Chapter Text
If there is one thing that is known throughout the lands, it is that magic is a tricky thing.
It’s unpredictable, unexplainable. There is no reasoning behind it, no logical set out paths. It just is.
Magic lives throughout the world, humming and singing and whispering through the air, through the dirt, through the rivers and oceans and the people who live amongst it all. Magic rests upon the world itself and tugs at destiny’s strings, having it be so that life becomes just a little more bright. A little more extraordinary than it was the day before.
One does not question the universe and its choices, and one does not criticize the gods and their selecting blessings that they give upon the earth. Sometimes, magic is sent down from the stars above. Sometimes, it flows down past the clouds, past the trees, past the wind, and it settles onto the shoulders of someone worthy.
The royal family is a prime example of this.
It is said that the wings on their backs are a sign of their ambition. That the gods saw them capable, fit to rule, and so they decided to grant them the ability to fly.
Out of the entire kingdom, they are the only avians who exist. And as such, they've settled into their rightful roles to use their power for the greater good.
With the magic in their veins and the respect given all throughout the lands, they make it so that their subjects prosper. They make it so that the empire thrives, and with that, the people give their devotion and loyalty in return.
The people sing their songs, tell their stories, and they weave together a picture that solidifies the family’s claim on the throne. The people whisper of the king going out into the battlefield with a sword in hand, marching on to take other kingdoms underneath his wing, to save them from tyrants ruling over them. The people chatter of the queen visiting her subjects, gifting supplies and gold to the needy, offering a smile to anyone who crosses her path. The people speak of the princes, of their young faces, their small wings, so much potential in their bright eyes as they stay by their parents’ side.
They are without a doubt worthy. They are meant for the throne, that much is true.
The empire grows over the years. The lands become united through wars and struggles, and as a result, the royal crown flourishes into something powerful once all the dust has settled.
The king and queen of the empire become untouchable. Invulnerable. Their enemies (of what little is left) fear their very names, and their people adore and respect them with all their hearts. The princes grow with the empire, and become beloved by their subjects. The royal family name becomes something almost divine. God-like.
Not a single soul in the empire would ever dare refuse their orders, but then again, why would anyone ever think to refuse them?
They were chosen by the stars, after all.
By the gods themselves, it is said. The gods deemed them fit to rule, and so gave them wings so they may fly. They are destined to be in a role of power, to watch over the rest, and so it is by fate that everyone will carry out the universe’s decision.
The empire has done well for the past decade of peace. After the war and fighting of uniting the lands together, faith in the crown had been…shaky, at first. But time passed. Stories were passed down, rumors swirled around, (actions were made, and traitors were swept out) and before long, the view of the royal family changed and settled into what it is meant to be. Something respected. Something to behold.
As of now, there are four avians who share the weight of the throne.
The king, the queen, and their two sons. That is all. They are the only ones in the entire empire with wings, magic being woven into their very souls. While there are others who have been blessed by the universe as well, not a single other person holds a candle to their feathers, to their power.
There have been attempts before, however. Foolish experiments with magic, delusional people trying to reach for the stars, believing that they too, could have that power for themselves. It has always ended in failure, either by the magic consuming them whole, or by the king’s sword making that mistake be their last.
Wings cannot be taken from the universe.
They must be given.
They are given to only the most capable, to the worthy.
And Techno just woke up with wings.
To be entirely honest, he had at first honestly thought it was just back pain.
Could you blame him? Working as a farmer has its downsides, and those downsides include freezing in the cold, working on the crops, and having the occasional cramp in your limbs from all the labor that’s needed around the place. He had woken up with a crick in his neck and a low ache in his shoulders and thought ‘wow that’s not ideal’ and then went on with his day.
He assumed it would fade off. And if it did not, then he supposed he’d have to scrape together his funds and see if he could go buy a potion from the nearby town. But he’d have to be really suffering for that, and this was just because he slept weird and leaned over wrong, probably.
It wasn’t terribly painful by any means, just kinda uncomfortable if anything. His movements felt stiff at times, and occasionally it hurt to touch his back, so he took care to not agitate it any further. It wasn’t pleasant, but he’s had worse winters, so he endured through it with only a shrug to the wind.
He went on with the routine. Took a few breaks here and there to stretch and lay down, but the dull pain didn’t really subside with his efforts. It continued to linger, like a stain on his shirt that he just couldn’t get out, no matter how much he scrubbed at it.
Techno went to bed that night being only a little grumpy over it, laying on his stomach and trying to ignore the ache so that he could get some rest. He then woke up in the morning to the realization that oh, this is getting worse, actually.
The ache grew into a strange type of soreness, then that soreness gave way into tenderness, and Techno wound up not getting any work done after that, because even just shifting around caused for the skin on his back to scream in pain, as if he had rubbed it raw.
He was annoyed, to say the least. And a little dizzy. Fatigue had caught up quick to join with the unusual back pain, and Technoblade didn’t appreciate it at all.
An entire week passed with the ache sticking to his shoulders. On the fifth night of suffering, Techno had then completely accepted his fate, and decided with what little coherent thought he had left that he must’ve been struck with a fever of some sort. That had to be the only explanation.
However, even if it was the logical explanation, it didn’t mean Techno favored it.
Fevers meant being confined in bed, struggling to stay warm as the cold outside tried its damn best to seep through his windows.
