Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All avians felt a connection to each other. It was a powerful instinct that was in every avian, born of the intrinsic need to form a flock. And while it happened most often between two avians, it was also common for one winged being to become fiercely attached to and protective of a self-made flock.

It was part of why Philza had almost immediately ‘adopted’ Tommy upon finding him, part of why he looked after Techno and Wilbur so fiercely. Tommy was an avian, like him. Techno and Wilbur were part of Philza’s ‘flock.’ He would protect them, with his life if he had to. 

After a long time of being in the SMP, Philza had grown almost settled into his life there. He had Techno living with him still, he had their quiet peace in the arctic, and he didn’t expect his ‘flock’ to expand any time soon. Quite frankly, he was happy with things the way they were (it would be nice if Wilbur and Tommy visited more, but he wasn’t going to push it until they wanted to come). And the meantime, he still had Techno.

Speaking of Techno….

Philza glanced out the window into the snow arctic storm, searching for the smudge of red that would be his friend. Techno had said vaguely he had some business to take care of in the main SMP, and had left earlier that morning. But he still wasn’t —

The door banged open, and Philza jumped slightly, his wings flaring out. “Techno!” he said with relief. “How did I not see —?” He caught sight of Techno in the doorway, and his eyes widened. “Techno,” he said slowly. “What…?”

“I told you,” Techno said. “I had some stuff to take care of. Dream was stuff.” Techno nudged the door shut behind him, and hurried into the living room with a clearly unconscious Dream in his arms, bundled in Techno’s cape.

“Techno…,” Philza said again, trailing after him. “What… what is he…?”

“I broke him out of prison,” Techno said flatly. He was stained with blood, but Phil, looking him over swiftly, didn’t see any visible injuries, so it must have been someone else’s. “Favors owed, favors paid. I’m a man of my word, Phil, and he saved my life. So I saved his.”

“But — but surely his life wasn’t in danger,” Phil tried, staring down at the unmoving Dream as Techno gently set him on the couch. The man who had caused so much discord in there Server. The man he’d blown up a country with. (The man who’d brought his son back to life.) “He was just in prison, right? It was… better for the Server, wasn’t it? More… at peace? Wasn’t he… alright where he was?”

Techno gave him a cold, disbelieving look, and Phil drew back slightly. “Philza Minecraft,” Techno said shortly, “does this man look alright to you?” He drew back part of the cape still wrapped around Dream.

Philza hissed under his breath, eyes widening. Dream was absolutely covered in blood, numerous injuries still leaking it. His eyes were still shut, and scars littered his face, one of them coming disturbingly close to his eye. And those were just what Phil could see.

“Mate…,” Phil said slowly. “That’s… that’s….”

“Bad,” Techno agreed. “Yeah. I need you to fix him, Phil.”

Philza blinked. “I’m sorry — what?”

Techno turned to fully face Phil, gripping his shoulders. His voice was urgent. “Phil, I have to get back out there and lead the Server away, make sure no one else ends up here. Dream is going to die if we don’t do something to help him, and you’re the only one who can do that right now. Please, Phil. I — I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything to you or Tommy or anyone when I get back, I just —“ Techno inhaled sharply. “I can’t let him die, Phil. Please.”

“I — no, of course I’ll help, Techno,” Philza said, somewhat flustered by Techno’s intensity. “Just be careful out there, and come back safely, alright?”

Techno exhaled and released him, his relief written all over his face. “Thank you, Phil,” he said, already backing towards the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” The door slammed behind him, and he was gone, back into the swirling storm.

Philza let out a long breath, and slowly turned back to Dream, staring down at him. Then he started, and hurried over to the wall of chests, throwing one open. What was he doing? He couldn’t just stand there, Dream clearly needed help, and Techno wanted Phil to help him. Not like Phil would just let him die, anyway. He wasn’t like that.

Philza grabbed an armful of potions, cloths, and bandages, and dumped them on the table by the couch, dropping down beside Dream. He carefully edged back Techno’s scarlet cape, furrowing his brow with every new injury the motion uncovered.

