefully constructed on foundations of stone and connected by curved pathways. Small gardens, just like the one Wren had, were laid out behind most of them, others had small pens with a few livestock living in them, and chickens looked like they ran rampant, pecking at whatever dirt patch they could find.

“Come on!” Kit yelled, motioning for him to follow out of the woods.

He let out a shuddering breath and adjusted his cloak to make doubly sure it covered his wings.

“What are you some type of pussy?”

Oh, he was not about to take that from some kid he had found lost in the woods. He set his shoulders and shadowed the kid into the village, his head on a swivel as the kid ran towards one of the cabins on the edge of the village. He glanced around and realized he was on the outskirts of everything, the main part of the village was to his right, huge double or triple story buildings lined both sides of a paved street that faded to dirt by the time it had reached Kit’s house. Everything was decked out; brightly colored flags flew from windows and streamers flew in the light breeze from every other available space weather that was a light post or a weathervane. The houses around him were similarly decorated, pops of color making everything cheery and bright.

He glanced back over there and saw that kid with a woman pointing towards him. He looked around frantically, maybe the kid was pointing to someone else… Kit started running towards him. Prime damn it.

Kit grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the house. “Kid I don’t think…”

“Come on! You can help with the party too!” Kit said cheerily, not at all bothered by Icarus trying to push him away as nicely as possible.

“Icarus!” Someone called, and his stomach dropped. He glanced behind him to see Grian cheerfully walking down the path, his wings carefully tucked against his back and his arms loaded with wood. Icarus smiled feebly, giving Grian a little wave as Kit continued to try and drag him over to who he assumed was the kid’s mother.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Grian said cheerfully, stopping next to them.

Kit stared at Grian with his mouth agape, the child glared at Icarus. “You didn’t tell me you knew Grian, and I wasted my breath telling you about them.” He said accusatorily.

Icarus shrunk into himself a little, glancing between the two. He ducked his head and let his hair cover his face. “How are your ribs?” he murmured.

Grian smiled, “They are doing wonderful, Scar has ordered me to take it easy for a while. His exact words were, “If you break them again, I’m not healing them. Especially if I’m going to get my head chopped off.” Grian cackled, tossing his hair out of his eyes, his face softened. “Thank you, Icarus, I would never have been there for Scar to threaten if you hadn’t saved me.” Grian said with full seriousness.

“I wanted to; I couldn’t leave you.” Icarus muttered under his breath, his cheeks turning red from the thanks.

Grian grinned evilly, swiftly setting the wood on the ground and stepping towards Icarus. Icarus blinked at him in confusion. Grian hesitated for a second as if trying to decide something before reaching forward and pulling Icarus into a hug, Grian ran his fingers through Icarus’s hair and made cooing noises like you would to a fledgling. Icarus stiffened for a second, wondering if it was a trick but Grian made no moves to hurt him and he let himself melt into the hug, bending down a little so he could hug the shorter man back, making happy cheeping noises to answer Grian’s cooing.

“Thank you fledgling. You’re not alone, come visit sometime, no one should ever fly alone.” Grian said in his ear.

He nodded, drawing away from the hug reluctantly. The other avian let him go but gave him an encouraging smile that he hesitantly returned.

-

Curling in the arms of someone so much bigger than him, but he didn’t mind, the arms encircling him would never hurt him. He snuggled closer as wings as black as the void encircled them both. The darkness didn’t make him scared, instead it comforted him like nothing else would. Hands carded through his hair, and he leaned into the touch, cheeping his happiness.

-

He blinked past the sudden vision, smiling bemusedly at the small group.

“Are you going to help with preparing the festival?” Grian asked casually. “That’s what I’m doing here, Mumbo is around here as well.” Grian looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know where he went, he’s probably arguing with the blacksmith about some contraption or another.” Grian eyed Kit who was standing there impatiently. “I was bringing it but since you are here you can take the wood to your mother.” Grian said sternly.

“Awwww but I just got back…” Kit complained, crossing his arms.

Icarus tried to hide his smile but failed miserably.

Grian didn’t even try to hide his, “Go on nestling.” He urged, flapping his hands to shoo the child off.

Kit nimbly picked up all the wood, balancing it all until it looked like it was about to fall over at any second. “You better be at the festival Icarus! I’m planning on it! And if you don’t come, you’re uncool and a pussy.”

“Kit!” Grian said, shocked.

Icarus burst out laughing, “Get out of here kid, don’t get lost on your way to the house.”

“Fuck you!” was called over the child’s shoulder as he half ran back to the house, swerving to keep the stack of wood from falling down. His mother ran up to help him, taking part of the stack and seeming to scold him as he shook his head in denial.

Icarus shared an amused smile with Grian.

“Are you going to come to the festival?” Grian asked curiously, “You don’t have to, I was just wondering.”

Icarus contemplated the answer, “Maybe, even if it’s just to prove to Kit that I’m not a pussy.” He said with a chuckle, “I’m a very big man thank you very much.”

Grian laughed, “Well either way it will be very chobblesome if you come.” He said with a straight face.

Icarus squinted at the avian, “What the fuck is ‘chobblesome’?” he demanded.

Grian blinked at him innocently, “You don’t know chobblesome? It’s a word, very common, just heard someone say it earlier.”

Icarus didn’t believe it for a second, “Nuh uh, no way that’s a real word. Can you at least tell me where it is on the scale between sadge and pog.”

Grian scowled, “I refused to be played at my own game.”

Icarus laughed, “You didn’t answer the question.”

Grian shook his head, smiling ruefully, “Either way it is very nice to see you. I hope you consider coming to the festival. We have all types of things happening.” He glanced over his shoulder, “If you want you can stay and help, we can always do with more.”

Icarus glanced at the sky and shook his head. “I need to get home, it’s a bit of a walk.”

Grian frowned, “Why don’t you fly?”

Icarus hesitated, “Can I trust them.” He said, jerking his head at the village. Barely anyone was around but there seemed to be a few stragglers walking around, though none seemed to be looking in their direction and instead going about their own business.

Grian smiled sadly, “Icarus. It’s alright, you don’t have to hide your wings. I think you’d actually be surprised. This town… it’s got a history with hybrids, and it’s a good one.”

Icarus’s brows knitted in confusion, “What do you mean?” he asked, he was used to Grian being vague, but sometimes it just seemed unnecessary.

Grian hesitated, “A long time ago this was a safe haven for hybrids during a very scary time in our history.” He chuckled, “This place is as accepting as you can get. The blacksmith has blaze in his ancestry, and most of this village has at least a few hybrid features.” Grian chuckled. “Makes everything easier when your blacksmith has permanent fire resistance and the thatcher can float to the ground when they fall off the roof.”

Icarus’s eyes widened and his mind spun. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, and Grian was walking around carefree. He reached up and unclipped his cloak, throwing it off with a flourish. He fluffed up his wings, shaking them out like a dog, it felt nice to let his wings out from under that uncomfortable cloak.

Grian grinned, “You have beautiful wings, I don’t think I’ve seen a pair like them.” He said in awe.

Icarus shrugged, letting them settle behind him, almost dragging on the ground. “Thanks.” He said noncommittally. He glanced at the sun, “I should probably head home.”

Grian shrugged, “I hope we see you again, you’re welcome to visit the aerie, just go towards where you found the boys, we’ll know you’re there and be able to show you.”

Icarus nodded, “Thank you, I might.”

“We serve tea and cookies.” Grian said helpfully, grinning at how Icarus’s eye lit up. “See! Thought that might make you think!” Grian chuckled. “Scar is bringing some of his cookies to the festival tomorrow and the amount of chaos they will bring is going to be… magical to watch.”

Icarus grinned too, “I will see you soon.” He promised, he leaped into the sky. He tilted his wings to wave at Grian who waved back. Kit ran outside and started pointing and yelling something back inside his house. He grinned to himself and flew up higher, catching the updrafts and following them back home.

That night he dreamed of being cradled in the arms of someone whose wings were are black as the void but were more comforting than any blanket ever could be.

Chapter Text

The next day he found himself walking back to the village. His cloak was draped over his shoulders and wings, but his hood was pulled back, displaying his hair. Wren was walking beside him, calmly humming and naming the flowers and trees that grew at the edge of the woods. Calum was slightly ahead, and all three of them had packs over their shoulders carrying bread and other foodstuffs to sell at the festival.

He’d arrived early at the farm and the farmers accepted his arrival without comment, handing him a cup of tea and cheerily telling him stories of past festivals. It was a leisurely morning and when he asked the farmers told him that they preferred to come when everything was in full swing. He’d hesitated when they’d started out, but he’d decided to go the night before and he wasn’t going to back out now.

Now he could see the festival clearly in front of him and he felt a light hand on his arm, or more specifically on the strap that was attached to the pack. “Let me have tha’ now, son. This is a festival, ya should have fun! Tell us if ya need anythin’.” Calum said cheerily.

Icarus smiled shakily, letting the pack slip off his shoulder and into Calum’s hand. Wren smiled at him as she passed and they kept going, merging with the crowd. He followed behind reluctantly, taking a deep breath as he entered the village.

The sounds, smells, colors, it assaulted his senses. The village was bursting with activity. Small shops and stalls were erected up and down the main road, all decked out in whatever was being sold and whatever colorful banners could be added, shopkeepers were half hanging over the counters to gesture to people to their shop and shouting out to those further away to buy their wares.

Bards and musicians graced every corner, their music cheerily playing over the noise of the bustling crowd that was doing its own fair share of talking, shouting, and laughing. Bands of children ran nimbly through the legs of people, playing and laughing, their path only revealed by the disturbances in the throng that led to halfhearted scolding and people doing their best not to step on the young beans.

Strings of multicolored lights glowed softly above him, barely noticeable with the sun still in the sky, the real color in the daylight coming from the streamers draped over the light strings and fluttering in the light breeze.  

It was overwhelming. People pressed around him, pushing him in a path they chose, talking around him, no one actually seeing him, and he could only let himself be led forward. He’d lost sight of Wren and Calum in the crush, he tried to find them, but they had disappeared, and he did not dare try to be heard over the crowd. This was not like the forest where you could always find a calm spot where the only noises would be the birds and the sound of his own breathing; he couldn’t escape the noise here. The panic rose, he wanted to leave, the crowd merged into a mass of colors and noise, it was too much. He wanted to go. But he didn’t know how to escape, he was trapped. The crowd seemed to grow closer, his breath gasped in his suddenly dry throat and his vision receded into darkness.  

Something touched his arm, not an accidental brush of a hand or arm, something deliberate. He spun around, his vision refocusing from shock, a new panic running through him like adrenaline rather than paralyzing him. Had someone recognized him? Had he done something wrong? Did they hate him? He almost tripped over a pack of kids that raced past him, giggling. He didn’t even blink, he was too surprised at what had interrupted his panic attack. It was a woman, grinning widely, she seemed to notice his shock and didn’t wait a moment before she threw a garland of flowers over his head before fading back into the crowd. He didn’t know what to do and stood stock still as he gaped at where she had disappeared, his hand wrapping around the cornflowers that had been woven into the necklace that now rested around his neck. Something about the blue was soothing and he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself even as people ran into him.  

“YOU CAME!” someone shrieked behind him, and he was knocked out of his thoughts, and almost onto his ass when something hit him with the force of an arrow. He stumbled and grabbed Kit from where the kid had latched onto him and pushed him to arm’s length.

The kid was grinning like a lunatic and nearly bursting with excitement. He didn’t want to hurt Kit’s feelings, but he also didn’t want to be there… “Yeah I-” he started, glancing anxiously at the crowd that had not seemed to notice or stop its constant push to get him to go with it. His hand wrapped around the cornflowers.

His nervousness did not seem to reach Kit and the child didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence, grabbing his hand, “Come on! I want to show you everything!” Kit’s eyes locked on the garland, “Oh! You got flowers? I wanted to give you flowers! Come on!” the kid said, dragging him by the hand with surprising strength.

“Wait… I…” Icarus stuttered as he was pulled further into the crowd. Maybe they could go somewhere… else? Anywhere else.

Kit didn’t seem to have the same idea. “Come on!” Kit insisted, “And take off your cloak! It looks stupid.

Icarus scowled, now that was too far, he was a big man, it did not look stupid. “It does not! I wear it for a reason!” He was ready to leave it on for pure spite at this point.

“Well, it’s a stupid reason.”

Icarus didn’t respond, he also didn’t take his cloak off. Now that someone was with him, he spent a more time looking at the crowd, absorbing the chaos as Kit dragged him from stall to food stand to performer and telling him about people in the crowd that Icarus didn’t bother to memorize the names of. Just having someone with him pushed down the panic.

He heard a collective gasp, and when he looked up, he let out a gasp of his own as a giant, golden bird rose over the street. Its wingspan seemed to be double his height, and its tail spread behind it like a fan, tapering off and attached to something behind the crowd that Icarus couldn’t see. He stopped in his tracks, becoming an immovable object despite Kit’s protests.

“Woah.” Kit breathed in awe, suddenly stopping his insistent tugging on Icarus’s hand, and Icarus agreed.

The crowd agreed as well; pointing and shouting at the spectacle, but the bird seemed unbothered by all the watchers, continuing to soundlessly fly over the street, every wing beat showering everything in golden light sparkles. Everyone gasped again as the bird reached its peak in the middle of the street and burst into sparks of energy that rained down on the people below before fading into nothingness. The crowd was silent for a moment before breaking into raucous cheers and quickly returning to their plans, the crowd surrounding the magical performer dispersed and gave Icarus a clear view of the source of the bird.

His mouth dropped open as he stared at someone he recognized. Scar’s eyes traveled over the crowd and settled on him. He looked around for an escape, not knowing how the elf would feel about him, he had held an axe to his throat… But Scar’s face broke into a wide grin, and he jumped up and down, gesturing for them to come over, trying to shout something that was unintelligible over the din of the crowd.

“You know Scar too?!” Kit yelped, scowling at Icarus. He opened his mouth to reply but Kit didn’t let him, the child just threw his hand in the air. “Of course, you do! Let’s go.” He grumbled, grabbing Icarus’s hand again to drag him away, this time towards Scar.

This time he let himself get dragged over to the excited elf who immediately grabbed his hand and shook it, grinning from ear to ear. “I didn’t have the time to say it last time but thank you for bringing our pesky bird back home, he told us everything that happened, and we couldn’t be more grateful.” Scar gushed, yellow sparks jumping out of his unruly hair.

Icarus ducked his head, blushing at the praise. “I couldn’t leave him.” He muttered. Yeah, leaving Grian had not been an option, especially when they’d almost cut off… yeah.

Kit looked between the two. “He did something?!” Kit demanded. “What happened?! Tell me.”

Scar ruffled the kid’s hair as Icarus shook his head. The kid didn’t need to know. “He just helped Grian out when he was in a tough spot. Don’t worry about it!” Scar said cheerily.

Kit rounded on Icarus, glaring at him like the force of the look would make him to explain himself, “What happened?” the kid demanded. He just shrugged, suppressing the smirk he wanted to make at the frustrated child.

Kit glared at the two of them, Scar looking unflustered and him looking tired. “You’re hiding something!” he announced. “I’ll figure out what it is! I promise!” Icarus shook his head, this wasn’t a truth the kid needed to know, or would want to find out, he would just be worried for nothing.

Scar chuckled, “Don’t you have something to do?” he asked teasingly.

Kit scowled, “I do! I’m showing Icarus around! That’s my job! But you just had to show off your flashy bird and call him away! Now we’re late.” The child complained.

“I don’t- you just-… Late for what?” Icarus stuttered, unsure how this child had suddenly glued himself to his side and taken over his day.

“Well then you better get back to that. I’ll try to keep my showy stuff to a minimum.” Scar said with another chuckle.

Kit nodded importantly, “You do that.” He said, grabbing Icarus’s hand and starting to drag him away.

“Find me later.” Scar mouthed to him. He nodded as the child dragged him away. He frowned; he hoped something wasn’t wrong.

Kit went back to showing him around, pointing out different things. This time he paid a bit more attention even as he wondered what Scar wanted to talk to him about.

Finally, he got engrossed in watching a man breathing fire and other thoughts fled his mind. He cheered just as loud as the rest of the crowd when the man lit a hoop and a bird, this time a parrot flew through fearlessly. The man took a drink of liquid and raised a torch to his lips, the fire shooting forward with just a breath and his jaw dropped. He was amazed, the man seemed immune to fire, maybe he was a nether hybrid and had immunity, but he didn’t have the golden eyes that usually told them apart from the otherworlders. The crowd seemed to find everything normal though, so he tried not to wonder and enjoyed the show.

The show ended with the man grandly dousing the fires, including eating the fire on one of his sticks to everyone’s amazement. He glanced around the crowd but didn’t see his energetic tour guide anywhere. He frowned. He hadn’t been able to dislodge Kit from his side since they’d found each other. He merged with the crowd, searching for the missing child; not because he was worried, of course not, he just didn’t want the kid to be… kidnapped or something. Damn. That sounded lame even to him.

There was a disturbance in the crowd that was coming towards him, and he grinned when Kit appeared right under his nose, the kid’s hands filled with cones of white… stuff?

Kit shoved one of the fragile cones into his hand. “Here! Take it! Its hot out, despite it being midwinter…. And since you REFUSE to take off that prime forsaken cloak, you have to be hot, so eat up!” Kit said cheerily, licking his own cone of whatever-it-was.

He frowned and took a nervous lick of his own cone of what he assumed was a treat, and his eyes widened. He shivered a little as the cold and sweet burst over his tongue. “This is good!” he exclaimed, taking another big bite, his lips puckering at the cold.

Kit laughed, “You’d think you’d never had ice cream before.” He said, taking much smaller bites and licking the dripping cream off his hand as it melted.

He looked a little sheepish, his ‘ice cream’ already half-way gone. “I- uh…”

Kit’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping. “You haven’t had you! OH, MY PRIME YOU HAVEN’T HAD ICE CREAM!” People looked over at the two in confusion as Kit grabbed his hand to drag him away once again. “We’re fixing that.”

“Wait- I-“ Icarus stuttered, frantically trying to keep his ice cream from falling to the dirt as he was dragged away.

“Kit!” someone yelled over the din, and they both turned around to see a woman standing at a flower stall, waving to the two of them. It was the same woman that Icarus had seen yesterday in front of Kit’s house, and he paled. Kit waved back and made large, exaggerated gestures like he was signaling to her that he was busy. Kit’s mother made insistent gestures back that they come to her stall.

Kit let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe you should go over there.” Icarus suggested awkwardly. “I can go by myself.” He suggested it, but to be honest he wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of being alone in the crowd again. Being alone in a crowd felt lonelier than when he had been alone in the forest.

“No!” Kit said quickly. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!”

Icarus grinned, shaking his head. “I haven’t done anything! I literally helped you yesterday you ungrateful shit.” He insisted but didn’t stop Kit from dragging him through the crowd.

“The I’ll lie and say you did something you didn’t.” Kit said, not looking away from his mother’s stall.

Icarus frowned, “But I will tell the truth.”

“But a lie is easier to prove than the truth, especially since no one knows you.”

Icarus frowned, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. What Kit said was very true. He opened his mouth to reply but didn’t know what to say and then they were in front of the stall...

Kit ran behind the stall and gave his mother a hug as Icarus stood there awkwardly, staring at the flowers and wreaths that graced the counter and the posts supporting a roof above. They were every color of the rainbow and every flower imaginable, and some that almost weren’t. Someone ran up and slipped one of the necklaces off the counter and ran off with a laugh. He frowned a little, but no one seemed angry, so he assumed it was alright.

“Who is this?” someone asked, and he whipped his head around to stare at Kit’s mother, smiling at him bemusedly. “Is that the avian from yesterday…” He winced a little, he really shouldn’t have shown his wings.

“Yeah! His name’s Icarus, and he has really cool wings that he doesn’t want to show cause he’s a pussy.” Kit said with exasperation.

“Kit! Language!” Kits mother scolded. Kit rolled his eyes, when his mother wasn’t looking, sticking his tongue out at Icarus. “My name is Loralie.” She said smiling, hugging Kit to her side, which despite the sour look on his face he leaned into.

“My name’s Icarus.” He muttered under his breath, ducking his head shyly.

“Well. Welcome to Emerald Falls, Icarus. I heard you helped my son yesterday and I’m very grateful.” She said calmly, offering a smile. He nodded his head, unsure of what to say in response.

“Mummmm! Can I give it to him?! The one I asked you to set aside? Can I, can I, can I?” Kit begged, bouncing with excitement.

“You don’t need to give me…” Icarus said quickly, shaking his head rapidly. He already owed Calum and Wren, he didn’t need to get in anyone else’s debt, especially not a child’s.

“Of course, you can, its hanging just under the counter behind me.” Loralie said smiling, ruffling Kit’s hair affectionately.

“YES!” Kit yelled, drowning out Icarus’s protests as he ducked under to pull out another floral necklace, the necklace twined with white flowers. Kit ran up and threw it over Icarus’s head and stepped back. Icarus paused, fingering the necklace as Kit stepped back, eyeing it critically. Kit nodded his satisfaction.

“Thanks.” Icarus muttered.

“You’re welcome, got to give one of these to family, and can’t forget gramps.” Kit said, grinning evilly.

Icarus gave him a strange look. “I met you yesterday.” He said bluntly.

“Yep! And we’re already the best of friends.” Kit said, jumping on a clear portion of the counter and kicking his legs into the side.

“Get down, Kit.” His mother scolded, “You’ll bring the whole thing down on our heads. And I called you over for more than a gifting.”

Kit sulkily jumped down, “Awww mummm, he hasn’t had ice-cream. I want to show him all the flavors and show him the rest of the festival.”

Kit’s mother smiled, “And you can, but I need you to do something. If you do it, I’ll give you a few more coins to spend.” She bribed, already gathering bundles of flowers in her arms. “Get your friend to help and this will go much faster.”

Kit eyed him, like he was trying to judge how much it would take to get Icarus to help. Icarus crossed his arms, a stubborn smile settling on his face. “I will take nothing less than lots of ice-cream.” He said, his voice final.

Kit’s eyes lit up, “Deal!”

Loralie put the bundles of flowers on the counter, “Take these to Mumbo and Grian, they’re going to need it for their flyover later.” She instructed.

“Where even are they, mum?” Kit whined; his arms already packed with flowers to the point you almost couldn’t see his head. Icarus grabbed the rest, his arms overflowing, and his nose assaulted by the overwhelming scents of so many different flowers.

“They’re setting up the fireworks display, dear.” Loralie said, turning her back to them to rummage in a chest. “Mumbo had an idea and where you find him, you’ll find Grian.”

Icarus could feel the blood drain from his face, a- a fireworks, display. He didn’t have the memory to tell him, but the mere idea of fireworks filled his stomach with dread.

“Ok!” Kit called over his shoulder, already striding off into the crowd, calling apologies to people he ran into.

Icarus followed close behind, his mind running, “Kit…” he started cautiously after catching up to the child. “There are going to be fireworks?” he asked, his eyes watching the crowd for possible threats. Fireworks… at a festival… or anywhere. It made him uneasy.

“Oh yeah.” Kit said unworried, “We have ‘em every year. They’ve become a bunch better since Mumbo showed up though.”

“Oh.” Icarus said, still not relaxing even as Kit told him stories about all the previous firework displays. “What are the flowers for?” He asked abruptly. Anything to change the conversation.

Kit glanced over his shoulder, “Oh these? I think Grian wanted to fly overhead and drop them on people.”

“What?!” He yelped, cackling at the idea of Grian dropping flowers like bombs over the heads of unassuming folks who just wanted to go about their festival day not being attacked by a pesky bird with flowers. 

Kit grinned mischievously, “You heard me, bitch. You going to help?” He challenged, shoving his elbow into Icarus’s side, the flowers tipping heavily to one side before righting themselves.

“Hmm, maybeee.” He drawled, already considering how he was going to drop the most flowers on the boy’s head. He glanced around at the crowds starting to thin out, they were leaving the popular part of the festival and seemed to be leaving the village entirely. The tall buildings petering into farmland and small family houses. “Where are we going?” he asked, brows knitting together.

“We’re going this way!” Kit proclaimed, tottering off to one side of the road. “Did you think we were going to set off the fireworks in the middle of the village? That’s such a fire hazard!”

“Oh.” He said, it had never really occurred to him. His foot caught on something under the grass, and he tipped forward… “FUCK!” he screeched, his wings shooting open to slow his fall, but getting tangled in his cloak, only causing him to fall into an even bigger mess of flowers, wings, limbs, and cloak. He managed to struggle to his knees and unhooked the cloak clasp attempting to throw the unwieldly article of clothing off him, but only succeeded in throwing it over one wing like a glorified coat rack. He shook his wing, beating at the air heavily as he tried to drag the thing off. Kit was no help, as he was standing, half bent over to one side, laughing so hard his entire body was shaking and he sounded like a tea kettle.

He staggered to his feet, his hair in disarray, the feathers in his wings sticking out in odd angles, and flowers scattered at his feet like a funeral display. “Fuckin prime, fuckin shit.” He cursed, bending down to grab the thing he had tripped on and lob it at the still laughing Kit. His hand wrapped around what felt like a tree root, and he dragged it out of the ground, his eyes widening at the length of red wires that dragged themselves out instead.

“No! It was working a second ago!” someone yelled in despair. He looked over his shoulder and noticed someone who had been hidden by the tall grass appear, climbing on a strange machine that looked right out of an evil scientist’s lab. The person’s leathery wings shined dark purple in the sun as they flapped haphazardly behind the man to help keep his tenuous balance. He was wearing a black suit from what Icarus could see that had to be even more uncomfortable than Icarus’s cloak and a giant floppy hat shading his head.

Kit laughed even more, waving his hands in the air to get the person’s attention, “Mumbo! Over here! I think I found what’s wrong.” He yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at Icarus.

He winced, the wires dropping from his suddenly numb fingers. Oh prime… he hoped Mumbo wouldn’t be to mad.

Mumbo’s eyes locked on them, and he leaped from the contraption, gliding into an ungraceful landing in front of them. Icarus’s hands shook as Mumbo stared at him with his silky black eyes. “Oh. Hello Icarus, Grian said you might show up to the festival.” He said cheerily, lifting the floppy hat enough to run his hand through his messy hair, leaving streaks of red powder glowing in it, the same red powder that was stained on Mumbo’s hat, suit, tie, fingers, and mustache; like the man had tried to straighten it but instead turned it a glowing red.

“Sorry, I broke it.” He muttered, trying to hide his shaking hands behind his back.

Mumbo shook his head with a smile, brushing past Icarus to kneel next to the wire, reconnecting bits and pieces with a deftness of long practice, “Don’t worry about it, mate! If you have any idea how many times, I’ve had to fix it because Grian wanted to play with something you would not be apologizing.” Mumbo said, chuckling.

“Where is the pesky bird?” Kit asked, looking around the small field that was visibly Grianless,  “We’re supposed to bring him these flowers.” Kit explained, gesturing to flowers littered on the ground.

“Oh. He’s around, I banned him from being directly at this site after he almost shot me with a firework.” Mumbo said nonchalantly. Icarus’s eyes widened, Mumbo could have died, but he seemed completely fine with it. He couldn’t believe the complete lack of care about almost dying. His breath whistled between his gritted teeth, and his hands clenched and unclenched as he tried not to panic right then and there. “He swears it was an accident,” Mumbo snorted, “I doubt that highly.”

“Aren’t you mad? He could’ve killed you.” Icarus said between gritted teeth.

-

Brilliant sparks, shouting, screaming, he was screaming.

“He’s dead, child…”

He had never hated that voice more until that moment.

-

Mumbo stood up, brushing more red dust on his pants in an attempt to clean his hands. “No. I’ve known Grian for a long time, he would have been distraught, then Scar would come and drag me out of death scolding me the entire time. Then I would have to deal with a very clingy Grian.” Mumbo laughed, “Well clingier than usual.”  

A shadow passed overhead, and he looked up to see the aforementioned avian who dropped next to them, laughing a little as he leaned against Mumbo. “Hello Icarus! Glad you made it; I see you’ve found trouble.” Grian teased.