Fevers meant falling behind on his farm, since there was no one else around for a good few miles to pick up the work for him. Techno lives alone, right on the edge of the borders of the empire, between the wild, untamed lands, and the starts of civilization.
On a good day, he’d say he enjoys being out here without company. The silence is nice, and it’s not as if he’s entirely a hermit, he does go to the nearby town when he can for supplies. It’s just that those visits are the only times he sees people, though.
So as he lays here in bed, his back aching and teeth chattering just the smallest bit, he’s left entirely to mercy of the universe.
Needless to say, it's a miserable existence.
Somehow, it gets worse.
The sun disappears past the horizon and takes its warmth with it, and so the night sky is what Techno wakes up to when he begins to feel the sharp stabbing pains. He wakes up to the stars, to the cold, and to the feeling of something burning across his shoulder blades.
It’s bad, bad enough to where Techno is sure that his house must be burning, fire eating him alive. But as he opens his eyes, he finds only the dark of the night, and hears only his own quick breaths as his skin stings with every small movement. He tries to go still, even holds his breath in his lungs for a second, but it barely helps at all. The pain digs right through into his spine, and he grits his teeth and tries to think of any solutions, any options for relief.
At this point, he wants more than anything to go for a healing potion, a regeneration potion, hell, a weakness potion, to just let himself knockout. Anything to let himself not be aware during this process of absolute suffering. He couldn’t possibly make his way over to town now, though, so instead he drags himself over to the kitchen with a choked out whine, stumbling down the hall with the cold trying to sink into him. Each step feels like fire on his back, with the freezing chill traveling over his skin and giving him goosebumps.
There isn’t much for him to take for the pain, but he settles with what little he has, and chugs down the entirety of a small bottle in his medicine cabinet.
Did he know what was inside said bottle? No. (He hasn’t touched the medicine cabinet in well over a year.)
Did it help? Somewhat. He ends up passing out sprawled out across his bed, staying blissfully unconscious with dreams of flaming stars touching his skin. The night passes slowly, and the universe gives its part, sitting back with a smile once the job is done, and letting the rest unfold on its own.
Techno wakes up in the morning slowly.
His eyes feel nearly glued together, and it takes an awful amount of energy to raise a hand up to rub at his face. He wonders if he had been crying. Makes sense, considering the night before had just been an entire session of misery.
His blanket seems to be laid out across his back, perfectly soft and yet a little more heavy than usual. Techno wonders when exactly he had the thought to actually grab his blanket and pull it over his shoulders during the haze of deliriousness last night. He’s glad for it, anyhow. Even with the sunlight coming through the windows, his home still holds a cold chill. He knows for a fact that the fireplace in the main room is entirely put out, not a single burning ember to be seen.
Techno pushes off the drowsiness weighing on his mind, and with his efforts, the world quietly begins to settle back within view. He opens his eyes fully with a small sigh, feeling as if everything has gone quiet.
He’s used to having quiet, living on his own, but this is something else. It is as if the very air itself has settled into a hush, just so that Techno may wake up on his own account, with no distractions in sight.
It’s nice.
But it’s also kinda suspicious.
Technoblade blinks out past his bed, staring across his room, and he drags his gaze around to see if there is anything of interest to observe while he slowly scrapes together the motivation to get up his bed and start the day. He looks at his desk, at the open journal left sitting there, words scribbled down in his own handwriting. He looks at his bookshelf, filled to the brim with stories that he loves, books that he’s read a hundred times over. He looks at his closet, at his shelves. At his blanket thrown onto the ground.
Wait.
Techno narrows his eyes, frowning as he sees that, yes, that is indeed his blanket, actually. He doesn’t remember it getting over there, but to be fair, he doesn’t remember much of last night other than just sheer pain and slight panic.
A slow thought dawns on him.
He only owns a single blanket. (A poor choice, on his part, but to be fair, he’s always had the fire to keep his home warm. He doesn’t need a pile of blankets to keep the cold away.)
If his blanket is on the ground, over there, then what is on his back?
With that thought, Techno lifts his head up carefully, and finds a sudden color of a gentle pink up in his face. It’s so jarring that he falls back down with only shock, before looking back up again and looking a little closer.
He doesn’t own anything pink, last he checked. He doesn’t own anything that looks like feathers.
It’s not another blanket.
Techno’s breath becomes stuck in his chest as the things on his back move, and he realizes then with a jolt that he can feel them. As if they’re attached to him. He can feel the weight, the chill, the sensation of it touching against his back.
He forces a breath through lungs, having it come out as a small wheeze.
This is fine.
(Such denial.)
He decides to take a closer look, pushing his arms against the mattress, sitting up clumsily with all remnants of sleep completely leaving him. There’s no urge to continue resting now, only the beginning of panic and the vague impulse to start screaming.
Turning his head over his shoulder, Techno sits up straight, and tries to move the feathers on his back, his heart jolting as he’s actually able to shift them at will. He watches with apprehension, seeing them stretch out a bit, just enough for him to catch sight of the shape, and to recognize the shape of these feathers.
He extends them out into the air, the color of pink practically being burned into his mind, and he realizes- those are wings.
These are wings.
These are-
He falls back onto the bed, face forward. The wings fall with him, the feathers still soft, still pink, and Techno buries his head underneath his pillow, trying to drag back the feeling of sleepiness. He needs more rest. He’s hallucinating now, what fun. Or maybe he’s dreaming.