There were too many injuries, and they looked far too deliberate, for this to have happened in some kind of fight. This was torture. And it was bad, too. Phil didn’t even know where to start.

He hovered uncertainly for a few seconds, before taking a breath and just diving in, trying to do what he could to help Dream. Potions could only go so far, and the wounds all had to be cleaned and bandaged as well.

Phil thought he was doing fairly well with his doctoring until he noticed the blood soaking into the couch from under Dream, coming from a previously unseen wound.

Slowly, trying not to aggravate any of his other injuries, Phil turned Dream onto his side so he could better see the damage on his back. Then he inhaled sharply, and drew back his hand.

There were two long, identical gashes down Dream’s back, just at his shoulder blades, fairly recent and still leaking blood. The sight made his heart just about stop. Philza had seen injuries like that. Not on this Server, and not for a long time.

But he still knew what it looked like when an avian lost their wings.

Dream… was an avian?

But how?

Phil had never seen wings on him before, and these injuries were clearly recent.

Unless….

Dream had never been seen without his mask. It was beyond bizarre to see him without it now, to be able to see his actual face (why did he look so much younger than Phil had expected?). Phil knew the mask had been enchanted, he had seen the runes glowing along the sides of it when they had destroyed L’Manburg together. He hadn’t given it much thought before. But could the enchanting on the mask have hidden the wings?

Phil shook himself; now wasn't the time for speculation. Major arteries went through an avian’s wings, and with those wings gone, it was a miracle Dream hadn’t bled to death already.

Swiftly but carefully, Phil got to work trying to do what he could for the deep gashes. He cleaned them, applied healing potions, and bandaged them, anger drumming through him when he wondered who could have dared do this.

After Dream’s injuries were dealt with, Phil slowly fell back, dropping down beside the couch. He didn’t know what to think. Dream was an avian. He was an avian. He supposed that explained the inexplicable protectiveness he’d felt towards Dream during the destruction of L’manburg. He’d put it down to the fact that Dream was a friend of Techno’s, that they needed all three of them to complete the plan. After they had parted ways, he’d brushed the feelings off as nothing.

But it had really been his avian instincts sensing that Dream was one of them.

(Had Tommy ever felt that about Dream, too? Had Dream ever felt it about Tommy?)

“Prime,” Phil muttered. “Prime.” This was all too much. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. He just felt numb. Except for the undeniable, barely restrained rage that came with seeing that Dream’s wings had been so heartlessly removed. Wings were an avian’s pride and joy, oftentimes more important to them than life itself. To take someone’s wings like this… it was indescribably awful.

As soon as Techno came back, Philza was going to find out who had done this, and tear them apart.

You didn’t touch an avian’s wings. Ever. That was a line that you just didn’t cross. Even during the battle of L’Manburg, no one had tried to fight Philza by hurting his wings. Even during all that had happened between Dream and Tommy, the former had never tried to touch Tommy’s wings.

But someone had done that to Dream. Someone had had the audacity to cut off Dream’s wings, and then leave the injuries untreated and bleeding out.

Even if it had been a complete stranger who was injured, Phil would have sought vengeance for them. Something like this was unforgivable. And Phil was going to murder them for it.

On the couch, Dream sucked in a breath, and Phil jumped, coming back sharply to the present. “Dream?” he said hesitantly, his hand hovering over Dream’s arm, before he thought better of touching him, and drew back. “You… alright, mate?”

Dream didn’t respond, instead tightly curling up in on himself. He drew his heavily bandaged arms around himself, pressing them protectively around himself (like that would do anything to protect him). His breaths were short and quick, stuttering in his chest. The sight caused a pang in Phil.

“Dream, you’re alright,” he said, softly, so as not to startle him. “You're at mine and Techno’s house, in the arctic. You’re safe, I promise.”

He kept repeating the words, trying to help Dream see that he was fine, that he was safe.

It seemed to take ages, but finally, slowly, Dream shifted positions, pulling his arm away from his face. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, and his fearful gaze immediately landed on Phil. He didn’t relax, his body still unbearably tense.