Kit scowled a little but appeared unphased. “Look who’s talkin, ya pesky bird.”

“Hi.” Icarus muttered uncommittedly.

Grian frowned, “Did I say something?” he asked bluntly, “I’m sorry if I did, if it was yesterday, you looked like you needed a hug…” he trailed off, his face falling at the idea he’d done something wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no.” he said quickly, “The hug was nice, I just… uh… its nothing.” He said, brushing off his feelings and shoving them down. Mumbo and Grian were nice, he had helped them, they probably wouldn’t betray him, he needed to start trusting people. Why did it have to be fireworks?

“Tell me.” Grian insisted.

“He’s not going to give up until you tell him, mate.” Mumbo said offhandedly, “You three have fun, I’m going to go work on the machine, I’m almost ready.” He walked off, muttering things under his breath about comparators and circuits.

Grian stared him straight in the eyes, “Its ok, I’m a big boy, just tell me.”

Icarus fidgeted, “WereyoutryingtokillMumbowiththefirework?” he said all at once, holding his breath and wincing back in case he had made a mistake.

Grian looked shocked for a moment before laughing and reaching out to envelope Icarus into another hug. Icarus stiffened and Grian chirped softly, reassuringly. Icarus really wanted to relax, but he still wasn’t sure. Grian chirped again, “No, I really wasn’t, I wanted to scare the living daylights out of him. I have played many pranks on people over the years, I have it down to science, just like Mumbo does with his precious redstone. I would never hurt or kill anyone unless it was an accident. I also know Mumbo and knew he would see the pulsing of the redstone and hear the noise of the firework and phase before it could touch him.”  The avian explained calmingly.

“Really?” he asked quietly, still not ready to relax.

“Yep. Killing is not anything that I want to do.” Grian said, his voice final. Icarus sighed, chirping quietly as he buried his face into the shorter man’s shoulder and relaxing into the hug as Grian ran fingers through his hair.

“Um… I don’t want to break this up, but do you want these flowers for something?” Kit asked, shrugging.

Icarus pulled away quickly, shuffling back even though he really did want a hug right about then. He scratched feathers that grew from his scalp, he felt better. It was just a prank, it was fine. He shifted nervously.

-

“He’s dead, child.”

-

He shivered; he didn’t have to worry about that anymore. That was in the past, in a time he no longer could remember. It didn’t matter. He had a new life; he wasn’t going to let whatever had happened ruin it. Oh shit, Grian was talking. He pulled his mind back to the present and shoved the already fading memory into the furthest, dustiest corner he could.

“Mhmm Kit, I did, let’s get them somewhere and I can let you get back to what you were doing.” Grian said, unphased by everything. He crouched down and started picking up the dropped flowers.

They made their way over to a beautifully carved table sitting to one side of the construction zone and laid them out nice and neat, Grian talking about his plans to rain flowers over everyone.

“Thank you for getting them for me, I’m sure you want to return to the festival.” Grian said, grinning.

“Yep!” Kit exclaimed, he grabbed Icarus’s hand and dragged him away, “Come on! I owe you ice cream!” he insisted.

Icarus waved a quick goodbye as he was dragged away.

Hours passed and it was the most fun Icarus had had in a long time. He hadn’t even realized that he had walked into the crowd without his cloak.

Kit grinned at him as they tried different ice cream flavors. It amazed Icarus how many there were, and he got into a heated argument with Kit over how vanilla was obviously better than chocolate. “I’m glad you decided to show your wings. That cloak was shit.” Kit said suddenly, taking another big bite of his newest ice cream cone.

He froze, his immediate thought to grab his cloak again and put it back on. He reached into his inventory, and paled. “Did I leave it back at the field?” he asked faintly.

“Yep!” Kit said cheerily, taking another bite of his ice cream, “Ya don’t need it, ya look cool. No one’s going to care!” Kit insisted. He grabbed a nearby person, “Do you care he’s an avian?” he demanded loudly, pointing dramatically at Icarus.

He blushed, pulling his wings tight against his back, stammering at the person Kit had stopped as their face paled at the sight of him. The rest of the crowd started murmuring to themselves, but he tried to stop himself from hearing as much as he could, flinching away from the hatred he expected to spew out.

“N-no.” they cleared their throat nervously. “No. They are of course welcome here.” They said with a forced smile.

Kit frowned; it didn’t seem to be the response he'd expected either. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” he demanded.

Their smile still looked forced, but it was like they were trying to force themselves to relax. “Yeah, I am. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Kit scowled while Icarus stood there, confused. “Expecting what?” Kit demanded.

“To see a story return.” They said, quickly breaking away from Kit and merging back with the crowd.

The two friends gaped after them before exchanging confused looks.

“Look…” Kit started, “Even with whatever the fuck they thought… you’re still welcome.” Kit insisted. “So… do you want to see the rest of the fair?”

Icarus looked around and frowned, everything seemed… quieter, but he didn’t know why. “Yeah, sure.” He said distractedly.

“Good! Cause we’ve got rope walkers, and I’ve wanted to see them for forever, also Scar made cookies and as they are elf cookies, they must be magical, and I will try them.” Kit said, grabbing his hand and striding purposefully into the crowd, that seemed to part just a little easier for them. He tried to meet anyone’s eyes, but they seemed to look away, their heads bowing slightly as he passed. Everything about it made him feel uneasy and he suddenly wished he dared leave to find his cloak.

-

Finally, Kit had to leave after causing immense chaos after learning Scar’s cookies could teleport people and a surprise bombing of flowers that had caused people to duck for cover and Icarus and Kit to start pelting each other with said flowers. It had started getting dark and his mother had not wanted him to stay after. The crowd had also started to peter out, though he wasn’t sure why and kept strolling around, watching everything as the small shops closed around him. Now he could see the sparkling lights strung above him and he watched them in amazement, humming to himself. The stars were somewhere above him too, and he felt safe despite his human surroundings.

There was a high-pitched whistle and his head stared up as the night sky exploded in color. The fireworks dazzled his eyes, causing him to blink to try and clear the spots before the next set was sent up, exploding in the sky.

They kept coming, again and again, more and more filling the sky with patterns of brilliant sparks. He put his head down, covering his ears, trying to block out the sound. But it didn’t help, the sparks were etched in his vision and even with his hands covering his ears, he could still hear them.

-

“TUBBO!” he screamed, reaching his hand out to the far away figures, one of them invisible behind a wall of firework sparks. Someone grabbed him by the collar, dragging him back from the edge of the roof. “LET ME GO!” he screamed, struggling as hard as he could.

“He’s dead, child. Now that that’s finished its time to go.” An uncaring voice whispered in his ear.

-

He left, he just walked away, wiping tears from his eyes and ducking down a small alley. He collapsed on a box, his head thunking against the brick wall behind him. He could barely hear the fireworks now; they were nothing more than distant popping noises. He took a deep shuddering breath and reached into his inventory. He needed a distraction.

There was really only one thing that ever distracted him. He brought out his guitar, humming the tune he was going to strum before it was even out of his inventory. It was easy to fall into the song, losing himself to the music and letting it flow over him like a wave. He could still hear the popping of the fireworks behind him, but he let the music cover up the sound, labelling it only as a distraction to his music. He let the thoughts from his day run through his head and any panic was soothed by the music that was the background of his mind. He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear the soft footsteps of someone approaching until they coughed.  

He jumped half out of his skin, his hum turning into… not a squeak, he was a big man, big men don’t squeak, it was a very manly yelp, just high pitched cause he had been trying to hit a high note. Yeah, that was it. In any words he half fell off the box in surprise and he jerked around to stare at the woman leaning against the wall of the alley.

She raised an eyebrow, “Hello, shouldn’t you be enjoying the fireworks?” she asked, her voice neutral.

He breathed heavily, “What the fuck, where did you come from…” he took a deep breath, her question finally reaching him, “No, don’t like ‘em. How long have you been standing there by the way…?” he asked nervously, his hand itching to grab the axe he didn’t have with him because he hadn’t wanted to make people nervous.

She shrugged, “Long enough to listen to your music. Can you sing? Or are you more of a hummer.” She seemed amused by her own statement and his hackles raised.

He glared a little, “Yeah, I can sing. Why do you care? Who are you anyways?” he demanded suspiciously, “Why aren’t you with the rest watching fireworks?”

She laughed, sitting down on a box near him, but just out of reach. He backed away more and she nodded wisely like she understood his suspicion. “You’re a cautious one, aren’t you? Let me introduce myself. I’m Kat and I run The Broken Record Inn here in town. I’m not at the festival for the same reason you aren’t.” she grimaced, “I don’t like loud noises.” Her eyes locked on him, and he felt like he was standing under a very intense spotlight, he didn’t back down though and straightened his shoulders and scowling at this… ‘Kat’. She smiled and continued with what she was saying. “As for why I’m in this alley talking to you… my last songster left a month ago and I’ve been playing the front room myself, but it’s gotten harder to manage everything…” she paused, waiting for him to respond. He didn’t respond, was she saying what he thought she was saying…? “I heard you playing out here and was thinking maybe I could get you to play sometimes, for me.” She said, grinning like she had just offered him the opportunity of a lifetime. “You’ll get 40% of the tips you get from songs of course.”

He was shocked, why in this world was she offering this? She didn’t know him; he didn’t know her. Did he want to take this offer? It seemed too good to be true… or maybe not that good, he’d have to interact with more humans. He grimaced; he liked his little cabin in the woods. But if he got a job, he could buy stuff. He could have a good stash if he ever needed to leave and he wouldn’t have to live off the land anymore, he would have a choice. Or maybe he could pay back Calum and Wren. One thing was for sure, there was no way he was going to do it at those rates.  

“I want fifty-five percent.” He said firmly. Like hell he was going to give them over fifty percent of the money he would earn. The words were out of his mouth before he’d even realized that his answer was yes, he panicked for a minute, unsure if he had made the right decision, but he settled down, ruffling his feathers slightly to work out the stress. He could do this; this would be good.  

Kat laughed, “You drive a hard bargain, but done.” She held out her hand and he took it cautiously, giving it a firm shake. “We’re open every day, but I’ll only ask you to entertain between four to ten. You don’t have to come every day and I’ll give you a room to use so you don’t have to go home in the dark.” She cackled, “I’m going to work you on the days you come here, but if anyone gets rowdy, I’ll throw them out. No one attacks my people.” She grinned at him like she’d gotten the deal of the century. He had a feeling she had.

He raised an eyebrow, “I’m starting to regret this.”

She grinned, “Don’t. You’ll love it, all you have to do is not get booed, and that’s not even a necessity, plenty of bards are hated.” She said, waving off his discomfort.

“That is not giving me a boost of confidence!” he said, laughing.

“Wasn’t supposed to, it was supposed to keep you on your toes.” She shook her head woefully, “Can’t have the newbies thinking it’s all alcohol and girls!”

He shook his head, “I get plenty of women! I have so many wives.” He said, waving his hand dismissively. It felt so natural to fall into this carefree, joking mood and he just let himself, Kat didn’t seem to mind.

She threw back her head and laughed, “You’re funny, kid.”

He lounged back, “Not a child.” He was a big man thank you very much.

She laughed, “Prove it.” She winked, “I’ll see you when I see you.” She said, turning around and left the alley. The alley became as silent as if no one had ever been there in the first place, even the fireworks seemed distant, barely more than the occasional pop.

He smiled, this is not what he thought would have happened, but he wasn’t disappointed. He just hoped that it wouldn’t go sour.

-

He sat in the front room of an inn, carefully plucking his guitar to a bunch of drunkards who probably weren’t listening anyways. He halfheartedly sung a few lyrics as the ache in his stomach grew more pronounced. He didn’t want to eat the swill they offered him, but it was the best he was going to get, and he had to eat.

He finally finished his fucking set, now it was time for the other reason he had come, besides the stuff that could barely be called food.

He slid up to a table, his best smile on his face as the drunk trader that was sitting there blinked at him blearily. “Why don’t I buy you a drink?” he exclaimed cheerfully, waving over the waitress, who scowled at him but reluctantly complied, the scowl never fading from her face. He ignored it, he wasn’t there to make friends with the locals. He turned all his attention to the trader. “I’ve been traveling quite lot lately, and I’m trying to find… someone. Someone, special...” he trailed off, hoping the drunk bastard would take the bait.

The waitress came over with the drink and half slammed it on the table, the sour beer splashing on his clothing, and he tried to not flinch with revulsion from the smell. He slid it over, his fingers barely touching the cup.

The trader’s eyes lit up at the sight of free beer. “Who ya lookin’ fer?” the trader slurred, drinking the swill.

He wrinkled his nose, “I’m looking for someone very specific.” He said mysteriously, leaning forward, despite the smell, like he was telling his greatest secret. “I’m looking for someone, no older than a teen. He stands out like a sore thumb; bright blonde hair, tall, skinny, and the loudest, most obnoxious personality you’ll find.” He chuckled, no humor in his laugh. “Might go by Tommy, or Theseus.” He scoffed inwardly, it would be just like Tommy to go by Theseus, problem with it though, it’s a very flashy name.

The trader shook his head, “Nvr heard o’ ‘im.” The trader slurred, “I’ll keep an eye ou’.’” he said, taking one last drink before collapsing face first on the table.

He scowled, all this had turned into was another dead end, hopefully this bastard wouldn’t get fucking alcohol poisoning. He left the drunkard and started his next set, putting his anger and frustration into the songs. It did not improve the mood of the establishment, but he didn’t really care.

Chapter Text

He half fell out of his bed the next day, landing on the floor with a thump and a groan. He pulled himself to his feet groggily. Even for him his dreams had been weird, just a mess of nonsense blended with the sound of fireworks.

Where he had ever come up with the idea of a firework launcher wielding pig riding a wither like a horse was beyond him.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched, his wings knocking against the bed annoyingly. “Fuckin, bitchface, prick, asshole.” Icarus muttered under his breath at no one in particular, mostly at the world, partially at whatever hadn’t let him get enough sleep.

He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled into the outer room, blinking at the bright light streaming through the open window. There was a plate of food sitting on the dining room table. Thank fuck, he was ravenous.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Wren teased, looking up from a strange rectangular device that must have been a loom. “I see we have a bright and early riser today.”

The sun outside said it was almost noon. He collapsed into the chair, his head hitting the table with a thump as he groaned his displeasure at the world.

Wren laughed, “Eat something, you’ll feel better.”

He didn’t disagree, digging into the flat circles that he had been told were called pancakes. He ate quickly and sat back with a sigh, “Thank you.” He said, stretching to work the kinks out of his back.

Wren smiled, the clicking from the loom’s shuttle providing nice background noise, “I’m glad you liked them, did you have fun?” she asked curiously, “I saw that Kit boy dragging you around.”

Icarus grinned, “Yeah, he’s pretty cool, just don’t tell him I said so.”

Wren shook her head in mock sadness, “What are you doing now?” she asked, the loom clicking as she moved the shuttle across.

He pushed a fork around his empty plate, “I was offered a job.” He said, his voice neutral. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet, let alone how others would feel about it.

Wren looked surprised, “Really? Where?”

Icarus fidgeted, “The Inn, this lady came up and offered.” he said with a shrug.

“Ohhhh, Kat,” Wren said smiling, “I know her, you’ll be in good hands, she’ll make sure that you’re well taken care of. When do you plan to go?”

Icarus shrugged again, “No idea, I don’t know when a good time is.” Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about what he was getting himself into.

Wren nodded in understanding, “I would say on normal times Saturday is her busiest night, or when a merchant caravan comes through. But with the festival there are going to be so many people there that you could go whenever you want.” Wren explained, bending her head to pick at a thread in her loom.

Icarus sighed, “Thank you again, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.” He glanced at the sun streaming through the window, “Better go home for now.” He said reluctantly. It was lonely at home; he wasn’t sure if he liked the loneliness anymore.  

“You’re welcome to stay if you’d like, dear.” Wren said.

Icarus stretched, he might not want to, but he did have things to do before he left for a long period of time. “Nah, have to go and take care of all the wives I have at home.” He winked, laughing at his own joke, “Can’t leave ‘em alone for long.”

Wren laughed, “So you say.” Icarus smiled, waving his goodbye as he walked to the door. “Wait…” he was halfway through the door, and he turned around with a raised eyebrow at Wren. She smiled, “Give my love to Kat when you see her, will you?”

He shrugged, curiosity spiked but he doubted that Wren would tell him, “Yeah sure,” he paused for a second, “Anything else?”

Wren shook her head, “No, that’s all, thank you dear.” He shrugged and ran outside, heading home once again.

He hummed as he flew, the sun was warm high above him, but the chill of the cool air so far above the ground offset it until he was the perfect temperature. He landed outside his home, still humming under his breath. He glanced around making mental notes of what he might need to do if he was going for an extended trip. He chirped for the crow and held out his hand for it to land, comforted by the small pricks of its talons. “I’m going to the village; I got a job. Want to come with me?” he asked cheerily. It croaked, bobbing its head enthusiastically and leaning over to preen his hair. Icarus laughed, “Well then! Let’s get this place ready, I’ll probably be gone a few days.”

It took less time than he’d expected, but it still took the rest of the day. He couldn’t do much with his garden except make sure it was as perfect as he could make it before he left and give it extra water. His cabin was just as easy to get ready, he made sure the barrels were closed and the fireplace was clean. He grabbed essentials from his chests last. Everything in the cabin was a lot better than it had been, the food barrels were filled with fresh vegetables, even some smoked meat he had figured out how to cure, the item chests weren’t as good but they were mostly filled with resources he had been able to accumulate; his most prized possessions were the arrows he had taken straight from the undead, it was hard to find unbroken ones but sometimes he was lucky.

When he was finished it was dark, but he didn’t go back inside to sleep, instead he sat on his porch and made himself comfortable as he stared up at the infinite night sky. It was beautiful, like an inky ocean, each star a glowing droplet that blinked in and out of reality in seconds that stretched on for eternity. There were millions upon millions of them, stretching into infinity. They seemed to surround him, and occasionally one would leave its spot in the sky and dive towards him until he felt like he could reach out and touch it. The stationary stars just watched and glowed even brighter, cheering on those adventurers that chose to dive amongst the endless ocean.

His hand left his side and reached for the sky, a silent call for the stars to brighten for him as well. He felt like if he just let go of the world he would fall into the darkness with them, except he wouldn’t fall. He would fly amongst the stars, leaving the world behind and diving in an endless void that would glow that much brighter, because it was proud.

He might not have fallen into the stars, but he did fall asleep, and dreamed of flying through an endless void, a crow flying with him that might not have been a star, but the void seemed to brighten just for a moment. Just for them.

-

He set off the next day, his guitar shoved into his inventory and a crow leading the way. He still wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but it was too late to back down now, he had promised, and he was curious. His mind ran through scenarios as he flew and before he knew it, he was landing on the road to the village. The crow landed on his shoulder and let out a croak before preening his hair calmingly. He smiled, imbued with a burst of confidence, his feet kicking up dust as he cautiously walked down the bustling village street. He glanced around in confusion, realizing he had no idea where he was going.

“OI! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, JACKASS!” a cart driver yelled as he hopped out of the way of the mules, mud splashing on his shoes. The crow leaped from its perch in surprise and landed on a nearby lamppost cawing explicates at the retreating cart.

Icarus scowled, wrapping his wings around himself as even more carts passed, “Dickhead.” He muttered under his breath.

“Icarus.” A soft voice called, “I didn’t know you’d be in town.”

He glanced over and gave Calum a shaky smile, “Hollo.” He chirped, “I got a job at the Inn.” He said, scuffing his boots in the mud. “Do you know where it is?”

Calum smiled, “Course I do, follow me young’un.” He said, gesturing for Icarus to follow him as they strolled through the village, Calum pointing out places of interest. “…An’ that’s the smithy, don’ worry ‘bout ‘im, he’s a good’un, best fire tender you’re gonna find ‘round here, got that blaze blood. That place has a wonderful meat pie fer luncheon if yee aren’t eating at the Inn. They make the best pastries; I bring one home ta Wren fer special occasions. That there is the shop where I sell ma crops…” just a stream of information that Icarus tucked into his mind for later. “And tha’ big house be the Inn.” Calum announced, pointing to a large three-story building across the street from them.

Icarus frowned a little, now he recognized it. A lot of the festival was a blur, but he was pretty sure this was where the alleyway had been where he’d hidden, no wonder Kat had found him. Festival night he had seen it as a nice, quiet place to hide and now it was bustling with activity, people coming in and out constantly; horses tied outside, snorting their disgust at being left alone.

“Come on, son.” Calum said, gesturing to Icarus to follow him. They darted across the street, dodging another cart that rushed past. Calum led him inside and he had to duck past someone carrying loads of cloth. He looked around, wide-eyed; people were sitting at tables and engaged in hushed conversations while others carried food or drinks or supplies or bags or buckets of water to various places.

“Calum! Pleasure seeing you here! Ah, I see you brought my newest songbird.” A cheerful voice called out.

“Ello Kat, just droppin’ ‘im off, ya take care of ‘im ok.” Calum said, giving Kat a quick hug. “I’d stay but I need ta get paid and get home.”

Kat smiled, winking at Calum, “You should stay for supper, but if you don’t, give Wren all my love and tell her if she ever comes to town the drinks are on me.”

Calum laughed, “Stop trying to take my wife, innkeeper! But I’ll pass the message along.”

Kat laughed with him, “See that you do! Now!” she said turning to Icarus and clapping her hands together, “Welcome to The Broken Record Inn. You’re a bit early lad, but I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

Calum patted Icarus’s arm, “See ya later, lad. Don’t let Kat overwork ya.” He teased, a twinkle in his eye. Icarus smiled back hesitantly.

“I would do no such thing to my newest songbird.” Kat gasped in fake indignation, “Now go, shoo, go be a respectable individual and don’t scare the boy off before he’s worked one day.” She said, shooing him out the door. Calum laughed, taking his leave with one last wink to Icarus.

Icarus stood there awkwardly, dragging his feet across the floor, his hair draped over his face to hide his confusion. He hadn’t known how to get there, but now he was there he didn’t know what to do.

Kat seemed to notice his confusion and smiled encouragingly, “Its ok, you’re just a bit early to entertain. I’m saving you for suppertime, until then do you mind doing some work around here? I’ll pay you for it, don’t worry about that. Or you could go explore the village a little and return at sunset. Or you could laze around here, there are some pretty girls that I’m sure would like to talk to you.”

His head shot up in surprise, staring at her from behind his waterfall of hair as he felt himself blush. She was smirking and he quickly realized she was joking, and he ducked his head again to cover the growing blush, muttering quick negatives.

Kat laughed, “Don’t swing that way, huh? I’m sure the boys would be just as interested.”

He didn’t think he’d be able to blush harder, he was wrong. He shook his head emphatically and Kat laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “You know what, mate? Just go explore the village, go talk to people. You’re new here, you’re a kid, you should have some fun. Come back in about three hours and I’ll set you up.”

Icarus nodded and walked reluctantly out the door but paused in the doorframe. “Miss Kat?” he said nervously.

She stopped for a moment, looking back, “What is it? And it’s just Kat, I’ve never been respectable enough to be a Miss.” She said, her eyes laughing.

He nodded, “You told Calum to bring your love to Wren, but she told me to give you all of her love.” He said, scuffing his foot against the wooden floor.

Kat paused for a moment, surprise running over her face. She smiled, “Thank you for telling me, Icarus. Now, go, have fun.”

He nodded and fled out the door, breathing a small sigh of relief to be outside. He glanced around the busy street and frowned; he had no fucking idea where to go now. He shoved his hands in his pockets and meandered down the street, his sharp eyes taking in the different sights. He dodged out of the way as someone rushed past him, their arms loaded with bundles of cloth as they ran into a different building. Maybe it was the same person from earlier, if so, they must have been busy. He smiled bemusedly and kept going. Someone bumped into his side, and he jumped back in surprise, the person stuttered out an apology, giving him a strange look before running down the street and disappearing. Icarus sighed; he’d been getting a lot of strange looks. He gathered his wings around himself, unsure whether he was protecting himself or them.

“Icarus!” someone cried behind him. He turned around and grinned at the elf who was easily running through the crowd to get to him. Scar skidded to a stop; half bent over as he gasped for breath. Icarus laughed, grabbing his elbow to help him but Scar waved him off, “Just. Give. Me. A Second.” Scar gasped out. The elf straightened and stared at Icarus with a piercing gaze. “Now, I told you a few days ago to find me, but you did not.” Scar chastised.

Oh. He’d forgotten about that. Icarus opened his mouth to apologize but Scar waved him off, “No, no problems, but now that you’re here I can talk to you!”

Scar was almost jumping with excitement and Icarus frowned. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked suspiciously. He’d already heard enough stories to know to be suspicious of Scar’s ideas.

“Oh, well, Grian mentioned that you didn’t remember much, and I wanted to see if I could help you with that!” Scar said cheerfully as Icarus’s heart dropped.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He stuttered, stumbling back a little. He bumped into someone, muttering his apologies when they yelled. It wasn’t time to remember, he didn’t want to, he was… mostly… happy. He didn’t want to go back to before. Please don’t make him remember. A small sob escaped his throat. Damn it. He had been doing so good. Why was the panic coming back? He just couldn’t remember, it wasn’t time.

“Hey, hey, hey. Its ok! I don’t need to, but can you tell me why?” Scar asked, hand hovering over Icarus’s arm, concern written on his face.

Icarus slumped his shoulders, he was never going to get the elf off his back without an explanation. “I’m being given time, I know where my memories are, I see the chest, but I can’t open it. I don’t want to open it. It’s not time. They hurt too much.” He said, tears streaking down his face at the very idea of opening the chest.

Scar laid a hand on his shoulder, “But who told you to keep them locked? It’s not healthy to tell yourself to keep your memories locked up, you really need to let go…”

Icarus could feel sympathy the elf was emitting like a wave, Scar’s need to help protect him from himself. But it wasn’t his choice to keep those memories locked, it hadn’t been since he woke up. He shook his head emphatically, Scar didn’t understand. “No, I’m not the one who locked them in there. She did.” He said quietly.

Scar’s ear twitched, his expression startled, “She? She who?”

He smiled, a sudden calm filling his mind. “The woman with stars for eyes.” She had helped him; she was helping him. He heard a small caw above him and saw the crow resting on a lamppost above him. He smiled even wider.

Scar paled, “Ah yes, her, yes, knew a woman like that once, always good for a cup of tea, still visit her on occasion when things happen…” Scar stammered, grasping for words. “Um, do you want to see something?” the elf asked, rapidly changing the subject.

“What?” Icarus asked, amused at the elf’s nervousness.

Scar through his hands in the air, “I don’t know! Anything!” he said with exasperation.

Icarus shrugged unhelpfully, “I just need to waste a few hours.”

“Are you hungry?” Scar demanded.

His stomach growled and he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t had more than a carrot for breakfast before he had left the cabin. “Uhhh.” He was but he didn’t have any money to buy any.

Scar grabbed his hand and started dragging him through the crowd, “Never mind, that answers my question. Come on.” Icarus laughed, protesting that he was fine, but let the elf drag him away.

He didn’t have money, but Scar didn’t seem bothered, buying all the food despite his protests that he could go hungry until he got paid after his set. To which Scar replied that no one should perform music on an empty stomach and Kat would agree. He wasn’t so sure about the logic, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone hungry, but he wasn’t about to tell Scar that; if he did, he had a feeling that Scar would give him more food than he would ever need.

Scar kept insisting and secretly Icarus was glad he did. It was some of the best food he had ever had. Scar took him to a small place where they made seasoned noodles that they ate with small sticks, and they were very good. The crow joined them, and Icarus offered the bird a noodle that it ate greedily, cawing its demands for more. Icarus thought they were really good, but Scar had different opinions after the first bite because supposedly they were spicy. Scar’s face had turned very red as he engaged in an extended coughing fit, but they were fine to Icarus who handed the elf a cup of water to help. Even though he and the crow just ended up standing there awkwardly, still eating noodles, as Scar tried to control himself.