He cracks open an eye. Lifts his pillow up. Tries very hard to make the world do something, as one would be able to do if they were in a dream.
Nothing happens. Techno shoves his face back into the comfort of darkness, dread crawling up far too quickly up his throat and making him want to cough.
This isn’t happening. It’s not. There cannot be any possible way that this is real. The fever is simply messing with his head, and he needs just a little more rest before going back to tend to his crops.
He tries to go back to sleep. Fails terribly. The wings on his back are still there.
He turns over on his side, trying to keep his eyes closed, even with the sound of birds chirping outside, signaling the start of the day. He can feel the drag of his own feathers across his bed, and the sensation doesn’t do anything to help with the way his heart is slamming against his ribs. His hands are freezing as he pulls them close to his chest, and he shakes with something that isn’t just the cold.
This isn’t real. This can’t- There isn’t any way that this is an actual thing that is happening to him, of all people.
He doesn’t have wings. He doesn’t.
Techno gives a glance over his shoulder. He is still met with the sight of colorful feathers attached to his skin. He turns back to his wall and stares into it with a slow, deep breath.
He tries to- move them. Just a bit more. Just to make sure. (Just a little bit out of curiosity.) He keeps his eyes focused on the wall, but feels as his wings stretch out past the edge of his bed, hanging off and grazing against his cold floor. He pulls them back with a flinch, and flinches again when they settle against him.
For a long minute, he stays still like that, held in disbelief. Then he moves them again, carefully, stretching them out and realizing, yeah, those definitely feel real, at least.
He glances back at them. They look real.
There had to have been some sort of mistake with this.
Technoblade knows the significance of wings. He may live on the borders of the kingdom, but even he knows what power wings hold. He knows what power the royal family holds. Wings symbolize the royal crown. Respect. Worthy individuals blessed by the gods.
Techno is just a random farmer who lives practically in the middle of nowhere, why the fuck did wings decide to go sprouting of his back?
This isn’t right. This doesn’t make any sense at all. If he’s got wings, then what does that mean for him? He’s only just a random person who lives on his own, he is nothing near royalty status. He doesn’t think he could ever try ruling the people, or try changing the world. The only thing he knows he can do well is tend to his crops and produce enough results to make a person give a double-take, but he’s pretty sure even that isn’t enough to justify wings.
Or maybe this means he’s going to be heading for bigger things. That he’s going to end up being thrown into some sort of destiny with a whole lot of responsibility and a whole lot of power.
Technoblade likes to entertain the idea of him having power, respect, maybe just a bit more gold, at times, but that doesn’t mean he actually wants it. That doesn’t mean he could handle it. He is not a king. Nor a prince. He’s a farmer. He’s a civilian.
But he has wings on his back, and wings mean ambition, strength, royalty-
Techno closes his eyes with a huff and shoves all his thoughts into the back of his head. He’s only just woken up after having a frankly terrible night, so maybe now is not the time to be falling into a spiral of worries and a possible intense panic. He needs rest. A nap. Maybe a glass of water. He’s just not going to think about this for the time being.
He shifts the wings on his back once more. A slight ache comes with it, like a faint imitation of what he has been suffering through for the past few days, and Techno immediately drags himself up off his bed upon feeling it. There is no way he is going through that entire ordeal again.
He needs potions. Plenty of them. He needs to go visit the town, as soon as possible, before the universe decides to hit him with some other painful surprise that leaves him waking up in the morning with feathers on his back.
Techno sits up, stands on his feet, and then practically collapses onto the floor at the first step he takes. He gives a groan of pain with the impact.
Only now does he realize just how exhausted his limbs feel, how heavy everything seems. There may not be pain on his shoulders anymore, but there is the weight of new wings, and some rather heavy fatigue. Curling back up in the bed seems like such a good idea right now, the need for potions be damned.
Reaching for the blanket on the ground, Techno drags it with him as he climbs back onto his bed, and curls up on his side, pulling the fabric around him as best he can. His wings drape over him like a cover, and he shoves his face into his pillow, sighing out in slight relief. It’s not the best, but it’s better than laying on the ground, he supposes.
It’s still cold. His back is starting up with the ache again, not as bad as before, but still enough to make him uneasy. There’s still the edges of panic clawing at his throat, pressure weighting in over his heart, and he hates the feeling of it. He wishes to maybe just get a bit more rest, but that option seems to be out the window with how entirely uncomfortable he is at the moment.
The single blanket he has doesn’t feel like enough, and he pulls it up to his chest, fingers digging into the material. It’s hardly keeping him warm, to be honest, but there’s something soothing about just having it held close around him. He wishes it was just a little warmer.
Techno frowns and cracks open an eye. He should get up and go start up the fire, put some heat into the house. Then he can get ready to head towards the town, before it gets too busy.
But he wants to just- stay here. Stay where it’s soft, stay where he knows he can rest comfortably.
The frown on his face grows as he squeezes his eyes shut again, curling in on himself even further. Of all things that had to happen to him, it just had to be wings. It could’ve been a broken bone. Maybe just like hypothermia. He’d rather take hypothermia over this, to be honest. At least if he’s half frozen, he’d be able to thaw out. You can’t thaw off wings that are attached to your back.