“Dream, I’m not going to hurt you,” Philza promised, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Dream’s gaze flicked quickly around the room, before going back to Philza. He didn’t seem to want to take his eyes off him, like he was afraid Phil would attack him the second he let his guard down.

Painfully aware of this, Phil slowly reached towards the side table, and slowly took down a potion, making sure that Dream could follow all of his movements. “You should drink this, mate,” Phil said, uncorking the bottle. “It’ll help.” He moved the potion towards Dream, but stopped when the man flinched and drew back.

Slowly, after a long pause, Phil extended the healing potion again until it was within Dream’s reach, careful not to make any sudden movements. Dream stared at it for a long time, but didn’t move.

“Dream, you need to drink it,” Phil said. “It’s going to help you get better. It’s just a healing potion, I promise.”

Dream’s eyes flicked around the room again, and his brow furrowed slightly.

“Techno will be back soon,” Phil said, hoping he was correctly interpreting Dream’s concern. “He’s just making sure no one followed him here.”

Moving with almost painful slowness, Dream reached out a slightly shaking hand, and took the potion bottle from Phil, careful not to touch his hand. He pulled himself slightly more upright, and took a small drink from the potion. His eyes didn’t leave Phil, who suddenly had to fight the urge to wrap his wings around him until he was all better.

Philza waited patiently while Dream drank the potion, not saying anything. It took almost ten minutes, but finally, the entire potion was inside Dream, for which Phil was thankful for. The man needed all the help he could get. Dream held the now-empty bottle awkwardly in his bandaged, shaking hands, until Phil reached out a hand for it.

Dream flinched, his fingers tightening reflexively around the bottle. Phil didn’t move, keeping his hand extended palm-up. Slowly, Dream reached out, and set the bottle in Phil’s hand, immediately drawing his hand back up against himself.

Phil set the bottle back on the table, still moving slowly to avoid making Dream any more nervous than he already was.

Dream shifted positions on the couch, and flinched, his hand flying to his shoulder, to the bandages there. Then he froze, and slowly lowered his hands again, staring down at the bandages covering them. He flexed his fingers, wincing.

“I bandaged your injuries,” Philza said. “I don’t… did I miss anything? I — I’ve never bandaged… injuries… like yours before.”

Dream’s eyes went back to Phil, flicking between his face and his wings.

“I… I know you’re an avian,” Philza said softly.

Dream flinched, dropping his gaze. His shoulders hunched forward, and Philza felt a pang when he realized that, had Dream still had wings, they would be wrapped around him.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Dream,” Philza said, knowing it was horribly inadequate. “I didn’t… if I had known this was happening… I… I would have gotten you out of there a long time ago.”

Dream didn’t answer. His hands were still shaking, and his breaths were speeding up. His shoulders tensed, and his hand went back to the bandages there. A small, choked sound escaped him.

Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Phil moved forward, and wrapped his wings around Dream, enveloping them both in soft black feathers.

Dream inhaled sharply, and Philza almost drew back, but then Dream fell forward against him, latching onto the front of his shirt, and dissolving into tears.

Phil held Dream gently while the wingless avian cried and cried. He made soft, soothing noises, and kept his wings wrapped around them both. 

Dream eventuality cried himself out, and at some point dropped back into unconsciousness, still leaning up against him. Phil didn’t move away, instead just shifting into a more comfortable position so he could keep his wing draped around Dream. He kept making soft, calming noises in his throat, running his fingers through Dream’s tangled, blood-stained hair. 

It must have been hours later when the door finally banged open, signaling Techno’s return. “Phil —“

“Shh,” Philza said sternly, as soon as Techno entered the room. His friend was still stained with Dream’s blood, but he looked uninjured.

“Is he —“ Techno started, dropping his voice.

“He’ll be alright,” Philza assured him in a low voice. “He woke up earlier, and I got some potion in him. He’ll live.”