The noodle shop owner was unimpressed by Scar’s fit but did seem impressed when Icarus asked for one of the peppers from the noodles to see if it was spicy and he’d eaten it whole. Scar had watched in horror, but it had been fine.

Scar seemed to be very much done with the “spicy” noodles and dragged Icarus away to get small pastries that were filled with sausage and others that were filled with cooked fruit and sugar. They were amazing and they walked down the rest of the street until they were out of the village and back in the field where the fireworks had been.

Icarus looked up at the bright blue sky and laid down on the ground, watching the clouds go by. Scar sat down next to him, munching on the pastries. It was a bit distracting to see the elf, it felt like someone else should have been sitting there, instead it was someone he barely knew. His heart ached for whoever had cloud watched with him.

He closed his eyes…

His hands were cushioning his head as he basked in the sun and watched the clouds lazily float past. His wings were spread on either side of him, and he could feel the presence of someone directly behind him. He smiled, humming a song under his breath, the strumming of the guitar still echoing through his mind.

“Look! That one looks like a fox.” An excited voice said, his best friend laying just out of sight behind him.

He laughed, “That’s one furry cloud.” He said gleefully. His friend laughed with him.

“An’ that one looks like a polar bear.” His friend said.

He squinted at the cloud, “Nah, that ain’t no polar bear, that’s a wolf.”

His friend groaned, “Don’t remind me of wolves, I’ve been breeding way too many, fuck wolves.”

He laughed again and his eyes settled on one cloud that seemed separated from the others, he pointed. “And that one’s us, its watching us watch them.” He said grinning happily.

He felt a smack on his shoulder, “Clingy bastard. I don’t see it, you need better eyes, that’s obviously the van.”

Tommy stared at it as the clouds parted and took their own ways through the sky, “Yeah, maybe you were right.” He said absentmindedly, “But I am not clingy!” he yelled, smacking his friend back who shrieked in fake indignation. His friend launched himself at him and he screamed as they rolled down the grassy hill.

He smiled and opened his eyes. Except it wasn’t his best friend next to him, laughing his ass off. It was Scar, humming as he knitted a small sweater that did not look like it could be for anything human.

He frowned a little, brows knitting in confusion, “Whatcha doing?” he asked groggily. Wondering if his mind was too fuzzy to fully understand what Scar was doing.

Scar looked up from his knitting, smiling cheerily. “Oh! Hello sleepyhead! You took a little doze, so I started knitting a sweater for my cat! Her name is Jelly, and she is the best cat in existence. How was your nap?”

Icarus blinked at the tiny sweater that he finally realized four leg holes instead of sleeves. He hummed, “It was alright. I guess I was tired.”

Scar went back to his knitting, “Guess so, you should sleep more. But naps are always good.”

Icarus groaned, “Please don’t turn into Wren. She always says I need to eat more, sleep more, relax. I’m perfectly fine.” He complained.

“Smart woman.”  Scar said.

Icarus didn’t reply and glanced at the sun that was quite a bit lower in the sky, “How long was I asleep?” he demanded.

Scar glanced at his knitting work, “Maybe an hour? Hour and a half?” he guessed.

“Shiiittttttt.” Icarus swore, leaping to his feet, “I’ve got to go.” He yelled, waving to a surprised Scar as he ran away. He raced through the streets, dodging around people and bursting into the Inn, almost running into someone who was carrying bags to leave. He stuttered out his apologies and walked into the room. He glanced around and suddenly Kat was there at his shoulder. He jumped back in surprise, his heart skipping a beat in terror.

Kat nodded to him, “Hey kid, got distracted huh? Well, its fine, you’ve got some time, come ‘ere I’ll show you where you’re sitting.” She said, striding through the tables. He followed close behind, not meeting anyone’s eyes, he could hear them whispering, but he tried to close his ears to them as much as he could.

Kat should him a small stage with a barrel for him to sit on. He jumped up there and Kat nodded, disappearing into the back.

He sat up on the stage and carefully extracted his guitar from his inventory. Everyone was staring at him curiously and more filtered in, taking seats and ordering things from the waitresses that revolved around the room. He felt a tap on his shoulder and jerked his head around to meet Kat’s eyes. His shoulders slumped a little bit, but she put her hand on his shoulder, holding out a glass of water. “Take this, kid. Don’t be nervous. I know you’re good and they aren’t going to complain if they know what’s good for them. Don’t worry about it.”

He sighed, cradling the water in his hand, “Easy for you to say, and I’m not a kid.”

She patted his shoulder, “If you say so, kid. Now play for the nice people, you’ll do great.” she said, once again disappearing into the back.

He sighed, placing his glass on the ground, and settling to test a few notes. The whole front room seemed to shift towards him at those few notes and he froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes searched the crowd, looking for anyone who stared at him with bad intentions, looked like a threat. Instead, he met the eyes of Calum, smiling encouragingly from a table towards the door. His shoulders slumped in relief, and he took a deep breath.

He strummed the first notes, a cheery upbeat song that had him tapping his foot to the beat, and the mood seemed to lift with the music, people turning to laugh and drink with their friends. Then he started singing, his voice starting low, but gaining boldness and strength when no one immediately threw a drink at him. If anything, they seemed to really like it, they couldn’t sing along because they didn’t know the lyrics, but they could nod with the beat. And then there was Calum in the back, nodding along and mouthing the words to the songs he knew.

The next hour, or maybe it was longer, it passed in a blur, more people coming in and every now and then a person leaving. The place was filled to bursting; waiters bringing drinks, people talking, and laughing, and drinking.

“Drink I’ve had too much to think…” he sang, then suddenly burst into a fit of coughing. He waved his apologies to the room and reached down to grab the cup of water, barely touched, that still sat next to his foot. He drank thirstily, and it was gone quickly. He coughed again, wiping the excess from his mouth and another glass was shoved under his nose. He grabbed it and drank just as greedily.

“You did a good job, kid. Actually, you did better than good, but I don’t want you to lose your voice. Call it a night.” Kat insisted, “You made a good chunk of change, and this is only your first night.”

Icarus shook his head, “I can…” he started coughing again and Kat scowled.

She grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet, pushing him into the nearest seat as he gripped his guitar desperately. “Sit. Stay.” She ordered, leveling a glare at him that would keep anyone in their seat. And he was no exception. She disappeared and he let out a dejected sigh, plucking at a few strings as he looked off into the distance.

“Hey.” Someone next to him nudged him lightly on the side. He looked up, blinking owlishly. “You did good, kid. I like yer music.” The burly man said, his accent almost too thick to understand.

Icarus blinking, nodding his head in thanks. The man opened his mouth like he was going to say something else when Kat returned, a bowl and a loaf of bread held in her hands. She plopped both down in front of him and his stomach growled at the sight of the food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

Kat looked between the two and smiled, “Good, I see you’ve met our blacksmith and resident storyteller. He’s the best around, at both. Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll tell you one of his stories. Anyways, eat up songbird, don’t want you to go hungry.”

Icarus looked at the blacksmith curiously as he dug into his soup. The man blushed, “Thank yee miss Kat. Can I bother ya to get one o’ yer girls ta bring me a bowl of tha’ soup too?”

Kat laughed, “I’ll bring it myself. Just wait one second old friend.”

“Thank yee.” The blacksmith said as Kat disappeared into the back. He turned back to Icarus, “I do tell stories, though maybe not as well as Kat said. I should introduce myself; I be Aodh.”

For the first time Icarus got a good look at the blacksmith’s eyes and saw how they glowed with a fiery light in the dimness of the Inn, small speckles of gold floating around like sparks. Whatever Aodh was it wasn’t human. Icarus swallowed his spoonful of soup, hadn’t Calum mentioned something about the blacksmith having blaze blood…? He suddenly realized that Aodh was waiting for him to respond, and he cleared his throat, “I’m… Icarus…” he managed to squeak out through his sore throat.

Aodh nodded, smiling. “Nice to meet yee.” He said, “Would ya like to hear a story? I won’t bother ya fer a song, yeer cords be whipped from all tha singing.”

Icarus nodded enthusiastically, this was certainly going to be interesting and from the way that people around then perked up and seemed much more interested in them he was not the only one who thought so.

“Well, maybe I tell ya the story of how this here village was made. At least some of it.” Aodh looked at him, his fiery eyes piercing, “Maybe ya will recognize it.”

Icarus shrugged, settling on the bench so he could more easily watch the storyteller.

The blacksmith sat up straighter in his seat, “Alright then.” Icarus blinked in surprise, the blacksmith, whose voice had been low and thick, suddenly became higher, clear, and succinct. “It started long ago, when the clan wars were still at their peak and the merlings built their glowing cities in the deepest depths. For those who lived in the overworld it was an evil time. Death rode on the backs of wings, flying thousands into the afterlife, with no end in sight. The perpetrator was a king, a despicable man, who named himself an emperor falsely. He was no emperor, some wonder if he was even human for no one with humanity should have been able to perform such atrocities. Some say he was a demon; others declare him a god who will one day return to claim vengeance.”

Aodh shrugged, “What he was did not matter, he had a blackened heart and a hatred of anything that wasn’t human. Or maybe he was jealous of the wings he could not grow, the strength he did not possess, or the shimmering flame he could not control.” At the word ‘flame’ Aodh’s eyes seemed to glow brighter to match the strength of the blacksmith’s words. “This false emperor reigned with hatred for many years with no end in sight. Until…” Aodh paused, and Icarus finally realized that he was holding his breath. The Inn had gone completely silent, no one was talking, everyone seemed to be holding their breath just like he had. Aodh seemed to weave the story in front of them, his voice filling the space and echoing and crackling like the growth of a fire in the hearth that ate the wood it was offered and wished to consume even more.

“…Until. Someone appeared. An avian. With wings of void and hair like the sun. He came like an avenging angel and led us to freedom, destruction following in his wake like a hurricane. But he was also loved, he loved his family, and he loved the people he saved and protected. And no matter what chasms appeared in our way he took our hands and flew us to the other side. Then.” Aodh stopped for a moment to take a drink of water. Icarus twitched, relaxing all his muscles that had become very tense.

“One day, someone came.” Aodh continued, his voice suddenly low, almost a whisper, but only if a whisper could spread through a room like the shadows themselves. “A shadow with blood on its hands that rivaled our Angel’s. The shadow grew close to our Angel and learned that the light was not a bad thing. But a new shadow grew, protected by the light and hidden by the shadow that already hung over the rebellion. And while the bloody shadow faltered, weakening as it was brought into the light, the new shadow grew with a vengeance. It overwhelmed our bloody shadow until both were so tied together it was impossible to tell them apart. It the end, all seemed lost, the shadow desperately trying to eat the light and drag it into the darkness. But.” Aodh held up his finger, the room holding its collective breath.

“Our bloody shadow became the beacon that freed our light from the darkness, and our Angel rose again to take his revenge. The shadow was torn from existence and the false emperor dethroned, his legacy turning into nothing more than ash. A new emperor took his place, a man who deserved the title, our Angel.” Aodh looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the villagers. “And this village? We are the descendants of his rebellion, those who helped our emperor Angel. Many did leave when the war ended, leaving to find their families, or to make their own. But some stayed, some joined, and some still return here to honor their heritage. It was a beautiful sight; we were one of the first hybrid villages that was made after the Hunter era. That is the end, it is up to you to continue the story.” Aodh finished, smiling a little at the enraptured crowd.

Icarus was one of them and he was frozen in shock for a few moments, then he started clapping. The room quickly followed suit until the applause was almost deafening. Aodh bowed his head, taking the thanks and the claps on the back. The applause died down and so did the crowd as people seemed ready to call it a night and disappeared from wherever they would go for the night, at least the ones who had come for entertainment, others still stayed, calling for another drink.

Aodh was not one of them and got up to leave. Icarus smiled, nodding his thanks to the storyteller. He hadn’t ever heard anything like it before.

Aodh smiled, “I’m glad ya liked it. Come o’er to my shop if yee e’er want ta hear another.” He winked, “No payment for a story, at least not in food like Kat does here, maybe a song though.”

Icarus rasped out a laugh, nodding emphatically.

Aodh clapped his hands together, “We’ll call it a deal than ma boy. I shall head off, see ya again.” Aodh said, as he weaved through the tables to leave.

Icarus sighed as Aodh left, exhaustion hitting him like a brick. Kat emerged from where she had been lurking throughout the story, “Hey songbird, you’re a lucky one, Aodh doesn’t tell that story for just anyone. I haven’t heard it since I was a child, and I had to beg him for months to get him to tell me.” Icarus nodded tiredly and Kat smiled. “I’ve got someplace to sleep if you want to.” she offered. He nodded a bit more emphatically and she led him upstairs to a small room, barely the size of a closet. But he didn’t care, the important thing was that there was a mattress and a window that he could open.  That was all he needed, he collapsed onto the mattress, and was asleep before he even knew he was laying down.

-

The man watched the avian stumble up the steps, a calculated look in his eyes. He wasn’t the only person in the room who recognized the importance of the story that was told. If anything, he wouldn’t be surprised if every monster lover in that village knew exactly what was going on. The bird seemed to be having trouble remembering though, maybe it was faking, maybe it was a trick, but it couldn’t know that they had been waiting for a day like this.

He lifted his mug of beer to his lips to hide the anticipation he was feeling from the rest of the crowd. How it survived all the years was beyond them, but it had, and they would make sure that the passage of time finally caught up with it, preferably very painfully. He sipped his beer. They had known one day it would return and they would make sure everything that it had fought for would be burned in front of it before it burned itself. The bird would not escape them again, especially not such a particularly… infamous bird.

-

The next few days were amazing. He spent his days wandering around the village doing odd jobs and stopping at the blacksmith’s shop to sing songs and listen to stories. Sometimes Aodh would teach him how to use the equipment, he had learned how to fix his axe and had even perched on a chair, watching as Aodh made a new one, the molten hot metal almost mesmerizing as it swirled in the mold.

But no matter how cool and pogchamp Aodh’s job was, his stories were even better. They fascinated him; tales of wars built only on potatoes, huge competitions comprised of the best in the country, and more tales from the old times, of Angels and shadows. They all interested him, but the Angel always seemed to grab his attention like nothing else. It jostled something in his mind, but it wasn’t sad or angry, it was loving, like a pair of wings that cradled him where he sat and listened.

It was another day of running around the village and he finally decided to stop at Aodh’s shop. The blacksmith was dealing with a customer, “Icarus! Can ya get me my tongs from the back?” he boomed.

Icarus nodded emphatically, ducking through the door, and searching for the asked for metalworking tool. Instead, something else caught his eye and he walked further into the room, cautiously approaching the object like it would lunge off the ground and bite him. It amazed him how he hadn’t noticed it before, but now it caught his attention and didn’t let go.

“What’s this?” he called, pointing to the strange chest proudly displayed on the far side of the room giving off weird purple particles like when an enderman teleported. Had it been covered in cloth before? Had there always been something there? It stirred something in his memory, and he ignored it like he ignored most of his old memories, but it still interested him.

Aodh poked his head into the back and smiled, “Well young’un that there is an Ender Chest. Its speceil and we’re the only village in the area that has one.” He shook his head happily, “We think it’s been here since the founding of the village; the blacksmith shop was built around it.”

Icarus moved closed, hypnotized by the designs scratched into the sides. “What’s so special about it?” he asked, his voice distant.

“Well… if yee were ta put somethn’ in tha’ chest, only yee could access it, and if ya went to ‘nother ender chest than said thing would be innit.” The smith explained before grabbing a pair of tongs and ducking back out the door.

No matter where in the world, he would always have the same things in it, even if he had put something in one halfway across the world? Was something in there already? Was that why it felt so familiar…?

He reached out a shaking hand to the chest, he could feel it hum and his hand hovered centimeters away from the latch. The chest seemed to recognize him, and he swore the humming got louder, like it was welcoming him back, like it was willing to show him everything it held, just for him. His thumb skimmed over the latch. There was a faint click and the humming calmed like it had been waiting for that moment and he swore it sighed. His hands shook as he carefully lifted the lid, not knowing what he would find.

He blinked at the dull interior, barely visible in the dimness of the room. It looked… empty. Maybe he was just imagining things, maybe he had never seen one of these chests before. He was lowering the lid when something caught his eye, the firelight glinting off something deep in a shadowed corner.

He reached in with a shaking hand, fingers sliding over a cool, circular piece of metal that felt like ice resting in his hand. He brought it into the light and squinted at it in the firelight. It was a compass, covered in a layer of hardened dirt and a crack running along its glassy surface. A pit of dread, and sorrow, opened in his stomach and he almost tossed it back inside, but he stopped and turned it over in his hand, gently rubbing at the dirt that flaked off easily. Tiny indentations appeared and he squinted closer and realized they were words, scratched into the metal sides. “Your Tubbo.” In barely legible, swirling script.

-

He was lounging on a bench overlooking a vast network of builds, people bustling around doing whatever they needed to. He looked over and grinned at his best friend sitting next to him. “It’ll always be us against the world, tight Tubs?” he felt so happy, he straightened his uniform proudly.

“Fuck yeah! We can take ‘em all!” Tubbo cheered, punching the air.

“Fuck yeah!” he cheered back, “Now let’s get back before the rest start thinking they can survive without us!”

-

That memory faded and a new one took its place.

-

He was standing there in shock. How could Tubbo do this? It was supposed to be them against the world, he had just made a mistake? Was it really that bad? The only consoling factor was that everyone else seemed just as shocked, well almost everyone.

“What are you doing, Tubbo?” someone yelled.

“What I think best for this country. Do you think I want to do this? Shut the fuck up. I’m the president and I just made an executive decision.” Tubbo snapped back, not meeting his eyes.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep the tears from flowing down his face as he felt an iron hard hand grip his arm. He refused to look at the person, he refused to show how much Tubbo hurt him, he refused to scream at Tubbo to forgive him and not let the person take him away. It was like Tubbo had said, he had made a decision.

“I’m sorry.” Tubbo whispered, turning away from him.

“Let’s go.” A voice said over his shoulder, and he shuddered. The voice made him want to throw up, or scream; at it or at Tubbo he wasn’t sure. How could Tubbo do that to him? Why was Tubbo letting the voice take him away. So much pain. Why? Why? Why?

-

He threw the compass back into the ender chest, not caring when he heard glass shatter. He slammed the lid down and resisted the urge to scream, or throw up, or both.

“Are ya alright son?” a voice said hesitantly over his shoulder. “Yee were starin’ fer a while now.”

He took a deep shaky breath and let out a barely passible laugh. “Yeah, I’m good, just found something I wasn’t expecting.” He took stumbling steps back from the chest into he was half running to get himself as far away as he could. “Maybe let’s skip story time today, I kind of want to go do something…” he said quickly. Every minute he was in that confined room was another minute that the panic rose even more. His vision flashed red, and he suppressed a keen.

Aodh reached out a hand, Icarus didn’t know for what, to help him or to stop him. “Don’t touch me!” he shrieked in panic. Aodh looked hurt, taking his hand back, Icarus took a deep breath, “Please.” He begged.

Aodh nodded reluctantly, “Go, be safe. We can do this later…”

Icarus didn’t wait for a reply, he was already running out the door past some very surprised villagers and through the streets, not caring if he ran into anyone. He needed to leave. He fled the crowd, the buildings, the village, and the memories that were trapped in a chest. He leaped into the air and left it all, flying as fast as he could away from everyone. He wasn’t even sure if he would come back.

It didn’t take nearly as long as usual before he was curled up on the grass in front of his cabin, tears dripping down his cheeks. He heard a croak next to his head and a sharp beak carded through his hair. It only made him cry harder, everything coming out in a steady stream. “Why don’t people love me? Why do they betray me and betray me, even my friends, why did no one help me? Did they not see how much I was hurting? How much it was killing me?” he choked out through the sobs. The crow kept running its beak through his hair.

“No Icarus, no one saw. No one saw except the one person who used it against you, making sure no one else saw either.” A sweet voice whispered through his mind. He cried even harder, “I’m so sorry my son, but you are not alone. People see you’re hurting now; people will help you.” She insisted. “Now sleep, my son, and in the morning, help them, and help them help you.”

Chapter Text

Icarus looked up from the weeds he was determinedly pulling from his garden. No matter what he did they always came back. But, despite the interlopers, his carrots were looking beautiful, it was just tough luck that the dandelions liked the area as well. At least they looked nice placed in the small, cracked pot he might or might not have taken from Wren.

Something moved quickly out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing except the sparkling of the sun. He returned to his gardening, the cool earth feeling good under his hands. He caught a glimpse of more movement, this time closer. He stood up frowning, squinting against the glare of the sun. He wasn’t crazy, something was out there, a golden shimmer weaving through the grass. It was so faint he had almost considered it a trick of the light, except sunlight did not weave shimmering lines that rustled the grass it moved through.

His hand inched to where his axe should be, ready to pull it out of his inventory at a moment’s motive. The glint was getting closer, and brighter, making a shiver run down his spine. He had no time to do anything before a cat of golden, glowing, energy leaped from the grass and hit him square in the chest.

He fell back as the unexpected weight hit him, letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a yelp as the cat disappeared in a burst of sparks and sank beneath his skin.

He barely managed to not land on the carrots he had just been taking care of, gasping as an unnatural warmth spread through his chest like the constant rippling of fur. He scratched at his chest desperately, like if he scratched hard enough, he could remove the fuzziness that writhed in his chest. He was overcome in a fit of sneezing, golden sparts erupting from his nose as the itchy warmth suddenly evaporated. What the fuck was that?

He staggered to his feet and heard crashing in the bushes. He whipped his head around; it wasn’t coming in the direction of the farm… What was it? A green clad figure burst out of the trees, a golden aura surrounding him as he stumbled into the open. He was deathly pale, blood dripping from his temple and tears ripped through his outfit. One of his hands clenched close to his chest and seemed to be a molted color of purple and red, a color that was also prominent around his right eye.

“Scar!” Icarus yelped, running over to the elf who collapsed forward in exhaustion. Icarus caught him before he could fall to the ground, grunting as he was suddenly holding the elf’s entire weight. It was a bit hard to see past the bright light enveloping Scar, but he tried to see what injuries, besides the obvious, the elf had. “What happened?” he demanded desperately. Was it the Hunters again? Had they found Scar out picking medicines or something…?

Scar grabbed him by the front of his shirt with his good hand, eyes wild, “The aerie, Hunters. Please help.” He pleaded, the golden glow around him getting brighter until Icarus felt like he was staring into a small sun. 

Icarus squinted against the bright light, dread settling into the pit of his stomach, he’d been right, except… the Aerie. “Oh prime… Grian…” he breathed, the realization hitting him like a brick.

Scar nodded, looking relieved at Icarus’s understanding before he promptly collapsed completely into unconsciousness; folding into Icarus’s arms like a puppet with the strings cut. He frantically tried to feel Scar’s pulse and sighed with relief when it seemed to still be going strong. The glow around them remained steady, though he was slowly realizing that he could see through it now, he took that as reassurance that Scar would be alright.

Icarus cradled Scar in his arms, his mind racing. He needed to get to the Aerie, but he couldn’t leave Scar alone and hurt.

He made a split-second decision and leaped into the air with a massive gust of wind. He grunted under the weight of the elf, but ignored the trembling in his arms, and the golden glow that made him squint to see, as he shot towards somewhere he knew would be their safe haven.

He made it there in record time, and chirped in relief as he landed in front of the porch, stumbling under the weight of Scar.

“ICARUS! NO! RUN-”

That was Wren! He trilled in panic, his head jerking around to stare at the house, its door dangling on its hinges. He made a move to run to the door when he felt something sharp dig into the middle of his back. He froze.

“Now, now. Calm down little bird, we wouldn’t want you to fly away and miss all the fun. We’ve been waiting a very long time for you. It would be rude to leave before this even starts. Now. Set down the dead thing and show me your hands.” A rough voice said behind him with barely suppressed glee. The voice coiled up his spine like oil and he shivered, the sharp point of the sword not moving from where it rested.

Oh prime, what had happened? Where was Wren? He started panicking, shivering in barely controlled fear. The feeling of the sword so sharp against his back making his brain scream in agony even though it had not even broken the skin.

“Let him go!” the moment of relief at hearing Wren’s voice was cut short while he watched her being dragged from her own home by two burly men. His heart sank even lower when he realized she was alone, he couldn’t see Calum. He shivered in suppressed fear, he wanted to scream, demand they let go of Wren, demand to know where Calum was, tell these people to let them go. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t let anyone get hurt. Oh prime, this was his fault.  

“Let us go you degenerate, manipulative, hateful bastards-” Wren shouted angrily as she tried to struggle out of the grip of the Hunters. Wren still fighting gave Icarus a moment of hope, maybe Calum was fine, maybe he could get everyone out. Maybe, just maybe, this would all work out… The Hunters weren’t amused, and one pulled back his hand, slapping Wren, her head snapping back, temporarily stunned. 

“WREN!” Icarus shrieked, lunging forward to help her, his mind descending into panic; but the sword made itself even more well known with his back and he had to freeze, the feeling of something wet trickling down the space between his wings. He stood there, shivering with barely controlled fear and anger. He couldn’t let this happen, oh prime, were these Hunters? Why had they come for the farmers? Were these the people that had shot him? Or were they something worse? He stared at them, searching their faces for any sign of recognition, any bit of panic emitting from the chest in the back of his mind. Yet there was nothing but the fear for the people he had grown to think of as his flock.

He glanced down at Scar and back at Wren. The glow around Scar had turned more translucent, but it was still there. Icarus couldn’t say anything, but maybe if he thought hard enough Scar could help them. But the elf did not wake up. He cursed; how could he have been so stupid as to get them in this situation. He held the elf even closer to his chest, no way in hell was he going to let anyone down.

His gaze locked onto Wren as she lifted her head, trying to catch her eye. “I’m alright.” She whispered with a reassuring smile, that showed streaks of blood over her teeth. He whimpered.

“Oh look. It speaks.” The Hunter at his back sneered. “You like this old woman, bird? Well, you see, this is the story, and we know how much you like stories. She lied to us. We told her what would happen if she lied to us. And you,” Icarus felt a heavy blow to his shoulder, “Are proof of that lie.” The voice said with a sneer as he stumbled forward, almost collapsing to his knees as he felt the scar on his shoulder scream in pain. “Now, you, Mrs. Wren. Will be tried for consorting with the enemy and treason against the human race. And you, bird, will DROP IT.”

He hesitated, tensing his muscles. His resolve hardened; he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Wren noticed his moment of hesitation, “Fly aw-” Wren started yelling, before the other Hunter covered her mouth with his hand. The other left Wren in the hands of his partner and approached him, casually nocking a bolt in his crossbow. Icarus scowled, he couldn’t put Scar down, he couldn’t leave Wren, and he couldn’t give himself up. His wings shuddered at the very idea of what they would do to him. Scar’s glow brightened around them, and he let out a small sigh.

“I SAID DROP IT!” the Hunter yelled behind him, pushing him even further away.

That was all he needed. He lunged forward and up, using his powerful wings to every advantage. He swerved at the last minute and heard the whistle of something slicing through the air right next to him as the Hunters below cursed and yelled threats. He met Wren’s eyes and they burned with anger for just a moment before they turned into a plea. He couldn’t look any longer and he turned tail, flying into the forest as fast as possible.

He landed amongst the trees, breathing heavily. He laid Scar on the ground, frantically checking to make sure the elf was still alive. The glow that had dimmed glowed brighter and he squinted past it. Maybe the black eye the elf had obtained was a little less colorful? Maybe the elf looked more like he was asleep rather than unconscious? But he wasn’t sure. He needed to help the farmers, but he couldn’t leave Scar alone. He chirped, calling for help. It only took a moment for there to be an answer, the crow appearing and settling on the ground in front of him, staring at him with its unreadable black eyes.  

He let Scar lie on the ground, the elf curling into a ball on the moss. Icarus met the crow’s eyes, “Watch him.” He whispered. The crow nodded, chirping reassuringly. Icarus glanced back down at Scar, “I’m sorry, Scar.” He muttered, pushing himself to his feet and backing away, “I’ll be right back. Please don’t die while I’m gone.” He fled, running through the forest as fast as he could, materializing his axe directly from his inventory.