Something gets lodged in Techno’s throat as he shifts in place, and he coughs out, his wings tucking in closer to him. He coughs again, but it doesn’t really fade. He groans. He swears, if he gets a sore throat on top of all of this, he’s going to- do something. Something spiteful. Eventually.
He huffs out, lifting his head up and staring into the wall. Alright. Laying in the cold is probably counter-productive. He’s got to go start up the fire, at the very least.
He’s just got to- get up.
His wings stretch out and droop down onto the ground beside the bed, but he doesn’t make a single move.
He’s getting up, right now.
He tugs the blanket closer around him. The feathers on his back shiver.
It’s too cold for this. Why does he live out in the middle of nowhere again? Oh yeah, because he didn’t want to deal with people. Because he liked the lack of problems that came with a lack of social interactions. Although, now with a lack of people, he’s got a lack of assistance when it is needed.
Techno makes an upset noise in the back of his throat. He still doesn’t really want to deal with people, even with this. Especially with the fact he’s got wings on his back now.
A thought hovers over his head for a moment.
If he’s got wings now, how will people react upon seeing them?
He blinks, his heart dropping a bit with dread. If he’s got wings, then what will the royal family do once they find out?
Because as far as he knows, they are the only avians to exist. Surely they’d want to do something with the new one that’s just- popped out of nowhere. Would they view him as one of them? As a friend?
Or would it be worse? He could be seen as a threat to the crown. Someone trying to go for the throne.
Technoblade pulls his wings up and curls them closer around him, as if he’s trying to hide away from the thoughts in his head. Maybe he just won’t tell anyone about the wings. The royal family doesn’t need to know. He lives out by the border anyway, and it’s not like he’s looking to start a kingdom anytime soon. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.
He nods with that decision, satisfied. It’s the safest route. Meanwhile, he’ll just- have to get used to having wings. Maybe later on the line, he could figure out a way to get rid of them? There’s probably someone out there who would cut them off with enough gold offered.
Wings are a sacred thing, but he’s not a royal. He’s just some guy. The wings don’t hold the same worth.
A chill runs down his back, reminding him of the fact his house is still freezing. He tucks his head underneath his pillow to hide away from the cold, and coughs again with something still feeling stuck in his throat.
He’ll go to town for potions soon.
But for now, he’ll just…lay here for a moment longer. With his blanket held close, and his wings tucked in.
Yeah.
“Shit, shit, shit-!” Tommy runs down the hall as fast as he possibly can, nearly stumbling as he goes to make a sharp turn around the corner to try and lose the person on his trail. His wings flap out frantically to keep his balance, and he almost trips over his own feet, swearing again. “SHIT!”
His socks skid across the floor as he makes another turn. Footsteps are following right behind, far too close. For a moment, they disappear with a whoosh of air, and Tommy’s heart drops down to his stomach in dread. He sprints even harder, and makes another random turn, a panicked high-pitched scream bubbling out from his throat. It echoes down the empty halls with no one to hear them.
Something grazes against the back of his feathers, and Tommy throws himself to the side, rolling across the floor and hearing his chaser nearly slam into the wall. That’ll buy him like, two seconds. Better than nothing.
Tommy picks himself up with an amused wheeze and keeps running, ending up in a hall lined with big tall windows that practically reach up to the ceiling. On a better day, he’d be looking out those windows and enjoying the view. It’s a nice morning, after all. The sun is out.
Today, however, he’s throwing himself at the glass and fumbling with the latch, trying to pull the damn thing open for an escape option.
“Okay, okay.” Tommy huffs, yanking at the latch to try and force it open, feeling it snap in a way that probably means he might’ve broken it. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s here to make his grand escape and to land into the snow outside.
He pulls away his hand with part of the latch in his palm, and he throws it to the side, not caring where it lands. The window budges when he shoves at it, and he gives a breathless laugh of triumph at his success.
A gush of cold air seeps in almost instantly, and it travels up his arms, giving him goosebumps across his skin. He shivers at the temperature, and then pushes the window open wider, lifting his knee up to climb over the ledge, his wings raising up into the air-
An arm winds its way around his middle, yanking him away, and Tommy shrieks. He kicks his legs and reaches out desperately for the window to save him, his feet dangling over the ground.
“Absolutely not.” Phil says, turning Tommy the other way and keeping him held tightly in one arm. He uses his other arm to pull the window shut, and pauses at seeing the latch half-missing. “Did you fucking break this?”
“BITCH!” Tommy yells, squirming and punching and trying to be let down from his dad’s evil fatherly grip. “Put me down! Let me the fuck down -!” He gives a strangled noise of frustration.
“Not if you’re going to be running around and breaking things.” Phil answers, Tommy kicking his legs even more furiously. His wings try to flap out behind him, but they’re held solidly against Phil’s chest, so they’re of no help at the moment.
“You can’t get me!” Tommy denies, gasping in a deep breath, then screaming in surprise when one of Phil’s wings suddenly reaches up to wrap around him.
“I got you.” Phil huffs fondly, holding Tommy closer. He fiddles with the latch for a second as Tommy slowly simmers down, his energy falling away with him being kept underneath his father’s wing.
Safe, safe, safe, his mind tells him, and Tommy does agree. There’s no place safer than beside his dad’s feathers, being kept in his arms.