Techno let out a slow breath. “Thank Prime,” he muttered. “I had to kill Ant, he wouldn’t leave me alone. Don’t think it was a permanent death, but still annoying. No one should know Dream’s here, though.”

Philza nodded. “That’s good; Dream’ll need time.” He hesitated, then asked, “Techno… did you… did you know Dream was an avian?”

Techno blinked. “He’s — what?”

“An avian. Dream.”

“Don't avians have like… wings?”

“He did.”

Techno was silent for a moment, before he realized what that meant, and his eyes widened. “Wait — no — then someone… someone cut them off? Is that… that’s… Prime. I knew it was bad, but I didn’t… I didn’t realize they went that — that far.”

“It happened recently,” Philza said quietly. “Like the rest of his injuries. During prison. He must have had enchantments to hide them before that.”

Techno let out a slow, carefully controlled breath. “I’m going to burn the prison to the ground,” he said darkly. “Along with everyone inside.”

“Do you know who did this?” Philza asked urgently.

Techno shook his head. “It must’ve been someone who had access to the prison. I never pegged Sam as the type of person to… to clip an avian’s wings… but he must have at least allowed it. Soon as Dream gets at all better, I’m going back to the prison to find out.” His tone promised that it would not be pretty.

“I’m coming with you,” Philza said firmly.

“Phil —“ Techno started.

“Techno, this is not something that can be overlooked,” Phil said sharply. “This is one line that you never cross, and whoever dared do this, I am going to rip them apart and make them wish I would kill them.”

“I’ll help you,” Techno said firmly. “Whenever Dream is stable, we go back to the prison.”

Philza’s eyes went back to Dream, to the avian he’d never known should be a part of his flock. “As soon as he’s better,” Phil promised. “Then… we get vengeance.”

Chapter Text

Avians tended to stick with their flocks. For safety, community, a sense of belonging.

Dream had never had a flock. Or, rather, if he ever had, he didn’t remember it. Which was fine, obviously. He didn’t need one. He instead spent years flitting from Server to Server, hiding his wings, avoiding hybrid hunters, exploring, and only occasionally glimpsing other avians. The sight always caused a pang in his chest. He didn’t need a flock, sure, but some part of him still wanted one.

Eventually, he created his own server, his SMP — a place safe from hunters, a place where he could make his own flock. He kept his wings carefully hidden with the enchantments from his self-made mask, telling himself that once everything was stable, once he was sure he was safe, he would take off the mask. For good. Somehow, somehow, that day never came. He only ever took off his mask when he was sure he was alone. In the dead of moonless nights, in the security of his hidden strongholds, in a mountain range far from any sign of life. Again and again he told himself it was only temporary. He’d take off his mask for good eventually.

He never did.

Unrest, L’Manburg, the election, the festival, Doomsday, the egg, the plan — there always seemed to be something. He took off his mask less than ever. No one else had tried to take it off, either — not that they could, with the modified curse of binding on it. But still; no one had tried.

Not until the Vault, at least.

One of the first things Dream had registered about his cell in Pandora’s Vault was that it was small. Small enough that he wouldn’t have been able to fully extend his wings, even if he’d chosen to take his mask off. Small enough that within just a few hours of being thrown in, he was pacing the cell endlessly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, trying to shove down the avian instincts that shouted at him to just get out of the cage he was in. 

Dream simply adjusted his mask and ignored them. It was easier with the enchanted mask, easier to ignore his instincts. Or so he told himself. It was really the only reason none of the Server had figured out he was an avian. He couldn’t risk taking his mask off in here, not with Sam so close. The Warden hadn’t tried to take his mask either, and he didn’t want to give him a reason to try. 

Only one person had tried to take his mask here.

Dream hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected Quackity to try and take his mask, hadn’t expected the torture at all. He hadn’t expected the supposedly sturdy magic on his mask to shatter so easily. And he certainly hadn’t expected Quackity — an avian himself — to go to such lengths to abuse Dream’s hybrid status.