Branches whacked against his wings, and he stumbled over tree roots, but he had to get to the farm. He couldn’t leave them to those bastards. He couldn’t lose another friend. He couldn’t lose his family.

He could see the farm through the bushes, and he slowed down. He would need to be smart about this. He couldn’t just rush in and expect to survive. He paused for a moment before he lost the cover of he trees, but he couldn’t see anyone from his point of view. Even though he couldn’t see them, he knew the Hunters were just out of sight. He took a deep breath and darted from the trees, not even breathing until he had cover against the house. He sighed with relief and crept to the corner.

“…you will be tried, by us, for consorting with the enemy and treason against the human race…” It was the same voice that had held a sword to his back. He scowled; these people were so stupid. This wasn’t their world; this was a time of peace between races; their laws had no meaning; he gripped his axe; he would show them that. “…Do you have anything to say about your sentence?” He peeked around the corner and saw Wren being guarded by the same two Hunters, Calum was next to her, and his heart jolted when he noticed the farmer was being supported by two more Hunters, blood dripping from his temple; and the Hunter who had been talking had a scroll unfurled and was looking expectantly at Wren, waiting for her answer. She answered with a string of curses that would make a crow blush, Icarus grinned, Wren was fighting back, he just had to save them now. He took some mental notes and ducked back around the corner.

They all had swords at the least; he just had his woodcutter’s axe. He cursed himself for not grabbing one of the swords from their last encounter. He was going to have to be very lucky to get out of this without getting hurt. Time to be sneaky, there had to be another option. He glanced at the chicken coop built next to the house, their roofs almost touching. He would be able to climb onto the coop’s roof… He smiled.  

He climbed onto the fence and pulled himself onto the chicken coop roof with a grunt. He leaped lightly onto the house’s roof, praying that it wouldn’t collapse under him. He half walked half crawled to the small amount of cover given to him by the chimney, pulling his bow from his inventory. He glanced down and could only see the Hunter, and Wren, from his angle. Calum was hidden by the eave. He could take care of that later and drew his bow, aiming directly for the speaker. He smiled.

It was childishly easy to put an arrow through the Hunter’s skull. Isn’t it amazing how nightmares just sort of… die?

The corpse toppled over, and he already had his bow drawn again before the other Hunter’s knew their preacher was dead.

He took out the one next to Wren, the one who had hurt her. The Hunter fell back, even having a moment of realization as his hand jerked up to grasp the arrow shaft before he collapsed against the wall and left Icarus’s sight. Wren jerked back from the suddenly dead Hunter, the other that had been holding her was so surprised he let her arm go when she jerked back. He just stared at his dead comrades in shock. The other two appeared, without Calum, and for a moment Icarus’s worry spiked. Wren disappeared, and he carefully pulled another arrow from his inventory. He felt relief when a second later he saw Wren lead Calum away and around the house. They should be safe.

One of the Hunters noticed that they were trying to get away and drew his sword…

It was an easy split-second decision. He lunged to his feet, “OI! LOOK UP HERE YOU FUCK’N PUSSYS!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, drawing back his bow and shooting a quivering arrow in the center of the group. That caught their attention, all three heads turning towards him. Wren saw him too but took the distraction and urged Calum to walk faster. He grinned maniacally, flipping off the Hunters before he ducked beneath the peak of the roof, sliding down the tile until he was hidden in the blind spot above the coop. He slid the bow into his inventory and carefully extracted his axe, holding his breath as he heard running footsteps.

He glanced down, shit, there were only two of them. Where was the third? No time to think, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. They passed right below him, and he rolled off the roof, his wings a shadow over the two Hunters as he used one of them as a makeshift landing pad. The other jumped back but he lunged after the Hunter, his axe swinging in a wide arc that cut his enemy’s belly, the thick red blood spewing from the cut. The Hunter fell to his knees, clutching what was left of his stomach as Icarus made for the final blow. He felt something sharp cut through his leg, and he hissed, stumbling away from the Hunter he had landed on. His unhurt foot struck out, kicking the man in the head. The Hunter let out a yell, clutching a bleeding nose and he didn’t hesitate, taking that moment to bring his axe down on the Hunter’s neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, there was so much blood, he could feel the hot liquid drip down his face, and trickle from the wound in his leg. He didn’t want to think about it, he heard a click behind him and threw himself out of the way just in time for the crossbow bolt to lodge itself into the house rather than his head. He scowled, his leg burned, but he had to ignore that for now. He lunged forward before the Hunter could reload his crossbow, bring his axe down on his head, the man finally collapsing in a pool of his own blood and other things that Icarus didn’t want to think about.

He grunted, trying to dislodge his axe, but it was stuck. There was one more Hunter, he needed his weapon.

There was the crunch of a footstep, “Dumb bird.” someone growled behind him, and he heard the swish of metal through air. He ducked, lunging over the body he had been standing over to escape the sword he would not have been able to block in time. His axe was still lodged in the body’s skull, and he no longer had a weapon, he would no longer be able to guard from another attack. He desperately felt for a sword, his hands and wings quickly covered in a slurry of mud and blood as he dragged himself over the ground.  

The Hunter grinned evilly, slowly advancing on him, the sword raising to deliver the final blow. “Your wings are going to buy me so ma-” The Hunter froze mid-sentence, his face going white. Icarus thought he was going to move and lunged, grabbing the sword that had been left lying there and aimed it at the Hunter, ready to fight. But the Hunter hadn’t moved, and a vein of red now dripping from the corner of his mouth. His sword wavered, something about the Hunter’s coat looked… off. The sword dropped from the man’s hand, and the body fell a second later, a sword sticking out of his back.

Wren was standing in the Hunter’s place, her hair in disarray and her face set in a scowl.

He immediately realized what had happened and the sword dropped from his numb fingers. They stared at each other in shock, and he didn’t know what to do, he froze where he was. What would she do now? He had brought more trouble than could be sent away with a few uncaring words, Calum had gotten hurt, she had gotten hurt, they had almost been killed! Did she hate him now. He had done his best, but now, sitting in front of her, covered in blood of people who would never have come if he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure she would want to ever see him again. He would understand why, but it might just break him, just a little. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his voice breaking as he hoped everything he wanted to say could be heard from those two words.

She blinked at him, her face softening, “Icarus.” She said, “Don’t be sorry, you have saved us, and we are eternally grateful.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes, “But they never would have come if it wasn’t for me. I didn’t have to land here when I got hurt, I could have taken care of myself.”

She held out her hand, “I told you that nothing would make me regret helping you, and that still holds true.” She held out her hand and he stared at it for a moment before taking it and letting her help him to his feet.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

He stumbled a moment and her face immediately descended into one of worry, “You’re hurt…” she said, already moving to look at the wound.

He shook his head, grabbing her hand. “That doesn’t matter right now, I came here looking for help, but not for me. Wren, Wren I hate to ask you but I- I need you to look after Scar… I know Calum is hurt but so is he… and I think Grian and Mumbo are in trouble… I need to help them…” he begged desperately, not daring to hope she would help. “I’m fine, but Scar needs help.”

Wren hesitated, “Wait.”

“Please Wren.” Icarus pleaded in despair.

Wren glared at him like she would at an unruly child, “Wait.” Icarus shifted uncomfortably, watching the sun go slowly down even though Wren was only gone moments. She handed him bandages.

“You don’t-” he started, pushing the bandages away.

“Yes, I do. I spent all that time making sure you were healthy; I am not letting you die. These are to make sure you do not bleed out, use them.” He nodded jerkily, reaching down to dress his wound before straightening.  

She nodded, “Now, where is Scar?”

Icarus let out a sigh of relief before he let out a chirp. It took a moment before he heard the reply as the crow spiraled from the sky to land on his outstretched hand. “Take Wren to Scar.” He said quietly. The crow nodded and Icarus held the crow out for Wren who extended her own wrist for the crow to perch on. The crow cocked its head at her before taking the offered hand gladly.

Wren ran an absentminded finger over the crow’s feathers as the crow leaned into the touch happily, “I’ll take care of them, you go.”

Icarus nodded with relief and grabbed two swords from the pile on the ground as well as finally yanking his own axe from the Hunter’s skull.  

He tested his leg, and leaped into the air, flying the way he had come, even though he had no idea where to go after that. “Shit, shit, shit.” He muttered. His best bet was to go to the oak tree where he had met Mumbo and Scar. That had been where Grian had told him to go if he wanted to find them.

The air in front of him exploded in a burst of sparks, and he flipped away, panic rising at what he thought was a wall of fireworks. He looked over and saw instead the giant phoenix from the festival. It saw him notice it and pushed its way silently through the sky in a blaze of glory. He didn’t hesitate and followed close behind.

Time moved honey as he flew, every second stretching into eternity. It was a relief when he could finally see the tree, towering above the other trees and almost as tall as the rocky cliff that served as its background.

His guide circled the tree before it disappeared in a shower of golden sparks.

He got the message, and shot towards it, pulling up at the last second among the branches of the oak’s crown. His leg gave out a little, but he gritted his teeth and prayed that it would hold out, it wasn’t that bad of a cut. There were small platforms and walkways scattered around that looked like they had been constructed just for the purpose he was using them for. Probably smart considering two, winged beings lived there. He followed the walkways, hoping they met at one point, and they did, a trapdoor leading inside the trunk of the tree. He took a deep breath, his hand resting on the latch. He heard a muffled scream of fury and didn’t wait another second, pulling the trapdoor open with a sharp tug.

He poked his head inside and frowned at how big the inside seemed, it looked a lot bigger than even the main trunk should be. He could hear things being broken, and muttered conversation below him, but nothing loud enough that they could be on this floor. He dropped down, closing the trapdoor behind him as he landed lightly on the upper floor. He crouched, breathing through his nose as he strained to hear anything.

“YOU FOOLS!” someone yelled, “DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Icarus paled, that sounded like Mumbo, but if that was Mumbo, where was Grian?

The closed trapdoor no longer let in light, but he could still see, curtesy of flickering redstone lamps dotted everywhere. He crept forward towards a staircase that descended into the tree. He glanced over the edge of the floor to stare down all the way to the ground floor. There were four more floors before he could see the bottom and he saw a small crowd standing far below him. One limp form was curled on the floor in a ball, a mess of red behind him. Icarus went white at how still the form was, it could only be Grian and all he could hope was that he wasn’t too late. Another few people were holding a still struggling figure, that had to be Mumbo.

He heard things breaking, and gruff arguments. He pulled his head back quickly when he saw someone start climbing the stairs to the next level. He paled, if they climbed, they would only be one level below him. He pulled his axe from his inventory; his best chance was them not knowing he was there until it was too late.

There was scuffling below him and he held his breath, creeping back from the edge as much as possible. He would have one chance. He heard the footsteps walk away and he crept down the steps, keeping as far away from the edge and as low as possible, hoping his wings disguised him as nothing more than a shadow in the dimming lights. He leaped off the stairs onto the next landing and ran into a nearby room, keeping the door open only enough to see the landing. He sighed in relief as the Hunter exited a room a couple doors away from his own.

The Hunter turned his back to him, jiggling the handle on the next door. He gripped his axe tighter and paused. Did he really want to kill someone…? He shook his head; he couldn’t have a moral dilemma right now, he needed to save his friends. He changed his grip on his weapon and opened the door just enough to slip through. The Hunter was not happy, muttering to himself and throwing his weight against the door with grunts of frustration.

He crept forward, not making a sound. He raised his arm and smacked the back of the man’s head with the flat of his axe. The man let out a grunt of surprise before tumbling over, unconscious. The Hunter made a thunk as he hit the floor, and Icarus winced, standing very still, waiting for someone to sound the alarm for the out of the ordinary noise, but nothing happened. He took that moment to slide his knife out of the sheath and slit the Hunter’s throat, the blood seeping out to pool on the floor. He closed his eyes for just a moment, shuddering at the sight of the blood, his finger sliding over the blade and staining his hand red... He shook his head, huffing out a heavy breath of air, he couldn’t do this, he had to keep going, this wasn’t over yet.  

He crept to the staircase, straining to hear whoever was below him. There were two. He could hear them arguing between themselves about how valuable something was. He wrinkled his nose; these people were just thieves. He couldn’t believe that this was what had shot him out of the sky, he could at least have fallen to a… knight or some shit, not these losers. He took the Hunter’s sword and found a knife to shove in his belt. Always a good idea to have more weapons if you’re outnumbered.

He kept going down the stairs, hoping no one would notice him. He couldn’t hear Mumbo anymore, hopefully the phantom was still ok. He peaked onto the landing and saw the two, they were fighting over a hunk of gold that looked like they had dropped on the floor in their fight. One of them had pulled their sword and had it pointed at the other. Prime, if he waited long enough it looked like they would kill themselves.

The one with a sword pointed at him scoffed, shaking his head. “You idiot, I foun’ it firs’.”

The swordsman grinned maniacally, “Don’t worry, it’ll be min’ so’n. It really belongs with som’one who’ll ‘ppreciate it more.”

Icarus didn’t wait for another word, he leaped straight off the stairs, crashing into the sword wielder’s back and aiming his own sword at the other. The standing Hunter leaped back with a yell of surprise and Icarus grimaced, that was less than ideal. The Hunter pulled his sword, and suddenly seemed to notice the large wings adorning Icarus’s back because his jaw dropped. Icarus sighed, leaping forward, his sword coming down and clashing with the Hunter’s. He gritted his teeth and shoved, the man going off balance enough that Icarus could free his sword. He swung again, and was barely blocked, he spun, using his sword to distract as his axe came up under the man’s guard and sliced through his stomach.

He almost retched at the stench as the Hunter fell to the ground, twitching as his internal organs littered the ground.

“THERE’S A…”

Icarus abruptly turned, pulling that knife, and throwing it into the Hunter’s back, effectively ending the Hunter’s sentence. The Hunter froze and keeled over the staircase’s banister. Icarus counted, not even reaching four before he heard the thump of the body hitting the ground.

Blood roared in his ears. Blood for the blood god.

-

Somewhere far away, a man, eyes gleaming red, stared into the darkening sky, and smiled, “I see you. You’re being a hero, aren’t you? Make sure you don’t die like one.” the man whispered before turning his back and disappearing into the swirling blizzard.

-

There was more yelling, but he ignored it, a strange calm settling over him. He’s always been one for a flamboyant entrance. He gripped his weapons, and ran to the edge, jumping off and falling. He flared his wings to slow his fall, time pausing for that moment as he floated through the air. He saw the Hunters see him, but he didn’t care at that moment, his mind in a state of peace. His foot touched the ground as he landed, his knees bending slightly from the impact and his wings stretching on either side like a fan. Time sped up abruptly and he hissed at the Hunters, anger bubbling in his stomach.  

“Icarus!” Mumbo yelped, struggling even harder from where he was tied in front of two Hunters. His face covered in dried blood and gashes in his previously well-kept suit showing the ferocity of his fight. Only one Hunter, boredly guarded Grian’s still form looked so surprised at Icarus’s arrival that he could do nothing more than stare. Icarus leaped at him first.  

The Hunter scrambled back, yelping in surprise. One of Mumbo’s guards ran across the floor towards them. Icarus swiped his sword at Grian’s guard and ducked as the other swung his sword over his head, a bit too close for comfort. He cursed the air blue, not having the time to focus. He heard the click of a drawn back crossbow, and he knocked the weapon upwards right as the Hunter shot, the bolt traveling up and lodging in the ceiling. He took that moment of distraction to shove his sword through the man’s gut. He heard a whistle behind him and fell back, scrambling away from the sword that had descended behind him.

He'd had to leave his sword and all he had was his axe. The two swords clashed, and he was pushed away. Oh shit, he was between the one he was fighting and Mumbo’s guard, he heard the click of a crossbow and dropped to the ground right as it shot, the bolt instead hitting the other Hunter in the chest. He scrambled back, shit, shit, shit, shit. He was still in danger. He heard another click and stared into the Hunter’s dispassionate eyes. He sucked in his breath and trembled. It was so familiar. So familiar…

The man didn’t even smile, but Icarus saw him start to squeeze the trigger…

A shocked look overcame the Hunter’s face, blood suddenly trickling from the corners of his mouth. He fell over and Icarus’s jaw dropped to see Mumbo, the Hunter’s still beating heart clutched in the phantom’s fist.

Icarus took a shuddering breath, half shaking from the fight. “Mumbo…” he said quietly, “Are… are you alright? What…?”

Mumbo nodded, dropping to his knees in front of Icarus, “Thank you for coming. They were threatening Grian, I couldn’t phase with him in danger.” Mumbo said, his voice distant. He seemed to finally realize he was holding a heart and threw it away, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Darn it, this is going to be a pain to clean up.” His hand twitched like he wanted to run a hand through his hair but quickly thought better of it.

Icarus stared, then a thought suddenly came to him, “Oh prime! Grian.” He pushed himself to his feet, stumbling towards Grian’s still form. Grian looked even worse than Mumbo. His wings were tightly bound behind him, and so were his arms, blood was trickling from cuts and bruises everywhere, including one on his temple.

Icarus hovered over the avian, not daring to touch Grian in case he just hurt his friend more, but he couldn’t just leave him. There were hurried footsteps behind him, and Mumbo pushed him out of the way, he complied quickly, the phantom not in the mood to argue. Mumbo’s hand was now surprisingly clean, and he was carrying a knife and multiple potion bottles clutched in his hands as he fell to his knees beside the wounded avian.

Icarus backed away as Mumbo freed Grian’s limbs, it was so painfully familiar, but he hadn’t been watching from this angle.

-

“-my! -mmy! Please… we need to go… need to leave… so hurt…”

…

“…where are your wings?”

-

Icarus whimpered under his rapidly quickening breath. “Oh prime, oh prime, oh prime…” he whispered, collapsing to his knees. Grian still had his wings, it was alright, everything was going to be alright…

He still had his wings.

The panic rose and he rapidly took that memory and shoved it back into the chest, locking it as tightly as he could and rushing back into what was happening in the real world with a gasp.

Nothing had changed, no one noticing his moments of struggle to breathe. Mumbo muttered to himself, pouring potions on the worst of the hurts. The injuries closed, and the blood stopped pouring down Grian’s face. Icarus creeped closer as Mumbo just continued to administer treatment.

Suddenly Grian gasped, sitting up with a start and almost head-butting Mumbo who grabbed him by the shoulders, “DON’T HURT YOURSELF MORE YOU MUPPET!” Mumbo roared, trying to wrestle Grian into lying back down.

“Mumbo?! Mumbo!? Scar?! Where’s Scar?!” Grian demanded, his voice becoming more and more panicked, “I can’t see! It’s happening again!”

Icarus grabbed one of Grian’s shoulders and the avian looked straight at him. It shocked Icarus to not look in Grian’s usual laughing brown eyes and instead saw eyes of pulsing purple.

“Ah. Icarus.” Grian said, suddenly calm despite his previous panic. “You know where Scar is.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyways, shocked into silence by the sudden change in his friend.

“He’s safe.” Grian said smiling, lying back down without a fuss. Icarus took his hand away, but it was caught in an iron handed grip, “Go to the village Icarus, they need you. The Hunters are there, so is fire, there will be more. Go. Go, sun of death.”  

Icarus stood up quickly, backing away until his back hit the staircase. “What…?”

Grian smiled apologetically, “I see much of what was previously hidden from me. I know who you are now, even though you do not know it yourself. Oh, you poor, poor, child; brought from one war to another. This time when you lead the charge no one will sneak a knife in your back. The final battle is here, now finish this.”

Icarus fled, almost making it back out the door before there was a cry of panic. “WAIT!”

He turned around, breathing hard as he stared at Grian, reaching for him desperately. “It’s for you. It was never for us. We just had to keep it safe.” Grian held a feather, perfectly pitch black except for a single diamond of ivory, light glancing off it from every angle. It sent a feeling of fear down his spine, everything did. Grian knew, what he knew Icarus didn’t know, but the offer of the gift seemed more like a curse right then.

He turned and fled out the door ignoring the cries to come back. He was gone, away from the place, away from Grian, before anyone could catch him.

He left, flying as fast as he could, both away from his past and to save his present. He briefly realized that he was flying over the farm in his mad dash and saw nothing but a calming golden light shining through the window and he did not look any further. His mind was filled with visions of the feather that Grian had held out to him drifting into a crater the village had become. He knew where the village was and dark, swirling clouds hung low and heavy in front of him. Suddenly it hit him, and he faltered while he flew, those clouds weren’t clouds, those dark grey plumes of air were the bales of smoke, and much more of it then could ever arise from the fireplaces even with the nearness of winter. Something was on fire, lots of things. He pushed himself harder, shooting through the sky like a rocket, everything below him turning into a green blur.

Smoke filled the air the closer he got, and he started coughing, it was getting harder to see and he glided to the ground. He had landed on the outskirts of town, and he could see the larger buildings through the haze, tinges of red licking the sky. The houses around him seemed untouched and he set off at a full out run. The smoke was better now he was on the ground, but it still made his eyes itch, and he pulled up his shirt to cover his mouth and nose.

He stumbled over a pothole in the road and started coughing, rubbing his eyes for the moment of his hesitance. He heard a swooshing noise, like a breath of wind being let out of a bag, and he glanced to the side. He didn’t have time to do anything other than scream as a net hit him out of nowhere. He threw his arm up to block it, but it wrapped around him and threw him back multiple feet, dust blowing up around him.

The rope was thick and heavy over his entire body, weighting him down, the edges tied to weights, tangling it even more around his body and wings. His leg felt like it was on fire, one of the strands wrapping tight around his injury in an unforgiving knot. “FUCK!” He screeched, frantically tearing into the net fibers. He pulled his knife from his wrist sheath and started cutting, but the thick fibers just seemed resistant to the cuts from his knife.  

Figures approached, looming skeletal figures cloaked in grinning masks of haze and smoke whose laughs seemed to come from every direction as they surrounded him. Taking it one step at a time. He hissed at them but couldn’t keep down the fear that was threatening to break him. They could see it too, as they grinned at him like a predator that had finally caught its prey.

He struggled more, flexing his wings to fly, straining against the fibers that felt like burning iron the more he pushed, and failing as the net only tangling tighter around him. His fingernails dug into the ground as he scratched at the ground for any type of escape.  

“Heh, heh, heh, looks like we’ve got a live one, boss.” One of them said sarcastically.

One of the others smirked, “It won’t be for long.”

Icarus screeched, trying to drag his much heavier weight away from the Hunters, like a wounded animal that was trying one last time to escape. He was making only bare inches of movement, and he knew that it would do no good, his thoughts brought to reality when he heard the click of a cocking crossbow. He closed his eyes, his entire body vibrating with his barely contained panic. Too many things had been pointed at him today, he was so done with it. If he could simultaneously break every crossbow in the world at that one moment, he would.

“I’d stop what you’re doing, bird, or I will just shoot you. There is absolutely nothing stopping me.” Said a dispassionate voice, he felt the sharp prick of an arrow being pressed against his head. He took a deep breath; he won’t be caught again. He can’t be, he can’t be, he can’t be. The other times, they were going to kill him, but he could fight, he could deal with that, but he couldn’t get caught. Not again. Never again.

A thin keen emerged from his throat. There was a sharp kick to his face, and he bit his lip, blood pouring into his mouth. He coughed, choking on the overwhelming taste of iron. He swallowed reflexively like it was the only sustenance he would be granted for days. He flexed his wings, the only muscles that he could still move as he lay frozen on the ground. He could feel the dirt digging into his cheek and the heavy net weighing him down, the fibers dragging against his hair, his clothes, his feathers.

He felt another kick to his gut, but he didn’t react. He couldn’t react. Reacting would only make it hurt more. He closed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to block out reality usually worked.

He heard an angry sigh, “This one is useless, look at it. It’s not doing anything. Really thought we found a fighter. Guess they’re all just cowards.” The voice said disgustedly.

Coward, good for nothing, useless, flying brat; nothing more than a useless way to hold power over a few idiots. No one will ever come for you. No one ever cared. Theseus fell to his death with no friends and no family. Considering how much you relate to him, maybe you don’t need to fly either…

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Someone yelled angrily.

His eyes shot open, and he looked through his bleary vision to see… Kit. No, no, no, no, no. He twisted where he laid, opening his mouth, trying to tell Kit to get back. To run away. But the words caught in his throat and another kick to his gut sent him back to the ground, all breath stolen from him.

“Leave kid, we have no quarrel with you. This isn’t your fight; you shouldn’t even know anyone to the likes of it and I’m sorry if it lied to you about friendship.” The voice was sickly sweet, and all Icarus could hear in his head were repetitions of liar. The Hunter was a liar. So was the voice in his head.

Kit didn’t stop, pulling out an axe that was much too big for him, “Get the fuck away from him! Shouldn’t be with the likes of him? None of the likes of you should exist! He destroyed your kind long ago; don’t you think I’ve heard the stories!?” Kit shrieked and if looks could kill, all the Hunter’s would be dead. “I will defend him just like my forefathers did hundreds of years ago!”

Now the Hunters were focused on Kit and not him. He couldn’t leave the kid, his friend, with them. He grasped for anything that could help him, his own knife would be too slow.  

A bird called out far above him. He squinted above him, his fingers twining through the mesh as the black feathered bird circled around his head like the calling of the dead. It swooped down gracefully, landing a few feet away, the metallic feather gripped in its beak. Its eyes swirled with stars, and his hand grasped for what was just out of his reach. It hopped forward and laid it carefully on his hand, “You forgot something.” It seemed to chirp, nudging his fingers closed.

He grasped it and felt the strength of the paper-thin fibers and the felt the wetness of blood flowing down his hand where his hand met the edge. He flicked his wrist and the feather cut through the netting like it was nothing. Thank fuck. The Hunters had surrounded Kit and the child stood there proudly, ready to fight until the end. There was no way in hell or heaven Icarus was going to let it reach the end.

“Kid. You don’t know what you’re talki…” one of the Hunters started. Kit swung with a war cry, his balance off as he stumbled towards the one who’d spoken. The Hunter grabbed Kit’s hand and twisted it, the axe dropping from the kid’s fingers. Even disarmed the kid fought like a wildcat. Biting and yelling. But the Hunters were having none of it, trying to control the beast of a child.

One of them hit Kit and he fell to the ground, blood dripping down his face. That was the final straw and Icarus cut through the strands holding him down with a shriek of rage.

He lunged up and slammed into one of the Hunter’s, pushing them against one of the others. They all shouted in surprise, and he grabbed Kit, throwing the child behind him and raising his wings like a shield. He shrieked at them, looking between them as they drew their swords.

There were too many of them, he couldn’t fight them. He still tried, lunging at the one that had hurt Kit and slashing at him with the feather. But they had better weapons, and he had no time to pull out another one. He was outnumbered, outarmored, and outweaponed. He heard Kit yell out behind him and he ducked under a sword swing. It was time to get out of here.

He now did what he always had; this time he didn’t do it for himself. He ran away, pushing Kit back and turning to grab Kit by the arms. “Hold on tight.” He muttered. He felt Kit nod and the kid’s arms tighten around his neck, that was all he needed as he leaped into the air, the ground falling away below them as he pumped his wings. Kit shrieked, clinging even tighter to his neck the higher they went. Icarus could hear the Hunter’s yelling below him and he decided to take a more unpredictable route, swerving through the air to make sure any bolts stayed far away from him. His eyes blurred from the haze of smoke, but he flew the short ways to the village, landing in the center of the street and stumbling forward, almost falling to his knees as he tried to avoid running into anyone as he hugged Kit to his chest. People milled around him, and some of the stores around him looked either charred or people still were throwing water and sand on the stubborn blaze.  

A group of men in armor approached them and Icarus took a defensive stance in front of Kit, shoving the child behind him as his mind raced on how to fight these enemies. Maybe it was time to make another quick exit. Suddenly Kit ducked under his arm, and he tried to grab the boy but instead when the kid stood in front of Icarus, the guards paused for a moment, “Oi there are Hunters on the outskirts, go deal with them!” Kit commanded with all the authority of a general and the scowl of a hellion who would not take no for an answer.