But goddammit, he was so close! Freedom was right there. Granted, freedom would’ve been cold and wet and kinda uncomfortable, but it’s still a little better than being dragged back to the nest and getting suffocated with pillows.
Safe, his birdbrain tells him. Safe and warm and good.
More like annoying, Tommy spits back. He was supposed to go practice flying today. Instead, he’s going to end up getting squished by loving arms for the next several hours.
It’s insufferable when his parents get like this. This always happens when he and Wil get even the slightest bit injured, or sad, or simply just cold. They’re immediately being whisked away to soft blankets and soothing hugs, and yeah, it’s nice, most times. Tommy will admit that it’s nice. But today, he is not having it, because today, he wants to go flying.
Even if it is freezing outside.
At least he is not suffering in this alone. Wilbur had given him a heads-up just a few minutes prior, himself getting dragged into the nest in the middle of his sleep.
Tommy had woken up this morning with a ominous message sent on his communicator, his only warning being:
Wilbitch : Dad’s gone nest mode. Run.
He then proceeded to go sprinting down the hall, not willing to let Wilbur’s brave sacrifice go in vain.
Well, it went in vain anyhow. Tommy’s gone limp in Phil’s arms, and the defeat is ever so bitter.
“I’ll get someone to fix this later.” Phil mutters, stepping away from the window with a hum. He pulls his wing away and goes to wrap his other arm around Tommy, adjusting his hold on the teen so that there’s support underneath his legs. Tommy rests his head against Phil’s shoulder with a pout, crossing his arms over his chest as best he can. “What was your plan there? There’s just snow on the way down.” Phil asks, Tommy’s wings shifting behind him within Phil’s arms.
“Exactly.” Tommy deadpans, because yes, he knew that. Where else was he going to go? Into the clouds? He’s been doing well with gliding, but both him and Phil know he’s hardly good enough to be soaring anytime soon. The snow was the only option, and as far as Tommy was concerned, it was the best option.
Even if soft, warm blankets sound pretty good right about now.
Phil gives a smile, squeezing Tommy close for just a second. Tommy flails in his grip. “To the nest with you.” He says, and Tommy gives a noise of dramatic despair, kicking his legs uselessly and trying to push at Phil’s dumb face.
“No!” Tommy yells out, Phil heading down the hall in a brisk walk, his wings stretching out and then taking them through the air. “I literally just fucking woke up- Can we go eat breakfast? I want to go to the kitchens. Let’s go to the kitchens?!”
“I’ll have someone bring something over.” Phil only responds, and Tommy cries out in woe.
“But I’m tired!” Tommy tries a different angle. “I think I left my communicator in my bed.”
“Aw.” Phil clicks his tongue, landing gently on the ground and continuing on down the hall. “That’s too bad.”
Tommy scowls. “Can we pass by my room, at least? Or, or, your balcony! We can go for a practice fly, just for the morning. It’s like the perfect time, the birds are fucking- chirping and shit-”
Phil gives a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Your brother’s waiting for you, come on.” He ignores Tommy’s growing protests, and makes his way over to a door off to the side, turning the knob and pushing it open, revealing the dimly lit next inside.
The curtains have been closed shut, which Tommy isn’t all that surprised about, considering the fact Wilbur probably just ended up going back to sleep once he accepted his fate amongst the pile of blankets and pillows on the ground. The place is warm with the fire pit burning off the side, and the door quietly clicks shut behind Phil, catching the attention of Kristin, who’s sitting upright beside Wil. A smile crosses her face at seeing them both, and Tommy coughs to resist giving a small chirp. He doesn’t want to be in the nest, and he will make that known.
As Phil walks forward, Tommy spots Wilbur sprawled out across the ground, one of his wings resting on Kristin’s lap. He looks frustratingly comfortable where he is, and he cracks open an eye to glance up at the two of them, huffing at the sight of Phil having a very grumpy Tommy in his arms.
“The baby chick arrives.” He murmurs, voice laced with sleep. Tommy gives a near hiss, Kristin laughing softly.
“I am not a baby.” Tommy snaps back, and Wilbur just gives a snort, closing his eyes again.
“You can’t even fly.” Wilbur reminds, and Tommy kicks and struggles in Phil’s grip, not to escape out of the nest, rather to just go and attempt to strangle Wilbur with the blankets. “You’ve got teeny-tiny wings.”
“Don’t tease him.” Kristin scolds lightly, and Wilbur hums, shifting his wing from where it sits on her legs. She runs her hands over the feathers without complaint. “Good morning, Tommy.”
Tommy gives a grumbled out morning, and Phil sets him down into the nest gently, right beside Wilbur. Tommy’s inner birdbrain screams at him to curl up beside his brother and enjoy the warmth, but he refuses against it, and instead just sits perfectly still with his arms crossed over his chest.
He will not submit to cuddles. He is pissed off. Very much so. He doesn't want to be in here, he wants to fly.
The blankets shift with Phil sitting down right beside him, and Tommy stubbornly keeps his gaze straight ahead, even when a hand goes brushing through the back of his curls, gentle and kind. He leans into the touch, his birdbrain screaming in joy, but he still keeps a bitter scowl on his face. Phil doesn't seem to notice, though.
"Your warning didn't do shit." Tommy mutters, looking down at Wilbur and feeling Phil twist a small braid into his hair. Wilbur doesn't open his eyes, but he does give a small grin.