“Aww, c’mon man, stop worrying,” Quackity chided. Dream was flat on the obsidian floor of the Vault, Quackity’s polished leather shoe pressing into his back, pinning him there. Dream’s wings were splayed out and trembling, one of them caught in Quackity’s grip. “It’s like you’ve never had another avian preen your wings before, what is this? Don’t you have friends?” His fingers threaded through the slim white feathers of Dream’s wings, and Dream froze, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Quackity was touching his wings. Quackity was touching his wings. He hadn’t done that before. He’d shattered Dream’s mask days ago, but he hadn’t touched his wings beyond shoving them out of the way. What was he doing?

“This is why you gotta take that mask off more,” Quackity murmured, still tapping his fingers over Dream’s wings. Every avian instinct in him was screaming at him to pull away, to get this man away from his wings, while the human side in him — the side beaten and bruised and bloodied by Quackity — didn’t dare move. Preening was something done by family, by close friends, not by someone like Quackity, and he couldn’t stand it. “Prime, you’re so tense; it’s like you think I’m gonna hurt you.” 

Fingers closed around feathers, and then yanked. 

Dream shrieked, his wings flaring out, trying desperately to pull away from Quackity. A sharp blow to the back of his head brought him thudding back to the ground, his vision whiting out.

“Calm down, Dream,” Quackity said as if through a haze, his voice falsely comforting. His fingers returned to threading through Dream’s feathers, and he made a soft cooing noise in the back of his throat. The kind of intrinsically avian chirp meant to convey comfort, warmth, safety. Dream froze, his brain immediately dropping offline, unable to reconcile the pain he felt with the avian chirps from Quackity that were supposed to mean that he was safe. His breath shuddered in his chest, his wings trembling as Quackity casually plucked out another feather. He couldn’t even find it in himself to try and fight it, his brain so utterly, hopelessly lost. The soft, calming chirps continued. 

Quackity didn’t stop making that noise until he left, leaving Dream’s wings bloodied and torn apart behind him. Leaving his mind in just as much of a mess as Dream’s instincts fought against the harsh reality before him.

Quackity wouldn’t hurt his wings. Quackity had hurt his wings. But he wouldn’t. But he had.

Avians wings were near sacred to them, and Quackity knew that. It was a line Dream didn’t think he would cross, and he thought it couldn’t get much worse than that.

It was only a few weeks later that Quackity got enough nerve to actually take his wings off, and Dream swore that was the day his will to live just died.

That day, if Quackity had asked for the book, Dream would have given it to him, and then begged the other avian to kill him.

But Quackity didn’t ask for the book.

And Dream kept on living.

If you could call it that, existing as a wingless avian. Dream didn’t think it was. It was different than his wings being sealed up in the magic of his mask, because he could still feel them. The comforting weight, the ever-present feeling. Now, lying sobbing on the bloody obsidian floor, all he could feel was the stabbing, violating sense of loss.

It was probably less than a week later that Techno took him out of prison, arriving in an whirl of fire and explosions. Dream wasn’t lucid enough to recognize anything as real until days later. He dimly saw the ocean, the snow, a cabin nestled into the mountainside, but the first thing he really registered was the blurry form of Philza Minecraft.

He remembered potions. Bandages. Crying. Techno, coming back a few hours later. Everything remained hazy for days after that, but at least the pain started to lesson, his mind eventually becoming more clear. He saw a lot more of Phil than he did Techno over those days, the piglin hybrid keeping his distance. Dream wasn’t sure why, exactly. Techno frequently seemed to vanish for days at a time, leaving him alone with Phil. Which — which was fine, it was fine, it just… set Dream on edge. His avian side was always more high-strung when Phil was around — not that he wasn’t already horribly jumpy, but another avian being around made things worse. Dream had a slight suspicion to why that might be, but it wasn’t like he could ask Phil to leave. This was his fetching house. Even if the occasional avian chirps and coos and trills he hummed made Dream want to curl up in a ball and beg the other avian not to hurt him.