Icarus grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. A hulking figure left the people who were swarming out of a smoking building. “ICARUS!” Aodh boomed, running over to meet them. He relaxed minutely and so did the armed men. “What happened?” Aodh asked, looking worried at Icarus’s battered clothes and blood that was staining his clothes.

He shook his head, “I’m fine, look at Kit, there were some Hunters on the outskirts and Kit got attacked. I grabbed him and got him out of there.”

Kit scowled, pushing Icarus lightly, “Excuse me, I’m fine. I’m not the one who got sidelined by a net and almost shot in the head. I saved your life, and I’m not going to die.”

Aodh looked confused, the guards did not and clomped past, running as fast as their armor let them towards where Icarus had flown from. He turned to follow, but Aodh grabbed his arm, “You need to be looked at.”

Icarus jerked his arm away, “I’m fine, I need to help-” he said, determined to limp after them.

Aodh shook his head, grabbing his arm again, “You don’t have to help them, we need to get you and Kit looked at,” Kit had a sour look at that remark, “and take care of the rest of the village. Taking care of these bastards is their job and they will be brought to justice.” Aodh said, scowling a little. “They tried to burn my smithy. But what they didn’t know was that I had fire resistance and most of it was stone. They obviously knew I had hybrid blood but didn’t know what kind. They did start burning the town hall, flower shop, and other places.” He shook his head, “We’re still trying to put out some of the fires, we didn’t even know about them until they were too big for them to be put out without major damage. They all started from hidden places in the building and spread quickly, timers too, most likely candles.”

Icarus paled at the description, “Was anyone hurt?” he asked, eyes widening.

Aodh nodded gravely, “The flowerkeeper almost got caught by the fire because she passed out from smoke inhalation. One of the downsides of having bee-blood, many others got badly burned before they could be helped; but there have been no deaths so far…”  

Icarus and Kit followed Aodh to the Inn, which when they entered Icarus saw it had been made into a temporary hospital. Kat was right at the forefront, giving orders and passing out bandages. A woman came and grabbed his arm, leading him to a chair despite his protests. She gave him a damp towel to wipe off the blood and checked his injuries. He winced as she placed stinging herbs on his cuts, she also rewrapped his leg. She tried to keep him there, but he refused, sneaking out of the Inn when no one was looking and volunteering at the first group of people that he found to help fight the fires.

He was even there when the guards brought the Hunters in. By that time most of the fires had been put out and even the sky that cleared somewhat, small rays of sun peeking through the haze. He was moving debris that had fallen into the road, but he had stopped to watch the gloomy and hostile group being brought in. They were battered, bruised; shackled in chains and quickly led to where he assumed the prison was. He had gone back to work, a feeling of satisfaction settling into his gut. He asked someone what would happen to them, and he was told that they would spend the rest of their lives slaving in an iron mine, with much better conditions than they deserved. There was a glint in the person’s eye when they said that, and Icarus decided not to ask them to elaborate.

Afterwards he overheard the soldiers getting ready to go to what they thought the Hunter’s hideout was, and he volunteered. He’d noticed them exchanging looks and the captain had sternly asked him if he was sure, and he’d agreed as fast as he could. He was tired, but he was going to go, and he was pretty sure they knew he wasn’t going to be dissuaded, cause no one objected. It didn’t matter, even if they had said no, they would have found him there, waiting for them. He was happy they’d said yes, they gave him a sword and treated him like he’d always been there.  

They walked, he didn’t bother flying and kept to himself, lost in his own thoughts. The feather that had freed him carefully rolling it through his fingers. He had to be so much more careful even than a knife, it was wickedly sharp, and he soon had small nicks gracing his hands, but he didn’t mind, he barely even noticed them. Maybe he could take it to Aodh later to get a sheath for it.

It was an uneventful walk to the hideout, and he frowned at the decrepit building. It was tall, taller than the surrounding trees; made of wood with a stone foundation and yet looked like it was going to fall on their heads. They shuffled inside, a few staying outside keep watch. But it didn’t look like it mattered, it looked like all the Hunters had gone to fight the village and the decrepit tower looked abandoned.

Icarus’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the inside. Wooden beams and bits of roof had caved in, and it looked like the ground floor was the living quarters because a small, sooty, fire pit was in the center and dirty bedrolls and other miscellaneous junk was scattered everywhere. He heard a crack under his foot and looked down to see an arrow shaft casually snapped in half by his boot. Though why it was laying in the middle of the floor was beyond him.

They started wandering, searching the few rooms, and picking through the belongings for anything of value. The worst things they found turned Icarus’s stomach; taxidermied wings propped up against one wall, disgusting and covered in a thick layer of dust; large goat horns carefully stacked in a wooden crate; weapons that looked more piglin manufacture than human strewn through all the rooms. Icarus hefted a gold sword but scowled when he noticed the chunks taken out of the edge, it looked like they had tried to steal as much gold from them without it being obvious, but they’d never met anyone who actually knew weapons. He threw it back behind the crate where he had found it and was about to move on when he noticed a trapdoor hidden behind more crates to the side.

He walked over and pulled it open with a grunt, the smell of dirt and damp wafting from inside. He squinted inside but couldn’t see anything except the compacted dirt of the floor. He looked around but the others seemed busy looking at other things, he hadn’t found anything of use, he might as well check out the new room. He stuck his head in and noticed it wasn’t a very big room; spiderwebs infested the corners and mushrooms glowed on the floor, the only dim light in that place; faint shadows showing the outlines of crates and barrels that were stacked randomly like they had been dropped in the nearest free spot.

He sighed, might as well look in them. He dropped in, wincing a little as his leg protested the rough treatment. He ignored it and glanced around the room, the only light coming in from the trapdoor and the mushrooms. He walked in and pried open a crate, it was potatoes. He reached in and picked one up, throwing the root vegetable in his hand, it felt soft and seemed to have multiple stems. He rolled his eyes and tossed it back in, glancing at the others. It was probably more of the same.

He pried another open and he smelled mold, coughing at the old carrots that were filling the crate. He wouldn’t feed these vegetables to his worst enemy. He grimaced, slamming the lid back down. He glanced around the room, stepping a little further in for anything that might be interesting. A small box stood out to him, hidden behind the carrot crates, crude holes carved into the sides. He knelt down, slipping his knife between one of the slats, carefully prying it up.

There was the tic, tic, ticking of something stepping on wood and he froze, his knife still dug into the plank. “Hello?” he asked calmly, it sounded like the noise had come from the box.

The noise did not repeat, and he almost convinced himself he had hallucinated it, he almost stepped away, ready to leave the cellar. Maybe he’d breathed in too many shrooms. Then the crate started talking, “Da?” it whimpered in a small voice. It sounded like a child.

He hesitated for only a second before he fell to his knees and wedged his knife into the slat he’d been prying up. It didn’t take long for the slats to be gone, the nervous footsteps continuing to tic as he worked. The box seemed dark as he stared inside cautiously, “Hey, you can come out now.” He called softly, carefully stowing his knife away to keep from scaring what was inside.  

More clicking noises and six glowing red eyes blinked at him from the darkness, “Da?” The small voice called again, and he gaped in shock as eight legs tapped their way out of the box. But that shock turned to anger when he saw the state of the baby spider. It was painfully thin, the hair hanging in front of its eyes matted, and the shirt that covered its torso loose and torn. “Da?” it asked again uncertainly, hesitating just out of reach.

His heart broke at the sheer distress the baby was in and he held out his arms for it, “Its ok baby, I’m not your da, but I’ll keep you safe.” He said it as calmly as he could, hiding the anger that he had at the Hunters. He’ll make sure to deck one of them before they were sent away, they deserved that and more.

The spider hybrid hesitated again, it’s mostly human face staring at him questioningly like it was trying to figure out if he could be trusted. He shifted a little and its eyes locked on his wings, black against black and barely discernible in the darkness. Its eyes widened and it held out a hand, stepping closer. He moved a wing so the baby could touch it and it buried its hands into his feathers, giggling with happiness. This time when he held out his arms it ran to him happily and he surrounded them both with his wings, the feathers tickling the baby spider. It giggled, reaching out the run its hands through them.

He brought it towards the light, letting it keep playing with his wings. “What’s your name, baby?” he cooed, rocking it gently in his arms.

It babbled at him incomprehensibly and he smiled, nodding gravely like everything made sense. One babble stood out to him though, and it was the word it said the most. “Are you named Shroud, baby?” he asked quietly. It stared at him with those deep eyes, unknowing and vast, yet innocent and full of hope. It nodded happily, continuing to babble at him in tongues.

He smiled, “Shroud.” He said, letting the name sit on his tongue, the baby seemed just as happy with its name, babbling happier words to him. He nodded, “Ok baby, I’m going to take you home, but you have to hold on tight when we go up the ladder.” He said quietly.

Shroud seemed to understand him, but instead of clinging to his jacket, wiggled out of his hands and curled up on his shoulder, letting his hair fall in front of it. He smiled and carefully made his way up the ladder.

When he stepped back onto the planked floor Shroud crawled back to be cradled in his arms. A few of the soldiers glanced at him in surprise, their own arms holding random bits of materials that were barely worth lugging back to the village.

“Whatcha got there, sonny?” the captain asked, glancing at Shroud with worry.

Icarus shifted, shielding Shroud from the others, the baby didn’t seem to mind, just curling even closer to him. “I found them in the cellar, they were in a crate.” He said, frowning to hide his anger.

The captain nodded, “You want someone to take them…?”

He hid the baby behind his wings, “That’s ok, I’ve got them.” He said absently.

The captain looked worried, but didn’t protest, just left to continue advising his troops. Icarus had found what he wanted and left the little building, sitting outside to play with the baby. They tired quickly and went to sleep after a few minutes, he worried, trying to take their pulse in case they were too malnourished to survive the sleep, but they seemed to just be sleeping, just easily tired after what he assumed was next to no food. He didn’t try to wake them up, just gathered the baby in his arms, rocking them in their sleep and humming a lullaby.

Eventually the group was ready to leave, and he fell into step with the rest of the soldiers. They asked again if someone could take the sleeping child, but he refused. His decision was final, he wasn’t going to let anyone else take care of them. They trusted him, he wasn’t going to give them away to strangers.

And that’s how he found himself back at the village, sword over his hip, Shroud in his arms, and exhausted. He stumbled to the Inn and was at once greeted by an angry Kat, who immediately hustled them to a room, only after scolding him for doing so much to tax himself. She seemed amazed at the new arrival who still refused to leave his side but seemed content when Kat gave them food. He stayed awake as long as he could, but it didn’t take long after entering room, a different one from his usual, but all he cared about was that it had a bed for him to collapse into and was soft enough for him to fall into a deep, deep, sleep...

Chapter Text

He blinked at the blank wall that was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It was well worn, darkened spirals ingrained in the reddened wood that warped into knots that stared at him a few centimeters above his eyesight. He groaned, twitching slightly, and instantly regretted it as his muscles screamed at him. He cursed under his breath and laid there, waiting for his body to relax. He could feel the cushy bed beneath him, much cozier than the beds he was used to, even when he was sleeping at the Inn. The rays of sunshine that streamed through the window told him it was daylight and stirred a recent memory of gold. He poked at the memory, hoping to stir up any idea of what had happened to him, yet his brain only remained in its peaceful drifting.

He closed his eyes, humming absentmindedly under his breath and shifting minutely to try and not disturb his muscles. One arm stretched to the other side of the bed and felt the disturbed blankets of where someone should have been… Oh prime, now he remembered. The baby… Shroud… Kat had brought them to a room, and they had fallen asleep. So, he had to be in the Inn, though he wasn’t in his room. But he was alone.

He sat up in bed and instantly regretted it, letting out a moan as everything hurt. He took a deep breath and ignored it; he could now see that Shroud was nowhere in that room… he needed to find them. He sung his legs over the side and could finally take inventory, taking notice of the bandages that wrapped around his hand and his calf. The room itself was bigger than usual, one window open and letting in a light breeze. The floor was even littered with a few small toys and bandages were sat neatly on the bedside table reminding him of the last time he had gotten hurt.  But he was still alone.

He tried to stand up for a second, gritting his teeth as he teetered on legs that almost gave out under him. He sat back down abruptly, lifting his leg to peel back the bandages a smidge and eyeing the clean, red, almost healed scar that scraped down the back of his leg. How was it healed already? How long had he been asleep?!

He took another deep breath and once again tried to push himself to his feet, this time using the bedposts for support. His breath whistled between his teeth, but it didn’t take long before he felt steady enough to take shuffling steps forward until he reached the door. He opened it, glancing furtively down the hallway that seemed empty, but he could hear the murmur of voices coming from the stairway that led to the common room.

He ran his hand along the wall for support, but every step got easier as he walked down the steps. The common room was as crowded as ever and he glanced around curiously, he didn’t know any of the people there except in passing, but everything seemed normal, maybe a few more soldiers than usual not drinking in the corner, but nothing that seemed bad.  

Someone saw him and whispered and pointed at where he stood and suddenly there was a roomful of eyes centered on him. He waved awkwardly, not sure what else to do. The sudden influx of people staring at him suddenly made him feel exhausted, it just made him want to go back to his room and sleep… Well, he had other things he needed to do, pog through the pain. The random thought made him smile. ‘Pog’. He grinned even wider.

“DA!” a small voice yelled, and there were smiles as a small shape ran up to him and he sat down on the steps so he could give them a hug.

They half threw themselves into his arms and he laughed, hugging them close. “Hi baby, are you alright?” He asked, trying to quietly check for injuries, but they already looked healthier than when he had found them. He was glad someone was taking care of them. Shroud babbled and nodded their head and snuggled closer to his chest. He hummed in happiness, “Glad you’re alright, Shroud. That’s still your name, right?” he asked and got a happy nod in return.

“Icarus! What are you doing awake?”

Icarus blanched, “Save me oh brave civilian!” he cried, pretending to huddle behind Shroud and trying not to laugh as a disgruntled Kat stomped her way over. “Protect me from the foul fiend!” He cried as the child laughed and squirmed trying to escape.

Even Kat couldn’t stop from cracking a smile, “Foul fiend aye? Well, I guess you’re not getting any ice cream.”

He stared at her, still holding the squirming child in the air, “You wouldn’t.” he said with complete seriousness.

Kat nodded wisely, “I would.”

Icarus cradled Shroud in his arms, barely keeping back the laugh as he looked at them solemnly, “I’m sorry dear one. You must get sacrificed for the greater good.” He said as he offered the child to Kat who stared at the offering, bemused. Shroud giggled and finally wiggled free, running to hide behind Icarus, their bright red eyes blinking from under the feathers of his wings he enveloped her in.

“It looks like your sacrifice is gone, and now you are left to pay the consequences.” Kat drawled.

Icarus flinched just a bit but ignored his gut feeling. Kat seemed to notice the flinch and her face softened. “But Kat…” he started, trying to get the playful tone back.

Kat sighed, “Come on kid, let’s get you something to eat and get you comfortable and we’ll tell you what’s been going on.”

At the thought of food, he perked up. “Food?” he asked, feeling the feathers behind his ears perk up.

Kat grinned, “Yes food, but first, let’s get you back to bed.”

He grumbled but didn’t stop her from helping him back up the stairs, Shroud proudly leading them down the corridor to the room he had emerged from. He stopped in his tracks in front of the door, “What happened to my room?” he asked, confused.

Kat paused, mouth opening and closing like she wasn’t sure what to say, “Well. When you were sick, we needed something better than a broom closet for you to get better in, and no one was using this room, and Shroud refused to be away from you. So, we just put you in this one.”

Icarus looked at her in confusion. She wasn’t lying but she also wasn’t telling all the truth. “Am I going back to mine…?”

Kat coughed, going a bit red in the face. “Uh, if you want. But maybe let’s make sure you’re completely well first. Wren will be coming over later to check on you, make sure everything is healing. Maybe she can tell you if you can move back.” Kat said begrudgingly.

He perked up, following Kat into the to big room willingly, “Wren?” he asked hopefully.

Kat grinned, “Yep! She’ll be here later. Now sit down and I’ll get you food.”

He sighed, collapsing onto the bed, he was pretty tired. Shroud crawled up onto the bed and curled in the crook of his arm. He smiled, running a hand through their hair that was nicely brushed out and trimmed unlike how matted it was when he’d found them.

Kat returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with a bowl of vegetable soup if he smelled right. His mouth watered, especially when he saw the small pastry sitting next to it, steam rose from both pieces of food. “Thanks.” He said, taking the food and digging in, his hunger suddenly becoming ten times bigger. It didn’t take long for everything to be gone and he set it to the side, offering the last little bit of pastry filled with baked apples to Shroud who took it happily. “How long was I asleep?” he asked Kat, sitting back in contentment.

“It was only about two days; we had no idea when you were going to wake up either.” She said blithly.

His jaw dropped, “Two days?” he demanded incredulously.

Kat nodded, “Wren was your doctor while you were asleep, she’ll be able to tell you more, but I think the potion knocked you out pretty well.”

He froze, “Potion?”

Kat nodded, “Mumbo came by after you’d passed out and offered health potions for you and anyone else who was hurt.”

“Huh.” He huffed, now his mostly healed leg made more sense.

“I’ll let you take a nap or do whatever else you want. Just come down to the common area if you need anything.” Kat said, getting up to leave.

He nodded and the door closed behind the Innkeeper as he stared at the wall.

Him and Shroud started playing games like keep away with the doll that would turn into wrestling or using his wings to catch Shroud and send them in a soft tumble into pillows. It did leave them both exhausted and he fell asleep with the child curled in his arms.

-

He heard a light knocking and he blearily opened his eyes. Shroud moved too, “Da?” they asked, still half asleep.

“Shh shh shh.” He whispered, “Come in!” he called out.

There was a pause in the knocking and the door opened. It was Wren, in the same apron she always wore and carrying a basket. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. “Hi, glad to see you awake.” She said, closing the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

He stretched a little, gently setting the still drowsy child next to him. “Da.” They whispered.

He drew a finger over their head, “Its ok baby, you’re safe.” He said quietly. He glanced at Wren, smiling, “I’m feeling great.” He stretched and winced, “Just a little sore.”

Wren nodded and set the basket down, pulling out new bandages and a pot of what he assumed was medicine. “That’s ok. I would expect it. You were very busy that day if I’ve heard correctly.” She said with a smile.

“How’s Calum? Is Scar alright?” he asked anxiously as she checked his bandage that had become a light shade of pink.

She shook her head as she disposed of the bandages. “Calum was hurt, but he’s doing better. Scar helped him when he woke up himself. Scar is a very nice elf; he is welcome over for tea whenever he wants. He healed himself and us before he called his friends to bring him home. He was slightly confused when he woke up and didn’t see you, but we told him what happened, and he was quite cheerful.” She explained as she spread the medicine and rewrapped his leg. “Let me see your hands.” She ordered, holding out her own.

He obediently held out his still wrapped hands. She unwrapped them and frowned at the thin white lines that covered his palms. She gently felt one, “Does that hurt?” she asked.

He shrugged, “No, not really, they just feel like scars.” He squinted at them, stretching his hands, and feeling the skin pull tight, but they seemed to be healed.

She nodded and threw the bandages into the basket as well, “That was a very interesting object you had. Don’t worry, it’s in the bedside table drawer. I showed it to Aodh, and he said he would try to make a sheath for it. So, if you keep using it you won’t injure yourself as often.” Wren said nicely.

He smiled, reaching over to look in the drawer, “It was very useful.” He said, the shining feather catching his eye and almost absorbing the light that was around it, yet still reflecting like a mirror, it was a true enigma.

She put a hand on his arm, “Are you alright? Do you need anything else? If you do just ask me or Calum. We owe you a life debt.”

He pulled away, shaking his head. “No, you don’t, I got you into this trouble, I got you out. You saved my life, multiple times, this is not a life debt.”

Wren shrugged, “The offer of help still stands. Just say something and we will be there.”

“Thank you.” He whispered. He glanced over at Shroud, “Can you go to my cabin and get my guitar? The crow can show you the way.” He said, glancing out the window, “If the crow is still here.”

Wren laughed, “Of course the crow is still here. It doesn’t shut up most days. Kat has had to regularly chase it away with a broom when it started attacking customers.” She shrugged, “Not that anyone would actually hurt it, cause you know…” she shrugged again.

He frowned, “What? Why wouldn’t they? Is it cause of the avians around here or something?”

She looked at him strangely, “Don’t you have a connection to crows?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, this one kinda latched onto me and hasn’t left.”

Wren shrugged again, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do my best to get your guitar, don’t worry.” She said, smiling.

“Thank you.” He said with a sigh.

“I’ll be back in a day or so, take it easy, don’t overexert yourself, and don’t go and save anyone for at least another week.” She said sternly, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Yes ma’am.” He said, saluting.

She laughed, leaving, and closing the door behind her. He sat back with a sigh, humming a song under his breath. He wished he had his guitar, his fingers were itching to do something, maybe he should have asked Wren to bring him a book as well, if there even was one around. He sighed, rubbing at the scars that now patterned his hands.

-

He spent the next few days getting better. Wren came back and checked his leg, which he had been careful with and this time it hadn’t bled. She had still rewrapped it, but it was doing a lot better and mostly healed. She also brought him his guitar and said that the door had been open to the cabin, but she had closed it when she left but he might need to do some work on the inside. The idea of needing to fix everything again did not appeal to him, so he ignored it, he would go back eventually. Instead he started playing for Shroud and even tried to teach her how to play, though that wasn’t going as well.

On the fourth day he had a visitor, and not one he was expecting. Someone knocked on his door and he called for them to come in, he was focused on trying to clean the blood from his feathers. It was a long process, and it wasn’t getting any better the more he tried.

“Icarus?” a hesitant voice asked.

He turned around, his wings falling as he stared at a very nervous looking Grian. He hadn’t seen the avian look that nervous before, when he half stepped into the room Icarus could see the way Grian’s feathers were fluffed with nerves. The avian was holding a basket and looked like he didn’t know if he was going to be welcomed. To be honest Icarus didn’t know either.

“Can I come in?” Grian asked, his eyes locked on the wings that looked more maltreated from the force he had been trying to get the blood out with. “Oh, uhhh…” Grian just looked more awkward the longer he stood there.

Icarus shrugged, “Yeah you can come in.” he said, watching the avian warily as Grian walked a few steps into the room, but didn’t make a move to sit.

“Are you feeling better? I know Mumbo brought a bunch of healing potions.” Grian shuffled his feet, “I didn’t bring any potions today, but I made soup.” He said nervously, holding out a covered bowl awkwardly.

Icarus stared at it for a moment, “Thank you.” He said, nodding jerkily to the table. Grian placed the bowl down quickly and returning to the same place, looking much like a puppy dog that wasn’t sure if you would want him there. Icarus sighed, “Yeah, feeling a lot better.” He scratched at the scars on his hands that just seemed to itch even more. “Just trying to get a bit more… clean.” He went back to picking at flaking blood. “You can barely see the white anymore.” He whispered to himself, though Grian’s look of sympathy told him that the other avian had heard it too.

Grian hesitated, “Do… Do you want help? I- I know how to clean wings.” He offered, stuttering.

Icarus hesitated, “Maybe, but maybe you can give me an explanation too.” He said accusingly, wincing as he aggressively pulled out a loose feather.

Grian flinched, “What- what do you want to know?”

“Why the fuck did your eyes glow fucking purple?” he demanded.

Grian seemed to relax a lot at that, “I’ll tell you, but it might take a while. Your wings will probably be a while too. I’m going to get some water and I’ll tell the story while I’m cleaning.”

Icarus nodded and Grian bounced out of the room, returning moments later with a bucket and a cloth. Icarus didn’t move but Grian didn’t say anything, just taking a seat next to his wing.

It had still been a few moments, the cool water turning a light pink in the bucket as blood was lightly washed out. “Well? Why did you go enderman when I saved you?” he demanded when the silence had stretched too long.

Icarus could hear the breath whistle between Grian’s teeth, “It was a long time ago, I was a young nestling and exploring the world. I met friends, but one day I found something. It was bedrock, carved into the mountain like…” Grian trailed off for a second, his eyes distant, “Like a broken portal. It was poised over a door, and I in my naivete decided to enter.” Grian frowned for a moment, carefully realigning a wonky feather. “There was nothing in the room, or so I thought. What that room really was, was the first time I ever caught their attention. That was when they started watching. I found more broken portals of bedrock, they kept watching, and one day I was given an offer. They offered me power to see as they do if I keep entertaining them. I would become a watcher in every sense that a caged animal watches those who come to see it through its bars with the clarity of understanding the kind of people what watched it. Yet…” Grian sighed, “I took it. I became entertainment, I died, I lived, I screamed and cried and built and destroyed… all for them.” Grian took a shuddering breath, “But it hasn’t been too bad… I would never have met Scar or Mumbo without… this. Whatever you want to call this, a curse, or a blessing. They- they’re my flock, I couldn’t imagine a better flock…. They help me when I have episodes, they put up with my mood swings and hoarding and even Mumbo lives with my attempts to mess with his redstone.” Grian laughed wetly and when Icarus looked over his shoulder, he could see the tears that Grian was rapidly trying to wipe away.

“So. What can you do?” He asked neutrally.

Grian shrugged, once again tenderly cleaning Icarus’s wings, “You saw my glowing eyes. I can’t really see then… I can only see what others see and that’s only if they are touching me. I also know the answers to questions I have about the person.”

Icarus wondered what questions Grian had asked, a trill of fear running down his spine, but he shrugged it off, if Grian had wanted to do something he would have already said.

“I also can see- auras? I guess you could call them that, it’s more like the person’s state of mind. It’s not all the time though, its only if I turn it on, like flicking a switch in my brain.” Grian watched Icarus carefully, like he was waiting for the younger avian to do something, but Icarus stayed still.

“So. Why did you have the feather?” Icarus asked, dragging the conversation away from the place that was getting too close to what he didn’t want to know.

Grian shrugged, “We found it in the tree, it was the reason we set up the aerie there. We knew that one day someone would need it, whether it was for us or someone else we didn’t know, but we knew it would go back to the family it was made from someday.”

“What do you mean? What is it?” Icarus demanded.

“You don’t know?” Grian said, surprise written across his face.

“Yes. What is it?!” Icarus demanded through gritted teeth.

“It’s a heart feather, taken from a leader after molt, or if lost in battle, and infused with obsidian, sharpened, and enchanted until it was unbreaking and sharper than any blade. Only the best blacksmiths could forge it, and even among our kind few know the secrets of it now.” Grian hesitated, “We think- well, I think that it was a feather from the Angel of Death, and when I looked at yo-“ Grian’s jaw snapped shut as he stared at Icarus, a strange look crossing his face, like he was struggling to say something. Grian gasped, shaking as he stared at his hands.

Icarus stared at him, a strange lethargy flooding through him as he looked at the shaking avian, “Thank you for cleaning my wings.” He said hollowly as his mind was shrouded in protective black wings.

“Maybe- maybe I should go.” Grian whispered, “Just- just keep the feather. It’s yours.” He said, standing up to leave.

Icarus looked up at Grian, “Are you sure it’s mine?” he asked softly, “Maybe it once was, but maybe I’m not that person anymore.”

Grian stared at Icarus, “It does not stop being yours because you changed, it will always be yours.” Grian hesitated again, “You’ve created this new life, protect it, grasp it for all its worth and don’t let it get taken away. Just make sure you remember what you fight for, always.” Grian said finally, the door creaking open.

Icarus hesitated, “Wait.” He called before Grian could leave. Grian paused, waiting for what Icarus would tell him, “Could I come over for tea one day?” Icarus said, offering an invitation, that nothing had changed.

Grian broke into a grin, “Well of course! You saved our lives; you’re allowed over for as many cups of tea or whatever else you could possibly want at any time! Cheers, mate!” Grian said, dipping through the door and closing it behind him.