“Oh, what a shame.” He drawls, and Tommy’s wings shift with annoyance. “Tried my best. At least you got a head start.”
“I didn’t get anywhere, though.” Tommy stresses.
“I did not think you would.” Wilbur says honestly. Tommy tries to set him on fire with just his glare.
"Well, you nearly went out a window, though." Phil points out, wrapping an arm over Tommy's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Tommy huffs, but he curls into his father’s embrace either way, feeling Phil fix a few feathers on his wings. They’ve probably gotten a bit ruffled with him frantically running around in the halls to try and avoid this fate of getting wrangled into the nest. “Broke the latch on it in the process.”
Kristin looks up with something amused.
“Oooh.” Wilbur sings, as if Tommy’s going to be in big trouble.
“Tommy.” Kristin says, a warning tone in her voice.
Tommy tries to bury his face away into Phil’s shirt. “I was supposed to go flying today.” He mutters, but the excuse feels weak. “I didn’t want to be in the nest.”
“We can always reschedule.” Kristin reminds gently. “You’ll go flying another time.”
“Tomorrow?” Tommy tries, giving a glance towards Kristin. Kristin gives a thin smile.
“We’ll see.”
“Wait.” Wilbur groans a bit, going to sit up, but then seeming to decide against it and instead just rolling onto his side from where he’s laying. “How long are we staying here, then?” He asks, seeming a little concerned about it.
He hadn’t thought to fret over it while being half-asleep, but now with that response, he's a little worried. They never stay in the nest for too long, but there have been times where Wil has made several escape attempts just for the heck of it.
“Just until we’re sure you’re both alright.” Phil responds, holding Tommy a bit closer, something slightly strained in his words. Tommy lifts his head with confusion. Wilbur opens his eyes with the same look.
“I’m fine, though.” Tommy insists, and Wilbur says the same. But the pinched look on Phil’s face doesn’t fade. Kristin runs her fingers through Wilbur’s feathers with a carefully blank expression, trying to not let a frown pull at her lips.
"We're just being cautious." Kristin says, and she knows it's for good reason. Her heart feels heavier than usual, weighed down with worry, something deep in her mind telling her to help, to fix something.
She glances at Tommy in Phil’s arms, trying to soothe the uneasiness with the sight of her youngest being perfectly safe.
"Cautious?" Wilbur mutters underneath his breath, turning his head towards Kristin, and Kristin lifts a hand to Wilbur’s head, resting the back of her hand against his forehead. He leans into it with closed eyes, a confused chirp coming from his throat.
He’s not overly warm. He seems alright.
But something still feels wrong.
(Miles away, Techno stays curled up in his bed, still shivering, still miserable. He coughs and coughs until it comes out as a quiet chirp, and then eventually drifts off into a fitful sleep.)
Phil’s underneath the same predicament, and he shares a glance with Kristin, the two of them silently communicating that everything looks to be okay, but it doesn’t exactly feel that way.
“Mom?” Tommy asks, wanting answers, and Kristin leans back, taking her hands away from Wilbur’s head.
“We’re just feeling a bit worried today, mate.” Phil hums, Tommy scrunching his nose up with a frown.
“But I feel fine.”
“Well, maybe you’ve got a fever coming on soon.” Kristin guesses. “We should get ahead of it.”
Tommy pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if he feels sick in any way, but he eventually nods, satisfied with that answer. He knows how connected his parents are to him. They can sense the moment something feels off with either him and Wil, so if they say the nest is the best option, then it’s probably true.
Unless they’re just being clingy. Then in that case Tommy wants to go back to being pissed, but right now that feels like too much work. A quiet chirp comes from his throat, and he tries to pull away from Phil, reaching an arm out towards Wilbur.
Phil holds Tommy closer for a moment, but then relents, and lets Tommy move to lay beside his brother, Wil taking Tommy into his arms and holding him against his chest. Wil’s gone and decided to fall back into sleep once more, and Tommy decides to go and follow his example, closing his eyes as well.
“Should I call some food over for you, Tommy?” Phil asks, and Tommy had nearly forgotten about that. He had honestly just been bluffing. “Or are you both just going to sleep in?” Phil’s voice takes on a teasing tone, and Tommy stretches out his wings to try and smack him in the face.
He instead just ends up stretching his wings out across the blankets, practically resting it on top of Phil’s knees. Phil chuckles and fixes another few feathers.
“We can call for breakfast later.” Kristin suggests, and Tommy decides to agree with that, instead choosing to stay here, safe and warm within Wilbur’s arms, with his parents hovering close.
Techno ends up staying in bed for the majority of the day.
He falls back to sleep without even meaning to, and then wakes up starving, the sun being a little brighter, the morning having passed and gone. The option of going to the town now is out the window, because he knows for a fact that at this time, it’ll be bustling with people, crowds traveling across the cold streets to buy supplies, sell their own items, or to just look around.
He’ll have to wait until nightfall. It’ll be colder, and a bit more tedious, but it’ll mean he won’t have so many eyes on him. With actual wings on his back, there’s no doubt he’s going to be catching attention, and with attention comes problems.
(Wth attention comes the chance of the royal family catching wind of him. He holds comfort in the fact he lives so far from the royal castle, out here by the borders, but that doesn’t mean his chances are perfectly safe.