Eventually, after a week or two or three, Dream couldn’t stand being stuck in that small guest room any longer, and he forced himself to get up. By himself, for the first time since he’d been there. His injuries were healing well, after all — that’s what Phil said every time he came in to check on them. What Techno said whenever he offered him another healing potion, which Dream almost always refused. He couldn’t stand the taste of them now.

But as soon as he swung his legs out of the bed, pushing himself to his feet, he toppled over forward, horribly off-balance. His hands shot out to catch him, but he still ended up crashing to the floor, his arms trembling with the effort of keeping him at all upright.

“Mate? You alright?” Phil appeared in the doorway, because of course he did, and fear shot through Dream. “Oh, dear —“ He rushed to Dream’s side, and Dream couldn’t help the way he flinched back. Phil pulled his hand away, asking softly, “Do you want help?”

“No,” Dream gritted out, rudely, sure, because despite what his instincts were screaming at him, this was Phil, not Quackity, and Phil wasn’t going to bury a knife in his arm for daring to talk back to him. That, at least, he could assure himself of, after the weeks he’d been there. Rationally. Phil wouldn’t hurt him (Probably). He braced himself agaisnt the bed frame, dragging himself upright. Pain throbbed in his legs, his hands, his back, but it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t, and he should be able to stand up. His hands were splayed against the wall, and he could feel Phil watching him, feel the subtle way his wings moved the air. He didn’t like having his back to him.

Dream withdrew his hands from the wall, tried to turn, and almost immediately fell over again, slamming his hand back against the wall to keep himself upright. What was wrong with him? He’d been able to walk just fine on his leg after Quackity had shattered it, why couldn’t he keep himself upright now?

He cursed under his breath, gritting his teeth. “What is wrong with me?” he muttered, growling the question at thin air.

It was Phil who answered, his tone soft, hesitant. “It’s… I was afraid of this,” he said gently. “It… it might be because of your wings.”

Dream stiffened. Phantom wings shivered behind him, pain stabbing in his back as he subconsciously rolled his shoulders, moving wings that were no longer there. Feeling for a presence he still — after all this fetching time — couldn’t get over being gone. He didn’t respond.

“The, ah, balance of them,” Phil said, spreading his own wings slightly. The sight caused a heavy, dull pang in Dream’s chest, and he turned away. “The weight. It… may be throwing you off, them not… being there. Since you haven’t… haven’t walked much without them.”

Prime. Prime. So it wasn’t even that he couldn’t fly anymore, though that alone made him want to curl up on the ground and sob, he apparently couldn’t walk now, either. Dream’s breath caught in his chest, his fingertips curling against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said gently. “You’ve got to give yourself time, mate.” His tone was heavy. He knew, as an avian, as well as Dream did, as well as Quackity did, how devastating it was for an avian to lose their wings. Dream wasn’t only grounded, he was stuck. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, the room seeming too small, the ceiling too low, a cramped and dark and burning box. He was stuck and trapped and he couldn’t go anywhere and Quackity was going to come back and kill him and —

A soft cooing noise cut through the frantic race of his thoughts. Dream inhaled, choked, tense. Fear flooded through him, deep and instinctual, and he froze, his back still to Phil.

Another cooing, a soft chirp, and Prime, he was wrong, Phil was going to hurt him, because what was the use of a flightless avian to one who could fly? What was the use of a revival book to an immortal? Phil had no use for him, he didn’t get enjoyment from hurting people, he had absolutely no use for him, and he was going to kill him —

A hand settled on his shoulder, turning Dream gently away from the wall, and Dream didn’t fight it. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, either, his vision blurring.

“Oh, mate….”

“Please don’t,” Dream whispered dully, and he could see golden wings silhouetted against the light, hear dripping that was the crying obsidian or his blood. “Please don’t.”

Wings wrapped around him, soft and dark, and Dream tensed further, before absolutely melting into them. He couldn’t help it. His breath shuddered in his chest, and he didn’t try to stop himself from collapsing against Phil, as the avian settled down on the bed. He didn’t make any noise, though Dream knew he must want to, the immortal’s instincts telling him the cooing and chirping meant comfort in the same way Dream’s told him it meant pain.