Icarus sat there, running his hands through his slightly damp wings, the white feathers finally clean and visible. He got up and opened the window, letting a patch of bright sunlight warm the floor where he laid down, spreading his wings to dry them and feeling the warmth protrude into his muscles until he was dozing in the sun.

-

It was time to rebuild. He had been healing from his wounds for the past few days, helped by Kat, Wren, Calum, and most of the village. They were all willing to lend a hand though he tried to protest that he didn’t need it. But no matter how much he protesteḏ more things appeared. Aodh brought him a sheath for the feather that could hang around his neck if he ever needed it for a quick situation. Small bits of food or children’s toys for Shroud. The aerie brought him things too; Scar would bring him whatever new baked goods he had contrived, and Mumbo would bring small toys for Shroud that would move with their intricately designed redstone and they loved. After Grian had helped him clean his wings he had been nervous that the avian knew more about himself than he did, but they had quickly become friends again, and Grian never brought up what he’d had said that night in the aerie again, instead telling more unbelievable tales of Mumbo’s redstone contraptions, and Scar’s attempts at capitalism. Icarus knew Grian remembered, and Grian knew so did Icarus, but neither one of them brought it up, and he was grateful.

He attempted to play for the Inn one night, but Kat had chased him out long before he should have been done with his set. Sending him back to his small room in the Inn, the one thing he had argued for keeping. It was all he needed, just a small, little, safe space to call his own. Thankfully the Inn hadn’t been touched, it seemed the Hunters had decided that Kat wasn’t enough of a halfling lover to need to burn it down.

He had gone and visited Aodh multiple times as he was recovering, stopping by to listen to stories and help where he could with the rebuilding. Though he was scolded and sent to sit down whenever he did anything more than was deemed necessary. He shook his head and complied, but by the time he was given permission to leave, and the doctor announced he was fully healed, he was jumping out of his skin to actually do something.

He walked around the village that day, laughing and helping carry things up to fix the roofs that had gone up and catch the occasional falling tool. He laughed as he handed back the hammer that the sheepish workman had almost dropped on his head. The workman gave him a wave as he landed, and he waved back as he walked away. Another thing was different now, the village seemed much more open, like they had finally decided he was trustworthy. There were shouted hellos to him and waves, people asking him how the flowers smelled or how something looked. It was surreal to see the difference he hadn’t even noticed he’d been missing, and he basked in the happiness that the village gave him too just be there. Children would run up and beg for a flight, and with their parent’s permission… he would comply. Sometimes he did it without their parent’s permission, but that was being a kid wasn’t it?

He wiped the sweat off his brow as he hammered the last nail into the roof. He had been up there for a while, trying to finish it. Due to the perseverance of the villagers, they had been able to easily recover from the fires set by the Hunters. If anything, it had come out better since some had used the destruction as an excuse to do improvements they had been putting off. He sat back on the roof, lazing for a few moments to watch the steady flow of people below him. He hummed under his breath, his mind starting to wander to his life. This was a new life, and there had been challenges, but this was the happiest he’d been. Maybe. Maybe he could start hoping that this time, he could be happy for a long time.

“Icarus!” A voice called from the ground, and he grinned, poking his head over the edge.

“Hello! I finished up here, I’ll be right down!” He hollered back, waving. He glanced back at his workplace but didn’t notice anything left behind. So, he just stepped off the roof, letting his wings slow his decent to the ground, landing with a flourishing bow in front of the unimpressed innkeeper.

“DA!” A young voice yelled. He grinned widely as a small figure poked its head out of Kat’s arms and squirmed to be free.

He saved the child, holding them in his own arms as they babbled to him, their small hands making grabbing motions to his wings. He chuckled, folding his wings to tickle their nose with his feathers, “What is it, little one?” He crooned, rocking back and forth, “Did you miss me?”

Kat laughed, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head, “You’d think you’d gone off to war the way that child calls for you. It’s all we can do to distract them sometimes.” She squinted at Shroud, “Do we know the gender by the way?”

Icarus shrugged, “They’re a child, they’ll be fine with whatever they turn out to be.”

Kat shrugged, “Ok, now for the real reason I came out here, besides giving your adopted little hellion to someone they actually respect.”

Icarus laughed, booping Shroud on the nose, “You respect grannie Kat, don’t you?” He asked teasingly, Shroud gurgled happily, and he absentmindedly tickled them with his feathers that they gently tugged on with their small hands.

Kat looked outraged, “Now listen here you little shit, I ain’t a mother and I’m DEFINITELY not a grandmother. Ya hear?” 

Shroud reached out their arms to Kat, “Gammy!” They gurgle happily. Icarus smirked, trying not to laugh as Kat sputtered. He held out the baby spider to the innkeeper, fully knowing he had won this argument, or at least Shroud had won it for him.

Kat shook her head, gently hugging Shroud before handing them back to Icarus. “Now, I was wondering. What do you plan to do now? You’re always welcome at the Broken Record if you want a job but if you have something else you want to do…”

He looked shocked, “Is there someplace else I should be going?” He asked incredulously. He paused, “I might go to the farm for a few days. I sort of… broke Calum’s roof. I wanted to help fix it.” They scratched the back of their neck, wincing at the memory.

Kat shrugged, “Take your time. You’ll have a job when you come back. Do you want me to take care of Shroud?” She offered.

He shook his head, “I’ll bring them too, they’ll be safe at the farm, and they’ll love being around Wren more.” Wren was one of the few people who Shroud loved as much as him, and the love was reciprocated, Wren constantly sneaking the child treats and spoiling them to no end. It made Icarus smile to see Wren so happy to take care of Shroud. He glanced at the aforementioned baby who was watching them talk with bright eyes, “Do you want to visit Wren, baby?” he crooned.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Shroud cried, bouncing in his arms.

He laughed, “Alright baby, what better time than the present?”

Kat nodded, “Take it easy…”

“…Don’t overwork yourself.” Icarus finished, “Do you really think Wren would let me?” he teased.

Kat smiled, “No, I most certainly do not.”

Icarus nodded, “Glad we are in agreement, now if you will excuse me…” he waved to Kat and walked off, humming under his breath.

“Fly?” a small voice asked.

He glanced down at Shroud, smiling. “You ready to fly, little one?” Shroud nodded emphatically, “Alright then, hold on tight.” He leaped into the air as Shroud shrieked in delight, their legs gripping tightly to his shirt as he held himself in place with powerful wingbeats.

Shroud was whispering something under their breath, and he leaned his head down to listen. “Fly. Fly. Fly. Fly. Fly.” He smiled at Shrouds chant and glided forward, occasionally giving himself more height but enjoying the leisurely flight towards the farm.

He landed, his leg feeling as good as new. He smiled at the farm as he held Shroud in his arms, tickling their nose with one of a loose feather he had been keeping in his pocket. She giggled, wiggling, and trying to grasp the feather. He strolled up to the door, knocking lightly before he opened it to the kitchen. “Hello?” he called. Shroud wiggled even more, and he set her down and she ran forward right into the arms of Wren who emerged from an inner bedroom. He grinned as she swung his baby into the air with a shriek of delight.

“Hello dear, how was your flight?” Wren asked happily, jostling Shroud in her arms as the baby babbled away.

He wrapped both of them in a hug and grinned, “It was great! It feels great to be out again.” He said, stretching as far as he could in the room. “I heard that Calum was trying to fix the roof by himself? I don’t know about you, but I think I can fix the mess I made quite fine.”

Wren laughed, shaking her head, “Yes, please, he’s a tough man and refuses to not try even though he’s still recovering. It- it hurt him more than he would like to admit.” She said, frowning.

His face dropped, his shoulders slumping, “I’m still really sor-”

“NO.” Wren said severely, “It is not your fault, nor is it anyone except those Hunter bastards. You did nothing except get everyone out alive. Do not blame yourself for the past that you could not have changed.”

He smiled sadly, “Thank you, I shall try to tell myself that.”

She smiled back, “See that you do.” Shroud crawled down from Wren’s arm and Icarus scooped them up. “Alright, do you feel well? Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

He shook his head, “I’ve got my tools.” He said, patting his belt, that usually held his axe but now held his hammer and other tools. “I don’t want to leave you with a leaky roof.” He said with a grin.

-

A few hours later he wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned happily at the retiled roof. He’d done his best and there was no way in hell it was going to leak again, not for a while. He sat and looked out over the fields, taking a moment to take in the view. He hummed a little tune under his breath and felt a light breeze run through his hair and through the golden fields of wheat that stretched out in front of him.

He ran a hand through his hair, it was really starting to get long. His thoughts trailed off and without even thinking his fingers split the hair into three strands and weaving them together, one strand over another until he could tuck the small braid behind his ear. It just felt… right.

“Icarus?!” someone called from down below. He leaned forward and saw Wren shading her eyes to see him on the roof.

He waved happily and pushed himself to his feet, giving a little leap so that he could glide down to the ground next to her. “All done!” he said cheerily. “I’m getting much better at building roofs, by the time this one breaks I’ll be a master.”

She chuckled, “Dinner is ready if you’d like to join us.” She offered.

He nodded, “I do, but I think for the night I will go to my cabin. Can you take care of Shroud for the night? I want to be alone.” He asked, looking into the woods in the direction of his territory.

Wren nodded, “They trust you; you know. They love you.”

Icarus smiled, it had barely been more than a week since he had found them, but he couldn’t think of someone he had been able to love as much as Shroud. “I love them too; I just need to… think about stuff. I’m coming back though. There is nothing in this world that could keep me away from them.”

Wren nodded, “I’m glad. I knew you wouldn’t leave them, but I needed to make sure you love them like you should love any child.”

They walked through the door, and he heard a squeal of delight as he leaned down to lift them into the air and swing them in a circle, he booped their nose and they giggled, making grabby hands, reaching up to grasp at the braid that dangled from his ear. He smiled, leaning closer, “Did you have a good day, sunshine?” he crooned.

They babbled happily, nodding their head, “Choc-y-late.” They cheered happily.

He gasped in mock dismay, “You had chocolate?! How will you ever be hungry for dinner?”

Shroud gasped in dismay, but he walked over to the table, taking a seat at the table as he smiled at the farmers and happily taking a bowl of soup. He shared his soup with Shroud as they talked about what had been happening. Calum praised him on his work with the roof and Icarus responded that it was his pleasure. It was a wonderful time, and he was happy he had found people that he could finally trust.

He tucked Shroud into the bed that Wren had provided, “I’m going to be gone in the morning, baby. But I’ll be back later that day. Ok? Da…” he smiled at his newest title, “Da has to go take care of something. Wren will be taking care of you, ok?” he asked.

Shroud frowned, “Coming back?” they asked in a small voice.

He nodded energetically, “There is nothing in this world that could keep me from coming back to you.” He said softly, leaning down to hug them tightly, “You are my sunshine. I will be back tomorrow, I promise. I’ll always promise to come back when I leave, because you will always be why I have to come back.” He felt something wet drip down his cheeks, but smiled in the darkness of the room, “Do you want me to sing you a song?” he asked, choking back the tears.

Shroud nodded happily and he sat back in his chair, bringing out his guitar and strumming out a tune until he could tell that they had drifted off to sleep. He got up quietly and left the room, closing the door behind him without even a click.

“Are you leaving for your cabin now?” Wren asked from where she was leaning against her door.

He nodded, “I’ll be back tomorrow or the next day. I’ll return soon.”

Wren nodded, “I’ll watch them.”

He nodded, “Thank you.” He walked out the door and leaped into the air, humming the lullaby he had sung under his breath.

-

He landed in front of his cabin and cursed under his breath. Wren had informed him he’d left his door open when he’d left in his frenzied state, and the darkened doorframe looked menacing in the lengthening shadows. He walked up to the door and pulled it open with a grunt, glancing inside, it was a mess. The barrels hadn’t been broken into, but that wasn’t without trying. The mattress was chewed and ripped and one of the blankets had ended up in the fireplace where his dinner that had been cooking was now flipped onto the ashes and all that had been in there was eaten. He walked out to his garden, which didn’t look as bad as he’d expected, there were more weeds than he’d have liked, but his plants seemed to have survived. He went back inside and started cleaning up, he picked the blankets off the floor and out of the fireplace, he was just glad that the coals that had been cooking his food hadn’t burned down the entire cabin. He cleaned the ash out of the fireplace and threw it into his garden, and finally he swept everything out until it felt clean enough that he could live in there anymore.

By then it was very dark, and he glanced at the ripped and partially eaten mattress from the mice that had returned in his absence and scowled. He glanced out the door, it wasn’t raining, that was all he cared about. He walked out, finding the spot he liked and laid down on the moss that conformed under his back. He watched the stars swirl and he closed his eyes until he dropped into a deep, deep sleep.

-

He saw something move out of the corner of his eye and his head turned quickly towards it. Everything else in the forest was still and silent, except his fingers curling around the taunt string of his bow, ready to draw it back at the last second.

A face appeared for a split second before the figure darted further into the woods, his eyes widened, his fingers spasming on the string, pulling it even tighter. His eyes never left the figure that slipped through the trees like a ghost, fading further and further into the forest.

He followed it, stopping for a moment at the tree it had hidden behind. He crouched down, frowning as something seemed to drip from the leaves of the underbrush. He reached out a hand, his fingers meeting the liquid that transferred to his hands from the velvety leaves. He jerked away from the plant, wiping his hands on his pants, but the liquid just stained them and his hands a shining blue in patterns that didn’t seem natural. A shiver of fear ran down his spine. What was worse, was the feeling of recognition.

He heard an echoing laugh further in the forest and his head shot up like a startled deer. He didn’t even attempt to be sneaky, he ran through the forest, branches smacking against his face, tugging at his clothes, and dragging at his wings as he tried to keep up with the glowing figure that was always just out of sight and just out of reach, scraps of dripping blue the only thing it left behind. The trees seemed to fade, fewer and fewer of them pressing around him until he wasn’t even sure how the thing he was chasing was staying just out of sight. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to hide but whenever his eyes searched for it, it was a flash of blue behind a rock or a tree he swore hadn’t been there moments before.

The forest warped and shifted around him, but still he ran. Then, he didn’t know how but he wasn’t in the forest anymore, it was like he had crossed a definite line, and he was just… not in the forest anymore. He stopped for a moment, trying to get his bearings, he was on the outskirts of the village, but a very pale imitation of it. The houses looked like ghosts set against an infinite misty field. He didn’t see any people either, even though the village never truly went silent or still. A beacon of silvery light was barely visible past the cloud cover, and it just made everything that much eerier.

There was another one of those chillingly cheerful laughs, and he saw the thing he was chasing, disappearing down the street, each time he tried to focus on it, it was blocked by a streetlamp or cart left despondently by the side of the road. He ran, he ran as fast as he could, his feet eating up the distance on the flat ground.

Then it was just there. Standing. Fully visible. He stopped abruptly; his breath caught in his throat. There was the figure, standing in front of the tavern door like it was going to enter at any moment. The cloud blocking the moon moved and suddenly it was bathed in bright moonlight. It turned around, its eyes weeping blue that trailed down its impossibly pale face, its head crowned in a wreath of blue roses, thorns digging into its scalp and tangled in its curled hair. A bright, yellow turtleneck that was too cheery to frame the gash that cut though its chest and dripped with the same blue that dripped from its eyes and now stained his hand.

It just stood there, and then it laughed, it sounded so eerily like a child’s, upbeat and full of excitement. He was too shocked to speak, and it tilted its head like it was waiting… for something, gazing at him with those eyes that swirled like twin whirlpools and dripped like rain.

Every instinct was telling him to run, to fly away, to leave this place that was not as he remembered it. Even as he stood there, the objects he recognized faded into the mists until it was only him, it, and the tavern it stood in front of. He was frozen in place, he wanted to run, but he had nowhere to run to. Finally, he gathered enough courage to open his mouth, “Who are you?” he gasped out, his throat constricting at even those few words.

It laughed again, but the tears only fell faster, “I am coming.”

-

He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright, staring at the fireplace but not registering it. His breathing was coming fast, and his heart felt like it was beating a million miles per hour.

“What the fuck.” He muttered to himself. It was time to wake up, he was going to have to prepare for whatever was coming. He had been having them for long enough, dreams meant something. He didn’t know yet whether this one was a warning or a threat.

Chapter Text

He returned the next day, Shroud was overjoyed to see him, and the feeling was mutual. He just wished the feeling of dread that hovered over him like a storm cloud would dissipate.

He told Wren and Kat about his dream, yet they were skeptical. He was adamant, he’d had enough true dreams to know they meant something, and he argued against their disbelief, the urgency in his voice rising. They still were unconvinced and shared a look, even asking him if he was worried about the Hunter’s return. He scowled, this wasn’t it, this was something different and he knew it. They reassured him they would do something, but he wasn’t convinced that they would. Though after a quick look in the mirror showing his glazed over blue eyes and grass stained, wild, hair he wasn’t sure if he would believe him either.

Something was coming. Something that scared him more than true death. Something that made his panic rise like nothing had in so long.

After his dream he stayed more nights at the tavern, watching when he wasn’t singing. Kat didn’t seem to mind, he was bringing in more patronage and occasionally new people would show up; mercenaries, traders, everyone checked out, no one made more of a mess than a few bar fights that Kat immediately threw out into the street to brawl as they liked.

Kat seemed on edge for the first week, making sure there were extra bouncers and Icarus always saw others in the village hanging out, but not drinking, watching the other patrons carefully. Then, Kat seemed to relax when nothing happened after the first week. Icarus did not. If anything, the lengthy wait made him more nervous.

Then, someone new arrived.

-

“Come on, I want to show you my new project!” Kit said, half dragging Icarus out to the door.

Icarus laughed, letting the child lead him out the door. They had become good friends since the Hunters, and everything was going splendidly, he fit into this place like a glove, and they welcomed him with open arms after everything that had happened. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” he said, laughing at Kit’s insistence.

The door opened suddenly, and a very dusty traveler slipped through the door right when Kit reached it. Kit easily dodged but Icarus didn’t, his wings casually knocking against the stranger. “Oop! Sorry mate, didn’t see you there.” He called over his shoulder, as Kit continued dragging him away, scolding him for running into someone. The man looked startled, standing stock still in the doorway as he stared after Icarus, his mouth gaping.

Icarus was pulled around a corner and disappeared from the man’s view. The man didn’t move, emotions warring over his face.

-

A flash of black and white bumped into him and he almost jumped out of his skin at the too familiar laugh.

“Sorry mate! Didn’t see you there!” and then the person was gone, his pure white hair and blackened wings disappearing around a corner. He paled, his hands shaking like he had seen a ghost, and to be honest, he wasn’t positive he hadn’t.

“Excuse me.” Someone said behind him, coughing for his attention. He whipped his head around, startled at the sudden acknowledgment. There was a no-nonsense woman standing there with a polite look on her face. “Are you going to come in? Or are you going to let out all the warm air.”

He quickly stepped inside, still dazed from seeing the avian that had run past him. It could have been any avian, Phil had said that Tommy didn’t have wings anymore, and unless Tommy gained regenerative capabilities that somehow Phil didn’t have then that wasn’t Tommy. Plus, how would Tommy’s hair have turned white? Impossible, it was just a look-a-like, and it wasn’t even the first avian he had met on his trip, it was probably the age that reminded him of Tommy. He relaxed, putting on his best, showstopper smile. “Hello, apologies for the door, I thought I saw someone I recognized.” He said smoothly, “Are you the innkeeper, per chance?”

She crossed her arms, scowling slightly, “I am the owner of this establishment, yes. Are you looking for a room?”

He tapped his foot slightly, pursing his lips, “Well… yes, but I will sleep anywhere. I am sadly not very rich as I am a musician, but I will gladly entertain in return for a place to sleep out of the cold and dangerous woods.” And maybe get some fucking information. This wasn’t a very big village, but he doubted Tommy would choose a big one. At least this Inn looked better than some of the pieces of shit he’d worked at before.

The innkeeper looked thoughtful for a second, “Well, I’m not sure, we already have a bard who’s been doing very well. But maybe he might need to take a break, I guess you could step in. But you’ll have to talk to him about it. Besides that, wouldn’t need you for anything. I would look around the village for a different job in case our bard says no.”

He suppressed an inward groan, it was always harder when someone had gotten there first, “I am quite the songspinner may I show you some of my work? Maybe it will change your mind…”

She held up her hand to stop him as he started bringing out his guitar, “That won’t be necessary, but if you do stay here, what’s your name, stranger?”

He sighed, and stowed his guitar back over his shoulder, “My name is Wilbur, Wilbur Soot, but you can call me Wil.” He said with a smile. He was far enough away that no one would recognize his name as the name of a famous revolutionary and madman, he hoped. “If I don’t get a job here, is there another Inn I could possibly get a job and a place at the hearth?”

She nodded at his introduction, “Well Soot, I’m Kat, and I can say I’m the only Inn in this village. If you’re going to stay in Emerald Falls village for a few days you’re going to have to find a job. Or find our bard. But don’t disturb him right now, he’s busy, you’ll see him later when things start picking back up.” She said.

Wil nodded, “Thank you ma’am, I’ll be sure to stick around, I am searching for something and want to stay in town a few days to look for it.”

Kat nodded, “Well, I hope you find what you are looking for.”

Wil paused before he walked out the door, “You wouldn’t have happened to see a boy, not older than 17, blonde hair, blue eyes, probably skittish, possible avian ancestry, maybe goes by the name Tommy or Theseus.” He had asked this question so many times it was like he was reading a script.

The innkeeper shook her head, “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. But if you knew how many blonde, blue eyed, teenagers there were I’m sure that wouldn’t surprise you.”

He nodded, it really didn’t.

-

This village was pretty shit. He hadn’t been able to find a job above dish washer. No one cared, and some watched him with suspicion. He was almost ready to start singing on a street corner for money. Now he was sitting back in the inn waiting for the mysterious bard to appear. He hadn’t seen anyone with a guitar when he explored the village, and he had definitely gotten into some places he shouldn’t have been. He was going to check every corner he could and leave when he knew everything he could. Prime, this was an annoying, fucking time. He just wanted to fucking go home.

He groaned, closing his eyes tightly to try and block out everything. It was almost dinner and people were filing in. He called over one of the waitresses and used one of his precious few emeralds to buy the special of ender soup. Maybe it would finally end his suffering.

He watched casually when that avian walked in, huge black wings pressed tightly against their back as they navigated through the tables talking with some of the patrons, but he was at the wrong angle to be able to see what the avian looked like and soon they disappeared into the back, so it didn’t matter anyways.

He grumbled under his breath, closing his eyes again, hopefully that bard fucker would come soon. He was getting tired of waiting, and hungry. He heard the clink of a bowl set in front of him and he nodded his thanks but didn’t touch it. He hummed a little under his breath, one of his own songs, maybe one day he’d get to fucking play it somewhere it was appreciated.

The room itself was abuzz with talk, and he strained his ears to listen, but it wasn’t anything interesting. Mostly village gossip he didn’t give a shit about.

“I won’t be able to get more flour for another week at the least. Why did those Hunters target my store? At least my stores didn’t explode. I’m not a hybrid. Fuckers…”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to wait for your productzz to regrow from the ground up becauzze some xxxenophobic bastardzzz decided to throw a bomb into your gardenzzzz…”

Wil’s ears, and interest, peaked, that was interesting. The person complaining about flour looked like a very buff gentleman who he assumed was a bread maker, and the person who talked about their gardens had a pair of antennae that shouted of being a bee hybrid. He strained to hear more of the conversation, but they started talking lower. He was going to have to ask about the Hunters and he was going to have to be careful, wouldn’t be a good thing if he was recognized. Phil was quite notorious around these parts, and he would prefer to not be noticed as “The Angel’s Son”.

He closed his eyes, focusing his excellent hearing, honed from years of musical pursuits to try and pick up any more juicy bits of information. It mostly seemed like babble, though there was more talk of Hunters, it seemed there had been an attack not long before. He frowned, if anything he would have some intel to send back to Phil who would be very interested in this news.

The rooms murmuring died down and the focus in the room shifted, he knew that feeling, except usually the shift was focused on him. He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow when he saw that blackened winged avian perched on a small stool up on that small stage, a guitar held loosely in his hands and, what surprised Wilbur the most, a small spider hybrid sitting on a stool next to him. He couldn’t see the bard’s face though, the avian’s long hair had fallen over his face. Wilbur almost laughed at the color, if he hadn’t seen the avian earlier, he would have thought his competition was an old man. That of course could have been good or bad since they could either be the seasoned musician old geezer or the deaf one.  

Wilbur settled back even more smiling smugly to himself, avians had always been more squawkers than singers. Phil had proven that. Tommy had been the exception; his heart ached, Tommy had always liked listening to his songs and when Tom’s voice matured Wilbur could tell from the beginning that it would be beautiful. He’d just wished he’d lived long enough to hear it reach its peak.

The avian settled into place, plucking a few strings. Wilbur winced when one of the strings was slightly out of tune, but the moment of silence told him that he wasn’t the only one who noticed. He smiled in contentment; he will easily be able to boot this bird from his high perch with his obviously superior music. He leaned back, smiling and closing his eyes, willing to suffer through a mediocre singer if only to knock the player from his small stage. Maybe he’ll even start playing at the break and take the crowd easily.

He was too busy plotting he almost missed the start of the song.

“Under the weight of the broken nose…”

He nearly fell off his chair when the familiar lyrics hit him like a brick from a voice, maturer than he remembered, but still his. The laughter of the avian from earlier rang in his ears, turning from happy to mocking as his own music came from someone else’s throat.

He stood up abruptly, stepping back abruptly, and tripping on his chair causing him to fall on his ass, his eyes meeting the surprised and confused face of his little brother. Confusion erupted around him, and someone grabbed him by the back of his coat and dragged him to his feet. “Ya shouldn’t be drunk so early in this nigh.” Someone grumbled in his ear. “If ya arr going ta cause chaos we’re goin to kick ya out.”

They shoved him in a corner, which he supposed was supposed to keep him out of trouble, but he didn’t care. He only watched Tommy, seeing all the little changes, and all the big ones. Those weren’t Tommy’s wings, that wasn’t Tommy’s hair, the person who looked so much like Tommy didn’t even act like his brother, everything seemed wrong, or off, except the voice. That was Tommy’s voice. It was a voice so much like the one that had sung songs with him around a crowded fire that it made his heart ache. He didn’t move for the rest of the night, just attempted to catch Tommy’s eyes. But except for the occasional curious glance Tommy never looked over and there was no flash of recognition in those glances. Wilbur’s thoughts raced, maybe Tommy was trying to do something undercover and couldn’t let his façade drop. Yes. That had to be it. Maybe Tom will come and find his loving brother later and they could go home together. Or maybe cause some chaos first. Wilbur smiled and quietly slipped out of the inn noticed only by a few confused glances from the people in the common area, but he didn’t care anymore, his quest had come to an end.

-

The next day he lay in wait. Stalking the back alleys around the Inn, hoping, dreaming, of when his little brother would walk through the door and step into one. Maybe Tom had heard about the Hunters, but Wil hadn’t thought that Phil had told Tommy, he’d been too young before they’d left to start L’Manburg and then it had been too busy when they had. And he didn’t think Tommy and his father had really been on speaking terms after the incident in the button room…

There. Wilbur froze as Tommy stepped from the Inn. What had happened to him? So much had changed since they’d last seen each other, Tommy’s… everything, his demeanor, the lines on his face, the fear only a ghost in his eyes… it was so foreign to anything resembling his brother. Or maybe… Wilbur thought back, maybe it was foreign to what Tommy had become during the war, the time before the fight for independence was so long ago that he could barely remember the bright and excited young boy had been like. He watched from the shadows as Tommy walked past and stealthily followed, hoping to catch Tom alone for just a moment.

Wilbur followed Tommy and was amazed at how open the villagers were with him, offering bits of food or asking about his day, children would cluster around him, and he’d burst into smiles, making them laugh or whispering secrets in their ears they’d take as seriously as a blood oath before running off, most likely to cause mischief.

Tommy ducked into an alley and Wilbur quickly followed, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one followed. Someone grabbed his shoulder and shoved him into the side of the building. “Who are you?” Tommy growled, face inches away and mouth set in an angry scowl, “Why were you following me?”