He knows how far the crown’s influence stretches.)
Techno sits up slowly with a groan, giving a grimace at the unfamiliar weight sitting on his back. It’s instinct to just try and shake it off, but in doing so, he just shakes his wings out, and he’s held in shock at feeling the feathers once again.
The panic is much more dulled down the second time around, but he still holds his breath for a second or two, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he tries to process that this isn’t just a really intense and strange dream.
He looks behind him and stretches a wing out slowly, lifting it up into the air so he can get a proper look at it. The sight of it makes him want to try going back to sleep, just to try and- make this all go away. (Third time’s the charm, right?) From this angle, he’s realizing again just how pink the feathers are, and he marvels a bit at the color, eyes wide as he reaches a hand back to try and brush his fingers across it.
They’re mostly pink, but the ends of the wings fade off into a more snowy white color, as if he somehow accidently dipped them in the snow outside and it stuck. He holds one of the white feathers gently inbetween his fingers, and then lets go, moving his hand away and pulling the wing back.
He breathes in deep, shifting the feathers behind him. He breathes out, and his heart still races in chest, himself still freaking out internally about all of this.
On the outside, though, he is calm. Composed.
Barely.
He slips off the bed with his blanket in hand, and as he slowly stands to his feet, he wraps the material over his shoulders, over his wings, and shivers with the chill that’s still present in the house. Part of him still demands to just flop back onto his mattress and never leave, but the other part, the more rational part, coaxes him to go start that fire, so that he can thaw out his bones a bit. He can actually see his own breath in the air, and that’s as good a sign as any that he should maybe not be adding hypothermia into this whole mix.
Walking is a bit easier now, but he still feels tired, and he moves slowly down the hall, his mind sluggish and his footsteps dragging a bit. The main room is even colder than his bedroom, and as soon as he walks in there, Techno nearly gives a suffered groan of defeat, his wings drooping down as he debates on just turning around and retreating into the comfort of a soft bed.
(Miles away, in the royal castle, Kristin frets over Tommy giving a single shiver, her heart telling her that he must be freezing. Wilbur laughs as his little brother is drowned in blankets, and he then screams as he too becomes dragged into the same fate, Phil fretting over his temperature as well.)
Techno musters up his willpower and heads over to the fireplace, putting a few logs in and quickly starting a flame. He stays kneeling down in front of it, watching it grow, and as the warmth of the fire starts to spread out across the room, the tension in his shoulders slowly starts to melt away. He sighs, sitting on the ground, his wings dragging against the floorboards.
All he’s done is walk across the house and start up a fire, but he still feels so tired. As if he’s barely recovering from a long journey, or as if he’s woken up from a hundred-year long nap.
He yawns at the thought of sleep, his wings stretching out before relaxing again. He would lay down and rest a bit more in front of the fire if he could, however he’s still starving from not eating the whole day, and he’s got to grab something.
With a small frown and a narrowed look into the flames, Techno drags himself to his feet once again, and goes to make a quick meal in the kitchen.
The day passes slowly, yet all too quickly as well. It’s not long before Techno is waking up to the sight of the sun setting outside, and he glares at the sky for a moment before heading on to get ready to travel out to town.
His main goal is to just go in, get all the supplies he needs to hole up in his place for a while, and get out. Without anyone bothering him or pestering him with questions about the wings. (Because to be honest, it isn’t as if he can answer them. The best response he can give is that he’s been having an eventful morning, and that feels a bit lackluster.)
The only problem with his mission is that he isn’t sure how to hide the wings. It’s hard enough having to cut through his shirt so he can fit them through and wear his clothes properly, he hasn’t got a clue on how to just- shield them away.
They’re kinda noticeable. Like, really noticeable. Bright pink feathers is something that stands out pretty easily, he’s not too sure how he’s not going to catch a few eyes from walking down the street with these on his back. After some trial and error with attempting to tie them back, he ends up just pulling a cape over his shoulders and calling it a day.
It looks as if he’s wearing a strange backpack underneath the fabric, which…is kinda suspicious, to be honest, but it’s better than walking around town with wings out in the open.
With his feathers successfully hidden away and gold held in a satchel over his shoulder, all that’s left to do is to actually make the journey away from his home, through the snowy, cold roads, with the sun rapidly setting and leaving him in the dark.
Frankly, it’s miserable. Techno marches to town with sheer willpower and feels like a popsicle by the time he sees the town’s lanterns lighting up the street.
Part of him wishes he just held off until morning to head to town, but there’s something reassuring about doing this entire journey with the dark keeping him unnoticed. As the realization of having wings starts to actually sink in, his thoughts start to become more collected on the matter of not getting found out.
The wings are a surprise, absolutely, but they can also be a death sentence if he doesn’t play his cards right. The more he recalls on what little he knows of the nobles, the more he’s sure that them finding him wouldn’t be a good thing.
There’s always rumors surrounding the royal family and their wings, because how could there not be, with their empire being so grand? Sometimes the rumors are sweet, something about how one of the princes has the most loveliest voices in the kingdom, his songs being so enchanting that it’ll heal your very wounds. Something about how the king can fly so high and so far that he’s able to steal the stars from the very skies, so that he may gift it to his wife when he comes back down.