He wasn’t crying, he was just breathing, one of Phil’s wings tented over him, the other one gripped in his shaking hand. He didn’t know how long he remained there before he finally asked, his voice hoarse, “Will I… it… will I ever…?”

“It’ll get better,” Phil said softly. “You’ll adjust. It’ll be a — a process, but you’re stubborn, yeah, you’re determined. You’ll be back to running and jumping around with the same parkour stuff you always did.”

Dream’s breath caught again, his shoulders shifting slightly.

Phil sighed. “Almost.”

Dream nodded without looking up, still buried under Phil’s wing, feeling his breathing. A long while later, he muttered, “Sorry. I know you want to… to…” He made a slight, hoarse cooing noise in the back of his throat. “It’s… stupid. It just doesn’t… feel right.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, mate. It’s not your fault.”

“He did it,” Dream mumbled. His grip tightened over the ends of Phil’s long black feathers. “Him. That. All the time, once he knew I was… I was an avian.” Was. Because was he really one now, still? He didn’t have wings, he couldn’t fly, couldn’t walk, couldn’t stand the avian sounds that were supposed to be comforting. “Just…” He vaguely moved a hand. He didn’t know why he was telling Phil this, except that he deserved an explanation. Deserved to know why Dream couldn’t take his comfort like he should. “I dunno. Brain’s messed up, think he broke something.” He stared despondently at the layers of feathers of Phil’s wing, still avoiding looking at the avian himself. “It just sounds like… like you’re going to hurt me.”

Both hearing and feeling Phil’s sharp intake of breath, Dream was immediately swarmed with regret. He pushed himself upright, breaking away from Phil’s wings. “I — I know you’re not,” he hurried to say, a spike of panic rising in his chest at the look on Phil’s face. “You — haven’t done anything but help me, I know, it’s stupid, I just — I don’t —“ He broke off, hunching his shoulders, wishing he could wrap his wings around himself. “I’m sorry, s—“ He stopped again. “Sorry.”

“You’ve got absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Phil said firmly, getting a better hold on himself. His wings shifted out slightly, like he wanted to wrap them around Dream again. “What he did was absolutely atrocious, and it does not fall on you. Nothing that he did to you do you need to be sorry for; it’s all on him.”

Dream huffed, curling his shaking fingers. “Not what he said.”

“He’s a liar, then,” Phil said calmly. “You didn’t deserve any of that, Dream, and it’s not your fault.”

“I’m — Phil, he — I —“ He broke off. “Then why do I still… why do I feel like this? I know it’s stupid, I know you won’t hurt me, I — I don’t know why sometimes it’s fine and then five seconds later I feel like I’m —“ He cut himself off again.

“Minds are tricky things, mate. ‘Specially hybrid ones; instincts can get brutal sometimes. Considering everything that you’ve been through, it’s perfectly understandable. I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable — I know firsthand how twitchy avians can get when we feel like we’re in danger.” Phil shifted on the bed, one of his wings moving slightly towards Dream, still curled up on the bed. Far enough to not be threatening but close enough to be an invitation.

Dream didn’t do anything to stop him, and Phil settled his wing over him again. Dream waited for alarm to flood through him, for phantom pains to flicker over his skin, but nothing happened. There wasn’t the strong sense of comfort that he knew should be there, but there wasn’t… panic, either. It just… felt like a warm blanket. He sighed, letting his eyes slip closed.

“I’ll do everything I can to help you, mate,” Phil whispered. “I promise.”

Somehow, Dream… found it hard to doubt him.

He fell asleep curled up under Philza’s wing, and, hours later, when Techno returned with clothes speckled with blood and golden feathers, he was still sleeping soundly.

When Dream finally woke up, Phil was still there, curled up asleep beside him, one wing draped over Dream, the other tented over Techno, snoring at the foot of the bed.

Still bleary with sleep, mind hazy with something close to calm, Dream wondered if this was what having a flock felt like.

It felt like one.