Wilbur relaxed, now that he was closer, he could tell with absolute certainty that it was Tommy, down to the mostly faded arrow scar over his cheek. “Tom, Tommy it’s me! It’s Wilbur! You can’t mistake me even with all this grunge, can you? I’ve been searching everywhere for you; we’ve been so worried.” He whispered urgently, smiling slightly, ready to be embraced in a tearful hug…

Tommy grunted in disgust, throwing him to the floor, “I don’t know who the fuck you are, and if you’re looking for a ‘Tommy’ you’ve got the wrong person.” Tommy stepped back, his blue eyes glinting, “My name is Icarus. I am this village’s protector. Now leave me and this place alone, if you stay or try to get close to me again, I will make sure you never sing again.” He said angrily.

Wilbur’s face fell, he reached for his brother, “Wait- To-“

Tommy slapped the reaching hand, “Leave me alone.” He walked away, leaving Wilbur standing there, shocked.  

“He doesn’t remember me does he.” Wilbur whispered.

A crow, Phil’s crow, landed beside him and pecked at his hand, peering its beady eyes at him. Wilbur’s jaw set in determination, “You’re right, if he doesn’t remember, I can fix that. I can get my brother back”

-

“Hello Aodh.” Icarus said, half throwing himself over the counter, he’d just had an interesting conversation with Kat and had learned the ‘Wilbur’ person went by the last name Soot and had had the audacity to try and get a job as a bard at the inn, even going as far to say he was better than Icarus and now he was just even more pissed at this random person that had been following him around like a fucking puppy that morning, “Do you need any help?” he asked, fuming

The blacksmith raised his head, brows knitted in concern, “Ello Icrus, how ya doin! I just finished makin this axe for the lumberjack, besides that nah.”

Icarus nodded, glancing over at the axe, it glimmered in a crystalline blue from the sun that entered the open-air shop, he was entranced and walked over to it, running his finger over the hardened blade, “Is it diamond?” he asked, his voice distant from his own ears.

“Yar it is it be a special commission cause the lumberjack is tired o’ his axe break’n all the damn time.” Aodh said with a chuckle.

Icarus nodded vacantly, “Can I lift it?” he asked. His arm was coursing at the idea of swinging the power of this axe.

Aodh raised an eyebrow at the strange request, “Alrigh’ but be carful, please. This one can cut to the bone in moments.”

Icarus chuckled darkly, “Oh I know.” He lifted it, testing short swings, the blade singing through the air to his heightened senses, “Do you have netherite?” he asked, emotionless.

Aodh snorted in laughter, “We’re a well to do town, but not that rich, no village I know is. Wherein would a little blacksmith like me acquire netherite? Tha stuff is fer nobles and warriers, not common folk like us.”

Icarus nodded, getting bolder in his swings of the axe, a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. “Netherite is interesting; besides being the strongest, and sharpest material, it is special in other ways. For one, unlike these other blades,” he gestured at the rest of the weapons with the axe. “It feels warm against your skin, like it had been sitting next to a fire. It isn’t an uncomfortable warmth, most people wouldn’t even notice it,” He ran his finger over the blade, a line of red running down his arm, “but it is noticeable when compared to the cold metal of iron or hard crystal of a diamond blade. The other interesting thing is that any wound inflicted by a netherite weapon will cauterize immediately after the blade is removed. That is always good to remember cause if you leave the blade in the wound, it will bleed faster, but if you take it out it will stop almost immediately.” He explained nonchalantly.

Aodh’s gaze was unfathomable, “Ya certainly know quite a bit about netherite, son. Do you mind putting down the axe now?” he asked cautiously.

Icarus nodded but before he set it down, he quick as a flash plucked a feather from his wing and let it drift through the air. The diamond axe striking through the air a moment later, cutting the feather clean in half.

He froze, staring at the two pieces of feather drift into the dirt. His vision started to dim, and he gulped in breath from his suddenly tight chest. His wings, he had hurt his wings, destroyed a part of himself. “Calm down. It’ll be alright. Don’t panic, not here, not now…” he kept breathing as he realized that someone was talking to him.

He glanced up at Aodh.

“Lad? Lad, are you alright? I don’t know how you know so much about netherite, but I think you should put the axe down.” He asked.

Icarus looked down unknowingly at the axe still gripped in his hand. “Oh. Oh yeah.” He placed it back on the table. “It’s a bit off balance but it’s a good axe. Now if you will excuse me…” He opened his wings and pushed himself into the sky before anyone could reply. Sending a cloud of dust in his wake, but he ignored anyone trying to call him back.

-

“I saw what happened.”

He looked over his shoulder and let out a long-suffering sigh, turning his back on the bard. “What do you want, Soot?” He really didn’t want to deal with the man right then.

“I saw the way you looked at that axe, the way you handled it. Do you really think you’re some farmer?”

The man sounded like he had just revealed a big secret, had won the prize, was triumphant in this battle. Icarus huffed his response, trying to ignore the man. Because of course he didn’t, he hadn’t for a while. But he had known well before Wilbur Soot had come strolling into his main room all cocky and conceited. He’d known before he’d found a hurt avian screaming for help in the woods.

“I know who you are, Tommy, you can’t hide from me with such a basic disguise.”

He scowled, trying even harder to ignore the man, his hands tearing chunks of grass from the dirt. He didn’t want to deal with this right now, he had left to be alone and think, he wasn’t going to sit there and listen to some lunatic’s insane fantasies about who he thought he was, or who he had been. He pushed himself to his feet and pushed past Wilbur who grabbed his arm. He whirled around, easily breaking the man’s grip. “I don’t know who the hell you think I am, but my name is Icarus! Not Tommy. Not Theseus. ICARUS! Get it right Wilbur Soot! Cause you seem to be missing the point! I don’t know you!” he laughed hysterically, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t think I want to know you! So, leave me the fuck be!”

Wilbur stared at him, realization finally seeming to hit “You mean it, you don’t know me. I can see it in your eyes. You have no idea who I am. You know my name, but you don’t know me.” The man whispered, the shock fully visible in his eyes and gaping mouth.

Icarus threw back his head and laughed, “Oh thank fuck, he finally gets it. Should I give you a gold star, big man? You finally fucking learned how to understand plain fucking English. Now if you will excuse me, I have things to do, not with you.” He turned around and left the man gaping behind him. He was going to ignore the tears that seemed to have been accumulating at the edge of the man’s eyes.

He didn’t know him. They had never met before the inn. Something deep in his mind told him those words were lies.

Icarus walked away from the delusional songspinner, anger still coursing down his spine. Daring to come to his town and try to take his job and then fake a connection without even knowing his name…

Tommy

Tommy

Such a stupid, childish name. How many white haired avians could there be that that asshole could mistake them.

He stomped down the road. “Tommy my ass, I hope you leave and if you don’t, I’m telling the guards you smoke cocaine or some shit.” He muttered under his breath. “He better fucking leave me and my town alone.”

He kicked a pebble angrily and ignored how familiar the name Tommy was.

-

A crow flew away from the scene, a message for someone important.

A black missile fell on the unknowing crow, colliding with it and pushing it to the forest floor. The second crow grabbed the first by its neck and squeezed, its eyes glowing with fiery stars. The second crow cawed angrily at the messenger as it cowered beneath its claw.

The message was clear, no message was to be sent, the crow would not leave. No one was to be told.  

-

Wilbur didn’t go back to the inn, instead he made some small inquiries around Emerald Falls. What he learned amazed him. Tommy? Saving a village? Rebuilding a village? Saving some random kid? The Tommy who he remembered would not have batted an eye at burning a town like this to the ground, he probably would have laughed while he did it, but now he was a savior.

Wilbur sat himself in an abandoned alley, watching the people of the village pass by him as he considered plans. Suddenly it occurred to him, maybe it wasn’t just the thought of Wilbur that Tommy needed to remember, maybe he needed a few more names for the list. Wilbur smiled. He had a plan.

-

A few hours later he found himself sipping beer as near to the singer’s stool as he could get. He assumed Tommy was going to sing in the evening and his guess was more or less confirmed when the little spider hybrid took up residence near the stool, wide eyed watching the people trickle into the common room after work. Wilbur took another sip of beer and watched the spider out of the corner of his eye. From what he’d learned Tommy had essentially adopted the youngling! Tommy had always done well with animals, but it amazed him that Tommy would adopt a child.

The big man himself walked out not long after, sitting down and singing more of Wilbur’s songs. He scowled, maybe he should sue Tommy for copyright infringement, he thought, chuckling to himself. Tommy kept playing, the little spider doing its part by bobbing along to the music on its eight little legs. For one song it even bought out a little triangle and tapping it at the right parts. Wil was impressed, and Tommy had obviously taught it well about music.

It had been a while and eventually Tommy took a break, the spider running to the kitchen to bring him a glass of water which he took gratefully with a ruffle of the spider’s hair.

It was time.

Wilbur stood up and moved towards Tommy with a coin in his hand like he was about to tip him but when he reached the singer he stopped.

“Tubbo was distraught, Tommy Innit.” He said slowly.

Tommy’s back went ridged.

“Tubbo didn’t leave your grave even months later. Ranboo made sure they ate but Tubbo’s demeanor never changed. Phil lost feathers from grief and Techno couldn’t drag him from their house for so long. Techno was sad in his own way, he left flowers for you when he thought no one was looking, except Tubbo who never responded to anyone anyway. Micheal keeps asking for his uncle, but every time Ranboo tells him that you are taking a break from the SMP.”

Tommy stared at him like he was a ghost, his hand clenching the glass until Wil was sure it was going to break.

“Sam was distraught, wishing he’d done more to help you, he thought of you like a son to some capacity though I hate taking that title from Phil. Even Jack was sad, he shut down the hotel and mourned you for at least a few days.”

By this time Tommy had stood up as if he was in a trance, stepping down from the small stage. He started to walk towards the door, making small chirps of distress.

“I didn’t believe it when Phil had told me after my revival. I thought it was a joke, then I saw the lilies…” Wilbur tried to grab Tommy’s arm as he walked past and that seemed to turn Tommy’s trance into panic as he shrieked and yanked his arm away like Wil’s hand had burned him. The glass Tommy had been holding falling to shatter on the ground.

“Tommy. Don’t you remember? The van, L’manburg, Tubbo, Ranboo, Phil, Techno, all your friends and family.” Wil pleaded.

Tommy backed away, shaking his head frantically, tripping over tables in his attempt to escape. “Really?! You remember nothing, not even Dr-“

He was pushed back suddenly, an elderly farmer scowling at him angrily, “How dar yee come in here and attack one of o’rs!” the man yelled, “How dar yee confront him when he want nothin to do with yee! How dar yee attack a singer in his own house. Now git on out of here and if I see yer face in this village again I’ll break that pretty little nose of yers! Shame on yee and yer family! Now fuck off!” the farmer looked over his shoulder at the cowering avian, “Yee should go, son. We’ll take care o’ this un.”  

Tommy looked shocked at the old man; he muttered something quietly before running as fast as he could out the door.

Wilbur looked at the old man and glanced at the angry faces in the rest of the Inn. The inn owner came out of the back room, “Thank you Calum for those words, I agree with them though they seem a little merciful to me.” She glared at Wil, “I think you should take his words to heart because I will chop you up and serve you as soup if I ever see you again.”

Wil took the opportunity and fled out the door. He glanced around outside but Tommy was nowhere to be seen.

He wasn’t leaving, oh prime no, but maybe it was time to break out the camping gear if the village was going to be this hostile. He’d always been the talker not the fighter, but he didn’t think he could talk his way out of this one.

-

He’d been surprised when the man from the alley had showed up, but Icarus had just thought he’d showed to give a tip to apologize. Then the names had come, the remarks about grieving, of death. His brain had shut down, he hadn’t controlled his movements until the touch by the strange man had sent him reeling back. Calum yelling had certainly surprised him more though. He hadn’t even thought it possible for the man to reach that high a decibel.

Tommy collapsed to the meadow floor, tears flowing from his eyes as he gasped for breath. He didn’t know why he was crying so hard but all he could see was that damn compass, the one that still hid, broken, in the ender chest.

Your Tubbo

Your Tubbo

“Tubbo didn’t leave your grave.”

He didn’t have a grave, he wasn’t dead. He was alive.

He dug his fingers into the earth, feeling the aliveness, feeling everything to stay grounded when he felt like he was floating off into nothingness.

He tried to scream but his throat was silent, only able to emit rasping sobs that shook his whole frame. He collapsed, curling on his side and shielding himself with his wings like it would fix the box in his mind that was snapping at the seams.

“I am Icarus. I am Icarus. I am Icarus.” He whispered to himself, ignoring the nagging of the name Tommy. Ignoring how all of the names were familiar. Ignoring how the world he’d made for himself was falling apart.

The crow wiggled under his wings and curled up next to his clenched hand, rubbing his head against the white knuckles until Icarus relaxed and gently petted the bird’s head. He met its swirling eyes and his mind calmed, floating not into the enveloping darkness of death but the cradling darkness of sleep.

-

“I’m sorry my child, my Icarus, I didn’t want this to happen so soon. My other son can be quite… brash.” She said, running her fingers through his wings.

“You mean Wil can be a dick.” He mumbled, not even understanding his own words with the amazing feeling of her fingers through his wings.

“I wanted to give you time to heal. There hasn’t been enough.”

“Do I have to go back?” he whispered.

 “Yes.”

“Why can’t I stay here though?” he whined.

“Because no one else has the power to finish this, not even my Angel. Everyone else is afraid”

“I’m afraid too, mum.” He whimpered.

“I know you are. But you are brave enough to overcome that fear. You saved the village, you saved the aerie, now it is time to save yourself.”

“Will you stay with me?” he whispered.

“I never left you, I was always in your heart, even when it stopped beating…”

-

He woke up, tears streaming down his cheek and a looming feeling of dread hanging over him. The crow was gone, and he was alone.

It was a few days after the confrontation, and he’d finally returned to the village. He’d taken the time to spend time with Calum, Wren, and Shroud. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn’t be there much longer, and he didn’t know when he would return. Fractured memories were slowly escaping the broken chest, the panic was no longer there to protect him, so he felt the full force of remembering. Though, somehow, surrounded by the small family he had made, it was almost bearable.

It was hard to explain why papa was crying to Shroud, but they finally just decided on papa was hurting on the inside. Once the little spider heard that they treated it like their mission to make sure he would feel better, not leaving his side and hugging him when it became too much for him to hold in.  

He took his time on his walk back to the village. Savoring the feeling of freedom. He had a few things to tell people. It pained him but he brought out his old cloak, covering his wings and hiding his hair so he could slip into the village without being detected by a certain person who he was starting to regain memories of.

First stop was at the inn, he had a long talk with Kat and made a request for her to deliver a message to a very specific person.

His second stop was more important.

“Hello Aodh.” He said quietly.

Aodh’s head whipped up in surprise, “Icarus! We’ve been worried for yee! Haven’t seen ya in a few days, were wondrin where ya’d gone.”

“I’m only coming for a moment, I have a trip I need to make, but I needed to stop here first. Can I look in the ender chest again?” Icarus asked.

Aodh nodded, “O’ course, how long will yee be gone? If ye don’t mind me askin.”

Icarus made his way over to the purple chest, opening the lid with ease, “I don’t know, I don’t know if I will come back, but if I do, I’ll be the one who will tell the story.” He said with a hollow laugh, carefully lifting the broken compass from the chest, brushing off the glass pieces. He stared at it for a moment before hanging it around his neck with the strap. “Thank you, my friend, for everything.”

Aodh turned from his project and pulled out the diamond axe, handing it to Icarus, “Take this, it’s obvious you go somewhere dangerous. Take this and protect yourself. Then come back to tell me that story.”

Icarus hesitated, then nodded, accepting the weapon under Aodh’s unrelenting gaze. “I’ll return this. I promise.” Aodh accepted the oath with a nod, but it sat heavy on Icarus’s tongue, because he didn’t know if he could keep it.

The final message was the hardest. It was saying goodbye to Shroud, and it was saying goodbye to Wren and Calum, his family.

He wasn’t sure which hurt more, Shroud being adamant he would return, or Wren’s silent tears as she hugged him goodbye, or Calum’s tight hug and blubbering into his beard as he promised Icarus they’d do a duet when he returned.

He flew away from their home with a heavy heart and slow wings, looking over his shoulder constantly to catch his last glimpse of the place he had called home.

Now, sitting in the meadow where it had all started, his nose full of the scent of flowers. He waited.

Chapter Text

He sat in silence. He was confident that his messages reached their mark. Wilbur Soot did not seem like a man who would leave after finding what he’d been searching for.

He sat cross legged in that meadow. The crow joined him eventually, even bringing a new friend that watched him curiously.

“So much pain…” Icarus whispered. Turning over the memories from his past life. “No wonder waking up hurt so much.”

The crow croaked, rubbing its head on Icarus’s leg. He petted the bird’s head. “It still hurts.” Icarus whispered. “Even now, even with a new life. It still hurts.”

He stared at his hands as for just flashes of moments they morphed to ones dripping in blood, sometimes his own, sometimes from others. Hands steeped in war.

He crushed his hands into fists. That wasn’t him anymore. He wasn’t Tommy. Not anymore.

But some of the memories. The ones he had tediously picked out of the pain and anguish of war. The ones of lying on the grass staring at the clouds. Learning to fly with his family… his dad. Listening to music and screaming the lyrics at the top of his lungs. Mock fighting with his brothers… not that that had ended well. Some of them made him feel a sense of longing, of sadness for the things he’d left behind.

But then they smiled. And their face was no longer their own and instead became an empty mask that made him want to close his eyes and scream.

The crow hopped into his shaking hands, meeting his icy blue eyes with a pair that sparkled with thousands of stars…

-

“Hello, my son.”

The soothing voice came from behind him as he sat cross legged on ground that no longer felt solid. He took a deep breath, his feathers rustling as his wings twitched behind him. “Mum.” He whispered, voice breaking for a moment.

There was the slight sigh of cloth moving over a solid surface before it came to rest next to him, a hand gently appearing to stroke his hair, “This was not my plan.” Her voice was so clear yet felt far away, like it had been blown there on the wind rather than spoken from lips only a few feet away from his ears.

He looked at his hands, scars and burn marks painting a masterpiece of pain and loss. “Why is he here? Why does he want me back?” Did Wilbur not know how bad it was when he-Tommy lived there? Why couldn’t he understand Icarus wanted no part in it.

A sigh. “He always wanted to find you, he begged me to tell him if you were really dead, but I- I made a misjudgment and stayed silent, I didn’t want to get so close to him after I had already used my power to save you. For a time it worked, he accepted my silence as proof of your death, but he was… misguided. Whispers spoke to him and- I- you-.” She took a deep breath, “Your death freed you.” It was said bluntly, and Icarus flinched, a sharp pain erupting from his shoulder blades, no longer dulled by apathy, “His- did not. I couldn’t stop him; I didn’t even know until it was too late.” Her voice was clouded in defeat and sorrow. “He became a pawn to be used to find you and that was all, led by his own longing to find you it didn’t take much of a push.”

Icarus looked up at her and couldn’t see her face behind the veil, but he extracted a small grin, trying to show how fine he was when nothing could be further from the truth. “He never gave up looking, did he?” Icarus said quietly, both of them understanding the ‘he’ was not Wilbur Soot.

Mumza shook her head, “No he didn’t.”

Icarus looked at his hands, “He’s never going to.”

She shook her head again.

“I need to go back.” Icarus said, his voice breaking, “I need to end this.”

“Icarus- I- it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You shouldn’t have to go back…” She sounded almost desperate.

“I have to go back. Don’t I mum?” Icarus said again, meeting her swirling starry eyes.

She paused for a moment, “Yes.”

Everything that had been teetering on the hope she would say no turned to dust. He didn’t realize he was crying until the tears splashed on his scarred hand. He sniffed, wiping his nose, “I guess I’ll get to join you finally then, hopefully it won’t hurt too much.” He said, laughing a little past the streaming tears.

Surprisingly warm hands grabbed his, “No. Listen to me my son, listen to me Icarus. I told you it was not time for you to die all that time ago. And you will never die to him again. You are not alone anymore Icarus. You are strong, and this is not ideal, I wanted you to have more time to heal but the situation no longer favors time.”

Icarus laughed, pulling back a little, “How, I can’t kill him…”

Mumza held tighter to his hands, “You are my angel, Death’s angel, just like your father is my fallen angel. You are not alone; I will be there to make sure he never harms another or cheats me ever again.” She said urgently.

Icarus froze, staring at her, he gripped her hands as tight as he could, flashes of futures where he came back to raise Shroud and live his life in the village entering his mind, “Promise?” he whispered.

She hugged him and this time he hugged her back, his wings closing around both of them and holding them tighter, “Promise.” She whispered. “It is not your time to die, my Icarus, my bright and shining sun… Now go. Its time to protect everything you ever held dear.”

A twig snapped. He sat up straight from his hunched over pose, opening his wings from how they’d been wrapped around his prone form. He stretched, listening to the cracking of his bones as he stubbornly did not look at the human that was taking cautious steps towards him. He smiled grimly, his hands mindlessly preening through newly grown feathers.

“Hello Wil.” He said clearly, not looking at the man but unable to stop himself from using the familiar nickname.

The footsteps stopped in their tracks, a sharp inhale of surprise entering the man’s nose. “You remembered…” Wil said breathily, triumph mixing with surprise in his tone, “I knew you would, I knew I could get you back-”

Icarus growled, “Yes Wilbur, I remembered, no thanks you. And now that I do the least you could do is to give me an explanation.” He already had an understanding, but he was taking grim pleasure at drawing out the information.

There was silence for a moment, “Explain what…?”

“Tell me what happened Wil. Tell me what happened after my death.” The one part of the story Icarus didn’t know, the one point where the memories faded, except for the smell of lilies.

Wil paused again, gathering himself. “The SMP fell apart after you left, Tommy…” 

“MY NAME IS NOT TOMMY.” Icarus yelled, surging to his feet to glare at Wilbur. He knew how intimidating he looked at that moment and he wanted to use it to his full advantage.

Wil paused, face expressionless despite the angry avian glaring at him. “Alright. But the boy who left us was named Tommy. And he left us in ruin, cause no one knew what to do after he left. Phil went crazy and went on a manhunt for Dream. Who he didn’t find. Tubbo doesn’t talk much anymore and built you a shrine where you had supposedly died, much to Techno’s discontent since he considered it to close for the ex-president of L’Manburg to be camping out around his precious band of anarchists. Not that he was around much, since he was helping Phil.” Wil said, shrugging past the glare from Icarus. 

“Tommy is dead.” Icarus spat, “He was led into a war he should never have been in, then killed and abandoned.” Icarus laughed, “He naively followed his wonderful big brother that instead of protecting him whispered lies until he could no longer tell what the truth was, then left him to the mercy of a fate worth then death.”

Wilbur flinched but didn’t deny it.

Icarus snorted in disgust, “Why did you search for me? I was dead, you never had to look for a dead man. I had to leave, everything there hurt me, everyone hurt me, why do you want to drag me back to that hell hole. I made a new life, why are you trying to ruin it?” He demanded. His breathing was rapid, too rapid, the panic was back, clouding his vision, trying to take him over. He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a minute, he thought of Shroud, he thought of the life he could give them if he could just fix his past.  

He cracked an eye open, and Wil was staring at Icarus with a face that at least showed sorrow. Tears formed at the corner of the man’s face. “Tommy… Icarus. I-I had to. It’s me, it’s Wilby, we’ve been through so much together. Anddd I I I, couldn’t let you go. You’re my brother, I couldn’t let you go.” He finished, his voice cracking.

-

“I’m never going to let you go, Tommy. You’re mine. You will always be mine…” said the sickly-sweet voice as the roughened hands ruffled his matted hair. It disappeared for but a moment before the feeling of hot metal cut through his skin.

Tommy screamed and screamed and screamed, begging as the knife cut through his skin. “ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔, ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔ please… Please… STOP… It hurts!”

“Oh Tommy…” the knife kept cutting, sweeping over his lower back until Tommy thought his guts were going to spill out through his spine, “It will hurt much worse, this is what you deserve. This is what I do to the people who are mine that don’t follow the rules. Now be a good boy and don’t move, it will only make it hurt more…”

-

Icarus took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed, he knew he wasn’t there, but Icarus could hear his words hidden in Wilbur’s own speech, “I know who you are. I remember so much right now, I remember when you pushed that button, I remember months of living in a stinking cave as I watched you sink further and further away from any semblance of ever being my brother, I remember you shouting about how much you loved the person who took the most precious things in my life and hurt me more than you could ever imagine.” He laughed, it was not a nice laugh; it was tinged by insanity, the same insanity that had broken his previous life, brought momentarily to the surface.

Wil was quiet. “Do you not remember any of the good?” He whispered. 

He laughed again. “Why? It all went away eventually. Tubbo betrayed me, Jack betrayed me, Niki betrayed everyone, so did Eret, Technoblade betrayed me, everyone betrayed me.” He was silent for a second. “Including you. especially you.” He looked at Wil through his hair. “What’s the point in the good times when they leave you with nothing?”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN WHATS THE POINT?” Wil yelled. “The point is that there were high points, you were happy, you had beliefs and stuck to them.” Wilbur laughed maniacally. “You even stood up to me. You were the only reason that little band stayed together. You’re the only reason L’Manburg ever existed! I might have been its figurehead, I might have been its leader, but you were its heart.” 

“Well, it’s heart broke, and so did L’Manburg.” He whispered. “I am not Tommy, I am Icarus, I am my own heart, I am my child’s heart, my heart no longer belongs to L’Manburg and it will never belong to a thing like that again.”

Wilbur stood there in shocked silence. 

“Now, you’ve told me why you’re here, but how did you find me? I was dead Wilbur, why didn’t you leave me like that?” Icarus demanded; he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from Wilbur.

“I… I couldn’t believe you were dead- I- I needed to see you again… And…” Wilbur shuffled his foot, “I- I don’t know…“ Wilbur trailed off looking lost, “Something, something told me to look for you and I- I couldn’t say no… I needed to make sure you weren’t dead…” Wilbur’s eyes went glassy for a moment before he shook off the vacant look.

Icarus took a deep breath, there it was, exactly what she had told him. “I see.” Icarus said evenly. A small croak came from over his shoulder and Icarus held out his arm for the crow to fly down, resting on his wrist for but a moment before hopping onto his shoulder. It was time for them to go. It was time for people to wake up from the nightmare.

Icarus started walking away much to the shock of his brother, “T-Icarus, where, where are you going. Please… come home... we miss you; we need you.”

-

“Oh Tommy, we’d miss you if you left… Who else will play with us?”

-

“Don’t go back Wilbur.” Icarus said quietly, letting his soft words carry through the meadow. “If you do, I can’t guarantee your survival, she can’t either.” He turned his back on the bard, stepping into the forest and letting the meadow fade from view.

He kept walking, he could have flown, but he didn’t know where he was going yet, he needed a plan. Suddenly it hit him, he stopped in his tracks for a minute before surging into the air with as much force as he could. He had a plan. But it would take a quick stop.

-

He snuck silently into the village, already knowing the guards’ routes and knowing which houses to avoid so he could make it to the forge easily. He kept to the shadows until he had pulled himself into the forge area. He hesitated for a moment, unsure where the materials he wanted were located…

A torch came to life, and he jumped, “This be an interesting time of nigh’ to be sneakin aroun’ don’t ya think? Have ya come to return the axe already?” Aodh asked monotonously from where he leaned in the doorframe, the torch giving a dim light to the otherwise dark forge.

Icarus breathed a sigh of relief, “No, I’m sorry Aodh, but I need one more thing from you.”

Aodh stuck the torch into its holder, his eyes shining just like the flames, “How can I help yee, son?”

Icarus took a deep breath, “I need obsidian, ten pieces.” He said nervously, “Do you have any?”

Aodh paused, scratching his beard. “Ah, I see. Yee be needing fast travel I assumin.”

Icarus nodded. “Preferably now and not after the hours it will take to carve the obsidian myself.”