But sometimes the rumors are a little more bitter. A little more quieter, but still just as persuasive. Whispers and tales of the queen’s wrath, of traitors being left to the worst fates imaginable. Of the royal family being just as deadly as they are kind, their magic making them unsusceptible to any sort of harm.
There’s an old story that Techno remembers hearing a few years back. The details have been muddled from how far it’s gotten passed down, but from what he can recall, there had been an attacker who went after one of the princes when he had been walking amongst his people. According to the version he heard in town, the attacker had grabbed at the prince and tore away three precious feathers from his wings, running away so he may keep them for himself.
The man was caught within minutes, and once word of the incident rose up to the king and queen, they decided on a punishment they thought was fitting.
They cut off three of the man’s fingers. One for each feather he had stolen.
The idea of such intense justice didn’t exactly scare Techno, but it did unsettle him in a way. It reminded him of the royal’s power, of the threat they hold. They are kind rulers, but they aren’t entirely merciful. Everyone knows of the titles the king and queen had held during the wars that united their empire, and Techno knows those titles mean something.
He knows it means that he could be in danger.
What could he do to stop the royal family if they decided he was not worthy of wings? What could he do if they decided to chop them off, seeing them as an insult to their very name?
He may have these feathers resting on his back, but he doesn’t have the power that comes with it. If they were to set their sights on him, he wouldn’t have a chance.
So they just will not find out. He’ll hide, for as long as he can, and if that means taking this secret to the grave, then so be it. He’d rather crush these wings himself and keep them hidden for years rather than have the royal crown pull him underneath his thumb.
Techno goes through the town as quickly as he can, ignoring the strange he looks for the way his cape is draped over his wings, and instead just buying up all the potions he’s able to carry back. He doesn’t make any small talk, he doesn’t say much of anything, to be honest, and it’s a fairly quick visit. He’s in and out within the hour, and he walks away from the quiet town with people thinking nothing of his presence.
What he doesn’t realize is that he had left something crucial behind. What he hadn’t seen was the watchful eyes that had been looking over the road, keeping an eye out for anything strange that would need to be reported to the higher ups.
(The royal keeps their tabs on the people. Even this far out.)
As Techno walks down the cold roads back home, he stays entirely unaware of the person who stares as he goes, a single pink feather held in their palm. A single feather that had fallen by chance, onto the snowy path, Techno not realizing he had lost it.
Eret holds the feather carefully in his palm, as if it is made of fragile glass, and he watches with wide eyes at the strange shape underneath Techno’s cape. At first glance, anyone would assume it’s just a bag of some sort. No one would ever go to think of wings.
But Eret’s found his feather. Eret watched it fall, watched it land into the snow with Techno leaving it behind.
He goes to make a direct call to his king.
He’ll want to hear about this.
Phil wakes up late in the middle of the night with the sound of something buzzing amongst all the blankets and pillows scattered around. It’s a constant ringing pattern, and after a moment of pushing sleep away, Phil recognizes it for what it is, and sits up with a rush, eyes searching through the dark.
He doesn’t like to bring work into the nest, but being the emperor of a kingdom, it’s necessary. His family comes above everything, but at times, in order to keep his family safe, he must also keep the empire running.
Even with that, though, there are only very few situations in which his communicator will go off. Which is why the noise of it buzzing gives Phil a rush of panic, immediately trying to find where he had left his device.
Wilbur gives a grumbled noise at the movement.
Phil goes still, turning his attention away from his communicator still calling for an answer, and instead looking down at his eldest son, who sleeps curled up at Phil’s side, an arm loosely held onto his torso. His wings are stretched out behind him, his feathers nearly ticking against Tommy’s face from where he’s snoring away without a worry in sight.
The sight is something precious, and Phil can’t help but smile at it, raising a hand up to Wilbur’s face and brushing his hair out from where it just barely covers his eyes.
Wilbur stirs a bit, muttering underneath his breath, before falling back into deep sleep with Phil shushing him softly. With a blanket adjusted over Wil’s shoulders, Phil carefully moves Wilbur’s arm off him, and scoots away, leaving Wilbur to rest without any further interruption.
“Phil.” Kristin’s voice speaks softly through the near silence, and Phil turns his head to find her sitting up, with a buzzing communicator in her palm. She gives him a knowing look, and Phil holds out his hand.
He catches it as she throws it over, and he stands up from the nest, heading out towards the hall so he can answer whoever is trying to get his attention this late at night.
“Watch over them.” Phil whispers as he goes through the door. Kristin gives a slow nod, before moving to tend to the fire that’s slowly dying off.
The door behind him closes with a quiet click. He stares at the doorknob for a moment, fore heading a bit further down the hall just for good measure, so he won’t have any chance of waking up his sons. The buzzing in his hand continues on and on as he walks, and he rubs at his eyes with a yawn, before finally coming to a stop and placing his sights on the screen blinking up at him.
He answers the call, holding it up to his ear.
“This better be worth my time.” Phil hisses, before the person on the other end can even say a word. He knows that he wouldn’t be called for no good reason, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a little pissed off over it. Even just being out here, in the hall, away from his family, it makes his heart squeeze with nerves.
“It is, your majesty.” Phil gets as an answer, the words sounding confident.
“Talk.”
“There’s reports of a suspected avian living by the borders of the kingdom.” The person reports, and Phil-
Phil freezes.