Aodh nodded, “I thunk I can help with tha’.” He walked over to the ender chest still sitting in its dusty corner. He opened it and carefully pulled out the bright purple blocks that almost glowed in the dim light. “Will this do?”

Icarus ran his fingers over the blocks, shuddering at the cold feeling he was all too familiar with, each one he touched disappearing into his inventory, “Yes.” He breathed, his voice caught in his throat.

“Aodh?! Why you up so late!? Its nighttime man, save work til tomorrow!” a cheerful voice called out from somewhere outside the forge.

Icarus froze, “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” He whispered, he wanted to leave quietly, he didn’t want questions he couldn’t give the answer to.

Aodh didn’t even hesitate, “I’m goin ta bed, dontcha worry your metal head about it. Thought I heard somthin banging around and wanted ta make sure a birdy hadn’t gotten inta the shop again.” Aodh called out, winking at Icarus at the birdy comment.

“Ok! Just checking in! Good night Aodh!” the guard called before moving off, humming to himself.

Icarus breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, I will repay you.” He whispered.

Aodh chuckled, “Don’t worry bout it, maybe bring me some nice ores so I can make some new weapons why don’t cha?”

Icarus smiled, “Count on it.” He whispered before slipping away from the forge. The minute he could see the stars he erupted into flight, relying on the blackness of his wings to hide him from view. He shot off like an arrow…

-

He didn’t even know where he was when he landed. He just knew he was far enough away, no one would find him, or it. He started placing the obsidian, one by one, until he stood in front of the frame. The flint rested in his right hand. The axe was in his left. He held his breath and struck the flint, watching the sparks dance in the air before they met the dark purple stone. The air between the obsidian burst into a bright purple light, ten times brighter then a single spark, and ten times more hypnotic.

He stood there for a second, staring at the swirling purple lights. He glanced at the crow next to him. “Our time is up, isn’t it?” he said, already knowing the answer to his own question.

The crow glared at him, “Get your ass through that portal and finish this.”

Icarus chuckled, “Fuck you too.” He said, smiling slightly. He stepped up, holding his hand out to the swirling sparks. He took a deep breath and plunged his arm in, feeling each particle of his being separate into the void until he who lived amongst the trees and the skies no longer existed.

Now he returned to fire and brimstone, even if temporarily.

-

He stepped down from the portal to the snowy ground on the other side. He took a deep breath, glad to finally be able to breathe clean air that wasn’t a mix of ash that burned his throat like the fire that had surrounded him.

It was quiet. To quiet.

His wings fluttered behind him, his feathers ruffling and settling in the agitation that permeated even the wind blowing through the forest that seemed dead, even for winter.

He knew this place, because of course he did, it was where he died.

Well… not quite. But it was close enough he could taste the blood on his tongue. He spat on the ground and started walking, the crow letting out a lonely caw before landing on his shoulder. Even that call brought no more noise, no calling of other birds, no rustling of prey to hide, nothing, only the silence of the world holding its breath.

He didn’t know where he walked instead, he was drawn like a moth to the flame, or crows to a battlefield. The tundra around him slowly became the woody evergreen forest, littered with fallen needles and pristine snow.

He picked up his pace until he was running, something in his mind urging him faster. Trees flashed past him until the first noise he’d heard since he left the portal broke the silence. A piercing scream. He didn’t stop, he only ran even faster until he found its origin.

He only stood there for a second, taking in the scene playing out in front of him. Tubbo, his friend, the person who betrayed him then saved him, kneeling on the snow, now stained red from a wound to his head while a man clad in green hunting gear and a white smiling mask stood over him, bloody axe held to deliver another hit.

“STOP!” Icarus screamed, flaring his wings out and his hand outstretched to draw the attention. Every fiber of his being told him to run, but he knew the signs, he refused to ever let another person go through what he had. The masked face turned towards him and Icarus held in a scream as his body rejected the wrongness that radiated from him, from Dream.

“You.” The masked man breathed, and Icarus almost flinched, his outstretched hand starting to shake. The crow landed on his outstretched wrist, plucking at the scars on his hand until blood pooled and spilled. The pain let strength course through him even as blood turned the snow red.

Tubbo stared at him in disbelief “T-Tommy? I- this is a dre- this isn’t-“

“Tubbo.” Icarus said steadily, “Leave.”

Dream shifted from foot to foot, the smugness and pleasure radiating from him like a furnace, “No Tubbo, why don’t you st-“

“LEAVE!” Icarus yelled, his voice echoing and cutting off Dream’s speech.

Tubbo stumbled to his feet and fled the clearing.

Icarus stalked towards Dream, “Dream.” He hissed, “I’ve come for you, to end your lies and your tyranny. You will never hurt anyone I love ever again.”

Dream snorted, “You think you can fight me? You’re nothing. You were always nothing. The only thing you ever were was a pretty piece to put above my mantle. Or.” Dream reached into his hair and pulled out a single bright red feather, “Jewelry, a pretty piece to show and prove a point.” Icarus’s eyes locked onto the feather. Dream spun it in his hands, “Do you remember this? What memories do you have of death? Are they more than your brothers. Come on Tommy, we’re friends, you can tell me.” Dream said, his voice cajoling.

There was a sharp scream, and a black body rocketed from the trees, grabbing the feather from Dream’s hands before quickly flying back to Icarus and landing on his shoulder. Icarus carefully took the feather from the crow, staring at Dream through the broken filaments, “We were never friends Dream, you were nothing more than a bully who had more sophisticated tools. You were my torturer, my killer, but that does not matter anymore.” Pain, he had been holding off coursed through his body and he collapsed to his knees with a scream of pain. “Oh Prime!” he shrieked, the feather digging into his tightly clenched fist as every scar that had ever been hid under his skin breaking and blood pouring from his arms, his head, a smile carved on his lower back, the eyes seeming to weep blood down his back. He tried to draw his wings around him, but they too wept blood, the feathers turning from black to blood red similar yet unlike the one clutched in his hand.

Dream threw his head back and laughed, “Look at you, you destroy yourself. I did nothing but help in your crusade against yourself.” Dream’s voice dripped with poison, his toxic green eyes showing through his alabaster mask. 

“This is not my fault!” Icarus cried, “This is your doing, these are the wounds you gave me. Look at me. And see what you have created!” Icarus held out his bloody hand accusingly, “You are but a murderer yet evade death herself, it is time it catches up to you, and by the primes I will be the one who fucks you up green boi.”

Dream faltered for a moment and in that moment a murder of crows descended from the trees, swarming Dream in seconds. He tried to fight them off, his axe cutting through empty air as the crows easily dodged the feeble attempts, laughing at him as they flipped and spun around him.

The crow who had stolen the feather watched from Icarus’s shoulder, running its beak through the avian’s hair. Icarus staggered to his feet the pair focused on Dream, the crow’s beak dripping with Icarus’s blood. Some of Icarus’s wounds closed on their own, the smile still dripping down his back and his wings almost too heavy to lift as they dragged on the ground behind him.

The axe appeared in Icarus’s hand, and it glowed a bright red. Icarus lifted it in front of his face, “Death to death. Blood for the Blood God.” He whispered, “Grant me strength.” He lunged forward and caught Dream’s swinging axe in his own, using a massive feat of strength to wrench it from Dream’s grasp as it flew across the clearing. Icarus completed his movement and used the butt of his axe to shove Dream to the ground. To make it permanent, Icarus brought the axe down and dug it into Dream’s leg as the nightmare let out an inhuman howl. Icarus twisted the axe away from the bone and swung it until the blade rested on Dream’s throat.

Dream hissed in pain at Icarus, “Oh you think you’re such a big man Tommy? You think just because you pushed me down, you’re so much better than me? You’re still nothing but the one who whined about nothing at my feet as I taught you what had real meaning.” Dream said, his voice contorted something that no longer even attempted to appear human.

The crows suddenly disappeared all at once, except for one, leaving the clearing silent once again with the only sign they had ever been there, the black feathers littering the snow.

“You’re wrong Dream.” Icarus said softly, “Theres a difference between me and you Dream, I do what I do for a reason, I’m nothing like you, because that ‘nothing’ I cried about it the thing that drives me, and I will go back to my family even if it kills me.”

“Then die.” Dream hissed.

Icarus breathed heavily, meeting his nightmare’s eyes, “Fuck you, Dream.” Icarus whispered. He reached out slowly, his brain barely registering what was happening since he would never willingly touch the thing at his feet, but still his dripping red hand reached out, his hand sure and steady.

Dream tried to back away from the reaching hand, “What are you doing?” Dream demanded, a note of panic suddenly entering his voice.

“I won’t let you hide anymore.” He said, grabbing Dream’s mask and ripping it off Dream’s face much to the thing’s surprise.

Dream, even with the axe so close to his throat, tried to push himself away, hands frantically trying to cover his face.  

It was a familiar scene, yet somehow, reversed. Instead of the nightmare looming over the child who cowered away, it was the teen, wings now dyed black and dripping with the blood of the past, standing over the nightmare who struggled to escape. 

Icarus knelt next to Dream, and reached hesitantly out to Dream, his hand shaking and frozen inches from touching the man. Crows surrounded them in a silent crowd of final judgment. In that moment something surged through him, and he grabbed the man in front on him. His vision blacked out, but he could still hear the screams and feel the wings of thousands of birds beating against his skin.

-

“PHIL!”

Phil sat bolt upright from his desk where he definitely hadn’t been asleep, “What? Tubbo?” He burst to his feet and raced to his door. He wrenched it open to the ex-president wavering on his feet. “Tubbo what? You’re bleeding!”

Tubbo grabbed his arm, “Phil, Tommy, the grave, alive-“Tubbo gasped out, his eyes wild, “Help.”

It was so eerily like the visit a year ago and this time Phil listened. He sped past Tubbo, running as fast as he could into the forest. This time, just like a thousand times before he cursed his broken wings. A scream that shook his very soul broke the silence of the forest and he started running faster, tossing a pearl to get him there even faster.

He finally stumbled onto the place of Tommy’s death and what he saw made him stop in his tracks. Tommy, alive, an axe that glowed red and blue, the same aura that surrounded Tommy so thickly that he could almost taste it. He held his breath, unable to move, unnoticed by the ones who participated in the bloody scene, except for one, a crow that he didn’t recognize but Phil could swear was watching him.

Phil watched as Tommy stripped away Dream’s mask, the smiling thing that haunted his dreams ever since seeing it drawn in blood on obsidian walls. Tommy reached out again, this time his hand moving to touch Dream’s face, a murder of crows descending on the two as the screaming started.

He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for but a minute.

When he opened them again, Dream was gone and the crow was no longer on Tommy’s shoulder, something else was resting there and Phil’s eyes widened. 

Instead of the crow it was a woman of void and stars, her veil hiding her face except for the smile she was bestowing to the kneeling form at her feet. She must have felt Phil’s eyes on her because she looked up, meeting his eyes, her face breaking into a loving smile. She blew him a kiss before her hand left Tommy’s shoulder, and she walked away fading more and more the further she walked. 

“Kristin.” Phil whispered and heard an echoing laugh in response. 

He heard a hiccupping cry and turned to stare at Tommy, whatever had frozen him in place wearing off and he could rush over to his child. 

“Tommy…” he said anxiously, stopping short and holding out a hand to his child.

- 

Tommy jerked away from Phil’s extended hand; he didn’t know where Phil had come from, but he couldn’t be near them. His wings flaring as Tommy shot to his feet and into the sky. 

He flew, away, to one of the few places he had ever felt safe in that damned server. Maybe he wouldn’t survive going there but maybe he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to be safe.

It was so cold, and the snow crunched under his feet. A massive, white form erupted in front of him, and he ran past it, the growl it emitted cut off suddenly as the door closed firmly behind him. He collapsed to his knees, nails digging into his skin as tears leaked down his cheeks.

He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there when he heard the door creak open behind him.

“Phil?” A low voice asked.

He didn’t move, just knelt there. He was certain that a sword was quickly going to get shoved in his back, but he didn’t have the emotions to care at that moment.

“You’re not Phil.” The voice stated with a sigh of what Icarus could only call regret. Techno crouched down next to him, his golden eyes unreadable, “But you have his wings.” Icarus could feel the regret behind those words but couldn’t bear to look too closely. He lowered his head, tears dripping down his face as his hands clenched and unclenched where they pressed against the floor. The nightmare was over.

“You know, Phil didn’t always have black wings either.” Techno said casually, “And you have no idea how familiar this scene is, except he didn’t have his black wings yet.” Techno fell silent, staring into the distance, but not really seeing anything, “If I am to be honest, I wasn’t sure what color Phil’s wings were, there was so much blood and it was so dark…” Techno blinked, shaking his head like trying to get rid of a fly buzzing past his head.

Icarus looked at Techno, meeting the piglin’s eyes and searching for anything. All he saw was regret.

Techno hesitated, “You don’t have to trust me Tommy, you probably shouldn’t. I’m as much the person who gave you those wings as Dream, but do you want a hug?” Techno offered it awkwardly and Icarus didn’t know what to say.

He leaped at Techno, wrapping his hands around the piglin’s neck like his life depended on it. Techno hesitated for a moment before wrapping him in a bone crushing hug that he was not going to say no to. He didn’t know how long he cried, and he didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he knew this was one of the first times, in a long time, he had felt truly safe.

Chapter Text

“Techno I need your help, Tommy he’s al-” Phil trailed off as he opened the door to Techno’s cabin.

“Shhhh Phil, we don’t want to wake him.” Techno whispered. He still held the sleeping avian curled in his arms, “He’s in better shape than when I saw you after you died.” Techno said with a smile.

Phil shut the door and crouched in front of the two. “He did it Techno, he got rid of Dream. Kristin, she helped…”

Techno nodded, smiling slightly, “Like father like son, those issues are gone, now we can focus on him.”

There was a sharp breath from the child, no, not a child, not anymore, laying in Techno’s arms. “Dad?” a groggy voice asked softly.

Phil let out a chirp of worry, “Tom…” His voice broke and he felt his throat tightening as he reached for his son’s hand. “Tom, I’m sorry about everything…”

His son’s bright blue eyes opened, “I didn’t remember for so long…” Icarus whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.” He said, his voice breaking, “I’m not Tommy anymore.”

Phil’s hands shook and he cradled his son’s hand in his, tears running down his cheeks, “It doesn’t matter, you’re still my son. You did not deserve what happened to you, and I wish I had noticed sooner, I wish I’d been able to help you before-” Phil’s voice choked out and he bent his head over his son, weeping openly. “I failed you; you didn’t fail me. I’m sorry.”

A door banged open to reveal the snow blowing wildly behind a very disheveled figure with wild eyes. “T-Tom-” the figure stuttered, staring at the surprised faces clustered on the floor of Techno’s cabin.

Techno raised an eyebrow, “Close the door or you’re going to let out all the heat.” He said dryly.

Tubbo stepped into the house mechanically, the door shutting behind him with a click. His eyes never left the body of his best friend who shrunk away slightly at the sight of another person. Tubbo, however, did not notice the sign of fear, or maybe, more likely he ignored it.

The next thing Icarus knew he was engulfed in a sobbing, cold, and slightly damp person who shoved everyone else out of the way so he could hug Icarus. He hadn’t been sure when he’d seen Tubbo, the tangled memories of his past unsure if Tubbo would hate him or not. “Never. EVER. Fucking do that to me again you absolute fucking moron.” Tubbo gasped out between sobs, “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. I thought I’d left you to die. I mourned you… and you’re alive…”

Tubbo pulled away for a second, staring into Icarus’s eyes with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. Icarus shrugged his shoulders a little and tried to give his best apologetic look, “Surprise?”

“Sur…? I thought you died!” Tubbo said, a flicker of fire lit in his eyes and Icarus could only cover his face before Tubbo started smacking him in the head over and over. “I thought you were dead you prick! Don’t. Ever. Fucking. Do. That. Again.”

Techno pulled Tubbo off the cowering Icarus until Tubbo turned his insults on Techno until Phil was even noting a few new words to store away for later.

“I was dead.” Icarus said, his voice quiet. The whole room paused at that moment in time. Icarus stared at his shaking hands, “I was dead. Then I was not. And all I had was my name. Icarus.” He whispered.

Techno shivered, “The boy who flew to close to the sun.” He said solemnly.

Icarus glanced at him briefly, “I built my life again… and then my…” Icarus paused for a moment, “Wilbur came. And it all came flooding back. I knew I’d never be free, I knew that it wasn’t just the supposed kindness in Wilbur’s heart that sent him. I knew I had to end things one way or another. And I did.” Icarus stared at his shaking hands.

They stared at him. Tubbo was the first to speak, “That means you’re gonna stay right? He’s dead. You can stay. You’re free now. You can come live with me and Ranboo and Micheal in Snowchester. You can…”

Icarus shook his head. “I won’t stay here. I… I have a life now. I have a family. I have…” He sat bolt upright, “Shroud!” he shouted before slumping and burying his face in his hands. “I need to go home; I need to see them. I have a life.”

They struggled to stop Icarus from immediately bolting out the door and promised they’d help him get home if he only waited a few days to heal. He of course argued back and they compromised on a second night spent at the snowy house and then a long journey without the nether until he healed more.

That’s how Icarus found himself in the strange position of laying on a stretcher, carefully carried between two people as they set off for who knows how long with only Icarus’s vague sense of something pulling him southeast. The strange part wasn’t being carried though, it was the feeling of people being around him, people he knew, people who he’d thought hated him. He spent the time he was bored dissecting his still fragmented memories to remember what had happened before, not that he was bored often. Phil and Techno talked to him, Techno telling him about what happened after he left or reciting stories of his namesake and more from memory, and Phil treating him like he was glass until Icarus had said bluntly that he was going to go insane if the avian said sorry one more time.

And Tubbo… he would catch Tommy’s best friend staring at him like a ghost, his wife, well, Icarus had started calling Ranboo Tubbo’s wife had joined them slightly after leaving the snow and hadn’t left Tubbo’s side. Ranboo joining was how Icarus learned that he had a godson, the Micheal that Tubbo had mentioned earlier, left in the care of a babysitter but it shocked Icarus that Tubbo had even adopted a child. It wasn’t as funny as Phil learning he had a grandchild though and Icarus left the backstory vague enough for the old bird to be practically vibrating.  

Icarus slowly healed, the stretcher was put away and he rode a horse instead. That change made everything faster, and they started making short nether trips between villages and that made the month-long trip only about a month. And prime he hated every second. Well. He hated every second he was away from Shroud.

Icarus was barely paying attention when they finally came across something he knew. He reigned his horse in at the site of the decrepit tower. The others meandered to a stop behind him, “You ok, mate?” Phil asked, looking at the tower curiously. Icarus didn’t respond, just turned his horse down the forged path and urged his horse into a gallop.

“T-Icarus wait up!” Phil called, the other didn’t even try to slow him down, only urged their horses to match his speed.

Icarus didn’t listen to Phil anyways and instead went faster. He reached the fields where Mumbo had set off the fireworks, he saw the place he had stared up at the sky daydreaming about past lives, he could see the blacksmith in its steady glory of metal and stone.

He slowed down when he reached the entrance, and people stared as his horse made slow clip clop noises against the paving stones. Then they started to come up to him, some touching his boot wishing congratulations and welcome homes, the children ran up shrieking with joy while expertly avoiding the horse as they chanted his name, some just smiled and waved from afar on their way through to their destination.

He saw the door to the Inn open and Kat stepping through, her new visitor face on to greet the creator of the ruckus, it immediately softened when he met her eyes across the street. Her eyes moved to his bandaged body and wings but only waited for him to approach.

And approach he did. Laughing as he nimbly leapt from the horse and made his way through the crowd to the Inn. “I survived.” He said with a crooked grin.

Kat raised a questioning eyebrow, “What you survived from you shall have to tell me, and if the battle was as brutal as those bandages say I’ll say I might make a song for it.” She smirked, “Also you left me without a singer for almost a month, what do you have to say for yourself?” She demanded, her eyes silently laughing.

Icarus cursed, “Didn’t that good for nothing Soot stay behind? He knew how to sing last time I saw him.”

Kit snorted, “Yeah, he stayed, but he’s not as good as you.” She said, her smile turning soft as she ruffled his hair. “Now don’t you want to see someone special? They’ve been waiting for you.”

Icarus froze, staring at her in barely contained excitement, “They’re here?”

Kat nodded, “Go on in, they’re making friends with the patrons.”

Icarus almost smashed into the door in his rush to get inside. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room until a squeal of “Daddy!” shot across the room. He barely had time to catch them as Shroud barreled into his arms. “I missed you! I missed you! I missed you!” They squealed and Icarus took that moment to envelope them in his wings.

Icarus hugged them tightly, happy tears running down his face, “I missed you too, baby. But you’re safe now, there’s no one who can hurt you.”

They nodded, “That’s cause you’re the bestest warrior. You fought all the bad men.” They said, complete trust in their voice, their glowing red eyes filled with nothing but happiness.

“Icarus.” A low voice said, and Icarus moved a wing out of the way to see a smiling Calum and a beaming Wren who quickly wiped away tears. “Son, you made it back. We knew you would.”

Wren took a cautious step forward, her arms slightly open, “May I…?” Icarus didn’t hesitate and rushed forward enveloping her in his arms as well and ignoring the squeak from his already full arms as Shroud tried to push themselves out of the enveloping hug. Wren laughed around tears, “We missed you, I’m so glad you’re safe. I was so worried.”

Icarus stepped back and gave shroud the ability to wiggle from his arms and climb on his shoulders, small hands carding through his hair.

Icarus heard the door open behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see the rest of his party stepping through the doors.

“Not to break up the reunion, but do you know these guys, Icarus?” Kat asked quietly, sidling up to his side. “Its not often we see piglins and endermen getting along.”

Icarus chuckled, “Its ok Kat, they brought me home.” And that was what this place was for him, home. He turned to these people, from a different life, but not to bad in their own right, “Hey guys, this is Shroud, my child.” He said, smiling proudly.  

Shroud waved a claw, “Ello.” They said shyly, doing their best to hide behind Icarus’s head until their eyes locked on Phil’s wings, broken but still massive. Their jaw dropped, “Big wings? Like Da’s and Uncle Grians?” I wanna touch.” They said leaning forward, making grabby hands, and they didn’t wait for adult permission, instead they jumped from Icarus’s shoulder straight into a very surprised Phil’s arms who frantically was trying to catch the spider hybrid before they hit the floor. Shroud did not wait for a hug and took the moment of confusion to camber their way onto Phil’s shoulder to gently run their hands through his wings.   

Icarus chuckled at Phil’s shocked face, “Just go along with it, they are very insistent.”

“I-I don’t wanna hurt them…” Phil said softly like he though only his words would cause Shroud to break, but still moving his wings closer to Shroud at their commands. Shroud on the other hand, held no fear and only giggled at the soft feeling of feathers.

Then their eyes locked on Techno’s tusks and pink braids, and they made grabby hands towards the piglin. “You now!” They demanded.

Techno looked distinctly uncomfortable, “Uhhh, I don’t think that’s a-“ but before Techno could finish his sentence Shroud had already jumped the small space and Techno was forced to catch them. They reached up and touched the tusks, damaged and broken from battles past, and giggled in delight. Techno had never looked more uncomfortable or scared as he was forced to lower his head for this small child and Icarus just laughed harder.

Icarus glanced over at a slightly confused and worried crowd, but he leaned over to whisper reassurances. “Don’t worry, I- they won’t hurt Shroud.” He said, “Please, trust me.” The room calmed down slightly but they still watched the newcomers carefully.

And that’s how it went, Icarus watching with amusement and fascination as his baby was captivated by the features that made each person unique, climbing on Tubbo’s curling horns, to playing with Ranboo’s long tail. 

They ended their introduction curled in Icarus’s arms, exhausted from the excitement. Phil and the others had left to buy rooms, Kat quietly whispering to him that they would get the “special” prices. That he grinned at knowing she did not mean cheaper, it was Phil and Techno’s fault for still dressing like kings. He sat with Calum and Wren for a little, catching them up on some of the details and journey home and Wren promised him some more healing tonics to help with his wounds. He even handed the calmly sleeping Shroud to Wren for a little so that he could take up his guitar once again and sing a few songs. He’d noticed Phil in the back of the room for that part, his face pale like he’d seen a ghost.

Finally, he took back Shroud and excused himself from the crowd of people. He stroked his hand through Shroud’s hair and walked into the open air. She snuggled closer and he smiled at her.

“You left.” A young voice said behind him, laced with anger.

He turned around, tilting his head at Kit, “I did. But I needed to.” He said truthfully.

Kit threw his hands up in frustration, “You needed to leave without telling any of the rest of us?” He demanded, “What the fuck was that important? What was so import that you’d just disappear-“ Kit’s voice broke a little on that last word before he regained his angry face.

Icarus rubbed at the stone under his feet, “I didn’t want anyone to stop me. Only Wren, Calum, and Aodh knew.”

That did not placate the child who looked more enraged, “And not me?! I have known you longer than Aodh! I dragged your scared ass to this village!”

Shroud twitched in their sleep, “Shhhhh. You’ll wake them.” Icarus reprimanded, “And you didn’t do anything but get lost.” He said with amusement.

“Hey!” Kit started, voice momentarily loud before realizing his mistake and turning into a whisper, “I was just- keeping watch. For intruders and all I managed was to bring in an annoying bird.” He muttered.

Icarus smiled and reached over to ruffle the indignant Kit’s hair, “I missed you. I’m sorry I left. I needed to end something, and I did.”

Kit suddenly hugged him, careful of Shroud still in his arms, “I missed you, please don’t leave again.” Kit said, a small sniffle emerging from the head shoved into Icarus’s side.

Icarus enveloped the child in his wing before releasing him, “I won’t, not for a while, now go home. It’s late. I don’t want your mother to worry.”

Kit took a step back, “She’s already worrying about you, but I’ll go tell her you’re back. You better not go anywhere; I expect to not find you outside a 500-block radius of this village.” Kit yelled over his shoulder as he dashed off into the evening light.

Icarus sighed, smiling after the running shadow, now that he had more of his memories back, he saw how much like Tommy Kit was, except, less traumatized, more loved, more safe, accepted. Something he was learning now and here.

There was one last important thing he needed to do before he could go rest. The lamps were the only thing that lit his path until the forge fire brightened everything around him. He let himself through the gate, soft noises of clinking metal against metal could be heard from the inside.

“Hello?” Icarus called out and the noise stopped.

Aodh’s head stuck itself outside and the man huffed a greeting, “I knew ya wu’d come back.” He said gruffly, “Was waitin for ya.”

Icarus smiled and pulled out his promised rare ores, “I did it,” he said simply. “I promised I’d bring you something for that obsidian”

Aodh squinted at it, judging the quality of the material, “Good.” He said, gathering the materials and carefully stowing them in his ender chest, “Now come here, I want to hear the story.”

Icarus nodded, smiling slightly before following Aosh inside, “Kit’s gonna kill me for telling you before she can write her song.”

Aodh snorted, “Then she shudn’t be so busy.” He said, grinning.

Icarus made himself comfortable as Aodh went back to sharpening a scythe, “Well it all started when my brother wanted to start a country…”

…

Kat made truth to her words of writing a song. Though she grumbled as Aodh had new stories to tell the village, something about overshadowing greatness or something.

Tubbo and Ranboo also built a small summer cottage near the village and eventually brought Micheal to meet the other children.

Techno and Aodh had a story off where they tried to one up each other though the stories that Aodh told raised both Phil and Techno’s eyebrows and left them talking quietly in the corner. Icarus tried to confront them but they both ignored him and ended up going on an ‘archeology’ trip to uncover the root of the stories.

Icarus built his own cabin in his own private area where he could escape when the nightmares became too bad or the paranoia left him looking over his shoulder constantly. He also became more involved with the village itself, once again working with them to fix roofs, set up decorations, and having regular tea parties with Grian and Mumbo.

He settled into his new life, bits and pieces of his old life there, but they were ones he could choose to keep.

He can defend against anything now.

It was no longer time to fight against the world. Now it was time to heal.